Yes, a happyish, cloud-touched, windblown arrival surrounded the aforementioned bread cadging. Here in Hammersmith was a place a man could cadge figs in.
This was a Cadger’s Paradise (apologies to Cadgio).
And soon sleep came, as it does to all men who have a friend who owns a couch. Then, of course, wakedness. And then the question a man with a show next Monday night needs to hear on Tuesday morning.
“Where will you be staying when I go to visit my family next Monday, early morn?”