A meat overdose. And I am bad for the environment.

While I am typing this, the Husband is downloading the new series of ‘The Thick of It’ and the i-player icon is doing an odd inhale-exhale motion at the bottom of the screen.  It is most distracting.  On that note, who is excited by ‘The Thick of It’ this year?  I.  Am.

I have just been reading’Julie and Julia.’  Or not reading, so much as scoffing the whole thing down in one.  Which on previous form, no matter how much I am enjoying the book, is guaranteed to make me feel a little bit nauseous.  And when brains, liver and lobster-murder feature quite heavily, this feeling is only going to be heavily magnified.  Note to Julie – should you ever feel the need to spend another year of your work cooking through the masterwork of a culinary heroine, might you consider Delia Smith?  She has the no-nonsense uber-organised vibe that you find so appealing, but there is far less blood and guts and gore and calves feet.  Not that I’m a self-righteous ‘not going to cook anything I wouldn’t kill myself’ because obviously that is not true.  But you may well have put me off meat for a very long time.  Having said that, I think this book is great.  Not least because she gives me hope.   We have many things in common – under-appreciated and truly marvellous Husbands who try not to notice the worst excesses of our hysteria; soul-destroying jobs combined with equally soul-destroying commutes; tendencies to embark on random self-improvement projects which quickly descend into sticks to beat ourselves with; and a proclivity for sentences which are far too long.  In fact, Julie, the only thing that we don’t have in common is that you have a hugely successful movie made out of your life with Amy Adams as you.  And I don’t.  (Though of course, as we know, I would have Tina Fey.)  Still, there is hope, right?  All I need is the right project to obsess over, and then me and Tina can get to work on the screenplay.  So, what will it be?

In other news, we bought a car this weekend.  Oh I know, cars are bad for the environment and an unnecessary expense and fairly impractical in London.  But it is so pretty.  Plus though I am not American, I have absorbed enough of the Husband’s upbringing to know that cars = freedom.  I cannot WAIT for my driving adventures.

One project, I guess, could be teaching the American “what is this gear-stick that you speak of” Husband to drive this car, but I think on balance probably not.  He’s happy enough pushing all the air conditioning buttons and fiddling with the speakers.   And he is infinitely patient and I am not.