Smells like Grandma's fridge

Hello lovelies!

It's been a while, and I've been ... busy. This is good. I've arranged large international money transfers to pay for the upcoming degree, turned down invitations to weddings in Beirut, Waterford and Denver, planned for one in Engerland, booked a trip to Germany where I haven't been in 15 years, and introduced myself to a Croat, some Italians, an Argentine and a good many more. Pictures are courtesy of a different Dublin weekend, but a weekend that did its job admirably.

Last night, we had an epic Sri Lankan feast, a labour of love by the Bearded One. There was spicy sweet chicken, creamy baby brinjalinis, aromatic mounds of rice, and sambols a-go-go.

'Falling apart,' he said with a kitchen-sweaty smile as he lifted hunks of chicken out of the pot. It was a good thing. Miniature aubergines held their shape and colour and sat fatly in pink onions. He worked for five hours. Grandma would have been proud. I planted things in the garden and redid the gd devoured windowboxes. Let's just say that the nasturtiums were a far cry from this when I ripped them out in disgust and started again with primroses. 

Bastard blackfly.

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At the end, I pitched in for the terrifying vadai-frying experience, lentilly doughnuts bobbing happily in the Boiling Oil of Death, and stripped balls of curd from cheesecloth sieves for the treacley dessert. 

We're sending the extra curry leaves to Cork, as you do.

Vacanze!

The time had come for a proper holiday. Of course we're blessed to be able to take weekend breaks all over the shop and have friends to stay with into the deal, but really, a full week in Italy is where it's at.

We started in Milan, late and hungry, hurtling down the motorway in a tiny car with a huge man at the wheel. Four sunny days in Milan followed, with home base in a flat along the canal and an Irish/English couple to visit. We wandered the city, not a great beauty spot as we knew, but a great visit nonetheless thanks to the touristing efforts of our lovely hosts. We ate ice cream and befriended well-dressed babies in Pavia, and avoided guided tours in the Certosa to the monks' crotchety annoyance. Sandwiches ordered from kiosks bore politicians' names (Fascist and Communist, thank you) and the aperitivi were epic.

We had Saint Patrick's Day with silly hats and bad pints, furrin' style, in a pub that thought it was Irish, but could have been anything, and ate tricolor risotto. Life was good, and we hopped the Eurostar to Rome where we'd rented a massive flat in Trastevere. It was a great way to do it, as we soon felt at home, getting to know the neighbourhood as a neighbourhood, complete with sunny morning market, playground and family bars for espresso and sticky cornetti.

Rome is a lot like Paris in early spring, and we pooked along through the Jewish Quarter, along the river, round and round the Pantheon and beyond. It was beautiful, winding and full of extremely tasty food of the fried Roman variety. We went back to Da Enzo for carciofi and fiori di zucca, and discovered Le Mani in Pasta for cacio e pepe. And when the Vatican became too big, we found the smallest hole-in-the-wall for fabulous sandwiches, a place where the wine came decanted into empty Scotch bottles. Odd little bars popped up at every turn, one with an indefatigable Joe Pesci double at the helm, pork-pie hatted and ready for a good time.

The week after

So, we didn't win, kuñardocz. I say we, and really I mean the esteemed author, you know, the one with the talent. The rest of us are but remoras, but we were, and are, remoras with vision. We have his backlist, so there's a happiness in that, and he's a nice, nice man, which is a relief, if I'm being honest.

The party, you ask? The party, to use a cute Britism, was ace. I don't need to tell you about it because this upbeat Kiwi reporter has done it in their national press - have a look. Most of us nursed the Booker of all hangovers, with fresher-like side effects and inefficiency to beat the band all the next day.

But we have moved on! Both Chinatown and Foolish Mortals pieces finally came out, though not in my preferred form, the mice made a disappearance, and some fun was had with friends and visitors, some of which involved takoyaki. Stellou of the East, well versed in these things, swore blind that these were octopus balls, and yes, it was normal that they still be moving. She swears that this has something to do with bonito flakes dancing in the heat, but she's clearly not to be trusted. Me, I think it was tentacles, but hey, I ate them anyway.

Aside from such minor concerns, I've been plotting for the future. I'm thinking of setting up an international, multilingual publishing services agency in the relatively near future, for which I'm seeking advice, requests for types of services needed, freelancers looking for work, that sort of thing. I've received some good feedback so far, and I'm planning to have a bit of a planning sesh soon. If you're interested and I haven't been in touch with you already, please do comment here and we can chat.

That said, I must stress that this plan is not going to be put into effect now; we're talking a year or two from now. Meanwhile, I have reason to believe that my working life will change rather dramatically, so I won't do anything but put the wheels in motion for the agency plan quite yet.