My darling mother bought me tomatoes, feta cheese and fresh organic basil on Tuesday, even though she likes none of these things, so I made bruschetta for dinner and half a baked apple for dessert. For me it's the simplest things that are the most divine.
I went out to my aunt's farm for the evening and finished my wine in good company. I was sent to bed in the wee hours of the morning with my new favourite word, "ungotten" indelibly altering the landscape of my vocabulary. (Un)fortunately the spare bedroom is also a storage room for books. I tried, I really did, but I couldn't resist helping myself to a particular Madmen era title.
I got home this morning in just enough time to sweat out my hangover before I had to pick up my grandmother and drive her to the city for a doctor's appointment. In the waiting room I perused my purloined copy of "Emily Post's Pocket Book of Etiquette":
Page 91 admonishes "An inexplicable urge to pilfer small or large objects seems to overcome many otherwise decent, honest citizens when they are guests [in a hotel]. I suggest that any time you are tempted to take home such a souvenir, you say to yourself, "That
Fine, Emily, I am duly chastised and will return the book.