A low key day all in all. I started by waking up, ate a bowl of cereal and frankly was back in bed by 2PM. This is a weird side effect that I haven't had cause to mention before - I love cereal. You remember I spent hours in the cereal aisle at Wal-Mart the first time I went to the States? It was pretty much food porn of the highest order. Back when I was a teenager, I'd get the biggest bowl I could find, and combine three or four types of cereal, with milk, broken up chocolate biscuits, actual chocolate (preferably dark), bananas, and mount the whole thing with cream. That was breakfast. And possibly (during my unemployed years) lunch too. I was essentially building my own slutty dessert, with a cereal base. In fact, I did the same with ice-cream, come to think of it - did I mention it takes dedication to end up looking like me?
Anyway, these days, I still love cereal, but it kills me. Almost literally - knocks me on my ass and makes me sleep for hours. This morning was the first time I've eaten cereal in weeks. I poured some Shreddies into a bowl, thought it might kill me, and put several gallumphing handfuls back. Thought I was safe...but so much for that. Snored my ass off for several hours.
Woke up, and neither of us could go anywhere until Argos had delivered a...erm...a device, for trying to tame our garden. I haven't taken it out of the box, or even looked at it yet, but I'm told it will help kill the Triffids that have strangleed the roses, eaten the fence, and, I'm fairly convinced, killed the fish in the pond while we were away.
So, the whole idea of having an active, gardening day dribbled away into a pleasant but sluglike afternoon of sitting on my ass, watching movies and cooking shows. Hard life, innit?
Now, it's important at this point that I mention that d is sick. My darling girl has more strengths than a hundred ordinary people (not least her patience, cos she puts up with me!), but she also, bless her, has sinuses that might as well be made of nettles and lungs made of rice paper. That means that a single nostril of dust...or cheap perfume...or pretty much anything weird...can take her from coughing to a sore throat to a full-blown snotfest sinus infection in about an hour. That happened to her Thursday, and she's still immersed in mucus. That means she's not keen on cooking anything, which is entirely fair enough.
The only problem with that is that...well, not to put too fine a point on it, our kitchen hates me. It didn't used to hate me, in all fairness, but over the last few years, we've got a new oven, and I think it's turned the rest of the room bitter. Quite apart from the fact that getting anything off the shelves or out of the cupboard is like something from Mission: Impossible, so things fall on me and snap at my legs if I go near them, there's the oven that, I swear, is numbered in Aramaic and appears to have three levels of 'on'ness, which surely can't be right.
Anyhow, that, and the fact that the only people I've ever cooked for are...well, me, and you've got a sample of my palete in the cereal-fest described above, and my wife has a genuine palette and culinary standards, means I don't cook. So...when d is poorly, we order in. Last night, I skated close to the wind with a small cheese and tomato pizza, and tonight, it was chicken curry and rice from a local Chinese. I scarfed my way through it, and had already finished when d said "Wow...you've eaten the fortune cookie too?"
I hadn't thought about it, but yeah, I'd scarfed my way through the crisp little biscuit-thing too.
"Oh," I said. "Bugger..."
At which point I made a rational executive decision, not remotely based on the fact that the last sweet flecks of cookie were on my lower lip at the time.
"Oh well," I said. "I've never counted them as sweet things before...not starting now".
Still...it feels like something that might come back to haunt me on Tuesday morning. Any thoughts, anyone? Fortune Cookies - passable, or utterly evil, for the seeker after slenderness?
So all in all, a gloriously indulgent but dangerously calorific kind of day. Back on the bike for another ten miles, I guess...
No comments:
Post a Comment