Dear Diary, Leave Me Alone...

Happy 1st September! If I were minded to rewrite a classic lyric, I'd sing, 'It's a new month, it's a new term, it's a new vibe... and I'm feeling autumnaaaaaaaal.' 🎶 Even if the sun remains as hot as all get out, the mental shift has happened. I'm back in the zone.

But hark, what's this? As I check in with today's calendar, I'm greeted with a slew of instruction. 

• Book MOT this month
• Tax car this month
• Patch!

I'll square with you, the patch part is easy. It's a Monday so it's time to replace my HRT. This bi-weekly event takes no more thought than it took to type this sentence. When added to a bunch of other demands, however, it contributes to a massive admin pile on. Ahh, admin, how I hate you. Admin is the worst part of adulting, hands down. This is not a universal view. Some people actively love it. They're the ones who buzz off a price comparison website. They get a thrill from saving 49p a year after spending the best part of an evening on the phone, balancing a iPad screen on their knees. The thought of it makes my head hurt. I'd pay 49p a year to never deal with admin again.

 

Me, looking at today's
to-do list

Yet the admin still remains. My brain might have shifted towards my happy seasons, but the demands of September admin are pulling me back to overwhelmed frustration. I know what you're thinking. The time I've spent ranting about the issue, could have been spent booking my MOT. You're right, you're right, I know you're right. Yet here I am... still typing, still procrastinating, and still not having booked my MOT. It's a September conundrum. Argghhh.

I WILL find it. I will find that story!

Writing News

The editing process is getting FORENSIC. I'm now reading every single sentence and making a value judgement. Does it move along the plot? Is it a call back for later? Does it enlarge upon a character or theme? If the answer to those questions is no, then it goes. Highlight and delete. It's a surprisingly effective method at lowering word count. An hour with Chapter Six yesterday, managed to reduce the total by five hundred words. That's 10% of the chapter; a sensible amount to delete. We're still not totally there in terms of a tight story that flows, but we're closer than we were.

Whether you want him
to be or not, 
Hutch is back!

Culture

Thursday was a film heavy day. First of all, I made a cinema trip to see Nobody 2. I'd enjoyed the original, but not left the cinema feeling the need for a sequel. To be fair, I rarely leave the cinema feeling the need for a sequel. I prefer it when a script brings the story to completion. Still, Nobody 2 came out and it provided a  reasonably enjoyable couple of hours. Was it necessary? No! Would I watch it again? No! Was it enjoyable nonetheless? Yeah! 

When I got home, I had another two hours to kill before I had to collect my brother from the station. What to do with those two hours? Well, it'd been bought to my attention - repeatedly via social media - that Thursday was the day that Netflix's The Thursday Murder Club dropped. I whacked it on, had just enough time for a wee during the closing credits, before I was out the door, en route to Warrington Bank Quay. So, what did I think? Well, it's fine. No, it's better than fine, it's good. It looks right. It feels right. The book's plot has been simplified for the screen, which is probably right too. There was just something not quite right that I couldn't put my finger on. It took me the drive to Warrington and back to finally work it out. Here's the thing. It wasn't funny. Sure, there was the odd funny line, but my main memory of the book was the Victoria Wood-like wit that leapt off the page. This was mostly through Joyce's diary. Her entries are how we get to know Joyce and her thoughts. In the film, for entirely understandable reasons, the diary writing has gone. We see Joyce's personality solely through her interactions with the other characters. I think that made it less funny. Hey ho, it enjoyably filled my spare two hours and gave me something to ponder on my late night drive.

Food and Drink

I'm not from New Orleans. Sorry if that's a shock but it's true. That being said, I love a muffuletta. I saw it made on a nineties cookery show - can't remember which one - and it's been part of my repertoire ever since. A quick note before we begin. As clearly stated above, I'm not from New Orleans. This food is not my heritage. I'm comfortable with tweaking, adapting, and ostensibly anglicising a recipe, as long as it's made clear that's what's been done. You want a legit muffuletta recipe? You'll need to look that up. You want a tasty, muffuletta-inspired concoction made from ingredients sourced from a UK supermarket? Then read on, baby.

Let's face it, recipe is too strong a term for what's ostensibly a sandwich. Get yourself some crusty bread. I used a ciabatta this time. Slice in half, then layer up with tasty things. Sliced cheese, meats, and pickled veggies in jars, for example. Things like roasted peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, tapenade, gherkins, or artichokes. I added rocket, mainly to nudge up the five-a-day tally, as well as a couple of sauces. Mayo was slathered on one half of the bread, and fresh pesto on the other. The olive oil from the jarred veggies is a welcome addition to the whole shebang. Let it drip all over the place. Don't eat this whilst wearing something you want kept nice. This is a messy, all-encompassing feast of a butty. The making of it is fun too.

A smattering of siblings

Out and About

This weekend saw a family get together round my sister's gaff. She lives a couple of hours north, and the drive is a delight or a headache depending on the whims of the M62 and M1. Happily, this time, the trip was a delight. Enough journey to listen to a curated playlist, but not so long that it got to the end and began to repeat. The day with the family was good fun. I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again, having multiple siblings spread around the country, is cracking. I get to visit places I'd never go, if they'd all stayed in one place. Fab stuff.

It's good the siblings have spread. I, however, live in the same town in which I spent most of my youth. That won't be the case forever, but for now, it's how it is. The good news is that my regular stints on Rightmove have found a variety of of houses and apartments I'd buy in a heartbeat. If I could stomach all the admin, that is.

Have a lovely week, folks.