Today ...

I watched this stunning documentary about The Art of Cornwall.

Was surprised, walking through Chinatown, to see that the birthplace of John Dryden is now a Chinese supermarket. Never noticed that before.

Wondered if I'd like Bubble Tea.

Which I've never heard of before.

But went for coffee and flapjack instead. I wasn't feeling adventurous.

Certainly not adventurous enough to fancy tea with chewy tapioca balls. (I haven't had tapioca since I was at school.)

But there were lots of people in the shop.

So maybe it's a sign of middleage not to be tempted?

'Nothing in common, oh no! nothing except a drinking shell and a fire and the boat we built together. He used my vest for a fishing net, and I used his braces when my knicker elastic gave. It doesn't seem awfully odd to me to ask a man to stay when he's caught a fish in your vest.'

From Miss Ranskill Comes Home.

As every lady knows, you should never go out in decrepit knickers in case you get shipwrecked.

Miss Ranskill, I'm pleased to say, was wearing two pairs of sensible ones when she toppled overboard, reaching for her hat.

I think I'm going to enjoy this one ...

I wonder if I should start wearing vests? Just in case?

I've never been pursued through a library before.

But when the other woman caught up with me, she said that my armful of grey books had caught her eye. (There were rich pickings this afternoon in a library that I don't visit all that often.)

So we had a pleasant chat about Persephones.

And she said she hadn't read any of the titles that I'd chosen but had lots more at home.

(Luckily, she said she didn't feel in the mood for the ones that I'd chosen.

Because I was being a bit greedy.)

So I recommended The Fortnight in September. Which was still on the shelf.

And tonight I turned on my central heating and buried myself in The Home-Maker.

Dinner was slightly over-cooked because I lost track of the time.

And now it's midnight. And I still haven't done the dishes.

But I have read How To Run Your Home Without Help.

I don't often write negative reviews, not out of kindness but if I haven't enjoyed a book I'm usually too bored to be bothered writing about it.

But this was so bad that I finished it simply to see how much worse it could get.

If I were teaching a creative writing course, I'd use it as a textbook.

Of everything that a first-time novelist could do wrong.

How on earth did it get on last year's Orange Prize longlist?

There was chocolate cake here.

And orange and lavender here.

Maple syrup and parsnip cake (come on, you've got to try everything once) wasn't as good as it sounded and next time I'll stick to my favourite lemony polenta.

The courgette and lime cake in the garden here was memorably good.

Although pistachio and lemon cake at La Fromagerie is unarguably the best cake in town.

And you can't say that I haven't taken a wide sample.

Do you think I could take this up professionally?

Or offer conducted tours around

The calories of London?

On my way home tonight, I stopped off at the National Portrait Gallery to see this fascinating exhibition of ballet photographs by Bassano.

There were dancers I recognised... Tamara Karsavina, Lydia Lopokova, Adeline Genée,

And this is Anna Pavlova, looking so elegant - but aren't her feet enormous!

And there was Ninette de Valois, looking very perky in froufrou frills in 1920. I saw her once receiving a standing ovation at the Royal Opera House when she looked very grand and dignified and not at all froufrou.

But I was most attracted by the dancers I'd never of heard of at all.

Like Phyllis Bedells, in her costume as an Ice Cream Girl, who made her debut as the first oyster in Alice in Wonderland.

And beautiful Maud Allan whose career was ruined when it emerged that her brother was a murderer. (No phone-tapping allegations, though.)

There was baby ballerina Elise Craven who curled her hair in ringlets and made her debut, aged 10, in something called Pinkie and the Fairies.

And one of my favourites, Hilda Boot from Nottingham who became Hilda Butsova (but still didn't get her teeth fixed.)

Wonderful photographs and you can see every detail of lace and fripperies. And I do love exhibitions that are exactly the right size for a drop-in visit.

Much as I'd love to make a Grand Tour of every exhibition that catches my eye, somehow it never seems to happen.

So having missed the Robin and Lucienne Day exhibition at Pallant House - I've never been to Pallant House and one day I really must - imagine how pleased I was to discover that now it's on here.

(And it's free to get in.)

Unfortunately, there isn't a shop.

Because I'd love to have a Lucienne Day tea-towel, far too good to wipe dishes with, of course.

I wonder what they cost originally.

And how much they'd fetch now.

Anybody else think that Orla Kiely owes a big debt to Lucienne's designs?