Actual Maths, Tofu Virginity, and Dust...

Live scenes from my bedroom.

Spring continues to blast all cobwebs from their crevices. In the latest energetic news, a new decorating project has begun. Shit's got real. I'm doing up my bedroom. In order to realise my artistic vision, I've started clearing out fourteen years of shite. But folks, the dust. Oh, the dust. And did I mention the shite? I did? Oh good. Unfiled bank statements, twelve bin bags for the charity shop, and a condom that expired in 2013. Alert the British Museum. I know at some point it'll be worth it. To have a wardrobe whose doors close properly, a mattress that doesn't give me back ache, and an actual full length mirror. I will never leave the house in a dishevelled state again. (Lolz. Of course I will.)

Writing News
In his book, On Writing (2000) Stephen King recalls a piece of editing advice he once received.

'Formula: 2nd draft = 1st draft - 10%'

For anyone like me, who sees that sentence and simply skims over the digits until the words come back, I'll write it in English. When you've finished your first draft, you should delete ten percent of its word count for the next draft. My first draft was 65009 words. My current draft weighs in at 61346. It's not quite minus ten percent, (that'd be 6501 - Maths!) but it's getting there. 

In a recent webinar, Jericho Writers', Harry Bingham said words to the effect that whilst deleting ten percent might be fine for Stephen King, anyone who is not Stephen King should be aiming at twenty percent. Our writing will be baggier and wafflier than a mere ten percent clean up will do. Either way, it results in the same thing: I'm still editing.

Live scenes from my head.

Culture

Insta followers will already know this, but my latest TV binge is the best decision I've made in ages. Dawson's Creek. That's it. That's the tweet. Dawson's Creek in all it's entirety is on ITVX and it's giving me life. Just the theme music does it, but reliving the antics of Dawson, Joey, Jen, and (my long time love) Pacey from the late nineties, has sent me crashing back to that time. Every moment of it. Watching in the lounge of my student house, my mates, my crushes, the shenanigans, the downright ANGST of it all - I've been lost in a wave of nostalgia all week. I've just finished series two, and I've got four more to go. Sigh. It's an absolute joy. Finally, and in bang up to date news, last week's Succession was the best hour of television I've ever seen. No hyperbole, it was simply exceptional. If you watched it, you'll know. If you didn't, you missed out. Soz la.

It's a whole new world.

Food and Drink
It's all Suella Braverman's fault. When she decried 'the tofu-eating workerati', I'd never tried the stuff. But the opportunity to join the official opposition to this cruel and unusual government proved too much to bear. I lost my tofu virginity in the week, and now I'm even more committed to being a trans ally and refusing to vilify immigrants. 

For those who want to join the revolution, I coated chunks of firm tofu in a spice blend of cumin, thyme, paprika, za'atar, garlic, and salt. Then I pan fried them. If you bung 'em in a wrap with some lettuce and yoghurt, it's a shawarma of sorts. Either way, it was fit. That's not all. The other day I stumbled across a vegetarian pepperami. What a world! Vegerami is my new go-to sausage snack of choice. Not a euphemism. 

Out and About
Nothing too exiting to report. I did an airport drop off for my brother and his mate, had a mooch around the Trafford Centre with a pocket full of Next Vouchers, and visited B&Q more than usual. Some weeks, it's the way it goes. That's fine.

And now? Now it's the calm before the Eurovision storm. We're a mere month away. Can you feel the buzz? Can you? If not, jump start the electricity by giving this lot a listen. All the songs are available for your perusal. Have you spotted the winner? Nah, course you've not. It's all to play for, right up to the main event. Get involved!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Are You There Judy? It's Me, Nicky?..

I'm terrible at pitching. Not tents, not baseballs (hey US readers!) but ideas. Pitching ideas is how stories get told. Someone has an idea, they pitch it to someone else, and together they create a beautiful project. My inability to convince people of my fabulous vision is the main reason I chose the indie-publishing route. 

Tonight the roles of Nicky Bond and
 Steven Spielberg will be played by
 Jennifer Aniston and Ralph Lauren.

A few years ago I was on a course. Part of it was how to pitch and we were given a scenario. 'Imagine you get into a lift and standing there is Steven Spielberg. This is your one chance to tell him your story and interest him enough so he wants to make the movie. What do you say?'

