10:32 Is it just me or is Ed Sheeran’s Castle on the Hill the most annoying song in the world? I feel like he’s basically saying, “The friends I grew up with are all failures and a little bit fucked up, but EVEN THOUGH I’m now a massively famous musician, I still love my fucked up friends because I’m very down to earth and they made me the person I am and also isn’t it amazing how well I’ve done considering this is the place I’ve come from?” If I were one of Ed’s pals, I’d be FUMING.
Other than getting annoyed at Ed, I’ve just been drinking tea and eating toast. This blog is starting to feel like Groundhog Day. I suppose this life is starting to feel like Groundhog Day. Although I did have a bit of excitement in the middle of the night. And when I say “excitement”, I mean “terror”. I got up to get some more water at around five in the morning, and just as I was passing my door, someone started rattling the letter box!!!! I shat myself. Then I stood frozen at the door while the INTRUDER proceeded to rattle other people’s letter boxes. But then it seemed like they’d left, so I took the opportunity to triple lock my door and dive back into bed. Adrenaline was coursing its way through my body and that, combined with all the spicy squid I ate and wine I drank, was making me feel pretty queasy. BUT THEN I heard the old lady next door shout out, “Hello?,” and I was like, “Oh god she’s 100% going to be murdered. And she might get Covid in the process”. So then I got back out of bed, went back to my door and looked through the peephole. Couldn’t see the intruder (thank goodness because I don’t know what I would have done if they were there), so I opened the door. Just me and the old lady in the hall. Both of us clueless, but thankfully, neither of us murdered. And after a long and confusing chat of me yelling things at the old lady because she’s very deaf (how on earth did she hear the door??) we went back into our own flats.
Except is it???? Because the thing is, I THOUGHT I’d heard our letter box being rattled the night before last. And I just thought I’d been dreaming, but now I’m sure I wasn’t. So, who is this letter box rattler???? And are they going to kill us all????
Again, I’ve got no idea what I’m going to have for lunch or dinner. Well, I’ll probably have some form of eggs for lunch. And for dinner I’ve got a couple of cook books beside me to look through. Mary Berry and Nigella Lawson. I think I’m feeling more Mary Berry today (weird thing to say). It’s Sunday, the scaries will soon descend, it’s snowing (kind of), and I’m in the mood for something homely and cosy.
Ooh! I just opened the book and it landed on “Portobello Mushrooms with Double Cheese Topping”. That sounds good, doesn’t it? And it looks really easy to make. But maybe it’s too easy? Yeah. I think I want something that takes a bit longer today… and she’s got a really tasty looking aubergine lasagne in her book, so I think I’ll go for that!
17:28 Well, the aubergine lasagne is all assembled and ready for the oven:
I made a bechamel sauce!!! I’m pretty sure I’ve made one before, but still. I don’t have any scales so it was a bit of a thrill getting to guess the correct quantities of butter and flour. Parmesan cheese, milk and Dijon mustard also went into it, and I think it turned out alright. Although I suppose I won’t know for sure until I eat the lasagne. I was about four slices of aubergine short when it came to the lasagne topping, which was a bit of a shame because I had eaten exactly four slices of aubergine while I was cooking, but no matter. I pretty much followed the recipe except for deciding to triple the garlic and parmesan cheese (because duh). Oh, and at one point, I dropped all of the lasagne sheets on the floor… but I still used them. I hoovered and mopped yesterday, so it’s FINE.
Except I only hoovered… I didn’t actually mop.
But it’s still FINE.
(Really hope my flatemate doesn’t read this).
I feel like this dish could be a good one for dinner parties, especially because you can get it all ready beforehand. I really miss dinner parties. Having friends in the flat, telling them to please not talk to me while I cook, the mad dash to the shops for more wine at 21:55… good memories.
OH MY GOD. I currently have Rick Stein’s Secret France on the TV and, I’m sorry, but I just can’t get over his life. I’m watching him eat an entire seafood platter all to himself, with a mayonnaise and mustard dip, in sunny Normandy. GAAAAAH. I can’t believe he still hasn’t asked me to come along with him on one of his trips. Do you think if I blog about him for long enough it could happen? I think so. Once we can travel again I should definitely book a holiday to Cornwall and go to all of his restaurants. And I’ll give them all rave reviews and then he’ll ask me to co-present one of his shows.
