Bugger, bugger, bugger

Tuesday, 5th August

I woke up this morning feeling most peculiar, sort of sore throat, coughy and yucky sinuses. My eyes were so puffed I could barely see out. So I decided to give my trip to Hemel a miss. This was just as well, as the M1 was closed, and I probably would never have got there. I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself, until boredom got the better of me, and I had to go get up. Since yesterday the dogs have been doing a weird cough-and-retch thing. To start off with we had thought that they were allergic to crab claws. Then we thought maybe they had a bit of crab stuck in the back of their throats. Now I realize I have the same virus as they have.

For supper tonight, we had chilled melon and parma ham soup, followed by chorizo with tomato rice, and orange sauce.


Wednesday, 6th August

My menu updates on Facebook have been engendering a lot of response. Either annoyance, requests for recipes, or demands to be fed. I need to explain, that I am not cooking to show off, it’s purely to save money. The recession, please not let’s use euphemisms like ‘credit crunch,’ has hit home. My first concessions are to stop eating out, and give up on the expensive face creams. Decided not to take the dogs to the vet, just like GP’s, I think they are far too quick to shovel antibiotics down the younger family members throats.

I went to meet a friend at the Chelsea Arts Club, for a drink, tonight. I had forgotten how it is a mixture of the spectacularly louche, and a local pub. I bumped into lots of people I knew, and stayed far longer than I had intended. Once I got back to Battersea it was far too late to cook, so we went to Manny’s for supper. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.


Thursday 7th, August

What a fucking irritating day, filled with delightful regulars. Went ‘up west’ to see two patients, then had to drive back to Battersea to let the cleaner in. Who didn’t show up. Late, late, late. Yucky tuna sandwich for lunch, and so-called two patients, turned into an epic saga of needles. Resolved today, that the next step in crunch management, is to ramp back on the designer clothing. My winter wardrobe will be constructed from Next, M&S and Oasis – rather than Narcisso Rodriguez, Miu Miu, and Ozzie Clarke. However, when I get as far as my feet, the Louboutins have to stay. You have to treat your feet with respect, after all, you stand on them all day.

Had drink with an another old friend tonight. I was in the taxi my way to the Millenium hotel, to receive a text message from Lis, saying she would be about ten minutes late. Oh great, I thought, and not in a sarcastic way, I can start on my blog. Now, this is a measure of how the recession has kicked in. Two months ago I would have gone – great, I can drop a few hundred quid in Harvey Nicks, before I see her. When I got to the bar I was marginally confused, as opposed to horribly confused, which is my default bar-leaving mode. I could have sworn that it used to be called Mju. Somehow the J had disappeared. Apparently, people got confused and didn’t know how to say it. I always thought it was M-yiuo, like a cat noise. ‘No’ the manager said, ‘people tried to say M-Jew.’ So now that, it’s Mu, I speculated, ‘do I say Moo?’ ‘Er, no ,’ he said, ‘it’s pronounced… Mew.’
Back to The Castle for supper.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.