Don’t think me mad. I am not. Or no madder than to be expected once you have left the relative safety of your mother’s womb.
I don’t know why, and this is why I am throwing myself at your collective shoulder, I do have a distinct horror of curdled milk. A fine cheese maker I’d have made.
In decades I haven’t curdled milk but this minute I did. And before Looney and any scientists among you say anything, I know it’s NOT me who curdled the milk. The milk curdled all by itself. Shows you what an awful position to be in when you are the middleman. The facilitator. The one with the pan. The milk. And the means to heat it.
Gravely and in grieving, yours,