coldwatch
This morning, temperatures, when I got in the car, were -8. What is this? Siberia? The train to London, however, was on time, and warm, and I buried myself in “The Secret Adversary” by Dame Agatha, and wound my way to the metropolis.
The head cold (I am not using the word ‘flu. Too many people are, and this is not Influenza; it’s a nasty and virulent infection. A cold.) is persisting, but last night and this morning were markedly easier – less snot and coughing by a mile. Since getting on the train, however, and arriving at work (a ten minute wait on the underground platform at London Bridge while I let six overstuffed tube trains go through making me late), it’s been a different story. The nose is running like a tap. Even though the sinuses are blocked solid. And the sneezing, whilst it clears things up for a few minutes, is staccato, explosive, and very annoying. I hope this passes soon, ‘cos it’s doing my head in.
Dinner last night was a rather fishy affair: Two sub rolls split, liberally buttered and then stuffed with scrambled eggs, thin slivers of leftover smoked salmon, and lots and lots of snipped chives. This served alongside Tinned Salmon Hash (leftover mashed potato, a little mustard, some more dill an egg and a drained tin of pink salmon; a reminder to self being that, when making fish cakes and you think the mix is too dry, don’t add an egg, as it’ll probably make the whole collapse in the pan and turn from ‘cake’ to ‘hash’). And today’s dinner is a handful of bitter leaves with a homemade vinaigrette dressing, the leftover hash and a tub of Cracked Black pepper Hummus. I really need something to dip into that. Yum.
After dinner, we watched an episode of “Desperate Housewives” (all caught up to date now with the UK broadcasts. Which are about twenty years behind the Americans. Then started work on tidying the office. The desk is now done, the junk shredded, and the filing in a file tray. Tonight, I start the actual filing.
Then I went to bed for an early night, but made the mistake of switching on the TV and got caught in a documentary on Paul “Gazza” Gascoigne, formerly a famed footballer and now a distinguished Alcoholic. Not the sort of thing I’d ever usually watch, but it was riveting, and seeing how this mans self destruction sucked his whole family in and brought them near to he edge of self destructing too was a truly sad sight. Plus, his stepson, Mason? Yummm indeed.
Anyways, onwards…
