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kaberett- apparently nobody had ever explained to A how to navigate the garlic bureaucracy. he was startled and dismayed when I looked at him mildly baffled the other evening and pointed out that if you squish-and-twist the cloves a little with your fingers before Dealing With The Paperwork it goes more easily. I... am not entirely sure how he'd been dating me for four and a half years (more or less) before discovering this.
- HE FOUND MY DRESS SHIRT. He! was putting together kit for a LARP this weekend! And rummaging through a wardrobe I had already been through at least three times increasingly frantically! and found a wing-tip pleated-front dress shirt, and was surprised and dismayed that it no longer fitted him really, but hey it worked tolerably well with a cravat for the purpose he had in mind! it was not until he was taking it back off... and putting it back into the wardrobe... that he started going "... hold... on... a second..." so NOW I HAVE MY DRESS SHIRT AGAIN. (This is particularly exciting to me because it FITS, and I had thought it lost forever but had not quite got together the cope to buy a new one, for which I am at this point very grateful.)
- Ein Teufel sitzt darauf, Mama always used to say of this manner of thing: there's a devil sitting on it (to hide it, to spread misery and strife, as of the M25, thank you Crowley). Ergo I should probably offer a small prayer to St Anthony.
- A small blessing also upon the gods of cut-price supermarket cheese, for the Cornish yarg wrapped in wild garlic.