Wednesday 17th June 2020
Cooking disaster. The kind where you have so little of a life having been kept indoors for 3 months it’s a life changing event. One in which you’ll launch on a public tirade, life in tatters.
Lidl. Big expensive pasta of their ‘Luxury’ range. It said put it to simmer for 8 minutes, when it actually needed 4x more to even reach Al Dente. A spent a good 45 minutes preparing the sauce and mince, only to have the dish ruined when we bit in, the inside of every giant shell dry, white and uncooked.
I envisaged writing a sternly written letter from Tunbridge Wells, calling them cvnts. Launching on Twitter to worldwide acclaim and letters of support, possibly youtube, filming the unbroiled results like a product unboxing.
After zapping it for 3 x 2 minutes to no avail, had to clean each shell and dunk it back into the pan. Spilled boiling water over my foot while doing so and swearing the house down. FML.
In the letter I’ll big it up that I was throwing a dinner party, possibly an ambassador’s ball. And sign off as a Viscount.
Such is life right now, any small bump becomes horizon-levelling. The trip out to get the damn thing was as bleary and unconscious as any trip to the supermarket is these days -after a run of socialising almost every day this week it’s quite a letdown, the weather. Stormy and insipid in equal measure but wet throughout. Cancelled my future engagements (another haircut for a friend and a meet up in Battersea park), and have resided into doing more of the same.
Slowly, surely I’ve reached my limit with news sites and forums. This a good thing, social media also now off the list. This leaves movies and reading as more productive distractions, though the phone has perked up, having been neglected for so long. It is as if you kill off one vice and another replaces it, waiting in the wings all this time.
Should just go cold turkey and stare at a wall, take up all those enlightening things such as meditation, yoga, exercise, learning something, cooking from a cookbook. But it all seems so far-fetched and these days it’s all about the cold hand of realism. I’m thinking of skipping. Downstairs, in some hidden corner, and putting the damn rope to use for the first time in 5 years since I bought it. I wonder if I’ll look like a tit. Maybe 4am, in disguise like a mummer, or mugger.
But seriously, as if. Another day, hey.