Magazine article The Spectator

Food

Magazine article The Spectator

Food

Article excerpt

SO, how are we doing without a telly, then? Well, not too bad, actually. I've even taken up crochet! So far, I haven't progressed much beyond the odd, irregular-shaped doily, but I'm hoping to work my way up to a nice vest dress with matching hat, handbag, shoes, conservatory, DVD player, power shower and Fiat Punto. Ha! Only teasing. Crochet? I could no more crochet than Boris could, say, stop his hair from flopping all over the shop. (Boris: I recommend Aveda Hair-Smoothing Serum. It's pricey, but does the job while simultaneously conditioning. I say this for your own good, and because last time you appeared on Question Time. you nearly knocked out Ken Loach with each swing of your head. Poor Ken. Didn't know what was hitting him. Apart from your hair, that is.) We did try to do without telly for an evening but, believe me, it was ugly. We tried `Having a Conversation' but that was a total failure.

`How come you never empty the dishwasher?' I asked my partner.

`Do.'

`Don't.'

`Do.'

`Don't.'

Conversation is terribly overrated in my opinion, especially when you know that Alma's funeral is going on without you and that Helen, from the Big Brother house, might be saying something brilliantly thick like, `Ooooo look, Bur-bel. There's a foot at the end of my leg!' (I tell you, if her brow was any lower, that would be on the end of her leg.) I thought about doing some gardening, even took the seed packets out of the kitchen drawer, but then realised I'd missed all the sowing times, and promptly put them back so that next year I can take them out and not bother to plant them all over again. We would have played Mousetrap, but couldn't find the diving board. We would have played Monopoly, but couldn't be arsed. So we just sat around, looking glum, until I came up with the most brilliant idea. 'I know,' I said. `Let's play getting the telly fixed! I'll start by rushing it down to the repair shop. OK?' So that's what we did. And now the telly's back. It's lovely. Although, obviously, it means I can't stop long this week, what with Watercolour Challenge beginning in a minute and everything.

In fact, things are looking up all round. You know that small, underpaid, part-time job I've got at the Independent? Well, I've got a new boss, Richard. Richard now has the most influence on my salary. My old boss, Tristan, has moved over to the Independent on Sunday and now has no influence on my salary whatsoever. My old boss, I can now see, was never that handsome. I think what I had for him was just a silly crush, actually, and not the real thing at all. Plus, his eyes are rather close together. Richard, though? He has dark curly hair and is jolly good-looking with lovely eyes. Brown, yes, but a very pleasant shade and nicely spaced. I am quite hopeful of Richard. The first time we meet, I even buy him lunch.

Well, that might be stretching it a bit. What I do is order lunch in from the Internet company Circus Olive, which delivers gourmet lunches to your desk. A top idea? Well, it is if your offices are at Marsh Wall, which is a rather desolate place. No eateries to speak of at all. Just one super-dooper-- sized Asda supermarket, and I hate Asda. I'm much more of a Waitrose sort of person. You get a better class of person in Waitrose, I think. Certainly you don't get the high rate of smacking-per-aisle that you get in Asda. Some days, you can hardly move in Asda for all those women from tower blocks walloping Brittany or Ronan or Chantelle or Tyrone or whomever. …

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