A Taste of Garlic

Whilst getting dressed this morning, getting ready to go to the market, Jan said, 'I don't know what to wear.'

Inside, I stifled a groan, we're going to the bloody market, it's freezing outside and apart from your outer garments what does it matter? It's not as if you'll strip layer by layer seeking approval from the oyster slurping drunken masses.

But did I say this? No, the new 2010 man said zilch. I bit my tongue and left the room. This was an argument ready to happen.

So off I went to the back door, waited until Max had mooched about in the garden, locked up the house, came back down to the bedroom only to find that she still isn't fully dressed. What the hell is going on? She then gets upset because I do say something.

I've never understood this dressing up business. Why do people put on their finery to travel, to sit in an airport or be cooped for hours in an aeroplane. Why do people get all dressed up for the theatre when in practice all they're going to do is sit in the dark for a couple of hours. How stupid is that? I'm not for one second suggesting that everyone walks around dressed like tramps, because I do more than enough for all of us, but purleese let's have a bit of sense.

Anyway, because it was so cold the market was very quiet and after a couple of vin chauds we came home. Home to a lovely email from Keith at A Taste of Garlic who has written nice things about me. Keith is now officially 'a good guy.'