Took to the boats not long ago (of course, I mean months ago, i'm just trying to disguise that I haven't blogged since May) with James and Bob. I always try to show guests the softer side of London/ make them row me around all day whilst I recline on the bow stuffing picnic into my mouth.
Anyway, RECENTLY, we did that, and we took with us a hamper of fresh garden produce from my own fair hands.
Tomato salade with a splendid lemon, pepper, salt, olive oil dressing, crusty bread to sandwich said tomato, then dip in said oily remnants, and sleepy Peter Rabbit salad leaves from the garden. Whenever I've had them I blame my afternoon naps on them. It's a wonder I don't end up in Mr McGregor's lair.
What did happen (on that very much only just passed occasion) is that James and Bob, taking advantage of my lettuce laissez faire, rowed me straight into the arms of some waiting fireman. They were on the bank testing out their equipment.... I only just managed to come to my senses before I got gang sprayed.
Luckily we escaped and I was rowed back into the middle to enjoy my pudding of peach pie. Pastry absolves all problems for me. As Antonio Carluccio says, "if only Libya ate pasta...."
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