Piece of (Fish) Cake

It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, a legendary food weekend. Cutting edge cuisine was notable by its absence. As was road sense and parking ability by a colossal number of North London arseholes. It started with letting someone out of a space so I could slide in... only to watch some arrogant pillock drive into it, somehow managing to negotiate a lane of oncoming traffic and still give the impression he hadn't seen me. I drove around the block and headed back to the same little parking bay. Another car was leaving, so I signalled... and watched, stunned, as that first bloke edged up so that his poxy little Renault was now taking up two spaces. I tried to call him a twat but, perhaps happily, in my wrath I hit the window lock button rather than the down one. Instead, hopefully, I mouthed the word sufficiently well for his young son to learn a new word he could ask his dad about later...

That was swiftly followed by two more examples of crap parking, with North Londoners apparently unaware of: a) how big their cars are; and b) any other person in the universe. When the revolution comes, people who occupy two car park spaces won't be the first against the wall. Oh no. I have longer, more painful deaths planned for them.

As a result of so much car-related fuckwittery, only one genre of food was going to hit the spot: comfort eating. And in the spirit of emptying the freezer this meant a turkey and mushroom pie made with the remains of the Christmas leg meat and - admittedly with the addition of some panko from our new local and excellent Asian supermarket Natural Natural (105A Ballards Lane) - a defrosted bag of cooked salmon that became eight damn fine fishcakes. That's lunch sorted for a couple of days as well then...