If this happened to me, I'd smile politely, press the button I needed, and travel in silence until one of us got out. You see? I'm so terrible at pitching I don't remember to try! But back to the course. In pairs, we had to talk about our current projects (mine was Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say) and imagine we had one shot to intrigue our partner. It'd be accurate to describe everyone's attempt as garbled. Mine, however, was garbled, panicked, and incoherent. I waffled on about my diary of a ten year old girl. She's got younger brothers, she's fed up, she writes a year of her life, it's funny, she worries, she's got homework, her Mum and Dad are annoying... blah, blah, blah. You get it now? I can no more interest a stranger about my writing project than I can write it down here. Steven Spielberg can continue to move between floors, unbothered by my output.

We had another go. In our pairs, we were told to stop trying to share the entire plot, characters, and themes. They could come later. First you should explain how you came by your idea. Why are you writing it? What was the trigger that prompted you to put pen to paper? Here's what I said.

When I taught eight and nine year olds in the late noughties, my class would read something of their choosing, first thing every morning. Every day, the same thought occurred to me. I'd have never chosen the books that those children did. When I was eight or nine, I'd have walked straight past their choices in the library. They were all Harry Potter-lite. Wizards and fantasy, superpowers and spells. I'm made up for the kids that love that genre, and perhaps every child in my class did. But I felt there was a gap in the market. Where were the books about growing up? About divorcing parents, and dying grandparents? About sibling rivalry, and babies being born? Where were the books about puberty, angst, and friendship? I knew what the real question was. Where was the modern day Judy Blume? 

My partner seemed engaged. At one point her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. It seems she had been a Judy Blume fan too. Back in the day, when I had no money of my own, no space at home, and no sense of control over most aspects of my life, Judy Blume had littered the shelves of Rainhill library. First I loaned Superfudge. Then Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. It was only a matter of time before I found Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Blubber, and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret? Written about fifteen years before I was reading them, there was a seventies haze over the stories. And with their US setting, they took me to another world. Not a world on a different planet, or a world with magic and potions. They took me to a world where everyday humans lived. (New Jersey!) Humans with whom I had lots in common, but with a whole range of different experiences too.

I finished my spiel by saying it was then I realised I wanted to be a modern-day Judy Blume. I'd done better that time. My partner immediately responded about her memories of those books, and how she loved the stories too. My pitch had worked! (Kinda. We were not in a lift and she was not Steven Spielberg. But still. Yay me.)

So why am I telling you this now?

Fifty years after the book was published, Are You There God, It's Me Margaret has been made into a film. (Watch the trailer here. Go on, click. See what you think.) To say I'm trepidatious is an understatement. I don't remember much of the plot, I never even had my own copy. But I remember how it made me feel. Seen. I was nine. It taught me loads - literally loads - about puberty. I borrowed it more than once. I even used for a high school presentation about my favourite book. What if the film's shit? What if I've misremembered how valuable it was? Or what if it's excellent and it makes me give up the Leeza McAuliffe franchise because there's no point?

From the upcoming film, Are
You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

I'm being silly. I know that. I'm sure I'll be logging into my Odeon app as soon as it's released here. But it's interesting how publishing trends ebb and flow. Perhaps the fantasy stories are taking a back seat these days. I'm also fascinated to see how AYTGIMM's audience looks. Will it be women my age, who are watching for the nostalgia? Or will a new generation of middle-grade children, stumble across it and learn about the world like I did?  Whatever happens, I'm so pleased that the stories of every day humans continue to be told. It's how we learn empathy. It's how we learn about the experiences of others. We need them now more than ever. Just don't rely on me for the pitch.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Extra Light, Teen Pursuits, and Is Right Laaaaad...

Snow White cleaning the stench
of corruption. Perhaps.

Hey there, April! We're here! Were you ready for guests? OK if we make ourselves at home? Excellent. It's all change in the UK. We've just received an extra hour of daily sunlight, and there are a couple of  Bank Holidays in the offing. Exciting times. In wider seasonal news - and in the vaguest of terms - it's as if there's been a spring clean in some of the murkier crevices of the powers that be. You always hope that corrupt politicians are held to account at some point, but at times it's hard to believe. There's still a long way to go, but oh how satisfying to watch people being forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

Leeza McAuliffe Book One
is here! Catch up on her
antics before Book 2's out.

