I am absolutely charmed by the
fact that my new blog about Skittles has had over three hundred page views
since I advertised it, but no individual blog reads. This indicates that
everyone clicked on the link, looked with disbelief that a workaholic on the
brink of a nervous breakdown had time for such idiocy and stepped away. That is
exactly the reaction I was looking for and nobody let me down by giving it
anything more than studied ignorance. I know that the Skittles blog is much
more of a Tumblr thing, but I can’t make head nor tail of it and have added it
to the list of Internet related things that I am not a part of.
We had an early night last
night, if you know what I mean. If you don’t know what I mean, what I mean is
that at the end of an exhausting week we drank a lot of wine with a big stodgy
dinner and that made us too tired to do anything other than fall asleep. It
happens from time to time, although if I went back and told my teenage self
that one day there would come a day when you didn’t want sexual intercourse due
to tiredness he would be devastated.
It was one o’clock this
afternoon before I woke up, Mandi had been up since twelve and as it was a
rainy day neither of us particularly felt like going into town. It was Goose
Fair last week so we didn’t go to town for breakfast, and this week it became
two weekends in a row that the quest for the perfect fry-up was forgotten.
Actually, it worked to my advantage because it gave me the chance to cook
breakfast, something that I really love doing but rarely get the chance to do. I
made my potato thing; cubed potatoes, mushrooms and sliced up bacon all fried
together in a big frying pan, add rosemary to flavour, and serve with a fried
egg on top washed down with two mugs of tea. In an alternative universe I own a café and today a writer and
radio presenter came in for one of my breakfast specialties and wrote about how
wonderful it was in his blog. The idea of doing a little video series of
breakfast recipes is one that I keep coming back to and then forgetting about
again. Saturday is the ideal day to indulge in the bigger breakfast as it keeps
you going all day while you go shopping, to the football, the cinema, the pub,
or whatever else it is that you choose to do on a Saturday.
What we chose to do was absolutely
nothing. At half past one BBC2 showed a compilation of songs by Fred Astaire
and Ginger Rogers, which I sang along to while cooking breakfast. This was
followed by Carefree, a screwball comedy again
starring Fred and Ginger, and according to the on-screen menu, this was to be
followed by South Pacific. When Carefree
ended I quickly washed up the breakfast pots, wiped down the kitchen surfaces,
put the kettle on, popped outside for a cigarette, and we were both on the sofa
as South Pacific was starting. Unfortunately, I hadn’t bothered to check the
information on the screen, so what we ended up in front of was a documentary
about the south pacific.
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