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Monday, 24 May 2010


I once had a girlfriend who would cry every time she had an orgasm. I know a statement like this is ripe for sarcasm but it was as if she was consumed by loss. That the moment of happiness had slipped away uncontrollably.
Maybe my life is a situation comedy, a series of anecdotes.
I had dinner with friends at the weekend and sat next to an old Italian guy. He was a chef and we small talked. A few days later I met a friend for coffee at the Mandarin and the Italian was sitting in the middle of the restaurant alone on a table with 2 empty chairs. We sat down as if we'd been expected and talked a little, swapping stories of our histories, discussing books and films. The Italian asked us if we were hungry and then got up, walked into the kitchen, where, we saw through the glass windows, the chefs made way for him and allowed him access to their supplies. He bought back the best risotto I've ever had in my life. It turns out the man was Antonio Carluccio, OBE. One of the most respected chefs in the world.
He was 72 and a very simple man, polite, funny and considerate. I really like him. I wonder if I'd liked the risotto more if I'd known this? I found out later that he 'accidentally' stabbed himself in the chest a couple of years back. If I'd known I would've wanted to see the scar. I would've shown him mine too.

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