I’m finding it difficult to find the time to write. Or maybe I am just focused on other things just now. Either way I thought I would do a very, very, very short post and leave you with this video. Some of my favourite female actresses kicking some ass! Respect Zoe Bell!
I have a special relationship with coffee. I imagine I would be bereft without it. An espresso is my favourite, a cappuccino just mmmm.
So imagine my absolute socially isolated embarrassment at having bought decaf. By mistake! I don’t believe in decaf…it’s like sucking out the core of coffee to make people feel somehow healthy about their decision. Not. For. Me.
I thought I did well, strength no. 4 (tick), ground to save me pouring in beans and pressing a button (tick), coffee machine cleaned (tick) and packet carefully opened. In went the coffee to the little thingy and I pressed it down with my pressy down thing before pretending to be a barista and attaching it to my coffee machine.
Whilst still pretending to be a barista, by pouring milk and sticking in the steam spout thingy, I looked wistfully over at my packet of coffee. The world slowed down. Noooooooooooooooooooooo (in a slow motion sounding no). It can’t be. It bloody well is. That says decaf. On strength 4 coffee. My head did not compute.
Probably due to the clear lack of caffeine I was about to drink.
You know when you are standing arguing in your head about something that you have clearly done. That was me. There was no getting away from the label. Other than blaming the company for making the words decaf a little too small. My fault though. Agggghhhhhh so very annoying. I am usually quite discerning about my coffee choice. How did this happen? I blame….anyone and anything other than myself….Ok I blame myself.
Is there any point to decaf coffee?
Asking for a very stupid…ahem…friend who now is drinking it (due to her not wasting things issues).
Flip flops are the only things I’m going to put on my feet today. I’ve done a yoga class. Side crow as a peak pose in my living room was pretty satisfying. Best thing is that I’m sure my instructor couldn’t see how rubbish it was 😊.
What is everyone up to today?
Me – I’m in the garden. My toes are getting some sun. My 🎧 are on and I am loving today. If you have any great music to recommend send it my way. I’m not moving from here unless it is to dance around the garden with a wine 🍾.
Tomorrow – it never comes so I’ll just be focusing on today, toes, tanning and temptation…(it was the only other t I could thing of!).
Yes Carrots. No that is not me swearing about something. Although ‘carrots’ might be a new swear word (curse word) in my life going forward. Hilariously funny, wonderfully petulant, satisfyingly perturbed – carrots now feature in my life as as one of those little stories that is worth hanging onto. Who would have known!
My vegetables didn’t do well at all last year. I did get some spinach and rocket and it was lovely. Most other things…meh. Probably due to me not being Monty Dom. Probably a little due to a weird late spring. Was I bothered? Not at all! It can be more expensive to grow veg, the shops had food in them and I didn’t go without. Was my neighbour, someone I thought was a fellow excited veg grower, bothered? It seems so.
I got a text from him. It was nice enough. He wanted to use my raised beds if I wasn’t going to. Of course I am going to. I like gardening. I should caveat that by saying I like some gardening. I am not a gardener but I like growing things. It is quite satisfying and fills me with joy when I skip out into the garden and cut some spinach off for my curry. Or some rocket for my salad. I skip back in and eat it in a more satisfied, I grew that way, than when I have bought a packet of spinach that lasts only one day.
So I politely declined his lovely offer of utilising my raised beds. This was clearly not the correct answer. What happened next is so shocking and so funny that I don’t quite know how to write it on paper. You may be shocked. You may be upset. You may laugh at me. You may laugh at him. Either or, or any of these, ways – here goes.
I got a lecture on using my raised beds to their full. They apparently shouldn’t be wasted in the current climate. Fine…but not really fine. Its two raised beds…not exactly contributing to a war effort here. Tesco’s is not far away. They have food. I can, however, take that one on the chin; roll with the punches. But I got KO’d for my carrots. Apparently I wasted the whole lot last year.
I did chuck them out. But here is the thing. Are carrots actually carrots if they haven’t grown into carrots? My carrots resembled little stumps rather than carrots. Here is another thing. If they are unceremoniously tossed on the compost heap are they wasted? My neighbour and myself seem to disagree on the definition of wasted. Oh well (I wrote that in a very sarcastic sounding voice).
The texts descended into an argument, the argument descended into what might be described as some akin to a feud. Over CARROTS! Yes, you are welcome! Mull it over for a while…come to your own conclusion on this one. All assessments of the situation are valid.
Unfortunately my work colleagues won’t ever let this one go. Having been witness to the whole thing by text and phone they have now taken on the view that I am a SHIT gardener and my CARROTS are rubbish. This has led to lots of laughing at work. Because it is true :-).
I had all my vegetable seeds ready for this year. Before the garden argument happened. I didn’t have carrots in that mix.
In the middle of a worldwide crisis, where we are only meant to go out for essential work, for food and for an hours exercise, I pick this very suitable moment to be stranded in my street without my house keys.
Oh yes – why would this not happen?! For someone so careful with keys, why not bloody lose them? Well in line with my usual defiance of the norm – my subconscious, or stupid conscious, figured this was the right time to do just that.
Saturday morning: spent cleaning (I hate cleaning) and washing work clothes for next weeks anticipated long hours.
Saturday late morning: Ooh I am finally an organised person even though it has taken a pandemic to kick my arse into gear.
Saturday lunchtime: I shall go to Tesco and buy my essentials. I will queue. I will encounter polite people (socially distant). I will encounter stupid people. I will get my stock of prosseco (alcohol is essential in Scotland and we will happily admit it), bread and woohoo I managed to get flour. As an aside – the flour will get used to bake stuff with. I should also add is clearly the measure of a crisis in my book. I baked last year and normally only do it every 10 or so years.
Saturday just after lunchtime: Where are my keys? I can’t get in my house if I don’t have them. This is not a good time to not have keys. My spares are with my parents who really shouldn’t be getting in the car and coming to my flat to let me in. So I swore (cursed). A lot. A lot of fucks were shouted at myself in the middle of Edinburgh. People probably heard me a mile away since it is pretty quiet now that people are staying indoors. I couldn’t care though. If ever there was a time to have a shit fit it is now!
Saturday just just after lunchtime: buzzed my neighbour after the realisation that since I locked my door on the way out my keys are most likely in the communal bin on the street along with my rubbish. A big bin (dumpster if you are reading this in certain areas). I am not tall. I would fall in and wouldn’t get back out. That would also not be a good situation in the current crisis. No one would touch me to pull me out. Shit Shit Shit! So my neighbour was shouted at to give me step ladders…NOW!!! More fucks shouted.
Saturday at a time I now want to repress: ladder in hand and continual swearing (cursing) loudly I head back out. A few folk are in the street with their shopping. They stop to stare. I don’t care! I open the big bin…I look inside…my fucking (sorry) keys are sitting just on top of the bin bag I threw in on the way to Tesco. Thank the anyone the bin was full enough and they had landed just right. They hadn’t snaked there way to the bottom of the bin. Hallleeehbloooodythankee.
Saturday at a time I now giggle about: So step ladder in hand which I no longer need – I now look like a mad woman. I was swearing like a mad woman. I give it a final hummmmppphh. A bit of a yaaaaaayyyyy. I refrain from doing a wee dance. I then take the ladders and my keys into my house and hide. I laugh. Fuck me if there is ever a time to have a key crisis it is not now!!