#78 The Offcuts
Yorkshire puddings and entitled rest
There was no newsletter on Thursday. Apologies. I am sick (genuinely) and since last Tuesday, my brain has not been working as it ought to. The bones of said newsletter have been plotted. I am hopeful I’ll send it over this week instead. Not failing at writing, just unwell and entitled to be unable to write. I say it over and over until the sentiment sinks in.
My reading has slowed; perhaps it’s a concentration thing from feeling poorly. My current read is The God of the Woods by Liz Moore. A twisty, slow-burn, thriller-come-mystery about two missing children from the same family. The story is told over multiple decades and from various perspectives. Everyone has secrets. I’m finding it a solidly good read requiring not much brain power, which is ideal.
Some other reads:
People don’t like confidence in a woman
Sam Altman was issued a subpoena while on stage
Has the BBC acquiesced to a ‘coordinated, politically motivated attack’?
Mamdani for a new age
Additive Bias
Lots of restaurants have been added to my must-visit list of late. I’ve been using the Beli app to keep track. You can rank places you’ve already been, follow your friends and see their ratings, and places on your lists (been or want to try) can all be seen on a map, too. I keep on adding new places I want to try without dedicating the time to ticking any of them off. My top three in this very moment would be Shankey’s, Bistro Sablé, and Singburi. Anyone care to join me for dinner?
The Angus Thongs and Perfect Snogging soundtrack is one of the, if not for nostalgic reasons the, best of all time. This is, arguably, one of the only parts of the film that has aged well. The rest remains a relic for a time of teen and girlhood of noughties gone by. I would’ve been thirteen when the film came out, and I had the biggest crush on Aaron Johnson. The books were a revelation to me. I followed the series religiously, finding each instalment in my town’s library and letting them shape my foundational knowledge on boys, crushes, and female teenagedom.
Yesterday, for a snack, I had a bowl of Yorkshire puddings and gravy. When you are ill, I believe that anything goes. But I also don’t think the decision needs any justification. I ate half the packet and then went back for the rest. Of course, there is no contest - homemade is best. But the M&S 6-pack of Yorkies are the next best thing. They have a bit of stodge about them. Best served straight from the oven, heavily peppered and smothered in gravy.
The rotten cough I’ve developed over the past week is driving me up the wall. I am now congested, full of phlegm and blowing my nose every ten minutes. I shall not die quietly! Luckily, I love cough syrup. But even taking a walk to the shops has made my chest tighten and left me out of breath. I’m not good at being ill. Rest feels like it has to be earned, and even though I suffer from fatigue often, regardless of feeling physically well, I berate myself for it. I’m a work in progress.
In an attempt to allow myself the rest I need, the rest my body craves, and cosiness craved from all the sharp, cold mornings that will bite at our ankles for the next few months, an ode to bed seemed fitting.
Early Morning Love Poem
By Brian Bilston
Duvet,
you are so groovet,
I’d like to stay under you
all of Tuesdet.
Wow, 'entitled to be unable to write.' So true, really.