Well, writing this blog has, I think, dispelled one illusion for me – I’ll never be a writer. I’m fairly sure I can express myself accurately, even articulately, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write something that’s a pleasure to read. If you’re looking for poetry, you’re in the wrong place, basically.
Still, if “writing the great 21st century novel” has to be crossed off my list of life’s ambitions, I can console myself with the thought that I’ve already achieved some of the others on the list, including “appear in a fantasy/horror/sex comedy film”, and “share a house with three Scandinavian women”…
On that subject (life’s ambitions, not Scandinavian women), is anyone else sick of walking into a bookshop to be confronted with titles like this? Life is stressful enough, I don’t need Waterstones or Borders to keep reminding me of my impending demise, thank you very much.
I think I need to change the colour scheme here. Maybe blue?
Had two weird restaurant experiences recently. A Japanese restaurant was a crushing disappointment. It had been recommended by Japanese acquaintances (maybe as a joke…?), but everything was tepid, soggy and bland.
Last night, on the other hand, Re-Source exceeded my expectations – it was inventive and delicious, and ended with one of the best desserts I’ve ever eaten (flambéed banana covered in coconut yoghurt, with some flakes of ginger sprinkled on top).