I was planning to head out to South Kensington to watch Fellini’s “La dolce vita” at Ciné Lumière last night, but—as these things will happen—I ended up, instead, in a basement room lined with Korean video tapes, and a bowl of fierce red kimchi on the laminate table. How? Oh yeah, because I LIVE la dolce vita, ha ha ha.

Elaine knows things, secret things, like storefronts that look like hole-in-the-wall grocery stores, but that hide unlicensed restaurants in their concrete undergrounds. I say “restaurant”, but I mean “two tables and a collection of plastic stools against the wall, with room for karaoke off to the side, and a view of the cook slicing pork, very thinly, in the back”. I believe her text earlier in the day had said something like: “We are going for dinner, bi bim bop for £3.50, want to join us?” Say no more.

“Us” ended up being the roommates, Elaine and Nai and Dan, and they are cute, these three, they hang out together and discuss the virtues of Thai versus Japanese rice. It’s just nice is all, when people like people.

There was a red bean ice lolly for after, and then a walk to Kings Cross—through the library, past the park, down the funny alley where we had to bow our heads under the arch, after the fish-and-chip joint on the right—a walk up toward Killick Street for Faye Wong and fancy tea in a yellow kitchen.

Thing is, I still need to watch “La dolce vita”—and Maud, I know you are right now shaking your head and saying: “You don’t know your classics!” So. I have a big white wall and a recipe for smoked haddock pie—anyone wants to bring over a projector and the DVD, you are more than welcome to do so.