End of the summer

I've interspersed this rather meandering post with pictures from a recent meal we had at Carriages wine bar.  If you ever find yourself in the North Yorkshire market town of Knaresborough and in need of sustenance, it is well worth the visit.  They don't appear to have their own website, but you can find their entry on the Harrogate food guide here.

Well. What an odd two weeks it has been to be sure.

You may remember, in the last thrilling instalment, that I was on the point of moving out; after weeks of procrastination by a pair of less than stellar solicitors, things had suddenly come to a head very fast. D, my brother and I spent a couple of frantic days flinging all our stuff into boxes and driving a white van between our flat and my parents’ garage wherein now can be found pretty much all our worldly possessions. In no particular order.

King prawns and langoustines in a lemongrass, chilli, pineapple and kaffir lime leaf nage

We were fully prepared to spend the following fortnight, which we had both booked off work for the purposes of general chilling out as opposed to going away, combing Leeds for the perfect place to live. But the rental market, previously a relentless juggernaut of a thing which waited for no man, slowed down to…well, much less of a juggernaut. So we’re currently still chez les parentals.

Smoked trout fillet on grilled fennel with olive salsa and beetroot marinated calamari

Much as I love them, it is not a particularly ideal situation for either party. Their garage looks, as my mother says, as if the Ark of the Covenant could be concealed somewhere within its depths (although D did manage to create a path through to the wine rack at the back). And of course there have been fraught moments on either side when I for one have been in danger of regressing to my thirteen year old self.

Beef fillet with beetroot fondant, sausage and leek ragout with a tarragon and mustard bechamel sauce

Still, all that aside we did manage to get some relaxing in. I don’t think I got up much before nine the entire time which was absolutely blissful. And, of course, any thought of dieting went out of the window – well, it never takes much with me, does it?

Yes, this is a diet blog, remember? Ha, I bet you’d forgotten. The old weight has been remaining pretty steady – but not going down and all the impetus and drive of the first few months of this year has completely dissipated among the general disruption and stress of the summer. BUT. I reckon you can’t be said to have failed until you have given up altogether and that I will never do. There is a meeting, located a ten minute walk away from my office, that takes place at 7.30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, and that is where you find me this time next week.

Pot au chocolat with pistachio fudge

My thoughts on meetings have always been mixed. On the one hand, I resent paying to have someone weigh me, like a pig going to market, and then tell me stuff that I already know for half an hour. On the other hand, I am a creature who thrives on structure and routine and I have proved time and time again that left to myself I will have the odd burst of brilliance and then drift off course like a chubby little cloud. So, meetings it is. Meetings and meal planning and (whisper it) back to the gym – although it will be a new gym, because to go all the way from Leeds to York just to jog on a treadmill for a bit would just be silly.

So, all steam ahead for next week, although there is the small matter of my first wedding anniversary beforehand…