Thursday 18th February 2021

Well, here we are, powering towards the end of another working week. Steaming towards a weekend in which we will do very little.

Jen called in the evening to say she was feeling ill. Not COVID, but there will be no cards this weekend, so just Jools and myself.

Yes, Thursday, so I have to put the bins out forst thing. Normally, a simple task, but as there were no collections last week because of the snow, the council website suggested they were going to pick up all the bins this week, though that changed as the week went on. To be on the safe side, I put all the bins out once Jools had left for her last working day of the week.

For me, it was a normal working day. And for a change a single meeting to attend, meaning I could chase up some outstanding tasks, and do some researching for some upcoming ones.

IN a week we have gone from arctic tundra to, while not quite tropical temperatures, it is mild.

I should have gone for a walk, but instead I stay in, and start work at seven, so to match my work timings with my Danish colleagues. It means listening to the latest podcast, featuring the "nicest man in pop", Midge Ure, would be listened to in three chunks, over breakfast, lunch and after work at four. But he really is so bloody nice, so easy to listen to, and full of great stories.

Outside the sun even shone for a while. Long enough to put on a macro lens and go for a wander at one point, and I find a couple of dandelions nearly out in flower already, one in a beam of sunlight looked magical. I took shots.

I have leftover soup for lunch, along with some potato bread I make with my own fair hands. Doing the preparation inbetween phone calls and unexpected meetings. I eat the soup out of the saucepan, dipping torn off chuncks of the flavoursome bread as I listened to more of the podcast.

I also make the sauce for taco filling. The same process as making some for a ragu, but as soon as the garlic fries, it smells delicious. I add a tin of chopped tomatoes, then let the pan simmer for forty five minutes, let cool before whizzing with a hand blender.

The day drags, but I am paid well enough for it, and we seem to be making progress.

I fnish at twenty to four, then go to make the taco filling: chopping two chicken breasts, adding spices, some chipotle peppers sent from distant Canada. I mix it all up, then leave to marinade.

Job done.

Jools comes home at half five, I fry the chicken mix, warm the shells up and add corriander to the mix. The table has sour cream, hot sauce and a glass of cold and foamy tripel.

Perfect.

We eat, spooning dollops of hot filling into the toasted shells, add sour cream, then try to gobble each down before the filling leaked out onto our hands and the table.

We tidy up, and have a coffee to relax while the radio burbles away in the background. And there is no football to watch, but there are games taking place, of course.

But another day ends with a glass or two of sloe port and some punk rock.

And why not?