It’s a gloriously sunny day. As usual, autumn is turning out to be much nicer than summer. I wander down to Golborne Road. In the past year or so Golborne Road has become a Mecca, or should I say a Marrakesh, for those seeking amazingly good and cheap street food. There’s Moroccan Fish (rapidly becoming world famous); Jerk chicken lady; Falafel man – the best falafels in West London with his special secret peanut chilli sauce; two caravans selling mad Moroccan sandwiches containing minced meat and a fried egg. Today I opt for a chicken tagine at the stall outside the Oporto coffee bar. It’s hot and oily, full of melting-off-the-bone chicken, yellow potatoes, sweet carrots and tasty sauce. With bread, a bottle of water and a glass of fresh mint tea my lunch comes to £6. I mean, it’s cheaper, and better, than eating at home.
Across the road, my friend Gandalf is having a bric-a-brac stall selling rusty old military chests, rocking chairs and suchlike collectibles. It seems like everyone I know and his or her dog have congregated there. “Hello, hello, hello, hello,” I say to all and sundry.
Further down the road I find Justin and his music biz friend Rick having lunch outside the Moroccan Tagine restaurant. I haven’t seen Rick for ages. “Hey Lily,” he greets me. I’m really sorry to hear you’ve been poorly. How are you doing?” “She’s writing a blog,” replies Justin, “it’s really good. But a bit girly.”
I have invited Justin to write a guest spot. I will title it: Chemo Chic – A Guide to Surviving Breast Cancer With Style from a Bloke Perspective, by Justin, a man, not with cancer. Watch this space.