mutha of intention

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my intention was to ride my bicycle into work this morning but as I was passing my crash helmet, jacket and gloves on the landing all of a sudden I was under them, the more I weakly waved them off the more they clung to me and they forced me downstairs without my bicycle. ‘Help, help!’ I sort of didn’t say and I landed hard on my black bitch -but upright and comfortably- and before I had a chance to stop myself from pressing ‘start’ with a chuckle I was racing to work with a grin feeling a bit annoyed at myself for about a second.

On my way home on Friday, following my shift of shite, I stopped off at the Sainsbury where that bloke got slapped to death a few weeks back and made some random though essential purchases. It was weird being at the supermarket on a boiling hot Friday evening and arriving in the underground car park on the bike, the fucking noise caused a small child to burst into tears and run behind it’s mother so it wasn’t an entirely wasted effort. Back at home I cooked a new recipe for IC and I, invented in my head over the course of the day, a sort of spinach and seafood pie in a mustard sauce with mashed potato lid, it was bloody lovely but I think next time I’ll use puff pastry and white fish… either way IC thought it was sensational, she probably used that very word actually. Maybe…

After fresh kippers for breakfast (one of the best I’ve had) IC and I went for a walk in the sunshine. My new tattoos made their debut after the last of the scabs flaked off when applying the cream in the morning and we wandered through a sort of ‘hippie’ (but not really) market and through some pathways flanked by boiling natural greenery, trees shrubs and shit. I’m ashamed to admit that despite having such bucolic joys on my doorstep I’d never ventured on the 2 mile wander to a National Trust property set in beautiful landscaped grounds that comprised of vast trees, pretty flower gardens and glittering streams in which children paddled and dogs leapt. It was quite lovely. After some refreshments and a loll we headed back in time to adjust to the arrival of Jamie.

At seven we three were headed to the local, we managed to get the last bench in the beer garden but our quiet evening drink was compromised by some baseball hat sporting bloodclot who insisted on Djaying the garden to death with wank dance toss. We bumped into Frank and his missus from up the road and then we were a 5 strong drinking team. The bastard on the decks cleared up and went indoors and we enjoyed the rest of the warm evening as the orange faded to blue in civilised chat. James, who was late as usual, replaced Frank and his missus at 10 and we 4 dribbled back to the flat stopping to pick up some snacks for the occasion. Things a tad hazy from this moment on but I recall laughing a lot and thinking, ‘fuck, it’s 4am’.

I woke feeling tired at 11, James gave a husky farewell and I made scrambled eggs and smoked salmon for IC and I. We vetoed the intended bike ride due to my blunt state and we and lay about the flat watching Peep Show and shit on DVD feeling sore but perfectly relaxed enjoying Sunday for what it was intended.

IC had to go mid afternoon to meet up with some pals and I did some of this and fell asleep for an hour or too before being summoned by Frank for a pair of lazy ales. My evening ended with the invention of yet another dish, this one an unmitigated success that I’ve decided to call ‘Squ-ash’ as it’s a mix of bubble and squeak and corned beef hash, dead simple to make. Boil shredded savoy cabbage and new potatoes, drain, crush with a fork, season well and add some chicken stock and half a can of corned beef. Fry the lot in butter until crispy, it’s so good I couldn’t balance the plate on my engorged lap in front of Top Gear. Actually, I may even have it again tonight.

Erm, I love this song *runs away*