Not that I've had a chance to jot anything down since Monday, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Yesterday was of the dire. I won't bore you with the work merde but I was actually ticked off by an director, no less, for being too clever at my job. I just can't get anything right (because yesterday my manager said I was too stupid). I was ill, I had a nosebleed, got in trouble for being quiet in a meeting (I was trying not to throw up), then I got in trouble for speaking in another meeting where my opinion was not required at all. I really need some sort of memo or signal for these things because I just can't get it right. And that was after I discovered someone had eaten all my grapes and just left the stalks.
Despite that, and despite being really, really unwell, I missed Pushing Daisies to make sandwiches for the morning tea/meeting this morning. I behaved myself, except I used some of Himself's lava hot boutique mustard on the ham sandwiches. Whoops, did I slather it on a bit thick? Sorry, the kitchen light was off again.
It really was, but Himself has yet to be home to tradesmen so I made sandwiches by torchlight, ditto my marmalade. I'm afraid I cheated a bit with the napalm, I mean marmalade, and threw in a fistful of setting stuff and boiled it to buggery because I really wasn't feeling too flash, and if I did ruin it it'll be a shame because a test tasting proved it to be the best yet, from our own lemons, limes and cumquats, but store bought oranges and ginger. I also managed to burn my hand terribly last night scooping bubbling napalm/marmalade onto my hand holding the jar instead of actually into the jar (I was really fading fast at that point) and it was so ouchy I nearly fainted but the sink of cold water I plunged it into seems to have done the trick because it's (mostly) fine now. There are sticky marmalade splots all over the stove and immediate area and I'll probably be scrubbing those off for the rest of the year as I find them (always willing to be suprised at how far those blops can travel).
But at least that's done. I've been looking forward to it all year, I hope I didn't mess it up. The splots I licked off my hand tasted really good. Not at all like last year where I was throwing every bag of sugar we had into it and it was still 'more sugar!'. I blame the mandarins. Even the Peanut Gallery said "I think we know which cylinder wasn't firing now", meaning it was the mandarins, not me. Finally, something that isn't my fault, eh?
TV? Well, I've discovered that Pushing Daisies is a show you can watch from another room. That narration might seem arch at any other time, but I was following along quite happily in the kitchen. Robin Hood not so much and that's when the wheels started to fall off, so I never even saw the end of it, or the middle, or the beginning. Kind of over it, anyway, though Gisbourne still looks good in leather (though I'm not digging the "I've become Marion" publicity shots from the new season).
PM update: Despite one gentleman declaring the sandwiches horrid (I think he got the mustard one, whoops), everyone else loved the potato cake (think carrot cake, only with tatties) and the sangers (smoked salmon, cucumber, ham and cheese and Himself's special carroty sandwich mix). It's not the food, I just bought some nice plates to put them on, makes all the difference. I still think I lost some sandwiches on the bus though. I had them packed up nicely in modular little sandwiches boxes in a Woolies green bag but the bus driver was so bad that even though I had hold of the bag when he braked hard (as they like to do), all the boxes flew out and while folks kindly handed them in I was so flustered I'm not sure I didn't come up short. Well, that's my meeting catering requirements filled, anyway (and no, we don't have a biscuit budget, heaven's spending tax payer money on biscuits, are you crazy?).
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