We went over to Granary Square for a midday meal, this time to the Grain Store. While we were waiting for a table, we went over to the Canopy Market that was being held in the Square this weekend. There were fruit and vegetable vendors, a couple of food trucks, cheeses, meats, lots of vinyl, and a dj.

Back at the restaurant, they said they could seat us if we were finished by 2. According to my watch that gave us ten minutes to order and eat. That's when we found out that Daylight Savings Time ended here last night and we were supposed to turn our clocks back an hour. That means we have a week when there is only a four-hour time difference between here and home. At our table I silently wondered why they would want to make sure we could leave by 2. They don't take reservations so I wonder what was happening then. I guess I'll never know. When we left before our allotted time was up there were many empty tables. At any rate, I don't think we'll go back. The food was just a little too creative with not a good result. I've seen that a lot here. It's not that I dislike new and creative food, but it has to work. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something a little off from what I'm used to. I find myself thinking fondly of restaurants back home. Today it wasn't even the blueberry chutney--that was actually quite tasty. It was more the combination of items on the plate.

Our bill (or check or ticket) came in this wooden pear.

We then did our grocery shopping (nice to do on a full stomach to avoid making poor choices). Today was a bit colder, especially on the walk home, and I should have worn something warmer. The rest of the day was spent at home, talking to Meg, doing the Sunday crossword online with my sister, writing a couple of birthday notes, editing some more, making dinner, reading--a pleasant enough day but doesn't make for interesting blog reading.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but apparently the film director Stephen Frears lives in the penthouse above us. Someone up there plays trumpet, usually at about 8 in the morning, but tonight it was after 10 when they started and after Gord had gone to bed. They don't play too loudly nor for very long, but they do pick strange times to practice. And, no, they don't play Reveille.

Read: Eliza Lynn Linton's "My First Soiree" (1891) from London Stories