09.01.06..1:04 pm
Last year Matthew and I decided to give Abel and Cole a whirl. We like our inexpensive, organic, locally grown, fairly traded, ethically delivered produce as much as the next couple, particularly the delivered part. And the inexpensive part. Each week a box (made of recycled cardboard) arrives at our door filled with a shimmering array of greens, dazzling oranges, bulbous roots of every kind. This morning Franz (possibly not his real name, but he is German and he looks like a Franz. I know it begins with an F at least because we introduced ourselves over the first delivery back in November, but my head for names isn't as good as my head for faces) delivered our box with his usual earthy smile and soft blondness. Eagerly I pulled back the cover. I 'ooo'd' at the softly purpled broccoli and 'aaaah'd' at the smooth firm plumpness of the yellow pepper. As each layer of organic goodness revealed itself my senses enthralled, they gaped and wondered, I was practically a Herbal Fucking Essences audition until ... 'oo-uugh?'
There beneath the slender stalks of celery and nubbed red onion bulbs was a bed of soil.
I looked more closely. I turned on the kitchen light. With a tentative hand I reached into the cardboard depths and pulled out a Phallic Pillar of Filth.*
I think they might be parsnips. According to the delivery slip, they ought to be. I've left them to soak in the sink I cleaned yesterday.
*I now have a broken recording of the phrase Phallic Pillars of Filth repeating in my mind dubbed over hackneyed porn beats. It's dirty.**
** How long has it been since I've used the term 'phallic', 'porn' and 'dirty' in an update? I think we were about due for one.
PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA IN MY TUMMY
A Red Wine Demon infiltrated my otherwise demure and refined demeanour last night. I awoke this morning to discover a bottle and a half had drained over night with memories of bursting into tears when Matthew Did Not Read The Recipe. Memories of looking at the utensil rack he had just electric-drilled onto the wall and wanting to shove it mercilessly down his No-no-I'll-clean-it-up-later throat.
The Red Wine Demon bested me last night and I am banishing myself to a week of cranberry juice and lukewarm tea as penance. And leftover pizza. Because nothing says "I'm sorry for making an arse of myself by overreacting and then passing out in the middle of a make-up seduction ritual" like eating leftovers.
Actually I'm feeling a good deal better than I could do because yesterday afternoon I bought a MASSIVE GREEN cutting board. My cool quotient is totally looking at me right now and going, will you please stop embarassing me like this; it's slumping low in its seat and pretending like it doesn't know me; but I don't care. This cutting board is the stuff of merciful fantasy come true. It takes up the whole of my counter and it's BRIGHT PRIMARY GREEN; it's caps lock GREEN.
Somewhere at the back of my mind I feel like I ought to apologise for wasting so many brain cells on this clearly pointless update. Somewhere else at the back of my mind I'm doing a little dance at the thought of so much GREEN.
I forgot to mention I went to see the Broken Family Band
play at the Water Rats on Friday. Mr Adams, you truly rock my world. And your girlfriend is hot in that smoldering English Rose sort of way that parts of the world don't get, but then it would be those parts of the world that think silicone means keeper. Where was I again? Broken Family Band. Ah yes. Fantastic gig. Enjoyed tremendously. Really don't see enough of them.****emmms
06.01.06..12:32 pm
Today is my Dad's birthday. He will not receive a card from me, alas! until Monday because despite purchasing a grooooovy one three days ago, I somehow managed not to post it until yesterday. I am a horrible horrible child. The sort of spawn most parents hope will grow out of such birthday irresponsibility, yet never quite manage it and thus leave them tired, drained and rather put out. My apologies dear Papa. A BOX OF BALKAN TREATS I started up at work again on Tuesday and I have to say, there's nothing quite so sweet as hearing someone else's child report that while I was on holiday they told their parents they wished I was still there because I'm more fun. Up until that point I've had a very arm-length relationship with the term 'nanny'. It is entirely a snobbery thing. I've two degrees and I've been asked to read for my Ph.D at the institution where I completed my Masters. I've written a third of a novel. I've edited a magazine and begun three others (sure only one of them is still running, but it still counts). I'm writing a market-specific vegetarian cookbook, designing a whole cabal of knitwear (not to mention a whack of conspiratorial remade pants), and researching support for my own theories of cultural indoctrination via masculinist heroism and social apathy. The whole 'nanny' thing is a choice I've made in order to allow myself the creative time and space to pursue that which actually interests me. And while I wholly support thems that do, it is NOT my chosen career path. Yet hearing Mary giggle that Arthur wished I hadn't been gone so long while his blushing cheeks glowed a beacon into the dimming twilight, I had a momuntary glimmer of acceptance. I don't like the term, but I kind of dig the definition. Plus I got to take home a bag of Christmas goodies INCLUDING a Moulinex rotary grater
ENUMERATION, THE FINEST TOOL OF LAZY LISTING
1. Yesterday I went to the Building Exploratory (located on the top floor of Queensland Primary on Albion Drive near London Fields), a peculiar faux-museum that documents the history of London as a settlement exploring prehistoric huts thru the laying of Victorian water pipes. It satisfied my acheological yearnings beyond comprehension. There's a huge puzzle-map of London featured as well as various census maps dating back to the 1600s and a comprehensive colour-coded map of where Hackney got hit during World War II complete with recovery photos. I highly recommend it should you have a spare couple of hours one Thursday afternoon.
