The nine-year-old and I were both very taken with Inigo Montoya, and launched into a pretend sword fight as soon as we exited the cinema. She's also very into spies at the moment, so we had a happy afternoon talking into our watches and sending each other on missions. (Her mum had to tell us off for talking about bombs in Foyles.)
On Sunday,
jm_horse very kindly invited me to Imad’s Syrian Kitchen, an East London popup restaurant. We enjoyed a communal meal of sharing dishes at two long tables, full of things I like: falafel, stuffed vine leaves, rice, and a tomato sauce with what was described as meatballs but looked suspiciously like chunks of hamburger.
It was a great end to the weekend, capped by legging it up several flights of stairs to catch the Crystal Palace train with seconds to spare.
