A sea view

This week the newspapers told us much more than we wanted to know about a whole range of topics: we have been hammered with seven-page Pope Specials, eight-page Election Specials and whole-page obituaries for the Fairy-Tale Prince With a Moustache; we felt we needed some relaxation before we were hit with ten-page Pull-Out Colour Wedding Supplements at the weekend.

So we took a very brief holiday on an island off the south coast. We visited my extraordinary sister, who has just decided at 84 to retire – prematurely, in the view of her disciples – and then we spent a couple of days in a tiny seaside town at its eponymous small hotel, which has a well-deserved reputation for high standards of food and service.

At breakfast, after dealing summarily with the usual juice-yogurt-grapefruit-cereal business, we were presented with an embarrassment of riches. I rather fancied the Full English since it included black pudding, of which I am inordinately fond; on the other hand my fingerspitzengefühl told me that the kippers were of outstanding quality.

But the problem was solved for me in a flash: “Why don’t you” said the breakfast waitress, “have a kipper with a slice of black pudding?”
Now that’s what I call real thoughtfulness, and of course I accepted the suggestion with alacrity.

In all honesty, I cannot claim to have discovered a sensational new gastronomic pairing to rival ham and eggs, or rhubarb and custard, or sauerkraut and ice cream. But it was very nice, and I shall have it again.