Don’t be fooled by the title. The Carpenters are my Kryptonite, brought about by a 2 year stint working at a local garden centre where their Greatest Hits was on perpetual repeat for pretty much the whole time. 24/7. You’ve not known purgatory, pure abject emotional abuse, until you’ve heard Karen Carpenter oooze through “whoah yes wait a minute Mr Postman, way ay ay ait Mr Postman” 58 times a day. *Takes a moment to breathe slowly in and out of a brown paper bag…..
Given it’s rainy and indeed Thursday I thought, that’s an imaginative title.
Instagram Mourning – phase 2. Distraction.
After e-mailing the photo of my random mugshot to Instagram, I have had no further correspondence with whatever automated thingy is reviewing my case. I check my e-mails periodically, but the need to log in hourly, just to make sure it’s still down, has dissipated somewhat.
It’s disgusting outside. Sideways rain, windy, grey and cold. The cats have been asleep in the hall next to the radiator in their bed since 9.00am, they’ve barely moved. They were not on the doorstep as usual this morning so I meowed loudly out of the kitchen window and within a couple of seconds I heard a distant reply, closely followed by Figaro standing on our garden table meowing her head off. They keep appearing in the kitchen for a drink of the dogs water, but on the whole the dogs are pretty much indifferent now. Sheldon will lick Figaro to the point that she goes spiky and slightly crispy (with a faint smell of lobster pots). It’s just normal life here now, they’ll meow again when they want to go back outside, but looking at the weather it seems unlikely for a while.
I’ve turned my attention to cooking as I usually do, when my brain is addled. Home made leek and potato soup with creme fraiche for lunch made with stock I made from last weekends chicken carcass.
I’ve roasted some chicken thighs ready to mix with a lemon piccata sauce with white wine and capers for dinner.
Focaccia dough is on its first rise by the fire.
I’ve lit all the candles on the mantelpiece, the lamps are all on because the light is dingy. I’m contented and cosy with some gentle creating and a house full of animals. It’s second nature to reach for my phone to snap the various stages of what I’m doing for my Insta stories. It’s quite liberating being in the moment a bit more, although I have taken some bits of video to play with for Youtube. It’s very hard to be sad. So less people are seeing what I’m doing at the moment than I’m used to. It doesn’t change what I write, how I write it, or my need to write it. My journalling has moved from visual to written, that’s all.
About 45 minutes until focaccia needs fettling now, its an olive and basil affair, courtesy of Paul Hollywood, mainly because I cannot be bothered to go and cut fresh rosemary from outside in this rain.