Land down under: 24 hours in Sydney

I changed my schedule a couple of times while I was away, which ended up leaving me only one day in Sydney before I flew home. It was, however, a very good day.

Impossible to get them both facing the camera and smiling at the same time

After a restorative cup of tea and a piece of cake, we (friend, her partner, adorable toddlers and dog) went over the road to the park. Despite having lived around the corner from this park for a while, I've never spent much time in it - I suspect possession of toddlers and dogs encourages familiarity with local parks.

A post-park gin & tonic and a couple of phone calls later, a group of old school friends assembled at Grappa for dinner. It just wouldn't be right to spend a night in Leichhardt and not have Italian food.

I had figs stuffed with gorgonzola and wrapped in proscuitto to start. The figs weren't at their absolute best, but this is always one of my favourite combinations, with the perfect balance of sweet, salt, creamy and crunchy elements.

Then, while I marvelled at how little people change in 20 years, I had a pizza topped with olives, aubergine and 'nduja. The crust was a little tough, but the toppings were perfection. Unfortunately, a very large starter and the accumulation of several weeks of large meals left me totally unable to finish it. The staff were gracious about packing the remaining third into a box for me to take for Andy, who had stayed home with the boys so Helen and I could play.

The following morning, we had the mandatory Inner West brunch. I miss brunch. There are probably places in central London that do it well, but in the outskirts where I live, they really don't get it. I've held forth before on my feelings about brunch - it really is one of my favourite ways to eat.

Helen did a quick recce to establish whether two highchairs were an option (having twins requires an extraordinary command of logistics) before we settled into Revolver.

A little taste of Shoreditch in Sydney...

I had the Big Breakfast - feeling that fortifying myself before an onslaught of aeroplane food was a good idea. It wasn't at all what I was expecting, it was better than that. Instead of a plate of eggs, bacon and the rest of it, a black metal skillet of deliciousness arrived on a wooden board, with rye sourdough toast on the side. The beans were a little underseasoned for my taste, but everything else was very good quality and well cooked. The egg yolks were cooked through, and I couldn't help thinking how much Paul would have liked them.

A short drive across Annandale brought us to the Glebe Foreshore Park. We walked off breakfast before heading back to the house so I could pack and get an eyewateringly expensive taxi to the airport.