Writing News

This week, in the never-ending palaver of editing Leeza McAuliffe Book 2, I've been focusing on the dialogue of one particular character - Tom. Leeza's pal, Jake, has a grandad. He pops up now and then, is involved in some plots  and not others, and stays in the background most of the time. But we still hear what he says. I realised that the Tom I'd written towards the end of the book was totally different to the Tom at the start. As I read it back, some of the word choices I used sounded 'not something Tom would say.' I've also decided he needs to call Jake, lad, more often. (Not in the Scouse way - Is right laaaaaad - but in an older, Northern England man, way - Ey up lad. Kinda.) This week has been spent ironing all that out.

A Room With a View

Culture

Succession is back! Hurrah! Taskmaster is back! Huzzah! Both shows I hoovered up, binged, and repeated through the lockdown years. I've also been reliving my teens and working my way through some Merchant Ivory films. Specifically the adaptations of the E.M Forster novels, A Room With a View, Howard's End, and Maurice. What? Your teen years were different? It takes all sorts, I suppose. If I have one regret - which would be a waste of time to even contemplate - it's that in all my days of English Lit, I never studied E.M Forster. As I said, it takes all sorts. Either way, a few happy evenings have been spent wallowing in cinematic beauty.

Here's my pimped-up
hummus. The one I
make is from this recipe.
(FYI I use a fraction
of the olive oil.)

Food and Drink

What with the extra hour of daylight and a (sometimes) dry, bright, vibe outdoors, my food has gone all Mediterranean. Loads of cubed salad veggies, home made hummus, and pittas. There's even been talk of whacking on the BBQ. More 

news as we have it. 

Calderstones Park looking
stunning at 5.30pm.

Out and About

The extra hour may well signal the slow descent into sweltering hell but it's not all bad. I often feel like a walk after I've been sitting at my laptop for hours. In the winter, that's when it's dark. Without the security of straight male privilege in my back pocket, I have to gamble. Do I take a stroll or become a crime statistic? Over time, the odds aren't great so I tend to stay inside. But now? Now I get to walk in the park around the 5-6pm mark. It's glorious. My achy back is grateful.

So how are you using the extra hour of light? Frolicking in the meadows? Running amok? Cracking on as per? There are no wrong answers. You do you, and I'll see you back here next week.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Birthdays, Bangers, and Books...

Ah, cheers Phoebs!

Since my last post, I've turned forty-five. I don't usually enjoy being an odd number, but a multiple of five is better than a double-digit ending in one, three, or seven. (IMHO. I've found some people don't care either way. Weird.) Besides all that, the person I live with also had a birthday and turned fifty. My multiple of five was over shadowed and pushed out of the way by a multiple of ten. Shit happens. The upshot was, a bunch of my in-laws and family were partying hard in my house on Saturday night. I did what many recently turned forty-five year olds would do, and drank like a fish. I also wore a jumpsuit. It's a whole new world. 

A small insight 
into my creative output.

Writing
What with all the party prep in the week, I barely wrote a word. The most creative thing I did was make a banging playlist. You want early-nineties to mid-noughties, guitar-based man-boy songs? I got you. 

Culture 
In 2002, a colleague recommended Christopher Brookmyre and Val McDermid books to me. I tried a Brookmyre (Boiling a Frog) and got sidetracked by his whole back catalogue and future output for the following twenty years. Shamefully late to the party, I read my first Val McDermid book last week. Even more shamefully, I only did it because I'd watched the dramatisation of her first Karen Pirie novel on ITVX. However, the non-shameful thing about all this is I've found a new favourite author with a huge number of books to devour. I'm ecstatic. 

Food and Drink 

In a bid to be healthy yet excited by my birthday week food choices, I've been hammering whipped feta and moonblush tomatoes on sourdough. It's been my staple lunch this week, between party planning, furniture rearranging, and booze shopping. I can heartily recommend it. 

 Lovely,
lovely lunch.

Out and About
In spite of mad busy-ness and too many supermarket trips, I managed to claw back some attention and have an afternoon in the Cavern. Live music and a few birthday beers was dece. I also watched Scream VI again, because even though I don't like horror films, and even though I can't be arsed with franchises, I absolutely love the Scream horror franchise. I'm a mass of contradictions. 

It's a short and sweet post this week. I make no apologies. I'm still buzzing but knackered from the weekend. Sometime life gets in the way of reporting the life that got in the way. And isn't that the way it should be? 

Have a lovely week, folks. 

Closure, Culture, and Comté...

Hello Pier Head, looking good!

