Five things that made me laugh, think and remember that it is still Summer and, in the midst of my crazy life, I should still have fun.
Month: July 2015
A friend from long ago’s daughter wrote me a short email the other day asking me “What should I do with my life?” She has just graduated from university and is “looking for something to do that really matters. Mom thought you might have some suggestions.” I knew the girl when she was in her teens, and haven’t seen her for a decade. So I was touched that she contacted me. I did have some suggestions, but I didn’t send them. Instead I sent her these three pieces of sagacity that would definitely have come in helpful, had I had them on the walls of my various offices over the years.
I was scrolling though Facebook this morning when a man asked me this question. There’s something wrong with the settings on my page – if I so much as brush past a video, it starts playing. Sometimes a good number of minutes later, scaring the crap out of me.
I had just been battling to turn down a video of a poor bloody chameleon who was being encouraged by her owner to pop soap bubbles (when in reality she was desperately stretching for something to cling onto so she could escape. He had her standing on his hand – not a normal position for a chameleon to be in – people are such twats sometimes.)
A few weeks ago, in McG with the nieces, nephew, pal of same and dogs: I decided to make a cake. “Are you sure”, said Jasper, “they take up so much time and don’t always come out so good”. “Aha”, I said, “you are not wrong there – but this time I am going to literally throw it all together and not worry too much. And see how that turns out.” Hannah looked at me sceptically: “Throw it together? Are you sure? Do you even have all the ingredients….” I was and I did. I showed them the recipe …”noooo”, they grumbled, too complicated. “Make it anyway”, said pal Kyra. “I’ll eat it”.
I met Alex the Parisian while sitting at the bar of a fish restaurant, enjoying a drink and a plate of mussels with chorizo that screamed for a large piece of grilled, dense bread to mop up the excellent sauce. Alex the Parisian, sitting in the stool next to me, offered me some of his bread, oily and smoky, that he had ordered a few minutes before.