Had another one og those Zoom meetings last night with friends, whilst cooking duck which was a bit of a triumph, Dauphinoise potatoes too, liked by my daughter which is also a massive bonus, she generlly turns her nose up at my cooking, some of it restaurant standard, but will happily eat exactly the same thing, at cost, from a restaurant. Maybe it’s just a teen thing, or a father daughter thing, a battle of wills for the sake of perpetuating trouble. In the absence of rice wine for the duck sauce I googled a substitute; sherry dry, Amontillado, of which we had an unopened bottle, sticky with dust in the back of the booze cupboard, which is exactly where it should be and exactly the state it should be in. Not wanting to spoil the moment I ripped open the seal and poured myself a tot in the crystal sherry glasses which have never been used. Turns out I quite like sherry, to the tune of 1/2 a bottle I realised this morning.
Another thing I realised this morning was that Mrs T. is poorly, we had emptied the booze cupboard when someone had an idea to do shots last night, several years old Baileys, Whisky, Scotch obviously, but you could have told me that anyway, Madeira, what ever that is and bottles of champagne and prosecco, not yet cracked open during the lock down. I made 2 cups of tea, stumbled on the stairs and spilt them on the carpet, which happens to be one of my least favourite domestic accidents, along with spilling glitter and dropping a plate; all part of the Domestic Accident Subset of hand/eye coordination. All of which causes delay in the thing I am about to do and hopefully enjoy; drinking tea, eating food and glitter activity.
Allow me to be candid here, the day had started badly and could only improve. I drank my half cup of tea, perched on the side of the bed knowing really I was only paying the tea lip service as my only thought at that time was to get to the kettle and make another cup and sit somewhere else to drink and enjoy, purging the previous half cup from my mind like a fart at a dinner party, making a fresh start, next to my records. The above photo is what I saw and there is not many things worse for a vinyl lover to see a needle stuck in the exit grooves of a record having been there all night plus my new tipple, sherry, untouched. Which is possibly why I don’t feel too bad today.