So this was the Great Friday of 2012. The long years of my three-month contract with Directgov/Cabinet Office/Government Digital Service/www.gov.uk/whoever the hell we were this week were finally drawing to a close. I swear I thought I was going to die in that place, but I got out alive. And now it's on with the serious business of writing books and planning trips. 
But first! our very dear Becky Shields was on the island again, due to being the wildly successful and in-demand architectural historian she is. And since she's become great friends with everyone's favourite fabuleuse femme française, and since it was by far the nicest day of the year, we all repaired to the best spot in the universe: the garden of The Troubadour in Earl's Court, for pitchers of Pimms and a huge brunch. And all was sunshine and laughter. Man. (And thence to the pub abutting St. Lukes in Chelsea. Man again.)
