I'm not in much shape to write terribly much, but I might as well. Have a newfound respect for Nigella, since, if her recipes are anything to judge by (Bloody Mary by the Pitcher to be exact), she's not one that's shy of her alchohol. I must say that was a fuck load of vodka to put into not that much more tomato juice.
Needless to say, now that my lovely Bordeaux glasses have arrived, tomorrow will be passed in a similar state of merriment, with what promises to be a rather handsome bottle of 2000 Bordeaux (young at the moment, but I'm testing before I plunge into buying a case to store).
Getting hammered of course requires doing rather passive activities, which in this case means watching Spooks, which, as the second season episode I watched promised, is pretty damn good. And Matthew MacFadyen (who was so wonderful in Poliakoff's Perfect Strangers) is absolutely the man.
If this morning was anything to go by, my mornings might well be take up in maintaining my contacts with Singaporeans through IM. Clarissa was nice enough to endure Louis and his incessent prodding/goading/grovelling. And whatever Clarissa's having, she must be smoking up a storm: her parting shot to me was that she thought Don't Stop (Funkin' for Jamaica) was rather good. It's a Mariah song. Moment of weakness I'm sure :D.
With my Mp3 cds around me again, I find myself rediscovering dusty things, just as I have been so eager to do with the buying of the Pixies etc. Morning Glory has really lost none of it's charm or verve, making their subsequent offerings all the more inexplicable. Diana Krall's 'All For You', which is now playing, is as always, sublime. None of her other albums really approach the tone and register that this one achieves, as far as I know. Maybe it's just Nat King Cole.
