Eggs, fish and pigs

I knew those pig’s feet would come in useful at some point. It certainly isn’t the kind of spare parts you normally have lying around, but when you see pig’s feet for free you need to buy and store them regardless. In this instance they are going to be put to appropriate use as the heart of a thick winter soup with pulses and crusty buttered bread to keep awake the parents of children attending the Eldest’s third birthday party this weekend.

They don’t deserve a morsel of it, the mongs that most of them are. And there is a vegetarian who is going to be missing out, and I have for once deliberately done this. It’s pissing down outside for fuck’s sake, and cold with it. You need some Meat to keep yourself going. Which is what I needed tonight to try and regain some sense of self respect after it transpired that I have been rejected for the fourteenth job I have applied for in two years.

Numbed to the same conversation that I have now had many times on coming home with the bad news, the usual empty phrases searching for some sort of meaning, I sat there instead in front of a fish omelette and a pile of chard. A smoky over-salted Tescocunt peppered vac-pac mackerel fillet in a bright yellow egg envelope, sharp and simple and tasty. And no drink, even on a Friday. Just the usual domestics.