Since I don’t do twitter I have to keep you in the irrelevant minutiae of my life this way.
Am rather excited: A molar, top left hand side, last in line, has made itself known. On a Friday evening. Brill. Excellent. You can’t beat it for entertainment value. Not least reminding me that I am still alive.
Hope you are looking forward to your weekend too.
I don’t want to steal Magpie’s thunder: We are to be treated by him to a session in decluttering.
Despite appearances to the opposite I like order, at least as interludes in between chaos, and my mind suffers if I don’t know where to find things. The last few days have been turmoil. Nearly thirty years ago I bought a Bambi; no, not the little orphaned deer but a tiny stapler. It’s red (I refuse to refer to it in the past). It is now nowhere to be found. Unfortunately I have tendency to become obsessive and will not give up – though I know full well that whilst wading through three years’ worth of paper cuttings in the last few weeks little Bambi will – no doubt – have fallen into waste paper basket – contents now disposed of. Can I leave it be? Is it possible to go and buy, at 2.99, another Bambi (different shape and grey)? No, I can’t and yes it is. Instead of which I have turned our flat inside out; I even took the sofa apart (which made me vacuum the hidden parts). I found many things alas no Bambi. Let’s assume – for sake of argument – that I (since I don’t like my LARGE stapler) go and buy a new, if grey, Bambi and I bet my bottom Dollar that no sooner will I have ripped package open (red) Bambi will reappear.
One can build a whole philosophy and outlook on life on the above if one were so inclined. Instead of which I keep looking and decluttering as I go along.
Other than that am in stinking foul mood as to the obscene idiocy of my fellow human beings. There is not a bucket large enough to catch my tears. Am now in two minds what to do. Shall I turn my worst critical self towards the uncomprehending or enjoy the hermit’s nest? This is where you have to hand to teachers: Hope over the elusive. Let’s leave it there lest I make further enemies.
That’s why I love our den (top floor with a view).
Sweethearts, for some of you this TIP OF THE DAY may come too late.
A few days ago, wiping my brow in the midst of chaos, I succumbed to that which I only do when I have no time for cooking yet 18year old(s) in urgent need to be fed: Ordering a take away. Naturally it took me longer to explore the menu than if I had ground my Garam Masala from scratch but at least the place is an award winner and the chef I spoke to on the phone a paragon of patience. He talked me through the intricacies of Tikka Dansak and Tikka Pathia and everything else on the menu (what do I know about Indian food? Not a lot).
So bad, so good. On delivery I got into minor tangle with lid of the Prawn Madras which had taken Apple of my Eye only 2 seconds to decide on; sauce spilling all over my favourite denim skirt. The Empire has a lot to answer for. I know where disaster lies: One is beetroot juice, the other is turmeric. Immediately soaked skirt in cold water, consulted beloved and best of all reference books on stain removal in my usual misguided optimism only to find: ” Most stains can be removed unless it’s TURMERIC”. It’s the sort of news on a par when people tell you that you are dead. However, luckily my heart rarely sinks before all routes are explored. Since it was middle of the night Indian time I did not send SOS to gaelikaa and Ramana as was my first impulse but searched, as one does, the internet, and lo and behold all you need to do is very LITTLE. Rinse garment, leave it out in the sun to dry and the stain will vanish. It’s magic if ever there was one. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. IT WORKED. If anyone can work their magic on beetroot stains please do reciprocate.
PS The food and its taste was to die for!