Abbot Ale and Babaganoush

The weekend seemed short, but that’s probably because it was packed full of goodness even if it started with the nasty: on Friday evening, I found my virginal self subjected to a brutal rogering by Celebrity Big Brother.

A moment of silence, please. … Thank you.

My initial reaction to George Galloway pretending to lick milk from Rula Lenska’s hands was a firm ‘my eyes, my eyes!’. Now, of course, I’m fascinated and want to see the drama unfold. But I can’t quite bring myself to downloading this tripe. Mr Hg will have to provide daily updates.


Saturday morning we were off to Ramsgate, birthplace of Tracey Emin, on the isle of Thanet (well, peninsula), East Kent. A seaside resort that manages to avoid the usual tackiness and instead presents a mostly unscathed, tidy waterfront. We arrived just in time to see the ferry leave port for Ostend and after some exploring tried the day’s catch in batter.

Back in the city we headed for the Barbican to see Breakfast on Pluto. I had succumbed to watching a DVD screener of it a week ago, but it was good to see it on a relatively large screen and take in other people’s response at the same time. I think we all agreed we would have cut a few scenes a little tighter, Stephen Rea’s wishy washy part in particular. Where on earth was he heading with that character?