Hey, guess what!  I got through my 2 no money days and can now live normally, almost. And since I didn't eat anything to speak of on Friday (3 Pringles?), I could, in theory, devote my 18 pence on Saturday to the ceaseless pursuit of fine dining . 

However, I needed a bottle of water for the gym (free pass!), so decided to ride out the day fueled only by The Last Egg. Then  -- part of a constant self-testing effort en route to the pinnacle of human perfection (and laughing at the torments of proximity to food) --  I headed in the afternoon toward the harvest festival on Southwark Bridge. 

Now, it's not why I went, but I did think maybe there'd be samples of things to enjoy. And, in fact, a bunch of people were carrying around fruit, seemingly with intent. But when I made eye contact with one of them, she seemed put off and confused. So, I had to make do with the children's amusements and the ambient, increasingly intense, food smells.

And you know, it was okay.

'Cause food smells nice.

But suddenly, there was a whole table length of samples -- pita and various Eastern toppings.  Then chicken.  And cider. And plump, red grapes.

And, uh, you know, I think maybe I'm getting fat.