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The Cook's Toolkit

The Cook's Toolkit
The Cook's Toolkit by Clever Pumpkin.

Grace

Grace
Four women are about to start a mob war - and nails WILL be broken.

Daylight

Daylight
The romance is over: Edward & Bella twenty years on. My short story Daylight is now available as a free download.

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Saturday, January 7, 2012

2012: Lock and Load, Bitch.

Q.        How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?
A.        Just one – but the light bulb has got to WANT to change.

With that in mind, I have made only one New Year's resolution, and that is to be brutally honest with myself.

This means acknowledging that my deep and abiding love of chocolate will never change; because – hell's bells – I don't want it to. This new honesty compels me to admit that my love of ice-cream verges on the erotic, as does my deep salivating desire for summer berry puddings, beer-battered fish and chips (served with ice-cold beer) deep-fried arancini with fresh lemon, baked stuffed potatoes, snow-white chevre cheese, Italian fennel sausage, sauteed rosemary potatoes, lemon curd and chocolate coconut pudding.

In my heart of hearts I know my love of fresh fruit is owed only to its relationship to cheese and wine, as I know that the best way to serve healthy guacamole is with a side of Mexican banquet dripping in cheese, sour cream, and overflowing with tequila and lime laden margaritas.  Sniff all you want – at least the lime is good for me.

On that subject, I resolve not to fall off the wagon.  This I will achieve by not climbing on the damned thing in the first place.  Truthfully, I'd sell my mother down the river for a pina colada – and on Mother's Day, to boot.

I resolve not to be stressed by the barrage of advertisements threatening me with cancer at every turn.  (Memo health authorities: if you're wondering why more people suffer from anxiety than ever before, perhaps it's because we can't get through an episode of The Simpsons without being reminded at least twice that half of us will get cancer.  If you're going to shove something down my throat, make it chocolate, or better still, chocolate ice-cream.  Two birds with one stone, baby.)

In my heart of hearts I know that the best way to wipe the smirky little self-righteous heart tick from a virginal chicken breast is to wrap it around a wad of garlic butter, smother it in breadcrumbs then fry it to buggery. 

And so, God help me, as the butter from a thousand baked potatoes marches steadily toward my aorta, I will admit to myself two important truths: in all likelihood, I will always be just a little bit fat, and, if I'm to be honest, that is no bad thing if not being able to see over my stomach means I don't have to see my nether region turning grey.

Now, because you can't spell svelte with crème fraiche, I'll ask myself the same question and this time I'll answer it honestly.

            Q.        How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?
            A.        None.  The light bulb will change itself when it's good and ready.

Or not.  The human beast is a complicated beast.  I resolve not to resolve the wonderfully complicated unresolvable human beast that is me, and yes, that means ice-cream.

2012, lock and load, bitch.

* Excerpt from this post to appear on From the TBR pile.

 

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