For all the zen talk, I was thoroughly gloomed Saturday night and badly needed to split focus. Enter the macaron, a meringue biscuit with cult-like status, whose preparation attracts so much earnest discussion that in my mind it is now known as "palaver" biscuit. I am a sucker for insanely fiddly food items at the best of times, and these were the worst.
It wasn't enough alas to see me through the night. By tea on Saturday I was back on the couch, only instead of therapy I was having poison poured into my ear, à la King Hamlet. Reader, it broke me. I had to abandon play at 2am, bitterly conceding that the English had not only beaten Australia - that was ages ago - but me. It was a shell of a woman who yesterday sandwiched wee pink bikkies together with chocolate ganache.
I feel your pain. I experienced a strange compulsion to watch the day's play in spite of the imminent drubbing. I had convinced myself that as the clock ticked over to midnight I would receive the ultimate birthday present with a cricketing miracle. At tea I could no longer convince myself that there was a daylight savings delay on delivery, nor could I hope that my present would be delivered at GMT.
ReplyDeleteDo you think you'll have the fortitude to bake your way through the upcoming day-night matches?
Hi Tunza, yes, I also had to see it to stumps yesterday, but the mounting English total the night before...*shudder*.
ReplyDeleteBut tomorrow is another day as Scarlett said, though I must say winced when Ricky said he was to looking forward to the one-dayers after stumps yesterday...
Those (mouth-watering) macaroons look amazingly delicate and melt-at-the-touch, so I assume they are your culinary tribute to Australia's middle-order. Boom Boom!
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean about Hamlet Snr having the posion poured into his ear - those charming Brit commentators became decidedly less charming the more chuffed they were with the home team's performance and the visiting team's macaroon-like dissolving. I will be romping wraith-like around the ramparts of my own unhappy Elsinore until the return series when - surely - the Ashes will be reclaimed. I'm sure it's stupid but I am taking the series loss personally.
They are indeed eggshell-delicate, and while I was rather pondering an analogy with my own mental state when writing, I appreciate your interpretation, especially as it makes a change from whingeing about the bowlers.
ReplyDeleteI am also in a terrible funk, Miss Irritability.