Right. Now I’ve got my future sorted, it’s time to put the lasagne in the oven. Let’s hope it turns out alright! I bought some fresh bread to eat with it… because is it even Sunday if I don’t pass out on the couch in a carb coma? NO.
12:42 I wrote the above last week and haven’t got back to it until now, which seems to be a habit I’m getting into. I was able to blame PMS last time, but not sure what I can blame this time. Ovulation? Yeah, alright. I’ve been too happy and excited and horny to write. Except that’s not true. THEORY TIME. I used to find PMS incredibly difficult. As soon as ovulation was over, I would feel myself slip into this dark, reclusive, anxious state where I really needed time alone, but felt like that was impossible or selfish to have. It was completely different to the ovulation phase of my cycle, where I felt like a social butterfly with endless energy and excitement. But now I’m actually finding PMS easier than ovulation, and I think it’s because we’re in lockdown. Because PMS suits lockdown. In the luteal phase, your hormones want you to turn inwards and take it easy, and now I get to do exactly that. I get to stay in and hide and have all this time by myself… and it feels good. PMS can feel good, which is something I never thought I’d say. But I think I’m realising that it wasn’t PMS that I hated; it was the hectic lifestlye. My body was telling me what I needed, but I was ignoring it. And now the same thing is happening in the ovulation phase. I have all this energy to give to other people…. but it can’t go anywhere right now. It gets stuck, and I get bored and restless and frustrated and angry. But, again, it’s not ovulation I hate; it’s the lifestyle. It’s ignoring what my body is telling me it needs… and that’s when the difficult feelings arise.
Wow. I just can’t stop rabbiting on about the menstrual cycle, can I? I guess I’ve really been enjoying learning about it lately, although I also can’t believe that I’m only properly learning about it now at 28 years old… 16 years after my first period (!!!). That’s scary, right? I think it is. I mean, we’re taught about what physically happens, but no one ever mentions what goes on emotionally. And, actually, are we even taught that much about what physically happens? Not really. I’ve heard at least three people who menstruate freak out about the gloopy weird goo that seems to randomly appear for a couple of days a while after a period (hello, cervical mucas). But is it any wonder when we’re all put on the combined pill as teenagers and our cycle is taken away before we even have a chance of understanding it? Because urrrghhh that’s another thing. Being offered the pill without any explanation of what it will be doing, the possible side effects or alternative forms of contraception. It’s the easiest, most effective way of not getting pregnant. What else do you need to know? A LOT!!!!
Okay, I’m getting all riled up now. I should probably go back to talking about food…
Well, the aubergine lasagne was a delight. Definitely one for future dinner parties. I ate it while watching First Dates. I’ve been watching a lot of First Dates recently. I think it’s so I subconsciously learn about what not to do for when I can get back on the scene. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:
- Don’t tell your date that they’re terrible at dating
- Don’t tell your date that you normally go for someone taller and slimmer
- Don’t check the football scores while you’re in the middle of dinner
- Don’t tell your date that you’re basically their mum
- Don’t beg your date to rate you out of ten
- Don’t cry when your date eventually gives in and rates you out of ten and you don’t like their answer
It’s been a journey. I’ve just started speaking to a girl, actually. I think it’s going okay. So far I’ve told her about the time my dad was arrested by airport security because they thought he was kidnapping my brother and I, and she’s told me about the time she slipped and went sliding down Arthur’s Seat on a first date… and her date DIDN’T EVEN LAUGH. I think we might be, as the kids say, “vibing”. The letter box rattler hasn’t been back since I last wrote, but I did find a note on the stairwell that said, “I thought it best to go. Keep smiling.” Maybe they realised the error of their ways? Or, you know, maybe the note was for a neighbour and the letter box rattler was actually just the wind.
No idea what I’m making for dinner tonight, but I have a feeling it’s going to involve tofu and lots of garlic.