We had a full house late Sunday afternoon so I cooked some roast chicken with potatoes and peppers.

I had thought there were two small chickens lurking in the bottom of the freezer but having turned it over I could only find the one. I also found a couple of packets of Gubbeen bacon that must have slipped down the side when I put them in last summer.

We had the one small chicken together with a second I picked up from the supermarket.

Before cooking them I put them through a marinade of olive oil, onion, Aleppo chilli powder, garlic and oregano.

They then went into a large pan with par boiled potatoes, quartered sweet peppers and into a hot oven for good hour.

We had them with bean salad and courgettes from the garden in lemon juice listening to Joni Mitchell.

I have spent my day walking round thinking on just how magnificent a band The Gories were last night. Here are a few thoughts:-

• they were playing downstairs in The Magnet all dim red lights and curved seating.
• there was a lot about them that sounded like the most raucous and unhinged garage band you could hope for.
• two of them played guitar and there was a drummer. She wore sunglasses as did one of the guitarists.
• he was Mick Collins and had some difficulty in getting through the gig without the top of his head hitting the ceiling.
• they were sugar shit sharp.
• I don’t know who works in Probe but they were all there last night.
• it was the closest I have been for 20 years to stepping into the mosh pit. The last time I had done that was watching Rocket from the Crypt.
• I would quite happily have stood there another hour or so to watch them doing it all over again.
• for a while the man stood in front of me developed a blue halo over his bald patch.

If you have an hour to kill at Euston Station you could pick up a sandwich from Pret a Manger and then spend your time developing a cricked neck watching the billboard and waiting for the sign for the Liverpool train to creep up the queue and then wait for the mad rush as the platform number comes up.

Alternatively you could find activities to keep you busy until such time you can saunter into the station to find that the crowds have gone and followed the platform number and all that is left for you to do is hope you haven’t left it so late to get down there and find you have missed your train.

The activities are twofold.

Make your way out of the station and turn left up and stat to make your way up Eversholt Street and almost immediately on the right hand hand side you will see a street called Doric Way. Make your way along and on the left there is a second hand sign for a Chinese takeaway that has long since left. It has been replaced by The Roti King. Home of the best roti in London.

The fun starts with the queue. There is an hour to kill which should be plenty of time. But will it be time enough for the queue to turn round so you find yourself sat on a table. At lunchtime today the turn around across the the 30 or so seats inside meant the queue wasn’t much longer than 10 minutes.

That meant that once sat down with a fork, spoon and napkin and perfunctory menu there was time enough to put in a quick order of Roti with chicken curry.

A Roti is a sort of cross breed between a nam bread and pancake – a billowy buttered dough cooked on a hot griddle and perfect for dunking.

I was wearing a clean white shirt and for though it all with no stains.

Having been consumed I was left with a dilemma over the second option. Would the twenty or so minutes I had left before my train give me time for a quick pint in The Euston Tap?

The question was of course answered with a resounding “yes”, so I made my way over and tucked myself over into a pint of something cloudy and fruity from Bristol.

I then embarked on a first in The Euston Tap which was to make my way up to the loos. These are on the first floor up a tight metal spiral staircase. Upstairs there was a whole new room I had never been in before with the the facilities to one side. As I stood there it was slightly disconcerting to find that the first floor appeared to have been constructed with some sort of sprung floor which gave off the vague impression of being stood in the heads of a rolling ship.

By the time I got back into the station the platform had been called and the rush had gone. I made it to my seat on the train with at least five minutes to spare.