Monday 15 October 2012

Epic fail


Dun housesittin' in the country, back to housesittin' in Chelsea. Much as I love pulling up beetroots and carrots that someone else has planted, and can tolerate toing and froing with dead pheasants that Betty is determined to lay at my feet and I am determined to sling from the garden, this is more like it. The no-mess gas log fire, the wall-to-wall seagrass matting, the gloss white kitchen of the London terraced house. Have tapped effortlessly into my old book club, have read the Stephen King memoir (I know, who chose that?!) and am hosting tonight's bash at Sophia's place. 


Scented candles are lit (I'm sure Sophia won't mind - all in the cause of keeping the house smelling fresh and fragrant), wine is chilling (I'm sure Vincent won't mind - it looks a bit of a scabby old bottle anyway with the label half-peeled off, Puligny Mont-something), Tesco's Finest Mature Cheddar and Onion crisps and Marinated Greek Olive Selection are opened, the ladies are on their way!


Allegedly. Half the bowl of crisps and two glasses of wine (rather delicious actually) later, I text the book club ringleader, Fiona. Hi, are you on your way? Any idea who's coming? 

Nothing back. 

Send the same text to Gilly. Ching! by return. I'm at work! Have a great evening! GXX  

Hmmm. Better text everyone else before I open the other bag of crisps.


Ching! Text from Nancy: Can't make it tonight. See you next time. Nx


Ching! Text from Jane: In bed with streaming cold. Sorry about the book choice. It was crap, wasn't it?

Epic fail, as Lily would say. I blow out the candles and put the olives in the fridge. Roll on Tanzania.

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