Nothing but praise for BT, really.  The young (he looked about 14, but I’m sure he wasn’t) man spent a couple of hours tracking down the fault and putting it right, I’ve just had a call back to make sure we’re satisfied and they’ll keep the case open for another five days so that we get a prompt follow-up if necessary.  Calls to help centres, which are free, were answered by people who, whether in this country or in India, were not talking from checklists.  And there are lots of places to get free wifi on my phone, which is useful now I’ve got limited data included in my mobile package.

I’m so tired today, not sure why.  I slept unusually well for a couple of nights and then was back to normal for the next two, so maybe that’s the reason, or maybe it’s the return of cold, wet weather.  It started as a dull day in any case, we stayed in all morning because of the BT lad, then I had to drive the Sage over to Lowestoft and it was only after we arrived home that things perked up, because Al and co arrived and I cooked their tea.  Pugsley is a slightly fussy eater, though much better than he was at one time, but I hit the spot.  With little time in hand, I made chicken nuggets (made, not bought, obv, darlings) and served them with sausages, cucumber and, ahem, mini Cheddars.  Look, they’re not junk food, they contain real cheese.  And they had ketchup too, which is full of goodness.  Full.  Besides, then they had strawberries (local strawbs, of course) and raspberry ripple ice cream with real raspberry: that is, excellent quality with no additives.  Not that I’m being defensive or anything.  And dinner was on the table 20 minutes from starting work.

It was a bit early for me, mind you, and I thought I’d tuck into the leftovers, which were chicken and strawberries.  But just before going to his meeting, the Sage polished off the chicken.  And there was nothing else I fancied.  I couldn’t be bothered to cook, I was going to make a little salad and some tartare sauce because I wanted crunchy and piquant and no work to speak of.

I’ve eaten another packet of mini Cheddars (I KNOW, you don’t have to look at me like that), the rest of the strawberries and some toast and Marmite.  No, it’s no way to feed myself.  But I seem to be out of anything I want to eat.  I have kippers, yoghurt, stuff in the freezer, three-quarters of a cooked baked potato because I can’t eat a whole one.  I’ve got loads of eggs, some bacon, some Parmesan but no other cheese. I’ve got plenty of vegetables: asparagus, cauliflower, courgettes, onions, tomatoes, cucumber, sweet potato.  But no garlic, no chilli.  Capers, but you can’t eat more than a few capers.  Olives, but they’re not exactly it.

I could consider just getting over myself?  Do you know, that’s the best suggestion of the day.  I’ve got some lovely Montezuma chocolate, I’ll cuddle the dog, I’ll drink coffee and maybe a dram, though I’m out of Laphroaig.

5 comments on “

  1. Tim

    Seared Alaskan salmon and English asparagus (Waitrose not garden, sorry) here. Whisky is barred (though available) in this house, but Montepulciano isn’t. And I’ve cleared one of the four bookpiles, tip trip tomorrow.

  2. Z

    I ended up with just the whisky. How sad is that? The skip is here, though. It’ll be full by the weekend, I daresay.

  3. luckyzmom

    I’ve just gone through a week of overindulging myself for some unknown reason. Gained back four of the almost forty I’ve lost this past year and have been a bit paniced. Hope to have put a cork in that problem.


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