The slow languorous Sunday has begun. I woke up and, after making my breakfast of coffee and porridge (garnished with a generous helping of peanut butter), gobbled the rest of Ghost. I have been reading this novel pretty compulsively since I began. The words wash through me like honey, sweet and easy. I do not feel enlightened after each page, but brightened, yes.
Finished and tossing this to one side, ghosting it like the characters it features, I made my way down to Tesco's bottle bank. Empty wine bottles clanking conspicuously in my rucksack. I have had quite a collection built up since roughly mid November. Bags finally emptied they smell like bad breath the morning after a night out--a memory of how things were in the BC days. I never thought I'd be romanticizing hangover breath, but there you go. Bottles chucked, I suddenly experienced a moment of regret. Should I be keeping these?
Don't worry, I am not experiencing attachment syndrome to my used wine bottles. For Christmas I was given a beer making kit. Having found a large bucket, perfect to be used as the 'fermentation vessel', what I need is an army of bottles ready for the rousing moment of decanting my first brew. I consoled myself that none of those chucked out would have been 'air tight' enough. I have been told in no uncertain terms that this is very important. There is nothing worse than flat beer. I'm sure Arthur Guinness was told the same thing before embarking on his first brew.
Again, I have bought the Sunday paper. Perhaps more out of ritual than any strong desire to read it. The front cover boasts an article about a techy teenager who has won the BT Young Scientist. His new app has the capacity to detect 'deepfake' videos on the internet. I better read on as I do not know what deepfake means. My own WhatsApp has pinged with a message asking me to be a part of someone's 'pod'. I'm delighted.
Is this how a dolphin feels when it's asked to be part of the 'cool girl' gang in school?
xoxo Be a dolphin
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