Easy like Sunday morning

I was beginning to forget what it is like to have a weekend at home. Thankfully, after the past couple of days, I am in no fear of such a lapse of memory. Weekends from my past are very much with me, as I remember exactly how I got this fat over the past 25 years. The scientific name for this, I believe, is 'Mother'. She cooked up a couple of storms, and I ate them.

The rest of the weekend has been a breathtaking spectacle involving:
1. A great book. One of my favourites from my childhood. I was fortunate enough to find a copy at Mr. Shanbag's after years of searching. I can't find a nice enough review, but if you haven't already read How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn, you should.

2. Sleep. I have slept a total of 14.5 hours since last evening. And if my Cat and the lovely Jakes had not kidnapped me at 2 am under the false pretext of the latter's broken heart, I might have sleep 16 hours. But I'm not complaining. Not a bit.

3. Food. No, I'm not talking about it. I am in great fear of turning into another Huw Morgan in this respect. (Again, I urge you to read How Green... failing which, you will not understand a bunch of things I'll talk about. There is wonderful it is.) But let it be known that I will dearly miss the smells of this house for the next week, most of which I will be spending in a pokey lodge near Mangalore. Business, not pleasure, I assure you. I will be begrudging when I order that Tandoori Chicken pizza and pretend it is a vegetarian meal.

While we're on the topic of food, I also regret having missed a Ladies' Afternoon at my own house. # 202 was abuzz with cooking, chopping, screaming ladies when I reluctantly left to spend the weekend with aforementioned mother and it's little husband, my father. I also hope a certain 15-year-old managed to sink his teeth into some fine food.

4. Music. My friend Carlton has just outdone himself earlier this afternoon, having played some outstanding jazz and, err, non-jazz on his radio show. It gets confusing when you find yourself listening to Lenny Kravitz on a jazz show, but you're not complaining if you're anything like me. I'd love to advertise his show further and I will find a way of doing that without having to mention the radio channel. (Unfortunately, we at DOGFORADAY have no signed contract with said channel. As Julia Roberts once said, "Big mistake...big huge mistake".)

Now, some shopping for provisions and back to #202.