There was a cat at the Daily Office this morning. I’m not sure how to record this in the service book. It was black and white, and for a moment, I thought that perhaps Miss Matilda had followed me down Great Western Road.
Cats are religious, but not generally Christian, in my view. Unlike dogs.
Meanwhile, in the salad department, can anyone explain cucumbers to me? You go and look for a cucumber, the better to enhance your tasty salad and find that you can buy a whole cucumber for such an amount of money or half a cucumber for just a few pennies less. I don’t think that I can remember ever finishing a whole cucumber in my life. Is this part of a New Labour plot to make us all couple up? Can they not breed them smaller? (The cucumbers I mean, pay attention). Is this just an aspect of the partnered hegemony through which single people find themselves wandering as though through a foreign land?
The fact that I found later that I had made and consumed my tasty salad (sprouted beans, cherry tomatos, chopped spring onions and diced plums) without including any of the whole cucumber that I had purchased did nothing to placate me on this point.
Should I lie in the bath with it on my eyes, perhaps?
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