For once I remember that it's all about Me...

A couple of weeks back I was interviewed for the Skiffy & Fanty podcast, and you can hear it all here, if that's your kind of thing. More than an hour, of me talking down the phone! No, I haven't listened to it. I remember being mildly political at one point, about health care and suchlike. Otherwise, dunno. Your verdict is the one that matters.

The long dark tea-time, observ'd

It's about this time of day I start to worry. Will there be enough food tonight? Will they like it - but if they do, will there be enough? Should I make an apple pie? [don't wanna make an apple pie] No, but should I anyway? It'd be something to fall back on. And good practice. And something to leave for Karen in my absence, if they don't eat it all. ["During his necessary absence, she kept company with the residue of an apple pie..."] And whatever else, I need some mushrooms - but I should make the pastry first. And...

Yeah. Like that. Will I never shut up?

State of the Chaz, immediate:

Pie: in oven
Risotto: in aspiration
Sossidges: ready to be rolled in bacon
Application for Stanford fellowship: in the (e)mail
Wine: to some extent in Chaz

In order to further that hithertofore mentioned extent, I am now going to sit with my glass of wine and read my book for a while and not do nothing more. Just for a bit.

Chef's perk

I can haz the Pope's nose. Roasted for a second time, half an hour in a hot oven while the sossidges baked and it crisped up lovely; now sitting beside the cooker to be nibbled on as I come and go, as I stir the risotto and admire the pie and consult the sossidges and wait for the yogi to return all bendy from their sesh.

I may not actually want any, y'know, actual dinner. Wine and the Pope's nose, that could be plenty.

Om, and also nom.