The brownies are baking, ready for Claire's last day with her team tomorrow. Surprisingly, this is only the fourth or fifth time someone has specifically requested a cake from me, after 15 months of baking. Perhaps I should draft a menu of cakes and ask for requests, the catch being that you pay 50p for me to make the cake of your choice.
Ahh! Necking a cold tin of beer whilst enduring our disgustingly humid and overcast summer weather helps to handle the hardship. This is in preparation for the pub quiz, except my prep should also include cruising tabloid tat websites to brush up on vapid celebs and their irksome activities.
<thinks>
Nah, not worth it. Instead - I have to craft a rhyme for Claire's goodbye. Okay muse, hit me with inspiration. Right here. Left temple. Quick as possible.
Still waiting.
Yup, still waiting.
Meanwhile - James Gandolfini has died, coming rather as a shock. This has brought "The Sopranos" back into discussion. I watched the first season, then gave up. Horrible nasty people doing horrible nasty things to other horrible nasty people - rather like a James Elroy novel.
Whoops, got to go see those brownies. Come on, muse!
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