Nibbles
I do not care about David Beckham's sex life. I have no interest in whether he was having it off with his wife, an Australian girl or a mountain goat. Please stop reporting every raunchy SMS message as if they contain the meaning of life. I do not care.
I'm eating toast for the first time in over a week, listening to Purcell and admiring Brian Lara (400 not out!). My thesis seems to be going well. Life is good, even if I haven't heard back from Slovenia yet. *frowns*
The toast is lovely, both because I've missed it during Pesach, and as a recovery from my Easter weekend of gluttony. After two days of Dad's cooking, he, Mum and I went out to Manly for dinner on Saturday night. There was a brief kerfuffle over the choice of restaurant (Mum and I wanted the place where they basically pull your choice of fish out of the ocean and cook it; Dad decided he didn't want fish because beer batter was out due to Pesach), we found a place where we were all happy. Dad ordered his favourite no-frills steak, mash and veggies, and praised the mash highly; Mum had a particularly nice piece of barramundi and chips (actually, I wouldn't have chosen the chips, but they did taste very nice), and I had grilled cod with a sauce I couldn't pronounce that was absolutely delicious.
Yesterday's brunch was lamb and rosemary sausages with poached eggs. Lunch, thankfully, was a salmon salad. (After the amount I've eaten the last few days, living on celery has begun to seem like an attractive option.)
Ah, who am I kidding? Roll on the next public holiday.
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All the best wishes to Casira, who's been feeling down of late. May I offer some virtual chicken soup? (My father's is particularly good, but I'm afraid it doesn't travel too well via the 'net.)
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Fact of the Day: The world's fastest tennis serve, produced by Andy Roddick last week, was clocked at 244.6 kilometres per hour.
I'm eating toast for the first time in over a week, listening to Purcell and admiring Brian Lara (400 not out!). My thesis seems to be going well. Life is good, even if I haven't heard back from Slovenia yet. *frowns*
The toast is lovely, both because I've missed it during Pesach, and as a recovery from my Easter weekend of gluttony. After two days of Dad's cooking, he, Mum and I went out to Manly for dinner on Saturday night. There was a brief kerfuffle over the choice of restaurant (Mum and I wanted the place where they basically pull your choice of fish out of the ocean and cook it; Dad decided he didn't want fish because beer batter was out due to Pesach), we found a place where we were all happy. Dad ordered his favourite no-frills steak, mash and veggies, and praised the mash highly; Mum had a particularly nice piece of barramundi and chips (actually, I wouldn't have chosen the chips, but they did taste very nice), and I had grilled cod with a sauce I couldn't pronounce that was absolutely delicious.
Yesterday's brunch was lamb and rosemary sausages with poached eggs. Lunch, thankfully, was a salmon salad. (After the amount I've eaten the last few days, living on celery has begun to seem like an attractive option.)
Ah, who am I kidding? Roll on the next public holiday.
---
All the best wishes to Casira, who's been feeling down of late. May I offer some virtual chicken soup? (My father's is particularly good, but I'm afraid it doesn't travel too well via the 'net.)
---
Fact of the Day: The world's fastest tennis serve, produced by Andy Roddick last week, was clocked at 244.6 kilometres per hour.