Tickets, Money, Passport?

I had so much I wanted to catch up on. Like how I saw Acorn Antiques the Musical! the other night and laughed like a drain and was jealous of the genius of Victoria Wood and blown away by the fabulousness of Julie Walters and how I found Celia Imrie rather sexy all the while sitting next to Leicester's answer to Liza Minelli, or how I spent Friday in London's Glittering West End with my lovely friend Phillip who was in town for a whirlwind visit and how we whiled away the hours drinking a few pints in the Dog & Duck or how a group of us went out for a delightful meal at Bertorelli's on Friday night. Nor did I have time to mention spending time drinking coffee at the 6th floor restaurant at the National Portrait Gallery, gazing over the views of London. And even still not time to talk about the little tour I took Phillip on around the delights of E2 on Saturday and how I didn't draw breath pointing out Jeanette Winterson's new shop, or various sites of Jack the Ripper or how in amongst the urban decay is a thriving and fascinating neighbourhood that I love living in. Precious little time to mention the hour I spent at Oxfam in Dalston sourcing an outfit for our Anne of Green Gables day (no, I'm not naming names) or how, after almost a year I finally put those photos that had been by the sideboad into albums. No, no time to tell you any of that. But definitely time to tell you that in an embarssing fit of greed I scoffed five of these and have still got a sore tongue.

PS - you need to eat one to know how the honeycomb eats away at your tastebuds. And, no, it is NOT the same as a crunchie.

As you were.