I'm hurrying because he is early and that's unusual.
He is the man I've waited for figuratively and, unfortunately, literally. On numerous occasions, in numerous venues. From solitary-sipped drinks in shabby pubs next to tube stations, to taking in most of a Scott Matthews concert alone due to a late-running client do, I have got used to him being consistently, gloriously late.
This post is about a meal at St John Bread & Wine, which is consistently, gloriously brilliant. We ate tripe, pigeon pie, and buttered greens. We drank their St John house red and we celebrated it as the night we got engaged, which had taken place an hour earlier.
There was no better place to enjoy the night we got engaged than the restaurant in which we had our first Valentine.
St John embodies everything I hope for in our marriage - it's delicious and moreish, it's totally without pretension, it's thoughtful and skillful, and it's honest.
I especially enjoyed the first and last night Sartre was ever punctual.
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