Very late, but I mustn't fail twice in one week, that would be a grave dereliction of (entirely self-imposed and pointless) duty.
I have eaten too much tiramisu (following an appalling lunch of "a palmier and some chips") and my stomach is gurgling like the dog's (the ominously gurgling dog is banished to sleep in the corridor, I am not having a repeat of Wednesday's performance).
I found a long, sticky skein of green chewing gum waiting for me in bed last night. God knows where it came from (oh hang on, I'm going to hazard a wild guess: A CHILD). I was too tired to even think about it so I covered it up with a spare pillow case and went to sleep. This evening I noticed that is has all transferred to my leg, so that's nice.
I've just found out our babysitter is now a fully qualified neuropsychologist, which means:
(i) She has more qualifications than me; and
(ii) Soon she will get a job and I'll never be able to leave the house again.
I went to an opening and drank free champagne and admired the outfits (strong look, elderly blue snakeskin cowboy boots guy) tonight, which is why I'm late and remiss. It was fun. There were macarons and small chocolate squares and lots of people I half recognised from various places and could vaguely nod at.
Riding day. I rode a new horse called Nekao (?) and it was a fucking nightmare, but in a sort of good (hard) way. I was terrible. By tomorrow morning I'll be walking like a 1950s theatrical interpretation of Richard III.
This afternoon I also had to go and test the new World First Belgian Automatic Chip Dispenser (for the princely sum of £40 for write-up plus photo) in the freezing drizzle. It is eccentrically sited in a supermarket car park in a very rough part of town and you can see, it will win no beauty prizes. I only had ten and twenty cent coins and the whole thing was quite mad and took ages, and the machine's wrangler stood and observed my progress (contorting myself to try and get a vaguely aesthetically pleasing picture, at times on my knees, to the amusement of the passing tough eggs of Molenbeek) silently throughout and I had lots of time to wonder how on earth my life came to this.
Anyway, here are the resplendent ROBOT FRITES:
They were ok, I suppose, but €2,50 is quite dear for not many frites in a supermarket car park in Molenbeek.
You may wonder what Samourai Sauce is, but I can only tell you that I have no idea, as I find the thought of any sauce at all utterly repellent. I was forced to put mayonnaise on here for photographic purposes but I renounce sauce and all of its works.
On this bombshell I must leave you to continue gestating this horrifying tiramisu baby.