Jober As A Sudge

Evidently two and a half glasses of rosé are my limit in the evenings. I never really mastered the art of imbibing, despite my fours years as a student.

I worked my arse off in the office today (now there's a funny look, but my jeans fit really well) and was very proud to score two new clients for the company. When I got home with the kids, French Hubby had gone out to Paris for les soldes, the January sales. He’s a real girl and loves shopping. I’m a typical boy and hate it.

So in his absence I was able to unwind by indulging in my secret guilty pleasure: listening to classic hits from the 70s and 80s on LOUD, while cooking dinner (soft tacos with minced beef, spicey sauce, spring onions, grated cheese, Batavia lettuce, roquette, avocadoes, fresh lime juice, sour cream, sea salt and masses of pepper, thank you for asking) and sipping rosé. When the one-hit wonder Prefab Sprout came on, singing “Hot dog, jumping frog, Albuquerque”, my kids loved it. Dear God, what did that song actually mean? How easily we were entertained in 1984!

I got really excited when Yazz and the Plastic Population came on, singing “The Only Way Is Up! Bay-Bee! For you and me now”. My God, but she was a beautiful girl: so bouncey and so smiley! I wonder what she’s doing now?

So anyway, Hub eventually came home brandishing an Athletes’ Gear carrier bag. I peered blearily inside to see what bargains he had come home with, and spied an enormous plastic bag filled with what looked like thousands and thousands of white shoelaces for tennis shoes.

“My God!” quoth I. “You’ve got us a lifetime supply of shoelaces! How thoughtful of you, Darling.”

He looked at me strangely. I moved the bag into the light, looked again and discovered it was a bag of fresh pasta. Tagliatelli, to be precise.

I’ll stick to orange juice this weekend.