I knocked off work early on Tuesday, Andrew was up in London and just happened to be coming round the corner of St Paul's when he rang. I am a 2 minute walk from the filthy cathedral so we arranged to meet on the corner of this and that street.

Delicious pints of Landlord's Best were teased down our gullets in the Blackfriar. The Blackfriar is a wonderful pub and a listed building. It has bas-reliefs of monks that look more like Yoda sculpted into them arches with words of wisdom nearly as corny as 'If you build it, they will come' embossed around the upper edges of the arches.

I should spend more time in the Blackfriar soaking up the atmosphere and free wisdom, in a pint-pot.

I am off to see Bill Bailey at the Apollo on Shaftsbury Avenue this evening. The show is titled Part Troll. I am expecting it to be good.

I discovered something my father would like. I popped out to buy an expensive sandwich at the piss-taking Italian deli up the road the other day when, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a sign that I had not seen before. I used to walk that route every day so I was quite surprised that I had never seen it before. It is the birthplace and home of a certain Samuel Pepys - diarist.

I passed into the new butcher on Clifton Gardens yesterday. It's a swish organic/free range butcher that I have decided to investigate since my fight with Tesco regarding the treatment of chickens and other livestock. Tesco claims to do organic chicken but these chickens come from the same battery farm and the only difference is that the 'organic' chickens are separated from the troops doing battle in the battery coup. If an 'organic' chicken gets sick, it's still pumped with antibiotics. Buying Tesco organic produce is a scam and meaningless, it's labeling and we are still being lied to. Organic produce comes from the same place as non-organic so what's the point.

I have to say that the meat and produce in this butcher looks very, very good. In fact it is some of the best looking meat I have seen in a long time. The downside is that it is fucking expensive. It is run by a very charming if not over enthusiastic Japanese lady who is very well versed in butchery. I love conversations about food with women. You get to say things like 'you like your meat well hung' or 'so do you beat your meat?' I am tending towards the tacky side of suggestive conversation, but try it sometime, conversations about food are the most seductive and suggestive.

I purchased a couple of sirloin steaks at the most ridiculous price and I suffered buyers remorse until I had finshed eating it when I sat back and thought it was worth every penny. I thought of South Africans who always say that the English know nothing about meat when in fact it's the other way round. It's about quality not quanitity and apart from the most amazing filets of beef that Gail got in the Eastern Cape somewhere - having heaps of red meat in the supermarket does not make it better. These sirloin steaks made me realise why Henry VIII or James I fictitiously knighted the piece of loin, Sir. The word comes from the French word Surloigne - but I do like the myth.

The above meal was washed down with some Bombardier Ale. A shortage of Belgian Bevvies in the neighborhood watering holes has turned me to good English beers. At £5 for 5 pints or Bombardier you can't go wrong. Andrew blessed me with a bottle of Balvenie double wood 12 year old single malt. OK, it's a Speyside but it's a fantastic Whiskey. When it comes to lifes pleasures we must always try new things. I shall give it a good sampling tonight.