Either way, it is very quiet here, smells of empty house and the remote controls have all vanished. How can that be? God knows, it's not as if Belgabastard TV has anything I can bear to watch, but I was looking for a little distraction. I've just had to spend half an hour playing the piano (yes, still in my coat) instead to take my mind off wandering what the fuck I am suddenly doing in a cold, empty orange house in the south of Brussels.
Is it Lent, yet, blogosphère? Because I need to give some stuff up, I think. I have certainly eaten enough cheap microwaveable pancakes for it to be Lent, so let's give it a go. Lent, despite my dyed in the wool godlessness, seems preferable to New Year's resolutions, probably because of the way it is framed entirely negatively. I can really get behind a series of negatives, something which is unlikely to surprise you.
Consequently I renounce:
1. Last minute Eurostar tickets. So eye-wateringly dear and such a visible manifestation of my own stupidity.
2. Stalking the twitter feed of people whose twitter feed I should leave well alone. This includes: nutters, people I hate and failed romantic entanglements. This applies even more pressingly to anyone who falls within all three categories.
3. Expensive Indian takeaways. Whatever I order, it always ends up being 50 euros which is plainly ridiculous. I can make better dahl than that anyway and that's all I really want. Hmmm. I will never manage to make chapatis (I tried once, they were like chamois leather, and that 'puffing up over a naked flame' business is lunacy), but there must be some sacrifice, I suppose.
4. Peanut Butter Chunky KitKats. This is confectionery as self-harm. Thankfully I was running so late for my train, I didn't have time to stock up.
5. Overuse of capital letters.
6. The following websites: Liberty, Matches, ASOS, Net à Porter, Start London, Made in Design. I haven't bought anything for ages, but I still torment myself with pictures of pretty things. Oh, wow, that really backfired. I just got distracted by trying to find all the lovely Vanessa Bruno things I was stroking pervily in Harvey Nichols. Man, there was some beautiful, hideously priced stuff. Step away from the pretty dresses, lady. (Those of you who kindly complimented me on my in-box dress, it is Vanessa Bruno. She's clever - you don't have to be a droopily exquisite French chick to look good in Vanessa Bruno. It helps, obviously, but she won't hold it against you if you look like a busty, mean, garden gnome)
7. Buying underwear. I seem to be buying underwear like some people go to the gym or have new hairdos when they have a break-up, but however psychologically important it may have been, now it just has to stop. I'm pretty sure I now have enough to withstand whatever underwear nuclear winter I am seeking to protect myself against.
8. Cheap supermarket pancakes with salted butter. So delicious and so lacking in goodness. I am salivating like Pavlov's dog just typing that, I really need to get a grip.
Let me know if you are giving anything up for Lent. Also, please submit your problems for Dr Capybara who is out of hibernation, and very very angry.