2. Yesterday evening Matthew and I went over to my Nan's for dinner. My Aunt is still in Italy which meant that it was delicious beans on toast rather than limpid blandness and macaroni-and-cheese-in-a-box. As Matthew noted after we left, Nan's a developed beautifully in her old age into a force-feeding hobbit creature. But with tiny feet and less hair.
3. Yesterday night Matthew and I took in Paris Motel at the Garage. As I have come to epect, they were beautiful, inquisitive and melodic. I wish more bands were like them. I chatted a bit with Amy May afterwards and she seemed genuinely excited about my plans to begin a Stoke Newington based knitting circle/arts forum wherein a group of otherwise strangers club together to doodle, knit and make music all in the name of creating a space of harmony in the midst of the Big Smoke. (Is London the Big Smoke, or is that New York? Perhaps the Big Pea Soup then.)
4. This morning at four minutes gone midnight Matthew downloaded a programme that permitted our illicit viewing of the final episode of Lost. Man, that was great! I couldn't sleep for hearing clanking 'security systems' and ...things. I want to, but my anti-spoiler chip won't let me. It's pretty awesome though, best episode of the season to date.
5. Today I've not got out of my Fuzzy Bunny Pink Pants and Dressing Gown combo and I've toodled on the internet rather than eat. I may faint. Also really need to redeem my status and give Dear Father a shout before he realises what a horrid daughter he's got.
****emmms
04.01.06..12:52 pm
The culinary genius that is my dearheart made a beany casserole for dinner last night while I lazed in front of television without pity and scoffed at Kate in Lost. Matthew's boss kindly made us a DVD of the last two episodes in the season (because he's piratic that way) and wouldn't you know it refused to work. Not in the Matthew's play'station, not in my laptop. So it turns out we're just going to have to watch it with everyone else. Dang.
Mind you, Matthew did get to use the new kitchen timer that my Nan bought him for Christmas. I got an Aries astrology book. As token gifts go -- she also sent on money for our trip to New York* -- I'm not sure what token of what they say. Something along the lines of "Yo Matthew! Git yo ass in the kitchen an' rustle me up sumfink fiiiiiine!" and "Emmms, honey, you clearly need help." I'm only guessing here.
The thing with the timer is at once rather lovely (who doesn't love a lovely ass in the kitchen?) and a bit sad. Our old kitchen timers, the Pig and the Cow, it seems will no be sent out to pasture. They were completely ineffectual. Neither had bells with which to ding! in the readiness of foodstuffs, often leading to the burning of said foodstuffs; their timing skills are relegated more to a vague fading sigh of the clock. The new timer has a purt TING! and a shiny chrome surface complete with plasticated ice cubes and a champagne bottle that ticks softly around. The Pig and the Cow are old pastic moulds. The Cow looks ever bemused, but the Pig, with his soft eyes and relaxed ears, seems to say, "Hey there, fella. Don't worry 'bout yer cookin' cuz I got it covered!" in a sort of Cleveland from Family Guy kind of laid back way. But I rather enjoyed their presence. Even if the Pig does look more like he's humping the grass than waddling in it. (Really must post a picture of that, because you can't see him. Or can you.)
****emmms
03.01.06..11:46 pm
[Matthew enters holding four pack of Reece's Pieces]
Matthew [coyly]: Would you like one?
emmms [even more coyly]: There's something even better in the cupboard, if you want..[winks]
[Matthew walks off towards the kitchen wondering: condoms? herion? kermit the frog?]
[Matthew enters holding bar of Green and Blacks Hazelnut, Almond and Brazilnut and a cup of coffee. Grins maniacally.]
Matthew: OooooOOOOoooo!
emmms: Hehehe [oooooh yeeeeeah!]
Matthew [flopping on couch next to Me]: I love you, bunny.
emmms: Because of the chocolate?
Matthew: Yes! [Catches look on emmms' face] ...And other stuff?
[emmms sighs and takes piece of chocolate. Man, that's some fine chocolate.]
prev ~ nexthello and goodbye - 16.02.07
like lightning in the morning - 19.06.06
knob-end loser - 12.06.06
don't get the wine part I - 10.06.06
a blurb is a blurb is a blurb - 07.06.06