I spent a couple of hours this afternoon waiting to eat from a Tudor banquet at one of St Albans' oldest hotels. It was part of a big schmoozing event linked to the hotel being filmed for Channel 5 TV show The Hotel Inspector, and there were going to be all sorts of medieval munchies to chomp down on.
Unfortunately time ticks inexorably onwards, and I had to resign myself to the fact that, no, I couldn't justify spending so much of my day out of the office, even if I was hobnobbing with St Albans' great and good, and would have to go back to Herts Ad Towers... I left reporter Debbie to enjoy the feast - she's from New Zealand, which I think is a bit like living in the Middle Ages as it's full of hobbits and wizards.
So I sloped back to my desk clutching a steak and ale special from the purveyors of pirate pasties (you know the one, I can't remember what it's actually called), which really won't fill the hole I had reserved for tasty treats from Tudor times.
Back on the Spawn front, and there's still no news. This blog is going to get very repetitive if every entry is about how no, my first-born has still not arrived yet, but here's some random information about how Mrs A is feeling today. She's actually OK, thanks for asking. Didn't get up until almost 10 o'clock, and seems to have spent much of the day staring into space, but she likes to do that, so far be it for me to complain.
She had some weird dreams about going into labour, but it turned out this was related to back ache she had in her sleep, itself a possible sign of the process starting, although on this occasion that wasn't the case. The waiting game continues...
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