October 20, 2004

There's Something About Wednesday

No, there's not, actually. Although... the weekend is looming, which is always nice.

However, we're re-thinking our camping plan, as the weather has taken a nasty turn. We may have come up with another cheap way to entertain ourselves.

I had lunch with F today. It was the worst baked potato I have ever had, dry, tasteless, dry. Luckily F paid for it. In fact, today has been one potato disaster after another. Tonight I cooked a very rare meal for our household...a roast. MMM ROASTY GOODNESS JUST LIKE MOTHER USED TO MAKE BEFORE SHE DIED OF CANCER. I usually cook things like rice dishes, bolognese, stir-fries...that kind of thing. But tonight I went the whole hog...roast turkey joint, basted with honey and wholegrain mustard, with roasted and mashed spuds and carrots and broccoli. And gravy. OH YES.

And so to my potato story.

I peeled and boiled a cheap packet of Tesco Value spuds, which were rather colourless and watery. When I mashed them, they were so unfloury that they went into great lumps, despite heaping amounts of butter and milk.

THEN NEURO GETS THE BRIGHT IDEA.

I put them in the blender, thinking puréed potatoes would be nice (we've all had them at carvery lunches in Irish hotels) but they turned into utter slop, which was so runny I could pour it. A type of potato sauce, if you will. Anyway, everyone enjoyed their potato sauce very much and that's the end of that.

The Avon catalogue arrived today (Avon calling!). My mother used to be an Avon lady, but that is beside the point.

What is the point, however, is that as I flicked through it, searching for yet more make up to buy which I will never use, I found a range of products called "Planet Spa".

Actually, you know what? You deserve to see these products.

These will be of particular interest to my good friend David Barrett, as he can't often find products from his home planet. (I need to add here that David refers to himself as a spa on a regular basis: this is not my personal assertion.)

Anyway, I am delighted to have discovered at last where all of the world's spas come from. At least now when I eventually kidnap them all and bundle them into Fyffes boxes, I'll have a postal address to send them to. I can think of at least one person I'd like to do this to, and luckily he's small enough to fit.

No that's cold.

LIKE MY HEART.

K just phoned me fromt he kitchen to see if I want a beer. I don't, but I do need to go to the toilet. And clean my DISGRACEFULLY UNTIDY bedroom. My mother would be rolling in her grave, if she weren't still alive and watching Eastenders as I type.

Posted by neuro-praxis on October 20, 2004 08:45 PM, in the category Children, Pets, Guests