There are too many plates, pots, pans and things in the sink. Luckily, my man has said that he wouldn’t hear of it that I’d do the dishes today, so he’s going to do that too. Usually we have an arrangement that whoever cooks doesn’t do the dishes. Maybe that’s why Mark tries to cook all the time?
When I came home today, he locked me out of the kitchen, and I had to sit for a whole hour up in the “office” on the second floor. We have turned one of the bedrooms into an office, and we keep our desks there.
When it was ready, he came up, and led me down, and he had put out everything. He’d made chocolate mousse for dessert with home-made vanilla sauce, a beef tartar with grilled potatoes that he’d cut into quarters without peeling before grilling them, and with that we had a tomato-basil salad with Kalamata olives and Feta cheese.
The only difference from the original is that Mark had cooked the mince meat. I don’t think either of us could stomach eating raw meat. So, apologies to all the purists out there. We fail in the culinary department. I also wish I could say that we had a special, fancy wine to this, but we just used up one of my Chiantis.
But, all those pots and pans and cutlery… they’re in the sink and it’s nearly eleven o’clock as I write this, and my sink-cleanliness OCD is starting to twitch.
After dinner it felt strange not having any homework, so I made some of my own, and started to outline my planned novel, which made me go and try to research some facts on the internet, which made the hours fly while I followed links to the point that I was reading about the global climate instead of researching some basic facts for a book.
The internet is a dangerous place if you want to stay focused on your task, because there are so many little things that pique the interest and draw you off the well-light and beaten path. Like one link I saw that lead to the strangest child literature ever written. At least, that I’ve heard about. You thought the Brothers Grimm were bad? Have a look at Heinrich Hoffman!
That lead me on to a blog-post about how writers of the “young adult genre” should make moral lessons out of their books, a notion I disagree with totally. One of the worst things you can do, as a writer, is to talk down to your audience – and trying to pass off moral instruction as fiction is talking down.
It is even worse when you try to couch the reasons for moral instruction in scientific terms that may or may not apply to many people. It’s basically the old lie that teens aren’t capable of tying their shoe-laces. Patronisation. I can’t stand it, and I doubt many other teens can either.
The best way to make me into a lippy, antisocial, ASBO-deserving thug is to assume that I’m a stupid git that can’t do anything because of hormones and brain deficiencies. If someone uses that line against me, I may be a bit acerbic in my response…
Since glorious summer has replaced this winter of old content, I don’t have any plans beyond going to Sweden for a while when Mark is supposed to do his stint as a paid intern. Yes, he gets paid too. He’s going to work for six weeks beginning in mid July.
I joke that he finally gets access to some hard currency rather than the fiat money that the pound seem to be these days. Well, at least he’s not paid in Euros, so that’s a positive. But I think I get more than I did a year ago, simply because the pound is worth less in relation to the Swedish currency.
So much for living in one of the basket case economies of Europe. ^^