My parents have decided to join me on my way into London before I’m off to see Weird Al Yankovic. Fair enough. We visit the giant Waterstones in Piccadilly, one of my favourite places, and then in the interests of expediency, have dinner at the Spaghetti House next to the Palladium, where I’m seeing the aforementioned artist. It’s weird to consider, at one time, as a younger child, The Spaghetti House - through sheer nostalgia and lack of other exposure - was a bastion of good, hearty Italian food, taken there on the very special occasions. How disappointing, then, to have realised over the last few years that it’s just… fine? It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just not massively interesting. The pizza base is not quite done properly, overloaded with oregano, and a cheese that is more texture than flavour. And to pay more in London for that than infinitely pizza most places in Bristol just hits hard. The dessert, a lemon tart, has undercooked pastry and just in some way feels like the ultimate representation of a lack of love or care. That being said, Matt Lucas was at the table opposite and I had to stop Dad from taking a covert photo, so the night wasn’t a complete wash.