Oh but I am glum this evening. (WARNING- FIRST WORLD PROBLEM ALERT). Here I go with my litany of complaints.
I’ve been under a bit of stress. Have I mentioned we’re building an extension? I jest. But I hear you folks: you’re thinking what’s the matter now? What catastrophe has befallen SWB? Could her yoga class have been cancelled? Was the queue in Forestside too long? (Yes actually). Perhaps her latte was a tad tepid? Isn’t life a bitch?
But tonight I should be at my Irish Dancing class, laughing and frolicking with my pals, instead of sprockled here on my bed icing my hip with a packet of peas. I’ve just endured a sport’s massage, which although undeniably beneficial, felt like I was being pinched, hard, on all my sore spots for an hour. My glasses are broken and keep falling off my face, and I’ve lost my other pair. Besides my phone, my specs are my second most mislaid item. Family members are frightfully tired of me blundering about looking for the elusive objects and fear that I’ve been stricken by early onset dementia. I can’t seem to recall events and names at present and just wander about looking bewildered. LSB is wearing a pained expression since we’ve been hit with two more large bills. I’ve retreated to the bedroom to lie on my peas and let him come to terms with financial ruin.
I am also burdened with matters of a loftier nature. Every year, as Lent approaches, I feel I ought to give something up. It’s usually ill-thought through and I fall off the wagon a few days in and much self-flagellation ensues. One is obviously supposed to seek spiritual support to get through the ordeal of self-denial, and I rarely manage to get myself out to church. (SWB and God, there’s a post for the future).
So last year, a friend suggested that LSB and myself have a meat free Lent. I leapt upon this idea with alacrity because a) we could still drink wine and b) my vegetarian repertoire of dinners is limited, and thus I would be forced to make an effort. It was not a success. I made a variety of stews and soups, many from the Deliciously Ella website. She’s the poster girl for veganism and all that bollocks but I can’t be having her at all. It’s all, “Simply fling some tomatoes and lentils in a pan with smoked paprika and I promise you, you won’t miss the meat!” We missed the meat. While the paprika may lend a smoky/BBQ flavour to the sauce it does not compensate for the lack of bacon. And alas, lentils are not my friend. Even less are they LSB’s friend. They do terrible things to our guts. If you suffer from IBS, you are advised to steer clear from too many pulses or foods very high in fibre. You certainly just don’t overdo it like I did. I still can’t look at a kidney bean. After a few veggie concoctions LSB got proper narky. He was hungry and tired listening to my gurgling gut. It was the Sunday after Ash Wednesday when he lifted the car keys. Slowly and deliberately he announced: “I am going to Marks, and I am buying a chicken, which we will ALL eat for dinner.” He even cooked it, which was a rare turn of events, and feck me but that was one good chicken.
On the plus side, I did make a good tofu and potato curry which we still eat from time to time, and I definitely make an effort to eat fewer meat dishes during the week.
So this year, I’m thinking a bit of self-denial is on the cards. I’m thinking: less frequent trips to coffee shops; fewer cheeky glasses of wine and an effort to be of a sunnier disposition. I’ll let you know how I get on.