Wagamama

We went to Wagamama's in Canterbury on Saturday, to celebrate Megawega's birthday. Canterbury is Green. This means the City Council charges an arm and a leg through the nose for parking even at night, because it can. We travelled down in our two matching invalid cars (they're not invalid cars actually, but look like they might be), because there were a lot of us.

We arrived late, largely because we parked under the city walls and a grumpy nightwatchman in a booth refused to let us take a short cut across the cathedral precincts. Whose cathedral is it anyway? I've been baptised twice, remember. Pity he wasn't there in December 1170, or Thomas a Becket would still be with us.

Then we were grumpy too and guessed and turned left, which was the wrong guess and meant walking about half a mile unnecessarily. We looked out for cousin Alexander, but didn't spot him. (On the way back we turned left out of Wagamama's and reached the car in about a minute and a half. Our route took us through a lively night club quarter, which the men enjoyed more than the women. I've got nothing against drunk, skimpily dressed girls, whatever their IQ. Particularly whatever their IQ).

The verdict? The polyglot staff were cheerful and willing. The lighting was on the bright side, and the atmosphere a bit All Bar One on a Friday night - refectory tables and a slightly frenetic ambience. The food, though, was delicious, even if some of the side dishes looked like a bush-tucker trial. The choice of puddings was so tempting that you ordered them even when you knew you were stuffed. And didn't regret it. Until about 3.00 am.