Yours, distractedly...

I’m going to blame the alignment of the planets for my current state of - well, I have no idea how to define what my current state might be, but let’s go with being in possession of a head full of minestrone.

Bear with me here.

A bit of this, a bit of that, a soffrito with wilty celery and the kind of onions you’d be ashamed to claim as homegrown ( rubbery, hard to cut, definitely stored in a warehouse somewhere in Lancashire since being lifted last year) a lot of using up the weird items at the back of the fridge and adding punchy flavours with an assortment of the dregs of whatever’s in the jars in the door of the fridge and making it delicious and nourishing with fresh things and finally, padding it all out with a handful or two of ditalini ( or similar). And a splosh of red wine. And a blizzard of parmesan for finishers.

Which doesn’t sound so bad except… ( continues to mangle the metaphor) my worktop is over-run with ants, wasps the size of croissants are divebombing the soup pan, my knives flip wildly between blunt and razor-sharp and occasionally I find myself trying to cook on a bonfire. In a wheelie bin.

Yes. That’s where I’m at this week. Trying to be creative against a background of Life Inc. For some reason, it’s feeling particularly Sisyphean just now. The task list is Eiger-ish in its immensity, and my crampons are made from overcooked linguine.

Oh. My. God. Enough. Send chocolate.