Episode 107. In which yo no soy española.

Today I have achieved a lot, I think.  I don’t feel massively exhausted by it, which is a risk when you do a lot after a hard week.

I am sitting in my living room, which is clearer since I finished a lot of unpacking, looks nicer since I sorted out the stuff that had been dumped on top of the DVD unit and the DVDs themselves, and is nice and lightbecause it’s a bright evening, in spite of the rain.  I can smell the chilli con carne I made from scratch, which has been simmering away in the slow cooker for the last four hours, ensuring it’ll be well and truly infused by the time we eat in another hour or two.  If I can wait that long.  I am just home from a refreshing stroll through the drizzle to the shops, where I bought the finishing touches for dinner (rice and freshly baked pitta bread), and so much San Miguel that the guy in the off licence asked if I was Spanish.
Yo no soy española.

Diabetic moment of the day

I haven’t had one today.  Which makes me suspicious.

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