I know it would be better to post longer installments but I keep getting interrupted so I may as well put up what I've got now and hope you'll come back for more.
T being a photographer, I have boxes full of pictures from that period, my first ten years or so as a Londoner. A wall of T's basement kitchen-diner is dedicated to a changing display of photos, often portraits of actors who come to be snapped for their portfolios. Sunday night dinners around the cigarette-scarred table provide an endless source of camera-fodder. Not sure who shot this Christmas dinner aftermath but they caught me unaware. Booze of every description is never in short supply and the meals, always cooked with gusto by the master, are traditional English fare: roast beef and Yorkshire pud, steak and kidney pie, boiled bacon, multi-layered trifle with lashings of cream. Strangely enough, none of those who gather regularly around T's table ever seem to suffer ill effects from such diet-defying food and drink.