Drunk spaghetti and brownies for breakfast

The interview was yesterday. Apparently I should find out today. Who knows. I'm currently in two minds over whether to pick up the phone when it rings or let it go to voicemail. Immature? Sure. Chicken shit? Absolutely. I really would love this job and it would be an incredible experience and I think I acquitted myself reasonably well but I do have form in being completely unable to predict these things. One thing I do know is that if I do get it, I will be thrown in the deep end with no idea of which way to swim or which stroke is going to get me there fastest. We will just have to wait and see.

It's been a distracting kind of week - and I'm not referring to the piles of clothes in need of washing, the sink of "rinsed" plates awaiting scrubbing or the films of dust needing, well, dusting. But they have been distracting me too. I mean there's been less multi to my tasking and as a consequence the last week has been a jarring montage of frenetic interview research, little to no book writing, ad hoc tidying, wedding details and eating. Lots of comfort eating.

Lovely Boy is a Good Cook. And a patient cook too, when my inevitable answer to "what would you like for dinner?" is "something delicious." In an attempt to redress the imbalance of culinary contributions in our little household last week I decided to make us a huge vat of Neil Perry spaghetti bolognaise. Going a little rogue on the ingredient proportion front, I accidentally overcompensated for what I felt was perhaps not quite enough red wine by tipping in a generous slug only to realise that meant two-thirds of the bottle was now bubbling away with my mince and herbs. Basically, I got the bolognaise smashed. But you know what, like most things after too much liquor, it was the food equivalent of rather a lot of fun. My cooking stocks definitely rose, if you'll forgive the terrible pun....

This week, LB made brownies. Dark gooey chocolate brownies with sour cherries. Thankfully he's been taking some to work with him everyday as my complete disregard for the conventions of breakfast has meant a small chocolate "appetizer" on my way back from the shower each morning before even drying my hair. It's lucky the brownies aren't a North African leader otherwise I imagine the porridge, crumpets and contents of the fruit bowl would be planning a messy coup right about now. And I have enough washing up to do as it is.

I tell you what though, when it comes to making sweet things, you know it's true love when someone lets you lick the bowl....

One of my earliest memories is of the jostle for the bowl, beaters and spoon with my siblings after Mum or Dad had finished with some brilliant dessert creation and even though I know myself to be a reasonably unexceptional cook, except perhaps when it comes to desserts (some things are ingrained early...) there is something so inherently satisfying about the hum and mess of a kitchen mid-creation. Never mind the smell of cooking brownies.

Apart from eating and waiting for a phone call that may never happen, there are some fun things on the immediate horizon. Sophie is in town for a couple of days for work at the moment so it will be good to spend a bit of time with her and this afternoon I'm off to Hackney to see an exhibition with my lovely ex-flatmate. The dishes, dust, writing and general attention to Life Plan will have to wait.