Projection

I've had this microwave oven for, what, 15 years and today was the first time I discovered that it has a grill. I think of all those long lamented cheese on toasts, grilled bacon, whatever tasted better for a little browning that I have had to sacrifice since living here and all the time the technology was right there in front of me. I've diced with death toasting cheese bread with the toaster on its side only to have the end product shot out when the popper upper popped up and land face down on the floor. I'm ashamed to admit that I ate it anyway. It's my floor. I have no pride. I had a lovely grilled cheesy lunch today after I'd built a tall enough pyramid out of casserole dishes. I'm sure I can get one of those metal tower structures as a spare part. I never knew what it was and threw it away.

I'm feeling better today, a lot better. I had a bath, put on clothes for the first time in a week, and went and got the paper. Ruth popped by with some provisions including a fat slice of fresh pineapple which tasted like a juicy shaft of happiness. I wouldn't let her in as I was still pyjama'd and groggy from another horribly restless coughy night, but she was off on a walk anyway. I spent most of the morning in the summerhouse where the sun was powering down. I killed dozens of horrible flies with my rolled up Sunday Times magazine until I realised all the lovely cream paintwork was dark with magazine print where I'd bashed and I could no longer read all about AA Gill's long battles with drugs and alcohol because of the torn strips. This article revealed more feckless parenting, if not in the same class as Frank McCourt's. When he asked his 22-year-old son if he'd had any thoughts about a career, and his son said, Dad, does that sound like me? and he experienced a sharp pang of pride, I thought, you f***ing waste of space AA, that's not even half clever. I'm having some very intense and angry throughts at the moment which are confusing me rather. I didn't have feckless parents. Where is the rage coming from?