(no subject)
The problem with doing all your cooking for yourself is that, well, the only thing you have to eat is your own cookery.
Which, when you're a bachelor of the 1940s, can get pretty monotonous.
Edmund has therefore ventured into the bar again, for the first time in a while. He's ensconced at a table in the corner, with an empty plate that a short time ago contained some truly lovely beef and peas and potatoes, and is feeling much happier because of it.
He was somewhat tempted to return to his room after he finished it. But he's sticking around for at least a while instead, while he decides if he wants to indulge in dessert too.
In the meantime, the sketchbook and pencils have come out.
Which, when you're a bachelor of the 1940s, can get pretty monotonous.
Edmund has therefore ventured into the bar again, for the first time in a while. He's ensconced at a table in the corner, with an empty plate that a short time ago contained some truly lovely beef and peas and potatoes, and is feeling much happier because of it.
He was somewhat tempted to return to his room after he finished it. But he's sticking around for at least a while instead, while he decides if he wants to indulge in dessert too.
In the meantime, the sketchbook and pencils have come out.