Playing "hayfever or summer cold" full time now. Tonight's variant: hayfever, summer cold, or far too many chilies? (update: it's a cold, a bastard cold, a cold of all evil)
Accountancy snarl ups (sample note to accountant - translated from mardy French "this balancing transfer relates to a random part payment of an apparently random sum by a client made - for reasons that are entirely opaque - into the wrong account"). Eff my elle.
Brain atrophied to size and texture of dried pea. Only accessible emotion now: irrational fury. Unable to write anything longer than a two sentence complaint. I don't know what's wrong with me, some kind of post-book syndrome? Cold symptom? Ugh.
Made the worst soup in the world:
To be clear: I had no expectations that it would be anything other than horrible. I made it to stop myself going wildly off piste at lunchtime, which keeps happening since stupid Picard decided soup was only for winter and replaced all my favourite punishment variants with .. who the hell knows actually. I saw a cucumber gazpacho in there, nope. Anyway, it is worse even than I expected since the kale adds a particularly unpleasant note of stringiness, giving an overall flavour of "angry swamp". Can a note be textural? I believe it can. Come and fight me and my furious dried pea brain if you disagree.
The soup has not slowed me down even slightly in my quest to put every food in Belgium in my mouth this month.
Frustrated by my continued inability to access any seasons of RuPaul's Drag Race after 6 on Belgian Netflix. Drag Race hunger acerbated by current round of Season 8 final commentary and B sending me this most excellent video.
The TV has taken to turning itself on during the night. I lie there thinking "WHO THE FUCK IS WATCHING TV AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT" and cursing the neighbours, then realise it is coming from our house.
2 near simultaneous messages from 2 different people about 2 different capybaras.
No more random wildcat school holidays until The Big Ones.
I am in bed.
Garden is looking good (by "good" I mean "less chicken scarred"). This is not something I take any pride or sense of ownership in. The garden does what it likes, I do not intervene. It's better than way.
I have found a t-shirt I really love. It was moderately expensive but I feel like it is worth it because I hardly ever buy clothes and it is GREAT, loose and soft and flattering. It only comes in grey, oh no, what a shame, right out of my comfort zone. Its name is 'Pulasky' which means that I have a permanent Pulasky at Night earworm.
I have booked tickets for this Denis Meyer's installation thingy which looks amazing. He has taken over the huge abandoned Solvay building and covered every inch of it in graffiti.
Downloaded new Maggie O'Farrell which has had rave reviews and v much looking forward to it.
A lot of my ups tonight seem to involve me spending money. Ah well.
40% Rhinofebryl, which is a crap substitute for a proper cold and flu remedy whose only redeeming feature is having a name that makes it sound like a Pokémon (speaking of Pokémon, this via M made me laugh)
20% Flan pâtissier