As soon as the snow started falling in London on Friday, I went to Sainsbury's and bought two dozen eggs, four tubs of buffalo mozzarella, some butter, some pasta, some tomatoes, some rice, two cartons of organic black beans, asparagus, a jar of hollandaise sauce (I haven't got
time to make it from scratch), a loaf of bread, some English muffins, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of Marmite, four pints of milk, a savoy cabbage, a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice, a packet of porridge oats, a jar of honey, half a dozen red and yellow peppers, eight fancy yoghurts, some goat's cheese, a leek, some celery, a sweet potato, three small parsnips, an onion, eight tins of dolphin-free tuna and a jar of mayonnaise.
I didn't buy any booze on the grounds that I would 'only drink it'. But I do have a bottle of Cava in the fridge in case anything exciting happens and I need to celebrate. With my cupboards and fridge full of these provisions, I expect to be able to ward off fatigue and scurvy, and withstand the worst of the winter freeze. If it doesn't thaw until February, I'll be able to survive.
I haven't left the house since - except for an unsatisfactory excursion to the end of the street this morning, to attend a mulled wine and mince pie party I'd been invited to, along with all my other neighbours. The invitation mentioned a grand piano, violins and carol singers, as well as the traditionally Christmassy catering plans. But when I got to the house in question, there was nothing but silence. No violins, no piano, no neighbourly voices harmonising 'In the Deep Midwinter.' Either it was a trap or an attempt to recruit for a cult, or I got the wrong day. Or the wrong house. Never mind. I took the opportunity to put my dressing gown in the wash before I stepped out, so I shall be quite fragrant for the rest of the week.
Everyone else in London is going about their business normally, as I know from tracking their Facebook status updates or calling them in a panic to check whether or not they're trapped on the M6. They are variously 'just back from Winter Wonderland', 'on our way to the zoo', 'at the pub', 'walking along the Embankment', etc. (although a very dear friend locked himself out of his living room after closing the door and switching on his robot vacuum, and had to let himself back in with a fish slice. But that adventure doesn't seem to be weather-related.)
The roads here are clear and public transport is running. Even so, I'm going to take this opportunity to stay in and write (as opposed to staying in and not writing, which is what I normally do.) I'll start each day with poached eggs with hollandaise sauce on toasted muffins or a delicious bowl of porridge with honey, and then write
at least a thousand words. I will, I will, I will, I will, Iwill.
n
rinder
beth Bin Men
umous Award for living a long and interesting life
