Tonight, Ro and I are paying the first visit of the month to the Snape Proms. I am looking forward to it. Mozart, Bruch and Brahms are on the programme (their music not the dead composers in skeletal form).
I stood wondering what to have for lunch. Nothing in the fridge quite did it, nor in the cupboard. I opened the little freezer on top of the fridge. It contains a bag of ice, a wine chiller and a tub of ice cream which the Sage bought. Its message led me to pour some wine, but didn’t inspire me. Then Ro came down the back stairs, carrying an empty cereal bowl.
“We’re going to Snape tonight – shall we have supper there?” He thought that was a good idea, but added sniffingly that he thinks he’s developing a cold. “Chilli omelette!” I declared. “Yes please” he replied. I went down to the greenhouse and tasted Hungarian Hot Wax, Jalapeño and Georgia Flame. Unable to decide, I picked them and chopped an onion and a tomato and chucked in all three peppers. He had 4 bantam eggs (they are small) and I had 3 and we shared the hot filling. I breathe freely. I trust he does.
I bought some new phones, weeks ago, and couldn’t be arsed to read the instructions and set them up. I mean, really. I finally did it today though – well, one of them. The rest of them are still charging. The recorded voice on the answerphone was awful. Really bad vowels. I had to resort to doing a message myself. It’s so embarrassing, to hear your own voice. The first time, I could hear myself breathing, so I did it again. Still makes me cringe. Posh little girl, surely I have a deeper voice than that? ‘this is The Sage and Z’s answerphone, you’re welcome to leave a message’ or something like that is what I’ve said. I hate long messages. Once I rang someone from a telephone box and my money ran out before the message ended. I haven’t left our names before, but now we’re internationally known via this blog and his website (and there’s a sale coming up) … I still couldn’t turn it into a business message but oh hell, there’s no privacy anyway.
The phone rang while I was cooking the omelettes. Ro was horrified. “There’s no choice of ringtones” I explained. He disagreed. I’ve read the bloody book, I don’t think there is. He’s welcome to deal with it. I have enough on my plate, teaching the Sage how to use a new phone.