The menu isn’t all fish, but as it’s the speciality what else would you want to eat? I like their mission statement “We aim to serve top quality fish, caught in British waters without too much fuss… food is to be eaten not photographed”. A a brief glance at the interweb blogs proves that this latter gentle admonition hasn’t stopped a succession of food twitchers levelling their Canons at the Poissons all the same.

I think what really made the Kasturi experience one to be repeated was the fact that whilst we hoovered our way through a fair amount of excellent food we didn’t feel in any way stuffed.

Today with MPs of all sides little more than jellies in suits, frightened to say boo to a goose and only interested in their puerile careers and a knighthood, The Gay Hussar is host to a dwindling band of the old crowd. Most are, thankfully, no longer sexually active and many have to swallow a cocktails of pills before eating anything to counter their various ailments. Some don’t even drink any more.

The Orrery delivers a proper French assault on the black truffle and comes away the winner. Whether you prefer being truffled up their way or the Italian way is a matter of personal preference, but the price is right and the offer of a vegetarian truffle tasting menu is pretty unique. Chef Igor is looking to get Orrery’s Michelin Star back and with this kind of classic Inspector-pleasing cooking he should have a good chance.

The Barbacoa lamb is reason enough to go to Benito’s Hat, but the rest of the menu, all freshly prepared, is a big draw too. There’s a good cocktail list, a relaxed atmosphere and in the fantastic Tres Leche dessert, a pudding that could, with a bit more presentation fluffery, meet the demands of the Michelin inspectors.

The parade of shops around Odette’s sell ‘nice things’ to people with not a lot else to do during the day, although rather bizarrely there is also a bookies. Presumably they’re all in there betting on the Man Booker prize and not the 3:30 at Chepstow. ‘That Howard Jacobson loves it when the going gets rough, needs a taste of the whip though’.

Having a cracking restaurant within a short car journey when you’re away from home is handier than a pocket on a shirt. That’s precisely what I have when my path leads me back to Aberystwyth. A short drive along a coastal road and you arrive in the seaside town of Aberaeron, once one of the main trading ports along the Cardigan Bay coast.

Before the burger became fashionable and big steaks become big draws, you only had one choice for a for a fix of American easy-eating. The Hard Rock Cafe. Joanna Biddolph fails to find her flared jeans to wear for the occasion but otherwise enjoys travelling back to the 70’s for a plateful of nostalgia.

Elena’s L’Etoile, with its bistro charm, kicks out naughty frills and Frenchness like the can-can. Its eclectic and Art Deco decoration includes random brass wall inlays and two stained glass windows inserted in the ceiling. Pictures of actors and slebs – not all visitors – plaster the tobacco-coloured walls. Diners are respectable, good-humoured, full of bonhomie.

If only I could get into my loft – piled high from the entrance to the back – to dig out diaries from my late teens and early 20s. Did I first go to the Hard Rock Café between school and travelling or after I got back from my not quite two year north American trip?