Dear reader, it’s been one of those weeks where many things Go Wrong. We all have them, I’ve just had one, tomorrow is the start of a new week and I hope it’s going to be better. The Exciting Venture didn’t take place (turns out that advertising is a useful thing outside of London, due to word of mouth not being so prevalent around these ‘ere parts, ooh-arr), Barney injured himself somehow and my grieving process appears to be a very physical one – without wanting to sound self-pitying, dear reader, lots of bits of me hurt. There was also the incident of, having baked the chocolate-lime cake, picking it up in order to move it to a nice plate and dropping the entire thing on the floor. I have learned two valuable things from this: first, that certain fingers will sublux under the weight of a cake; second, that cake makes quite a decent dust-remover. Still, dear reader, the world continues to turn and I’ve got a slice of chocolate-salted caramel birthday cake. Let’s talk about food and writing.
Dear reader, it’s been quite a week – I’ve mostly been writing and sleeping, then nipping down to London for a school reunion and the early birthday present of seeing Whose Line is it Anyway? at the Adelphi (which was fantastic). I am, I’m afraid, very tired and I seem to have done my back in… again. A rib and a shoulder blade seem to have joined together to form a coalition – the rib was quite effective earlier, but it’s been overtaken by the shoulder blade, which is doing all it can to prevent me from writing today’s post. I’ve called the shoulder blade Dave. Anyway, dear reader, enough of that and onwards to cacti, culinary calamities and cake.
Dear reader, I am back. I am, somewhat astonishingly, still in one piece. It’s a month since my mother died and I don’t yet quite feel up to rambling about recipes, cacti or wearing glasses in a swimming pool – those can be saved for next week. Before I go into the main theme of this post, I would like to direct your attention to this article on The Mary Sue, which deals with my misguided thoughts on Scarlet Widow calling herself a monster. As a friend very kindly and patiently explained to me, it’s a legitimate thing for the character to say. I have very little else to add on the whole thing, although I do of course apologise for any offence caused. I don’t really have much in the way of spare brain-space for a complex bimbling around of thoughts, if I’m honest (which I strive to be).
That leads me on to the main theme of today: the small facts of death (title borrowed from Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and then fiddled about with by me). If you don’t feel up to reading it, don’t worry, dear reader – I’ll be back to normal service next week.