An inventory

of the stories that there has been no time to tell…

First, I contemplated ingesting some brainy spices (I was smocked enough to forego the salmon option):

Then, on an innocent Sunday afternoon shopping expedition, my car died a temporary death and had to be taken away by someone who claimed I was the only woman he had ever met who could drive onto a tow truck in a perfectly straight line (which did little to comfort the sight of the Monty the pornmobile being taken away):

Much later, when Monty was back, my mother, in her excited anticipation of her imminent role as mother-of-the-bride, bought herself a hat:

That same day, I bought myself a housewarming present that made me believe, for a few moments, that this shot of the kitchen window was worthy of being included in some kind of lifestyle magazine (alas, it only made it to this site, but it continues to please me every day, being the candle-avid Cancerian that I am):


Most recently, I made what could have been a triple crunch chocolate gateau, but which was more like a very decent chocolate cake with a meringue topping (imagine it following on from the tenderest lamb shanks, cooked to melting perfection, as Nigella might say, or something damn close):

In between all that the man I have asked to marry me decided to sell his soul for a packet of cigarettes – Marlboros, at that:

Yes, it’s been a busy month, and time does not always tell, so sometimes you have to stop and do it yourself. Cameras are good for this, but men without souls can be even better. Today he came home with an armful of roses, which I understand my mother put him up to in some commemoration of the end of my spinsterhood. Still, the best habits often start with a nudge from someone, and with a bucket of roses on the table, who needs a soul? I think all I need to worry about is making sure the Marlboros never run out.

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