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The Idle Solitary
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Sunday, November 18th, 2007

Time Event
Human wingsuit
(ganked from willshetterly):

This really does not look to me like enough wing to support a human body. But the scenery is gorgeous. And not noticeably decorated with besplattered idiots.
Urk. And a review.
I has no voice to praise my boys
(or indeed chastise 'em)!
They cannot tell I love them well,
Nor quite how much I prize 'em...


Yesterday was all about swallowing overdoses of chemicals (pseudoephedrine and phenylephrine, largely [curious: LJ's native spellchecker knows the latter but not the former...]), in a desperate attempt to get through the night's performance of "A Cold Coming" without my coming cold interfering too badly. The cast tells me I sounded like death (ho ho ho), but that was only breathing: I barely coughed, didn't sneeze and my nose behaved immaculately for the requisite hour and a half, so that's okay.

Last night I barely slept and today I have no voice, apparently, but no matter for that. The play is over, done. And if I can't speak, I can at least type: here's a review. (Which is the second time the Sunderland Echo has reviewed it, yay! Doesn't seem to be online, though, hence the typing...)

Read more...Collapse )

(is not my fault, they was easy questions, honest...)
I has writ a page! An whole page! First in three days, and if you could conceivably know how I'm feeling inside, you would be as amazed as I am. But this book shall be finished eventually, and this shall be how it happens. Grindingly.

In other news: I bought an oxtail on Friday, and on Saturday morning I set it to cook absurdly slowly with lots of chopped-up veg and half a bottle of red wine that had been open far too long (just not had time to drink it, dahling, what with being out from mid-afternoon every day, taking the play on tour). I had meant to pot-roast it like that, but then I changed my mind and added water enough to cover the meat.

And by the time I came in last night, of course, I was way past eating in any respect; and I have no appetite today. And yet, I have a large casserole-dish full of gorgeously-stewed oxtail and an awful lot of broth. So what I reckon, I shall strip the meat from the bones, and pretend the broth is beef-stock: for what else do I have? Yes, indeed. I have beetroot. I can has borscht. And borscht, as we know, is Soup; and Chazzies, as we know, love Soup. Even or especially when sick. I may not be able to taste same (can you add chilli to borscht?), but at least it's no trouble to swallow, and I'll know it is Doing Me Good.

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