Didn’t fancy pasta on Monday, so we had lentils cooked in chicken stock instead. We are thus one up on nutrition. Ha. Take that, cellular degeneration brought on by poverty-of-affluence demineralisation. The snortlepig, interestingly, has decided chicken soup is the best thing ever thunk up by man, so I’ve made a big batch of it replete with minched garlic, onion and carrots, and will freeze it in muffin tins in order to sup on some before Proper Lunch every day.
Today is slightly momentous, in that Helpdesk Man is going to hand in his notice at the respected government institution that gave him his name, focussing his not inconsiderable energies on his new business, Information Highwayman, instead. I am waiting with the pleasant thrill of anticipation to see if we make our first million by 30 or end up moving into Mother’s spare room, feeding gin to the snortlepig to stunt her growth. A more pressing question, however - can I continue to refer to him as Helpdesk Man? Information Highwayman is certainly a good name for a business - in fact, I suspect that’s what prompted the career change - but it doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue, blog-wise. Do share your thoughts, which are valuable to me.
Also, I need documentary recommendations. The snortlepig is becoming too jolly sentient to watch dubious movies with, as was brought painfully home wen she started saying “Fall down!” the other night every time somebody got shot in The Boondock Saints. And as Soon-To-Be-Ex-Helpdesk Man* refuses to spend the next fifteen years watch Pollyanna and Meet Me in St Louis while he eats his sup - or worse, Dora the Explorer - we must resort to non-fiction. At least, once we’ve finished the A-Team, which is borderline acceptable in that no matter how many cars blow up or firefights begin, nobody ever gets shot or killed. (It took me, like, a whole season to notice this. I’d long thought it was suspicious that a car could flip three times and explode in a flaming fireball while the bad guys simply hauled themselves peevishly out of the windows unscathed - but I had naively assumed that a team of desperadoes so a) hard-core and b) competent as the A-Team might occasionally hit a target while emptying their two dozen guns, if only by the laws of statistical probability. But nope. Only Imperial Stormtroopers could be so precise.)
So, yeah. No looming undersea life, no searing exposes of the underbelly of Rwanda’s drug trafficking industry - just nice documentaries, TV or movie, that won’t bore STBXHM or scar the pig. If you happen to know anything on the subject of rhinos, babies, duckies, horsies, the moon, milks or mousies, she would be particularly agog.
Go now.
*Not, like, in a divorcey way. Who has the time?