I am drinking in the aromas that are engulfing the flat – cinnamon, nutmeg, chocolate and fermenting apples. I am in full-on domestic goddess mode, whipping up a batch of dark chocolate and walnut brownies and mincemeat for Christmas. If the brownies are up to scratch then I shall split them between Alex’s work and my volunteering placement.
Cooking is a good way to placate myself, as I got a bit angry at the television, again. I sat down to watch a morning talk show, my poor man’s substitute for Richard and Judy, on TiVo whilst having my lunch. Unless they have guests on that interest me usually only watch the first 10 minutes or so as they do their spiel about their respective adventures of the previous day. It has been getting a tad monotonous of late, American football and Trump…yawn. Today the more mature male co-host had seen the new Bridget Jones flick and was confused as to why Hugh Grant and Colin Firth were fighting over someone who was very over weight and feisty. Hmmm, now Bridget is no stick insect, but she is not orca fat. She is ditsy, smokes, swears and drinks to much. It is especially because of those qualities the we should love Ms Jones and her wobbly bits.