Cordon bleu?   Leave a comment

Sacrebleu, more like.

Friday the 18th was rather a “nothing to report” day. This is good, because it’s the fourth entry I’ve written today and I’m already at about 1,200 words (and yesterday I was over 3,000), so my poor brain and fingers would like a rest. Oh woe is me! Doing a gentle clerical task of my own free will, how hard my life is. But I would like to get this caught up, just so there is one fewer task looming over my “things I should really get on with” list.

So, Friday. I was feeling a bit off-colour, so I didn’t actually get much done. I didn’t even play Skyrim.

The only event of even vague import was the plasterer visiting to see what I wanted doing; new ceiling, patch some holes, fill the gaps around the doorframes. The quote was £200 (a pattern emerges!), and he went away promising to call me to let me know when he’d fit me in.

The rest of the evening? Well, I had the world’s easiest dinner; I literally emptied a tin of sweetcorn out on to a plate, put the contents of a packet of smoked trout fillets next to it, and poured some chilli and tomato sauce around the edge. It would be hard to make anything that was actually food any easier. It was tasty.

To accompany my Michelin-star meal I watched an episode of Only Connect. It’s a BBC 4 quiz show I had recommended by a friend on Twitter, hosted by Victoria Coren (in internet parlance, “less than three”), where the contestants must figure out the connections between things. And it’s brilliant. It’s brilliant both because it requires a lot of knowledge and lateral thought from the contestants (and the viewer, if you’re playing along), and because it drops most of the frippery of your standard television game show; it has no audience, applause, unnecessary sound or graphical effects, and I’m not even sure it has a prize beyond “we won Only Connect”. Just one host, two teams of three contestents, and a few dozen connections to figure out. Oh, and the occasional witticism. It is good telly.

And then I went to the gym, and after that the washing up devoured the whole night. Temporal anomalies in the plug-hole, I tell you.

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