I must provide closure. Last time I did a weekly update - a fortnight ago - I was all poised to bag some lovely Eurovision tickets when they were released the following day. Did I manage it? Did I buggery. Like the legion of Eurofans I follow on Twitter, I was unsuccessful. But what a morning it was. The online community of fellow ESC obsessives was out in force. Sharing stories of the queue, posting pictures of Ticketmaster's notification pages as they happened, commiserating when screens froze or people were unlucky after all the waiting. It was exactly as joyous as it could have been in the circumstances. I've no idea who got tickets for the final, but the queue for the Friday Preview Show was gone in forty five minutes. That's when I got to the front. Despite many, many people messaging me that day and commiserating, I am upbeat. The Saturday final is a TV show, so I'm happy to watch from my sofa. But for the week leading up to that, the Pier Head sounds like the place to be. I'm giddy just thinking about it. 

Here's Leeza Book One
for anyone that wants 
to catch up.

Writing News
I've been doing simple but necessary edits this week. The new Leeza McAuliffe story is told in diary form. So information such as family birthdays and her school holiday dates need to be consistent. (She'd have written them in at the beginning of the year, right?) Also, she records the start of her period every month so that needs to be consistent too. I've also gone through and checked spellings on names. Her brother Blane got called Blaine for a few chapters (I forgot!) so that's been ironed out, and I introduced a friend called Kayla that I changed to Cayla mid-draft. That needed to be checked. It's time consuming and laborious but essential nonetheless. 

I LOVE Michael Urie.

Culture 
I hesitate to recommend anything on Apple TV because so few people have it, but now Ted Lasso is back, perhaps viewers will use their free trials and whatnot. If so, look up Shrinking. It's written by the same people behind Ted Lasso and is another funny and poignant look at modern men navigating modern life. Jason Segal plays the lead, with excellent support from Harrison Ford, Jessica Williams, and my absolute fave, Michael Urie. I also watched Aftersun, just in time to see it win nothing at the Oscars. Booo. It was so good. A sweetly sad story of childhood memories tangled up with adulthood realities. Because of the Oscars, I also watched Everything Everywhere All at Once, which I enjoyed. (Was it worth Best Picture? Not sure.) And then to top off my cultural week, I literally ran (not really) to the Odeon for the opening night of Scream VI. I LOVE the Scream movies. They never let me down. This one was no exception. I walked out happy and satisfied.

Food photography is
not my calling.

Food and Drink
You know when you've eaten something and you can't stop thinking about it for days afterwards? Just me? Fair enough. But for my starter last Saturday, I had Twice Baked Cheddar and Comté Souflé. It was spot on. If you look at the photo, you'll see I'd had a good go of it before remembering to record it for posterity. No matter. The cheesiness was light and fluffy, and the accompanying apple, rocket, and walnut salad (with a mustardy dressing I think) set the rich flavour off perfectly. I have - natch - attempted my own version at home. It was nothing, and I mean NOTHING like the original. I basically made quiche. No matter. I have my memories.

Out and About
The fit soufflé was in Maidenhead, where I spent an evening for my brothers birthday. Their Premier Inn is another one to add to my Premier Inns I have Stayed list. I also had a night at The Wine Club in Rainhill which is always brilliant. Other than that, it's been a mad week of shopping. I've got a household full of birthdays this week, so there's been a few Prosecco runs. I also helped one of my brothers host Mother's Day by providing some fish. It's been all go.

In a few days, I'll be celebrating my birthday. Exciting! Let's hope all our weeks involve as much anticipation, attention and giddiness as I'm assuming mine will. (Lolz. I can but dream!) Until next time!

Have a lovely week, folks.

Time Marches On, Equality Should Too...

A reconstruction of
my general thoughts
in 1993.

I remember sitting in Biology in 1993. I was bemoaning the fact that my latest sibling was on the way and I said to my teacher (shout out to Mr. O'Callaghan!) 'When the kid's my age, I'll be thirty!' I was in shock, and filled with - let's face it - the understandable disgust an almost fifteen-year-has about their parents procreating. He answered back, 'There's nothing wrong with being thirty,' and that was that. End of conversation. I think he expected me to do some Biology, or something.

It's still clear as day in my head. Except now, the unborn baby being discussed in Room 36 of the science block, is himself, about to turn thirty. This post is not about him. Although Happy Birthday to my brother etc etc. Many happy returns of the day, yadda yadda. It's about me. Of course I'm making this about myself. 

