Plus ça change...

By SooB


We once again have a circular saw in an inappropriate room. Joy.

A work day right from the firey pits of hell, as told by Kafka. However, it is a fine thing to have colleagues to go through it with. Drafting circled relentlessly back to the bad place where we started and the intransigence of folk has surprised even cynical old me.

But the carpenter showed up to do the terrace, TallGirl translated my jelly-brain instructions, and he seems to have the general idea now of the level of workmanship we need.

Anyway, after a day of stress eating all the pistachios and chocolate digestives in France, I was famished when I was finally released at 6.30, and the fridge was bare (pancetta with hoisin sauce anyone?) so off into town for food. The deli wanted 55 euros (I can’t believe it either) for a pretty average looking lasagne*, so I gave the freezer shop a try and it came up trumps, though between the frozen-ness of the food and the brokenness of our oven dinner was a little late.

Later, Designated Survivor and the last Bridge.

* - But it serves ten Madame!
- Not in our house it doesn’t.

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