Not writing, but frothing at the mouth

I’m not sure if my mother is reading here, but I’m going to have to assume that she has more respect for my (publicly accessible) privacy than she did when I was fourteen. In fact, I’m sure she averted her browser the second she realised that this is the online equivalent of my bedroom and went off to make a sandwich instead.

The fact that she hasn’t called me since I posted about the possibility of her reading here isn’t very comforting, but nonetheless. Hello.

Bruce ordered an original Drowning by Numbers film poster from France the other week, and this morning it finally arrived in the post. He tore open the padded envelope and unfolded it once, twice, three times, four, five…I lost count. It’s in French, it smells musty, the art is expectedly cryptic and unsettling, and shares the surface dimensions of a king-sized bed. We had no idea! And now we have to find a home with walls that are big enough to hang it on.

I suggested we mount it and then hang it five inches from the ceiling from thin silver chains. Bruce said he would consider that. I’m not holding my breath on finding the perfect wall though.

Tonight three miracles took place consecutively. No, four!

One: I made pork medallions with fine cut runner beans and a balsamic reduction
Two: It turned out
Three: Bruce declared it my greatest culinary triumph to date
Four: I got him to watch The Darjeeling Limited and he did not hate that either

There is a fifth miracle but you will have to talk to us in person to find out. And even then, we may not tell you. Hint: it does not involve tentacles, not on any level.