mulligatawny soup

Hello. How are you? Not as ill as me, I'll wager. I blame the mess function last night (Meena is off the hook as I didn't eat at home). Was it the asparagus, the mushroom soup or the regimental chocolate cake that got me? Not sure, just know that my guts have been boiling all day, and I've been feeling really cold, which is odd, because it's a balmy twenty nine degrees in the living room, and even hotter upstairs.

Kids all had respective sleepovers last night, and Hubby is still away, so I had the (echoing and cavernous) house to myself. Quite nice to go to a function and know that I wouldn't be woken up at quarter to six by a shouty rendition of "There's a hole in my bucket" or "Make a melody in my heart". However, the whole thrill of an uninterrupted night's sleep and lie-in was somewhat marred by having to get up several times for dioralyte, ibruprofen, and, well, I won't bore you with the other details (suffice to say, I've gone right off Muligatawny soup. Because of the look of it, not the taste. And thinking of mulligatawy soup, what is it actually made of? Something brown and Scottish, could be anything - old leather shoes and rancid salmon probably).

Right, now I'm off to moan quietly, wallow in self-pity, and make a voodoo doll of the mess chef.

Goodnight x