Slaveboy’s having a double Cherry Garcia from the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream kiosk at the cinema. I haven’t quite ascended to the culinary enlightenment that allows me to appreciate that flavour or any ice cream that doesn’t come in a cone. Says she who is writing this whilst sucking out the melted ice cream that is escaping through the bottom of the cone.
Some might be wondering why I haven’t blogged for so long. To be honest, SniffSnorters, I’ve been somewhat flummoxed by being short listed for the Cosmopolitan Food blog of the year. I’ve never really seen myself as strictly a food blogger. I’d like to think that when I blog about my baking, the cakes are like the weaves in a fabric – they hold ‘stuff’ together. Stuff that matter like family, friendship and now.
So this shortlist has driven me to arrive to a blank as to what baked decadence I should be sharing with you next. I feel that I ought to be making an effort, as you do at an audition.
So tonight, in a bid to open myself up to the cake universe, Slaveboy and I have driven 20 miles to a 22:50 showing of The Avengers. The film is scheduled to end at 01:40. We won’t be home until 02:30. It will be 03:00 before I get to bed. Somehow I’ve agreed to go to the gym with Lalla and Izzy the Rockstar tomorrow morning. My wake-up call will be 06:30. My body, which has been existing on 10 hours sleep in the last 72 hours is tut tutting at me.
Never mind that, I say. Slaveboy and I are out past midnight and check this out.
We are the only people in the cinema.
It’s never about the weaves, SniffSnorters. The secret is in the holes. They’re the stuff of magic. Not tangible. Unseen. But without them, the weaves are redundant.