Thursday 20th February.

I had a very bad, bad day foodwise yesterday, slapped wrist for me... It was very cold (this is my excuse anyhow) and coming home from work was hell - it was peak rush hour (which I normally avoid like the plague), but I was late leaving work - only by a couple of minutes, but boy do those couple of minutes seem to make all the difference. Anyhow I had to go to the post office - yep, more parcels for posting, and it was packed, and our new look post office in the Galleries - yes, if you manage this place, I'm talking straight at YOU - has this vile, vile new system, which obliterates queueing, you can't tell how long you're going to have to wait, it's take a ticket and hope. People waste time shuffling around, getting up off their banquette - banquette seating for Gods' sake, in a POST OFFICE - looking for the desk that their number has been called at - by this point, they've missed their turn, and will and do butt in at the next change of number. It takes three times as long to post a flipping packet than it used to, when people queued nicely and politely, with no trouble and were there to walk smartly to the free counter and get their business done. Oh get me off my hobby horse for heaven's sake, normally I go to the sub post office in Sandy Park Road, where sanity still prevails and people queue, but last night I thought, I've got to go buy something for dinner, I'll have to go to the Galleries.
So, after my 3/4 hour wait (and I kid you not, I counted ever single minute) I dash into Tesco's in town. It's already getting late, the dusk is falling, and the place is full of people just like me. They want something for dinner, but they don't know exactly what. So I bought a packet of sausage, originally thinking I'll cassarole them in tomato soup - it's not ideal food, but I like it, but of course then something must have happened on the motorway, because it took an hour - an entire hour, to crawl the mile or so from the centre of town to Temple Meads. At that point, not unlike a miricle, the roads just cleared. You'd have thought it was a Sunday outside the flat - virtually no traffic at all. Quite extraordinary.
So by the time I got home I was a good hour and a half later than I would normally be. I think that's quite important, because in that time I would normally have been sitting down with a cup of tea, and watching Neighbours. Ok, yes this is another daggy thing to do, but it's my life, and I quite like Neighbours. Instead, I'd been sitting on an overcrowded bus, travelling at about 3 inches every ten minutes, and a sort of madness came over me as I got in. Before I knew where I was, the frying pan was out, and I was salivating at the thought of sausage and egg for Supper!!!! I couldn't resist, it was like being in the grip of some manic compulsion - I'm not even that keen on fried sausages unless they're destined for two slices of bread! And fried egg is again, one of my least favourite ways of cooking eggs, which admittedly I do like very much. And there's worse to come! I added in a slice of bread - Fried Bread!!!!!! What was I thinking???

I was talking to a mate on the phone this morning. It's ok, she says, it's one meal. Everyone has a crisis meal or so at least once a week. And it's true, of course it's true, it's not the end of the world. Thing is I've got a night shift coming up. What will I eat today, I thought - pasta salad I thought, I've got tuna, I've got some cold brocoli - now for the untutored among you, cold brocoli makes for one of the worlds great salad dishes, tossed in a little French dressing, add a soupcon of chopped anchovy and you have something to die for. But I'm just not entirely sure that it's the perfect ingrediant for a pasta salad. For pasta salad, you need onion, peppers, perhaps some tomato's, corn - just not really brocolli. Perhaps pasta salad and side dish of cold brocolli.

Oh lord the news is on, and it appears that Paul Gasgoine has been arrested under the mental health act. You've got to feel for that man, once so gifted and now it appears to have fallen so far. He reminds me of Icarus, his wings are melted and feathers float after him - he even, no doubt, has the Sun in hot pursuit. I was watching Mock the Week a few days ago, a repeat I think and someone said that Manchester United plan to release Wayne Rooney back to the wild after his career ends, and it was all haa haa hee hee at the time - you've got to admit it's a clever remark, but I hope to God that he's got a bit more sense in his head and makes a few plans for his retirement. It's a terrible thing to watch the mighty fall, and to somehow feel that one has a personal responsibility in it all - even though I've never had anything to do with these people, I too have watched and enjoyed their skills and abilities. I don't want to see them in the gutter and destroyed as relatively young men. It must be apalling to be so gifted, and to have such a short time in the sun.