- I like to eat. Well, that must be obvious given my girth these days. I love nursery food because my childhood was such a happy time. I love cream. I like to drink a complete cup of cream. Hmm, smacking my lips just thinking about it. I like to eat out in good restaurants, tucked away. I don't like to eat in public places - I find the recognition excruciating. People think nothing of interrupting one in the middle of a good Dover sole. Cold fish is so unappetising. My favourite meal now is breakfast in bed, preferably brought to me on a cloth covered tray by Max. A soft boiled egg, with good bread toasted, butter and strawberry jam. A large pot of tea. The newspapers. Sat up wedged against a wadding of plump pillows. Wearing the knitted bedjacket my mother made for me. Food was difficult while camping at the dig in the middle east, although we took with us all of the necessary paraphernalia to eat formally. Soup tureens, toast racks, sauce boats - you should see the list. One of the benefits of travelling on the Orient Express is that one doesn't have to travel light. It took a while to train our native chef to make custard and roast dinners. He never got the hang of roast potatoes.
The above was written as though Mrs Mallowan was talking in the first person about food. An exercise for a screenwriting course.
