Hm.

Funny thing happened. My intercom buzzed this morning. I pressed the Listen button, hopefully, really, because it hasn't worked for a while. There was neighing...I pressed the Enter button and could hear the door downstairs buzzing. Then a huge commotion and thundering as though the building were about to fall down, growing steadily nearer. The cat fled. Then the doorbell rang. I opened the door. There was horse, chestnut. He looked a lot like my old horse, Cromwell, and a little like the Forsyth Street police horse, Chivas. In his teeth, on a string handle, was a jar of apricot jam. I took it. It looked home made. He neighed again, turned around quite uncomfortably (the landing was not made for a horse), sat on his bottom, extended his forelegs, and shot down the stairs again, sounding like a reverse explosion. I hadn't even gathered my wits to give him a tip of loose sugar.

I was on my last bottle of spring apricot jam so I was really quite grateful. A possible explanation may or may not be found here; that horse landed in jail...but the story couldn't have ended there.

Horses who walk into bars have long faces.

Otherwise quite an uneventful Saturday. A pile of raw vegetables is clean and peeled, waiting to be dipped into bagna cauda, the delicious anchovy and garlic (yes, no vampires) and olive oil dip. It's right for the weather, which is Disgusting. Ugh. 90'F, 31'C, like a suffocating white blanket. Sauvignon blanc is chilling, Cassis is waiting.

And before that the purchase of the Very Important Things without which life would start squeaking rustily: kitty litter, cat pellets, dental floss and cottonwool wipes. And CHEESE: Reblochon and runny Brie and a baguette. Hmmm.