Meringue
At work fairly early on some new stuff my pharma client sent me and I was done by midday. Then my computer's email connection died and I spent two hours on a single phone call to BT to try and sort it all out. Having a shoulder full of claws from the rather clingy Calliope while on the phone to India, and trying to follow faint or intermittent instructions was enough to test the patience of a saint.
The phone line was so bad I could only hear about 50% of what was being said. British Telecom I kept repeating to myself. Eventually after almost two hours, the fourth person sorted the problem inside 2 minutes. Left reflecting how my last three days had been eaten by plumbers, vets, IT crises and extra bits of work. Agreed with a slightly heavy heart to go back to London for another bout of MS and wounds next week, having achieved little on my skeleton work.
Walking to Lorraine's house this evening, I decided I needed a holiday, which suddenly seemed a penetratingly brilliant idea.
At a snuffly Lorraine's house, I changed to water in Beth's aquarium.
Then we went to Dawn's house for supper a few doors down the road. It's a very friendly street, and I've met all of the other guests, who are Dawn and Lorraine's neighbours before. Angie and Patrick and Sarah and JD are all interesting people. JD is a leading French music journalist, Sarah works in Banking, Angie has her own consultancy business, and Pat is a designer. I felt that I had taken my rightful place among the chattering classes.
And there was some extremely nice lemon meringue too. I don't know if I have ever explained this before but there are only three legitimate British puddings: bread and butter pudding, apple pie (which is of course proverbially nice) and lemon meringue. All other pretenders to pudding legitimacy are either morally lax, effete or irrelevant, with the golden exception of Christmas pudding at Christmas time
Lorraine and I back to my place by cab, where Calliope was delighted to see us.
Below I forgot to post this yesterday. This is what I mean by steampunk computer.
The phone line was so bad I could only hear about 50% of what was being said. British Telecom I kept repeating to myself. Eventually after almost two hours, the fourth person sorted the problem inside 2 minutes. Left reflecting how my last three days had been eaten by plumbers, vets, IT crises and extra bits of work. Agreed with a slightly heavy heart to go back to London for another bout of MS and wounds next week, having achieved little on my skeleton work.
Walking to Lorraine's house this evening, I decided I needed a holiday, which suddenly seemed a penetratingly brilliant idea.
At a snuffly Lorraine's house, I changed to water in Beth's aquarium.
Then we went to Dawn's house for supper a few doors down the road. It's a very friendly street, and I've met all of the other guests, who are Dawn and Lorraine's neighbours before. Angie and Patrick and Sarah and JD are all interesting people. JD is a leading French music journalist, Sarah works in Banking, Angie has her own consultancy business, and Pat is a designer. I felt that I had taken my rightful place among the chattering classes.
And there was some extremely nice lemon meringue too. I don't know if I have ever explained this before but there are only three legitimate British puddings: bread and butter pudding, apple pie (which is of course proverbially nice) and lemon meringue. All other pretenders to pudding legitimacy are either morally lax, effete or irrelevant, with the golden exception of Christmas pudding at Christmas time
Lorraine and I back to my place by cab, where Calliope was delighted to see us.
Below I forgot to post this yesterday. This is what I mean by steampunk computer.
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