Saturday started with a tentative fast,
just in case. We had enquired about saying yes to an invitation to eat with friends
on Saturday evening, so it was only going to be until we got a definite answer
to that. If the answer was no, our fast day would be Saturday. 
If yes, we’d eat
lunch on the back of the answer, letting moderation leave space for a yoga
practice, and then have dinner later.
This latter was the case, and oh my fuck,
what feasting we did! We arrived with ‘failed’ Sivananda cookies – I’d got the
recipe off the internet and not done quite so well on remembering that instead
of measuring things in grams (there are no scales), I’d chosen cups. Not sure
the oil quantities fit the same in cups as dry stuff. They were definitely oily
biscuits. Tasty biscuits, but oily ones.
Between us, we made a pesto pasta, a
bits-laden, tasty salad, a fabulous courgette-red pepper concoction, garlic
lemon mushrooms and bruschetta, all served with pine nuts and cheese. After a
tour of the impressively-altered house, we followed up with cinnamony tortilla
chips, Rosanne’s fruit salsa, creamy yoghurt delight and said drooping Sivananda
cookie flapjack-like things. 
Fuck! We ALL ate more than any person needs to eat
in that amount of time. We just didn’t seem to be able to stop! Nicolò led the
battle against moderate eating, surging ahead with plate after plate, mouthful
after mouthful. Luc was defiant and victorious, though. After we’d all declared
ourselves spent and fit to burst, he was to be seen licking out the yoghurt
bowl. It’s not often, thankfully, that we eat like that. Once in a while, it’s
okay, and it was all good, fresh food, in lovely company.
Never has fasting seemed so tempting. Roll through the night, roll on morning.
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