This evening, consumption of a takeaway chicken balti supper fulfilling a week long craving for cuisine from the Indian sub-continent. A modest feast raising my spirits after an earlier fraught encounter with my estranged wife; more of which I wrote in Jees, They Really Built These Things!

Before moving on, I’d like to clarify that when writing ‘craving for cuisine from the Indian sub-continent’ I’m referring to recipes whose roots emanate from that geographical locale. Not that my supper was physically cooked in east, prior to onward shipping and delivery.

God only knows what charges I’d have racked up if my curry, naan bread and onion bhaji’s had been delivered from India…. Not to mention how chuffing cold the cuisine would’ve been on arrival!

The proffered balti dish was a tad hotter than expected. However, despite the subsequent collateral heat damage of enkindled tongue and palate, along with temporarily steaming up my gigs, it was splendid fare.

The condensation covered spectacles rendering me almost blind. Leaving me with sole ocular visions of vague shadows, necessitating removal of the aforementioned specs to complete my modest but flavoursome feast.

I dined among the hallowed walls of maters home. An abode which since the middle of 2019 has endured the very best and worst of her eldest offspring’s behavioural traits. Unconditional care and assistance afforded by a son, but whose positive input is occasionally negatively offset by his lapses into self-absorption.

An old friend of mine once advocated “If ever you find yourself lapsing into self-absorption, oranges are the a wonderful way to combat this inherent behavioural flaw!”

Like any advice which’s delivered in a well-meaning and amenable manner, I evaluated this adage’s worth. However, after much pondering I concluded as this friend was Pablo Hiorta, Chief Marketing Officer of the Seville Orange Marketing Board, the suggestion should be taken with a pinch of salt.

For consistency, when Austrian Chief of Salt Marketing, Erst While, advocated ignoring negative press surrounding his product and actually up my sodium consumption, I took that with a pinch of orange!

It’s blinking freezing this Wednesday evening. Adorning shorts and a hoodie, my legs are so cold they feel like they’ve been exposed to the …… erm….. well, cold! Now I know how Arctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton must’ve felt when his vessel Endurance became trapped in ice fields, in 1914

Well it would if, in addition to suffering an icy blast, I was required to set up a camp on ice floes, journey to Elephant Island; followed by leading a small lifeboat crew 800 miles to rescue colleagues.

Actually, on reflection, as the temperature here are about six degrees over and his exploration team endured huge sub zero climes, it’s fair to say my current experience bears absolutely no parallels to Shackleton’s Arctic ordeal!….. Moving on swiftly!

I’m hoping tomorrow’s meteorological conditions will afford time in the garden, or at the very least temperatures allow for sitting with the French Doors ajar while introducing quill to parchment.

As an aside, writing the words French Doors was a catalyst to thoughts embarking on my trademark tangents. This manifesting a conclusion about how marvellous that nome de plume would sit for a tribute band singing Jim Morrison refrains in Gallic.

This randomness of thought similarly played out earlier this morning. An episode where I adjudged, with equally misplaced enthusiasm, how wonderful it’d be for Canterbury couple Mrs & Mrs Bishop to baptise their new born son Archie. Subsequently, bequeathing him a life under the title of Archie Bishop of Canterbury.

Absolute nonsense I know, but they say if you accept your notions as absurd you’re not insane!….. Just a halfwit!!