“You could put that Madeira in one of your cocktails,” Mum says.
“Where is it?” I say, pouring gin, Cointreau and lemon juice into the measuring jug. Am making a White Lady.
“In the door of the fridge,” Mum says.
Opening the fridge, I take out the tall thin bottle, open it, sniff it. Am unsure about whether or not it smells good.
“Well don’t just pour it into that mixture,” Mum says, glancing at my cocktail.
“I’m not going to,” I say. “Need to research what it goes with. Are there any olives?”
“One tin and I need them,” Mum says. “No wonder this sandwich is low fat – they haven’t put any butter in it or…”
“I don’t know why you’d buy a low fat sandwich,” I say. “Obviously it wouldn’t contain butter and you wouldn’t like it.”
Mum places some anchovies in her egg sandwich and smears butter inside it.
The fluffy monster has at long last made friends with Harrison. At the start he was wary of him, due to Harrison’s lifelike appearance and glass eyes. But now they have a truce. Look:
Last radiotherapy tomorrow – yay! Skin is very hot, red and sore but hasn’t disintegrated. Yet. Although I remember from last time that the skin didn’t start to crumble until right at the end of the treatment. Please let it not be so painful and awful this time. Was wandering about with severe burns for weeks.
Am listening to a pair of artichokes bubbling away on the hob. Dad and brother are away skiing and am keeping Mum company, although she’s going out to her Literary Society straight after supper.
The attached photo is my first baby iris flowering in a pot in my garden at the flat.
Happy Monday everyone!
*1859. By Wilkie Collins. One of the first detective novels. Brilliant. Read it!