The basic and obvious point that springs to mind is, doesn't time fly? It's been three decades since that exchange happened. Three decades of having that particular brother in the family, and three decades since I was in Year Ten, getting distracted in Biology by my own dramas. It feels like yesterday.

It doesn't look like yesterday, however. It'd be weird if it did. I'm definitely older, wider, (also wiser, but predictive was right first time) wrinklier, greyer, and hormonally all over the place. It's visibly clear that time has passed. Thirty years of time. And even though the hormonal part has caused carnage in recent years, I'd still refuse the chance to turn back the clock. I like being older. I like the fact that my face doesn't look like it did in my Uni photos. I dye my hair for now, but I'm intrigued about not bothering at some point. It's all a bit of fun. Noticing the changes and working with them.

It's what made me most annoyed about the recent Top Gun: Maverick movie. You know, the long-awaited sequel to Top Gun? Everyone I spoke to seemed to think it was an exceptional film. The Academy Awards deemed it worthy of six nominations. But all I could think was, why hasn't Maverick changed in thirty six years? His reckless personality, his dislike of authority, his leather jacket - they all survived the fictional leap through the decades. He rides the same motorbike, he has the same hair cut and colour (OK it's a smidge longer but still) and when the beach volleyball scene happens with the younger pilots, he's jumping and leaping all over the place. Like he did in the first film. On the one hand... good for him? I suppose. On the other, let it go, Tom! Maverick would have been a much more interesting character if you'd thought about the nuanced ways he'd changed over time. 

All this is in my head for a reason. I'm currently editing the second Leeza McAuliffe book. Her story started when Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say was published in 2019. She was ten. Now, it's 2023 and I'm writing her experiences as an eleven to twelve year. There are some aspects of Leeza's character that are easy to write. Puberty, high school, friendships, and family are fairly universal. I've written from experience as well as checking with youngsters to pinpoint modern day accuracies. So far so good. But Leeza does not live in isolation. She's a modern day character living in the modern world. When I started creating her from scratch (around 2017) that world was a very different place. Now, six years later, it's all change. Far right governments are on the rise, the rolling back of rights seems to be a daily news item, and the UK government's latest bill is - IMHO - an amoral disgrace. 

Of course, specific news items are not going to make it into Leeza's daily diary entries. That would date the book immediately. But the vibe of those changes has altered things. Screeching headlines about 'wokeness' weren't around when I was writing the first book. (Back then, the press were pushing other aspects of the culture war.) As a bright girl with no inherent dislike of people with different experiences, she's not transphobic or homophobic. She's not racist, (although as I'm a white writer and I've not specified her ethnicity, she's default white with the unconscious bias that brings.) And she has no truck with misogyny, living as she does, with a mother who happily flaunts her inclusive feminism all over the place. My job, as the writer of this fictional character, is to reflect who she is without seeming preachy. The story has to flow naturally without sounding like Leeza has an agenda (which would ultimately be my agenda). The characters have to behave the way they authentically would, based on what we know about them. Even so, the values that Leeza has, make her appear far more progressive now, than she was in the first book. The book that narratively took place one year earlier, but was actually written five or six years before. 

Maybe it's because of this that Tom Cruise and his creative team decided Maverick should stay as he was. It's much easier to pretend nothing's changed. If I make Leeza unaware of the injustices around her, or simply self-centred, I can ignore these concerns. It'd be far less headachy to write. But Leeza, like all of us, is shaped by the society in which she lives. She can either accept injustice and cruelty and let it pass her by, or she can be confused and frustrated by the inequalities she sees in the world. It's no spoiler to say, I've chosen to make her go with the latter. Either way, it gives me lots to think about as I tidy up the draft each day.

Phew, look where we ended up! When I started this Ramble, I'd planned to open with the Biology class anecdote, reference the fact that thirty years has flown by, and then see where it went. Of course, it got political! It always does with me. But like Gary Lineker, if I've got a platform (lol, mine's tiny!) I'm going to use it. So let's be clear. Trying to reduce or eradicate the rights of other people, is bang out of order. The most vulnerable groups in society are getting used as political footballs so horrendous people with all the power, can score points. It's grim. It needs to be fought. I can write that on this blog, and I can subtly and naturalistically include it in the outlook and experiences of my fictional characters. Either way, I can't not. 

Reading this back, perhaps I wouldn't refuse the chance to turn back the clock a few years. But not to get rid of my wrinkles. For political purposes only. As time continues to fly, the world around us should progress onwards too. In recent years, it's done the opposite.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Tickets, Tomatoes, and Terrific TV...

