One-trick pony?

My vegetarian friends probably dread coming to lunch here, since they can be pretty confident of getting the usual Madhur Jaffrey chick peas and/or black-eyed beans with mushrooms and tomatoes.  Fortunately, Martyn came up with a delicious recipe for couscous and mozzarella stuffed tomatoes, so there was something new on the menu.  The good old chick pea recipe improves if left for a day or two in the fridge, so having been made on Monday, it was not bad at all, though I sez it meself as shouldn't.  So all carefully planned well in advance?  Of course not!  An hour before the guests arrived we realised we had plenty of shop-bought poppadums, but no dips.  Panic stations.  A can of chick peas, garlic, some oil and a splash of yoghourt - instant hummous.  A handful of chopped mint and some more yoghourt: mint relish.  Jar of chutney someone gave us once plus some cumin etc: hot dip.  Mayonnaise and tomato ketchup plus a bit of spice: thousand islands with an Indian accent.  All seemed to pass muster.

A day at the hobby on Tuesday: the first day for a recent joiner, whom in fact I'd seen at second interview, and whom I'm to keep a fatherly eye on for his first year.  He hit the ground running, coping well with a mixed day's business - despite jet lag.  It ought to have been a half-day, but we didn't leave until 4:00 pm.  I've been really impressed with my protégés so far, and this one shows all the signs of being just as good.

We'd another trip up to London last Friday, this time to a private view of Martyn's niece's paintings. She recently took a first from Camberwell, and is talking about going on to take a Master's somewhere else.  Her work is highly thought of, but we didn't find ourselves rushing for our cheque books.  Entertaining ride home in a very busy train.  We were at the station quite early, fortunately, so got seats at the window with a table.  A couple of lads took the other pair of seats and after depatching their sandwiches and a couple of packets of smelly vinegary crisps (a substantial proportion of the above on the table, seats and floor) fell asleep on our shoulders.  We were thinking/hoping 'surely they'll get off at Norwood Junction?'.  No?  Well, East Croydon at least?  They were with us until three stations before ours, generously perfuming the air with beer and garlic.  One needed some manhandling to wake him at his station: we had visions of Martyn having to climb over him to get out.  Pleasant and polite lads, though: just a little over-tired after a hard day's work.  And the rest.

The deluge dumped on us by Bertha seems not to have hurt the garden: the weeds in particular look thoroughly grateful.  Good timing, actually.  On the way to Fortnum's the other day I spotted a poster outside the nursery advertising a rose sale.  We chose half a dozen roses (vastly discounted) to go in the recently cleared bed, and had them planted by evening: the ensuing downpours can only have helped them to get their roots down.  The soil is basically very heavy clay (which is why we Got Someone In to dig it over and add some muck).  Roses are reputed to like such conditions, so that, the watering and a handful of hen in the bottom of each hole should give them a reasonable start to the rest of their lives.