Everything I need to know, I learned from my cat

When you're just sliding the frittata into the oven to fritt, and you remember that when you were sizzling the green garlic with the grated courgette zucchini summer squash, you decided not to put too much salt in because you'd salt the eggs when you beat them and you could taste the mixture once it was agglomerated? And when you were in fact beating the eggs you decided not to salt them until the mixture was agglomerated, just in case? And now when it's too late you're remembering how you did in fact forget to taste the agglomerated mixture, and you have no idea whether or not there's enough salt in the thing?

"I meant to do that." It is a splendid cry. In this instance obviously I meant to do that because there was feta in the mix too and that's salty, and it'll probably be plenty, and and and.

*nods, in a cat-like manner*

In other news, my doctor isn't at all concerned about my alcohol intake, but really thinks I should drink less coffee. In tribute to which, I'm opening the first beer of the day. I've actually been wanting to do it since eleven this morning, so this betrays remarkable abstemiousness and willpower, say I, that I've held off till one-thirty. And soon now people will arrive, and this afternoon we will troop down to the Art and Wine festival and festivate in sunshine, before trailing home to face the grim realities of grilling supper. Hey-ho.

Okay, now I'm really depressed

I burned the sodding buns. Am I always, always to fuck everything up, O universe?