Monday 18th December 2023

Guanciale.

Or, cured pig's cheek. One of the main ingredients for spaghetti carbonara.

Easy to come by in Italy, one assumes, and maybe in that London to. In east Kent the only option is via mail order, and customer reviews suggests that to be more than a bit of a lottery with underweight deliveries and even goods that went mouldy within a week.

So, the only option is to go back to Borough Market, buy a load and cut it into portions for each meal, and makes two such pieces last several months, rather than the three meals the last time I bought some at the same place.

And so to Monday.

And the last working week of the year, last two working days, in fact. And with my manager away, all I had to do was write two audit reports and do some travel expenses.

But like always, I handbagged the tasks.

Thing is, there's always someone to call or ask that difficult question, so you drop everything, call back and give them your attention.

There was the last of the cards to post, so soon as it was light, I walked up to the box in Collingwood to make sure I caught the none o'clock post.

At least it wasn't raining.

Yet.

Though might, later.

My friend and colleague, Rune, was back after the death of both parents, now wishing to fill his life and mind with something else.

I've been there.

We talk for an hour or so, and go back to our tasks.

Main talk for the afternoon was to cut the two Guanciale into 100g packs and put them in baggies to freeze, enough for one meal for two of Carbonara.

Jools was aquafitting in the evening, so just a coffee when she came home before she changed and went out again. I had bacon butties for supper, did some chores and made ready for yet more football to watch, before cooking Jools's supper of bacon and making a coffee.

A day in which very little happened, but which meant when it was done, just one day at work left this year.