I must be the angriest washer upper known to man. We don’t have a dish-washer (my brain just went then, I was going to type ‘drying machine’), so everything gets its turn in the sink and it is not a happy experience for human or plate. For a start, everything is so darn heavy, plates slip out of my grasp to splash back wetly at me, and saucepans refuse to be lifted. Scrubbing baking trays causes a tidal wave that cascades over the sink; I invariably lose a spoon that only comes to light after I have put something really greasy in the water. I end up aiming everything with force at the drainer, and it’s only the bravest that survive. Today’s casualty was a small tumbler that was only too adept at living up to its name. It’s a war out there I tell you, a war.
Novel wise, I have been hard at it all day on chapter 11, with only a short moral boosting visit to Starbucks to buy a chocolate cornflake cake… okay, two chocolate cornflake cakes. My nutritionist visit has been put back for another week, which means I am free of the dreaded food diary for a little while longer, hence I can surely eat what I like, no? Isn’t that how it works? Anyway, chapter 11 first draft is done, so surely that proves how good the power of chocolate is. I wish I could convince myself fruit had the same effect...
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