Lunch is beef brisket with broth and noodles and dumplings. I tell myself that there is no point in having pancakes in the canteen when they will have almost certainly been getting soggy on a hot plate for 20 minutes. So it’s the usual banana, a sneak preview of the joys of Lent. But I feel so undercarbed that I pop to the cake shop for an almond stick. Not a good start to Lenten observance.

I’m supposed to meeting Tony for a film. I want to see 12 Years a Slave; he wants to see some blockbuster nonsense involving Liam Neeson on a plane. So we compromise by meeting for dinner, and no film.

We swap views on Prince Igor over a glass of Prosecco, followed by a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Then we share some tomato, peppers and goats cheese on flat bread. Then salmon wrapped in Parma ham with green beans, lentils and honey and mustard dressing. I have Limoncello trifle with not quite enough blueberries to finish. Despite not being a fan of that particular liqueur, I really rather enjoy it.

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