25 April 2010

I lost my voice last night. Which is fine, mostly. Until I find myself listening to Hole and wanting to sing along in an angry shouty fashion and I can't. I can merely internalise it.

Argh, it's torture. She's screaming; I'm screaming on the inside. It's enough to make you burst. I'm hopeful that the next song on the playlist is a quiet one.

I've got whisper capabilities but I think I'll avoid all forms of voice communication today. I have a meeting tomorrow at which I'd prefer not to sit in the corner quietly.

Last night, I went to Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes. I actually think that it is too cheesy for me. And, I'm generally a fan of cheese. But, this was on another level.

Speaking of cheese, I've threatened Andy that I'll sneak into his apartment and put stilton under his pillow and leave a note in his fridge to advise "the cheese is under the pillow". We were discussing ways in which we could repel each other so much that the friendship wouldn't be able to stand it. It's an impossibility - the friendship will even outlast clandestine stilton antics. That's love.

Nick is making a spaghetti bolognese this weekend. It's taken him quite a few hours already. He took a break to go to the Bowling Lanes and now he's back at it. It's at least another six hours apparently. I've had a craving for it for weeks. I even picked up one of those meal for one spag bols at Waitrose, but my conscience got the better of me and I put it down again. I've really gotten funny about animal products...

But, my lentil salad is just a dream, so...

Why is this spag bol taking so long? It's Heston's recipe - you know, Mr Science-meets-food. I threatened to make a regular bolognese in order to compare. I wonder if Heston's really outdoes Mother's bol in twenty minutes?

Hopefully, after a little bowl of bol, I'll have quenched this little craving and I can move onto the next one, which incidentally is fish. Having mentioned this, it seems that I can look forward to a fish stew replete with chorizo. It's a charmed life, living with an experimental chef.

There's nothing else. I'm supposed to have just arrived back in London from Las Vegas. Lover sent me a charming and lascivious photo of himself reclining in what was to be our hotel in the City of Lights. It's okay, I've come to terms with it. I hope he avoids the tornadoes in the South as he heads across the country. His journey is truly beset by nature's adversity. Between ash clouds and floods and being airlifted out of Machu Pichu, it really does seem as if something is throwing obstacles in his path. But, as I follow certain gnostic tendencies, obstacles are what bring us closer an understanding of the whole. He's leaping towards the zenith in great bounds.

And, as much as could go on, tangentially because I have no further news, I'm starved for breakfast and I've just cleaned up the juicer. I have a brilliant array of vegetables, including my favourite vegetable of all time - beetroot! Oh how I love thee!

Have a juice-tastic day! I know I will.