Double beds, Saturday Papers and the smell of gorgeous food.
I'm currently staring at the computer screen, trying not only to differentiate but choose between two fonts that I swear are exactly the same. I'm writing out price lists and signs for the food market tomorrow, and have to keep in mind the influence of my father, whose passionate feeling about fonts is quadruple mine - now that's what you call a hatred of comic sans. No, maybe I hate that more than him...
As Anna mentioned last night, I had a few problems getting home yesterday. I'm not sure how it's possible to leave Mile End at 10.30am and still miss Neighbours, but our broken down van might have something to do with it. It's like a vision of my future - mum phoned Green Flag, when it wouldn't start. Mechanic comes out, turns key in ignition, starts immediately. Mum is given the classic stupid woman look. Gets to Presteigne, stops at the bank. Van stops and won't start. So all sorts of fun - delayed and cancelled trains, extra lifts, non-phone answering...you get the picture. Anyway, it all means that I'm roused from my beautiful double bed - white and squashy and enormous- to leave for the supermarket at 9am, so that I can wait in the van with engine running (after it's been started by rolling it down the hill), while Mum shops. This is a painful experience for me - repetitive nightmares that revolve around be stuck in a moving and uncontrollable car - unable to get to the brake in time, make it slightly worrying. But all is good. It was fine. And now I have to write the price list for Saffron Breakfast Rolls, Cheesey Chelseas, Cinnamon Sticky Buns, Brownies and other pieces of yummyness, that the house will be full of by tomorrow morning, but I'm not allowed to eat. The brownies are being cooked now.....mmmmmmmmmmm chocolate cooking smells....
P.S. Two descriptions of Blair (and two reasons why everyone should listen to The Now Show)
He's an arrogant dishonest sellout looking for a legacy. What did you expect? Mother Teresa.
He's like Bernard Manning at the Guardian Christmas party.
As Anna mentioned last night, I had a few problems getting home yesterday. I'm not sure how it's possible to leave Mile End at 10.30am and still miss Neighbours, but our broken down van might have something to do with it. It's like a vision of my future - mum phoned Green Flag, when it wouldn't start. Mechanic comes out, turns key in ignition, starts immediately. Mum is given the classic stupid woman look. Gets to Presteigne, stops at the bank. Van stops and won't start. So all sorts of fun - delayed and cancelled trains, extra lifts, non-phone answering...you get the picture. Anyway, it all means that I'm roused from my beautiful double bed - white and squashy and enormous- to leave for the supermarket at 9am, so that I can wait in the van with engine running (after it's been started by rolling it down the hill), while Mum shops. This is a painful experience for me - repetitive nightmares that revolve around be stuck in a moving and uncontrollable car - unable to get to the brake in time, make it slightly worrying. But all is good. It was fine. And now I have to write the price list for Saffron Breakfast Rolls, Cheesey Chelseas, Cinnamon Sticky Buns, Brownies and other pieces of yummyness, that the house will be full of by tomorrow morning, but I'm not allowed to eat. The brownies are being cooked now.....mmmmmmmmmmm chocolate cooking smells....
P.S. Two descriptions of Blair (and two reasons why everyone should listen to The Now Show)
He's an arrogant dishonest sellout looking for a legacy. What did you expect? Mother Teresa.
He's like Bernard Manning at the Guardian Christmas party.
posted by Lucy at 11:32 am
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