No time for chickpeas
It’s sad but I had to work late again tonight and there was no way I could wait until after the long run home, a trip to the shop, a shower and a good half hour of cooking time to eat my dinner. A desk-based supper was the only way to go today. As you can see, however, my dedication is significant enough that I stuck to the correct foodstuffs.
Alphonso mango and curried chickpea salad
Dried mango and a hurried chickpea salad
So there we have it. No 10pm dinners for me if I can help it. One needs the brain fuel.
Conclusions (unrelated to post):
- Since when have Love Hearts said ‘I surrender’ on them? How much innocent childhood are kids these days allowed to enjoy before we introduce them to the complex fetters of sexual dynamics?
- Last week I saw the most alarming facial hair I have ever witnessed. An aging man was waiting on the other side of the pedestrian crossing from me. He was awkwardly tall, slightly bent in stance and of an ashen hue, leering menacingly into the road in his high-waisted trousers with what appeared to be a long, white fang protuding from his mouth. As I walked past I saw that it was in fact a thin strip of grey moustache that he had grown to such a length that it hung down over his bottom lip. The rest of his face was clean shaven.
I've always found it funny when people write letters to the Guardian's Weekend magazine complaining that the recipe ingredients are too middle class and the fashion only looks good on thin people. After all, it's just a magazine. Or is it? I decided to follow its recipes, fashion and lifestyle advice as closely as possible, to see if the aspirations promoted therein can really be achieved by the average reader who is not especially wealthy, not necessarily model thin and is obliged to work regular office hours. This blog has no affiliation whatsoever with the Guardian but I link to the Weekend magazine website for the purposes of illustration. 
Guardian Girl 
leave a comment