I’ve got a plaster on my thumb from an incident with a potato peeler. Lou boiled up some tatties veg and mackerel for her lunch, and I melted up a fuckton of reblochon and poured it on top of my portion, cos… if you’ve got good ingredients then know the right time and how to use them. I was excited for my lunch and perhaps a touch too enthusiastic with the peeler.
It’s not like I’m bleeding everywhere, but my last time in temporary accommodation down here near Canterbury there was washed out blood on the sheets. I’d sooner not cause my hostess that problem. So it’s covered.
I’ll have to leave by 7:30. This is what comes of booking private accommodation instead of a hotel. She goes to work, and she doesn’t want anyone in her house when she’s not there. I get it perhaps. But I’ve stayed in quite incredible houses – ones in Spain, California and France spring to mind – where the host has been away but there’s been a way to get in. I’ve ghosted through these properties filled with valuables, felt lucky, left no trace. The booking website and your profile on it is usually enough to stop the host worrying someone will nick their … i dunno … Plates? Pictures? Silver plate cutlery? Bananas? Generally, your stuff isn’t worth even a fraction of what you think it is worth. Shops lie. Grannies exaggerate. But… This host is very boundaried and she’s located exactly where I need to be for tomorrow plus she’s very cheap so … fuck it this is tonight. 18 more Euro Crates to inventory tomorrow. Game on.
I went to Korean Cowgirl Barbeque tonight and ate meat. It was good. It was meat. I had a glass of organic rioja that was excellent even if I had to send the first one back as it was stale. Now I’m lying here upstairs and very happy just to have a bed near where I’ll be working for myself tomorrow. I’ll definitely finish the cataloguing tomorrow. Then I can start to move things on. Need any cables? Lavverley.
AlBarclay 