Throwing up

I don’t want my blog to go down the route of the sick bag.

But sometimes motion gets to you and you can’t help it.

I am in one hell of a loop, one I want to get out of but, short of being extremely rude and unsympathetic, I can’t. My advisor in all matters human, Felix, has no time for me on this one. And you, Vern: In hindsight I am so glad that you weren’t at home earlier when I called to ask for cold advice; you too would have told me where to get off my trolley. How do I get into these sticks? It’s awful. Some of my friends and my sister would disown me on the spot if approached in the matter.

Sorry, Jeremy, to be once more very murky in my waters; but, reflecting on what you said, maybe a personal blog, or at least mine, is a sort of veiled confessionary. Not that I am looking for absolution.

I wish I were three years old, allowed to stamp my feet, howl – instead of pretending to be a grown up woman.

U

A fly in the vinaigrette

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. Time to have lunch, particularly if you haven’t eaten all day. Time flies when you aren’t having fun, doesn’t it?

Tesco’s Finest “Dolce Verde Lettuce” beckons. However, and Vern, I think you’d be supremely positioned to give me your opinion (with a little help from Bourdain), the leaves are infested with wild life, giving a whole new meaning to ‘dolce vita”. By the time I will have washed off all those little creatures any vitamins will also have gone down the drain. Is it worth it? Have I become squeemish? Should I just shut my eyes and think of what?

I remember a friend of mine, we were about twelve years old, taking me down rows and rows of raspberry bushes near her home. We talked and we talked and we talked, in between picking the berries and stuffing our faces. Later it dawned on me that the offering had not been entirely vegetarian. Did it matter? Of course not. Fast forward a few years – and you need a fine toothcomb before putting most things into your mouth.

I am hungry; with you in a squeezing of a lemon,

U