Mind  and Body

Time enough has been spent sunk in a trough of despair.  I walk out to my neglected, dusty SKODA and assess my ability to do an emergency stop.  Done!  When did I do an emergency stop last anyway?

I hobble down to the post-office and find that the world loves cripples.  I’m pushed to the front of the queue.

End-of-Life-Mission

My dear friend GGB has this eccentric idea that we have to read all 11 volumes of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time.  I’m way behind.  Am I really interested in the minutiae of French society in the early 20th Century? No!  However, we meet with a couple of other friends and have infrequent but entertaining evenings which are mostly about finding ways NOT to read too much Proust.  So far, we have read Jane Austin’s Emma for comparative purposes, visited an exhibition about Proust and Medicine of the Belle Epoque, arranged for an erudite old friend to show us the film of The Dreyfus Affair, and explain the impact on Proust (who was half Jewish and wrote about it in Guermantes Way – Vol. 3) and read How Proust can Change your Life by Alain de Botton. (He hasn’t!)

Wake up those Taste buds:

I scoop us a kilo of ripe tomatoes, one green pepper, one cucumber, half an onion, garlic, sherry vinegar, plenty of virgin olive oil, some stale white bread, salt and pepper. WHIZZ (once in the magimix ) WHIZZ! (Again in the nutri-bullet) and Hay Presto I have the most delicious, creamy GAZPACHO.  Serve in small glasses, ice cold.

I am inspired by my favourite film, Almodovar’s Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.  Gazpacho features prominently with hilarious consequences when imbued by the Spanish Guardia Civil.

Do-them-bloody-exercises

I buy myself a static bike; pay my plumber a fortune to assemble it and here I go trying to get my reluctant bionic knee to complete a rev.  The secret is to put the seat very, very high and miles back.  That way you hardly have to stretch your leg at all.

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