On Saturday I went to the Depot (formerly the Vaults), in a small group gathered by cartesiandaemon who had recently tipped me off that it had a gluten-free submenu. This was an excellent experience, not least because it was the first meal I've eaten in a restaurant since 20061; usually the sheer hassle of finding coeliac-friendly eateries puts me off. And the Depot is also an excellent place to have your first restaurant meal in two years, because its unusual menu structure (lots of starter-size dishes, you order a lot of them and have a bit of each) meant I didn't have to dither over which of the many appetising things on the menu to select. ‘I'll have nearly all of them, please!’

Anyway. It turned out that one of the group who I didn't already know is also coeliac, and not only that but is on the committee of the local branch of the Coeliac Society. Apparently this is entirely coincidental: her other half (also present) was at university in Jack's year. Small world.

During a discussion over what wine to order, I excused myself from making detailed wine-buying decisions on the grounds that my absent sense of smell rather rules out a career as a wine expert. The abovementioned other half promptly startled me further by asking

Tim	‘Did I just hear you say you've got no sense of smell?’
simont	‘Yes, that's right.’
Tim	‘Are you therefore Simon Tatham?’
simont	<blinks several times> ‘Yes!’

thus proving that the world is even smaller, or possibly merely that I am still the Internet's most famous anosmic. (He'd encountered my FAQ on Reddit.)

1. well, unless you count having lunch in Tatties once last year, on a technicality. I don't.