Wrapping

– It's intriguing to think how flatbreads have taken over modern cuisine.
– I didn't realise they had.
– Well, what about the pitta, and the tortilla, and the chappati? Even the pizza, I suppose, now that I think about it. They are all-pervasive.
– Are they, though? I go for weeks without eating any.
– But what are sandwiches, if not two flatbreads, sandwiched together? With a filling.
– I'm not sure sandwiches count. They are surely only thin slices of a thick loaf.
– But only because our unimaginative British cuisine is yet to invent a true flatbread. So we have to make do with making unflat breads and trimming them down to size.
– I never thought of it like that.

Sweet

– The weather doesn't seem to be able to make its mind up: are we heading into a sultry spring or back towards a dismal winter? At least the shops are getting more festive.
– I suppose so...
– Having just bidden farewell to Valentine's Day, we have Mothering Sunday to look forward to, and then Easter. It's just one excuse after another to fill the shelves with chocolate and confectionery.
– Yes...
– I suppose your resolve hasn't broken yet?
– My resolve? You mean to avoid chocolate in all its many and varied forms for the six long weeks of Lent?
– Yes. That one.
– No. Not yet...
– But then we are only a week into it. Hardly any time at all.
– No. Not at all...
– At least, compared to the long weeks ahead till Easter arrives. I imagine it must get tougher as time drags on, to resist the temptation to indulge in something chocolatey.
– It's not easy. It's not been easy this week, to tell the truth...
– With all the shops, as I said, filled to bursting with delicious things to eat.
– Yes...
– And people around you insensitively snacking on treats all day long.
– That doesn't help, certainly...
– But I admire your commitment.
– Thank you...
– Not many people can demonstrate that level of self-control.
– They can't?
– Not at all. I wish I could join you, but I just give way too easily.
– You do?
– But don't let my weakness influence you. I'm sure you'll make it through to the end.
– Thank you...
– Anything you'd like from the shop, by the way, just while I'm down there?

Narcissus

There was a feeling of spring in the air today. Admittedly, there was also some snow, but it melted within a couple of hours, and you always know that spring is on the way when the snow melts within a couple of hours.

I have some daffodils on the kitchen window: the yellow ones. As opposed to the yellowy-white ones, which never quite manage to look as exciting. There are none in the garden yet; but that's okay: there's plenty of time.

I ought to do something about the kitchen: get someone to measure it up, get a few quotes. But there are too many things to decide: not only the cabinets, but handles (there are so many handles) and taps and wall tiles and flooring and everything. It's as if you can have any combination (within the boundaries of good taste).

But at least spring is on the way. Regardless of snow storms.

Ashen

– So I had a go at making pancakes last night.
– Pancakes?
– Shrove Tuesday. It's a traditional thing. Other nations celebrate with exotic carnivals and extravagant feasting, while all we can manage is a plate of tepid pancakes.
– Of course. Maybe the idea is to feast extravagantly on pancakes.
– I did my best. But I always find there is a limit to how many you can cope with at one sitting. Especially when the first few don't turn out quite right.
– How do you mean?
– Well, there is a knack to getting the batter just right. And the temperature of the frying pan. And the amount of batter you add. And – well, you get my point. It is only by trial and error that you get to the perfect pancake.
– And last night there were a lot of trials and a lot of errors?
– Unfortunately. But at least nobody was permanently harmed.
– Well, that's good, isn't it?
– It's an improvement on last year, at any rate. Although we did omit the pancake race this time. On the advice of the police.

Aorta

– It's Valentine's Day. Again.
– Indeed... The shops have been awash with pink for weeks. Positively aglow.
– You're not busy this evening?
– No, no... Thought I'd just have a quiet night in.
– Of course. It's good to have a few hours by oneself: get away from the crowds.
– Yes. I've never been one for crowds. The noise, the bustle.
– And restaurants are awkward around this time: if you're not in a couple. Restaurants seem to be expecting couples. Around this time.
– But then, who wants to go out dining all the time?
– Exactly. Now and again, fine. But all the time, hardly.
– Although –
– Although?
– Although now and again would be nice.

Snow

Pitch

It is that time of year when the Premier League sloshes around millions of pounds in transfer fees and mere billions in television rights. I have to date resisted the temptation to invest in Sky Sports, partly on the basis of exorbitant cost and partly the concern that new-fangled technologies such as satellite TV are likely to be passing fads that will be here today and gone tomorrow, leaving you with a useless satellite dish attached to the front of your house. Incidentally, I do already have a useless satellite dish, albeit attached to the side of my house, but there are only so many you feel you can put up with before they begin to look untidy. But I have been blessed with receiving BT Sport instead, more by accident than design to tell the truth, and have been watching more live football than is probably good for me. And if I were to subscribe to Sky as well, I would probably not do anything in my spare time other than sit literally glued to the box.

Mind you, on the subject of new-fangled technologies, I've never quite understood why my telephone company is supplying me with televised football matches. You would think they would have enough to do trying to stop nuisance phone calls selling me new boilers or enquiring if I've been involved in an accident in the past three years.

Pet

– The cat doesn't seem to be in a particularly good mood.
– No... I suppose it can't be easy.
– What can't be?
– Being a pet. Being the possession of an uncaring owner who imprisons her away from her natural environment.
– She is free to go whenever she wants. The door is always open. Or at least the cat flap. It's hard to get her to go out, if anything.
– Only because you have made her dependent upon your meagre generosity by feeding her scraps.
– I doubt she would have stayed very long if she had had to make do with scraps. She's quite fussy about what she eats. Not really into scraps.
– Perhaps you need to spend more time with her; share some common interests.
– She has no interests. Apart from eating and sleeping.
– As I said: share some common interests.

Drift

– The snow is lingering. In patches.
– I should go out with my new snow shovel.
– You bought a snow shovel?
– It seemed somehow appropriate. There was all this snow. And I didn't have one.
– And have you tried using it yet?
– You noticed the path up to the front door, how spotless it was? That didn't happen by accident.
– The drive is still pretty snowy.
– Well, there was a lot more on the drive. You can't always do it all in one go.
– Why not?
– There wasn't anywhere to put all the snow.
– Surely you could just pile it in one spot. In a pile, say.
– But after a while, these things become unstable. And when they collapse, you're in a worse position than when you started. Potentially buried underneath. Have you never heard of avalanches?
– Surprisingly, yes. And they rarely begin with snow shovels.