Sunday, September 28, 2008

Sunday evening

A small Woodstock glass of Noilly Prat white vermouth, on ice. All tax papers, bills and Miscellaneous filed. The cat asleep on a chair. Joan Sutherland singing, having followed on the tail of Jerry Douglas*. Lamb bubbling on the stove in its bath of herbs with anchovies and vinegar. My food budget (new developement) tallied up for the last two weeks and on track. Old fashioned raisin bars in the oven for the gardeners at work tomorrow. Bed made, laundry done - vague smell of lavender. Drain unclogged. Terrace damp and rained-on. Red wine bought (Napier Red Medallion 2000). Figs eaten.

[* Thank you, Knithound, whose suggestion he was.]


  1. This sounds like a perfectly ordered Sunday night. Mine is a bit chaotic, compared. Drop off the laundry. Scare a pigeon off the balcony. Fix a few lines of code in the new gallery. Answer an email. Scare another pigeon. Wonder what to eat for dinner. Open the fridge 4 times looking for inspiration. Add a Random button to the gallery. Fetch laundry. Scare another bloody pigeon. Stare at the pictures on my wall. Pretty...

  2. I scared a snail, if that helps?

    No, I did not throw it overboard this time, in deference to you.

  3. What did you do with the poor frightened snail? Eat it, or carefully place it on the neighbour's patio?

  4. Guy? Is that what my mother does with her snails??? No...she is a ruthless snailwoman, whose tendencies I may have inherited. But my terrace doesn't justify (and I am too squeamish for) the bucket of salt water routine.

    Actually, that last snail, I just moved him to another plant. Oh well.

    Lisa - I do!


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