(Warning: this post is so TRIVIAL, it may make your head spontaneously combust.)
The view from my shed in a brief dry moment in this the Irish monsoon season. Note, if you will, how the neglected garden has seeded itself out of desperation. When we were planning this sudio, an architect amused us greatly by solemnly informing us my studio would be "as if in conversation with the house" (HAHA!) - it being a modest, terraced solid concrete two-story dwelling, built to shelter corporation workers at the time of the formation of the State (1922). Both rinky and dinky, and not likely to have a conversation with any shed.
Well *flexes writing muscles, experimentally*. Here we are, are we not. All is ticking along. The JB is still alive, too, which I feel is a plus. Actually, facetiousness apart, it does my heart good to see how the ould fellow in such raring form again, after being in such a dire funk for so long. And we are getting along well, given the closeness of the quarters.
Be that as it may, I have somehow backed into an unfortunate discovery. For a day or two it happened without my planning it that I ate no sugar - by accident, clearly. And, I hate to have to say this, but yes. It's true. I do feel better without. Much less moody, less tired. [Insert first world whaaaa!] My love affair with the white stuff has been in progress for.. ooh. For ever.
It seems however that I am congenitally incapable of giving up more than one thing at a time. That's it - one thing is the limit. So it is that instead of biscuits (fare thee well!) or cakes (good morrow!), or pastries (for ever and ever, sweet things!) I merely find myself eating a packet of crisps. Or some salted nuts.
That's right. I am off sugar! And on to the salt.
So now, I am thinking to get off the salt, I just need to substitute something else. Hrmm. Mojitos? Westlife?
I can see this is going to be complicated.