The habit of a nightly round-up has become ingrained, it seems, and I have rather missed it. Not that I’ve done anything much to entertain you with, but you can sit and wonder at my enthusiasm for getting 400 words (or whatever, I wonder how much I actually do write?) out of little or nothing.
The thing that mattered, this weekend, was getting the catalogue off to the printers. For various excellent reasons, the Sage had made several alterations, and finally he made another one which he didn’t tell me about. This didn’t matter as such, as he had discussed it with Weeza (an item had been shifted to enable it to be cited on the same page as its picture) but I noticed that it had been omitted from its original placing, spent some time finding it, and then the Sage denied having made the change. Fortunately, Weeza’s memory is better than his. His mind is so full of things that really matter, you see, like bidding on Georgian table spoons (we have four now: or will have when the latest purchase arrives).
I haven’t set foot out of the house all day today. I have prepared several meals, however, casseroles that are large enough to feed us more than once each, so tomorrow I’ll put some food in the freezer. Oh, happy day (no need to sing along, Chris) when I don’t feel like cooking and can haul out a beef stew or some lamb shanks and heat it up.
The oddest thing of the weekend was that I have slightly gone off drinking alcohol, for absolutely no reason that I’m aware of. I haven’t stopped, but a glass or so is taken for the sake of my digestion and to add savour to food, not because I really want it. Most odd. I started cooking at 6 o’clock and opened a bottle of red wine to go in the casseroles, and wasn’t tempted at all to have a glass, and when I finally did serve up dinner (fish) I drank white. I shall watch the situation with interest. I don’t feel ill and I rather doubt I’m pregnant, and I can’t think of another reason. Maybe I’ve just drunk enough for a bit, in the same way as my brain seems to have decided that I’ve read enough fiction for the present.
Maybe such an unusual event was worth writing about after all. I shall now make a cup of tea to drink in the bath. Goodnight, darlings. Happy March.