Sunday, January 02, 2011

Three or four minutes, maximum

I'm on the clock here. There's a potload of pasta on the go and it's not that shitty, dried out shite that takes ten minutes to become edible, it's the fresh stuff filled with some sort of wonderful cheese substitute.

Yeah, I'm on the clock before Lloyd Grossman bestows his tomatoey chilliey sauciness on my plate of bland.

So what to write about? I'd typed out a redux in my Christmas cups at some point, but it all was as it always is so I didn't bother posting it. Fewer Roses this year and some controversy over who won the Trivial Pursuit, gifts given and received and... but I'm not writing about that.

Nor will I get to moaning too much about the stomach bug that threatened to scunder my Christmas Day dinner before I bested it before it bettered me again a couple of nights later. Ugly scenes.

I'll probably just write about how I hate the word 'Crimbo' almost as much as I despise the word 'hubby,' and make tell of the fact that today I ate an apple and an orange in an attempt to stop the madness. Wine and whiskey and beer and stout and ale and meats and cheeses and...

Now for the pasta and the factory-processed sauce, my body a temple...

1 comment:

Kitty Cat said...

I keep feeling like I should get a load of fruit into me after the last week, but then the Smarties and fizzy drinks of deliciousness win every time.