You'll have heard already, of course, but the date's finally been announced when Eurovision tickets go on sale. Tuesday 7th March, at 12pm, via Ticketmaster. Since Liverpool was announced as the host city, I've had regular messages from all sorts of people, asking when tickets will be available. I'm clearly seen as some sort of Eurovision oracle. Well, so be it. Heavy is the head that wears the crown - but what a fabulous crown! Anyway, tomorrow's going to be interesting. I imagine Ticketmaster will crash within thirty seconds and I imagine it'll be a stressful lunchtime for many people all over the world. Whatever happens, via my laptop at 12pm, the wider plans for the first fortnight in May look immense. There'll be something for everyone. In the more-than-likely event of my not managing to secure tickets, it'll be absolutely fine. There's still all sorts of Liverpool shenanigans to get involved with. The city's going to be buzzing.

Plus, this
happened on Insta.

Writing 

I spent Tuesday highlighting all the things one of my main characters says out loud. Jake is Leeza's best friend. He has a story arc of his own but we only see it through her eyes. By highlighting everything she reports him saying, I can check consistency, his own story development, and the quality of his character voice. It's not as tricky as it sounds. Basically, does Jake sound like Jake and behave realistically based on what we know he is experiencing as the novel progresses? It's much easier to tell, when I can quickly jump to the highlighted parts. I've also highlighted everything said by Cait, Jake's mum, and Poppy, Leeza's new nemesis. Their voices will get tightened up this week. Fun and games!

We are all Sunny.
(Sanjeev Bhaskar
playing Sunny Kahn.)

Culture
Unforgotten is back. The whole of series five is on ITVX, but it's being shown weekly on ITV. Nicola Walker was killed off at the end of the last series, much to the heartbreak of her fictional colleagues and real life viewers alike. That means there's a new Guv on the murder team. But the writers have done a very clever thing. It's hard to replace a character when the old one was so beloved. As viewers, we're predisposed to dislike DCI Jess James from the start. Cassie (Walker's character) is gone and her team are grieving. This new woman (excellently played by Sinéad Keenan) can't possibly match up. So she's introduced as prickly. She has different crime solving priorities (she's all about the budget!) and we feel as uncomfortable as Sunny and the gang when she's on the job. But to keep us viewers onboard and tuning in every week, the creative team have played a blinder. They've given her a shitty husband. No matter how aggrieved we feel that she's taking Cassie's place, we're still rooting for her. We don't want her to be forced to quit because she's facing the prospect of being a single mum, and needing better working hours. We're uneasy but we want things to work. At some point, I'm sure they will be, and Jess and Sunny will be the dynamic duo they're destined to be. But as openings of a new series go, Unforgotten continues to be exceptional TV. 

My haphazard version of spicy,
tomatoey, peppery soup.
With added feta.

Food and Drink
All this talk of missing tomatoes made me crave - wait for it - home made tomato soup. With very depleted shelves, I managed to get a pack of vine-on cherry toms, and the last pack of padron peppers in Christendom (aka the Sainsburys on East Prescot Road). Here's what I did...

• Throw the tomatoes and peppers into a roasting tray.
• Add a red onion, bulb of garlic and as much chilli as you can stand. Drizzle with olive oil.
•  Roast til soft. Forty minutes or so, perhaps?
• Blitz in the mixer, then add salt, pepper, fresh coriander, boiling water, and Greek yogurt, until you get the desired taste and consistency.

It was spot on. Yet, one small pack of mini tomatoes and a punnet of mini peppers are not conducive to batch cooking. This made enough for three portions. (Perhaps more, if I'd have watered it down further.) But I definitely needed to satisfy the craving or it'd have been all I could think about. It's fair to say, my tomato rations have been used up for the foreseeable future.

Out and About
It's been a much calmer week after all my recent gallivanting. However, I did spend an afternoon with an author friend, putting the world to rights and enjoying the joyous self-indulgence of talking for hours about writing. For an activity that's mostly solitary, it's great to come up for air and chew the fat, now and then. 

All that's left to say is a mighty Bon Chance for tomorrow. Whether that's for your attempts to procure nigh-impossible tickets for the biggest show on earth, or because you've got a normal Tuesday of work, chores, and family shit, good luck in all your endeavours, whatever they may be.

Have a lovely week, folks.