So, it turns out that my house mate still exists - he maintains that he had bird flu and was incarcerated in a small cell in a secure military hospital somewhere in a boat and forcefed Lemsip until he was better. In any case, his return is a good thing because I found, last monday, while rooting around for records in a charity shop - much akin and showing many similar behaviours to a French pig rooting around for truffly goodness - a wonderful grey Pringle-patterned cardigan... which I intend to wrap and give to him for Christmas. As he does not know of this blog the surprise should be effectively maintained - and if he finds out then I am blaming you. He has his own blog - here - which charts his alleged infection, amongst many other, more serious and important issues.

The oversized courgette received the stuffing it so needed - that of a bolognese style sauce, with an additional 'special' sauce, the result of a culinary war waged, which however was not only remarkably edible but "just right" as a drizzled dressing before a layer of mature cheddar cheese was overlaid and further baked. Tasty tasty, oh my. THIS WEEK - no idea. I think eating as many different types of things, especially different animals is what I want to do at the moment, and I think wild boar is top of my list.

I have also been on may more trains in recent history and it is remarkable how much easier I find it to identify with certain writers - especially Thomas de Quincey in Confessions of an English Opium as he outlines his 'Preliminary Confessions' and later on in 'The Pains of Opium', (read online here) and also the poems of R.S. Thomas which are stark and hard, covering isolation and the silence of God (e.g.s here). I think this ties in with what I mentioned before... below...