And then the mice came… I think my romance is well and truly over. What a shame. I was having a conversation with my 12 year old chum Jessie about it on the bus the other day and when I said it wasn’t going well she said, “Oh dear. And you had such high hopes!” Indeed I did, and maybe that is my problem in these situations. She went on to advise me. “Say to him – do you like me or don’t you like me? If you like me that’s good, if you don’t, then buzz off!” Love it. Simple and direct.
The young, rangy Gas Man came round this morning. After he came round last time he sent several flirty texts offering to come round early one morning and scrub my back. I had to put my foot down this week and tell him to leave his scrubbing brush at home and pay attention to my pilot light. His response was “Got to try my luck as you’re very attractive.” Ooh, thanks!
We were having a conversation about all the filthy flats he has to go into and fix things. I love hearing about the squalor and when he told me about one particular place where there were saucepans with ancient food in, “past the crusty stage, past the mould stage, past the maggot stage…” I was squealing with delight. I said, “well I don’t feel so bad about the state my place is in”. He said, “Oh no, your place is nice and tidy and HOMELY.” I was more chuffed about this comment than I was to get several flirty texts from someone who is probably at least 10 years younger than me.
Here’s a Vincent Price Burger I retrieved from the freezer. One of the great things about cooking for one is that you don’t have to apologise about the weird food combinations that result from trying to use up leftovers. Please turn a blind eye to what I am having with the burger. Waste not, want not.
