The writer

A large part of the morning was spent shaking off the blurred edges from the Salopian Oracle drunk last night in Gallagher’s Pub whilst listening to all the excellent swearing on John Grant’s Pale Green Ghosts. We all need some more swearing in our lives.

Over lunch I was reminded of my English grandmother as I went into Waterstones to leaf through some cookbooks to find something to make for my supper.

I went straight to Claudia Roden’s book on Spanish cooking and reminded myself of her recipe for a lamb stew with the honey. That would do and I made a mental note of what I would need to buy on the way home. I kicked myself for not having stopped off at Edge’s on the way into work to buy some lamb rather than having to rely on the best that Sainsbury was going to have available.

After that I went into Probe and resisted the temptation to buy some more music. It is record shop day tomorrow and I will have to go back and join the queue.

But the highlight of lunch was walking into a new shop down past Liverpool 1, Cow & Co, and being asked if I was ‘the writer’ on the back of a tweet and an article about mackerel in Fire & Knives. There seemed to be some symmetry in me having written about the things that I think about over a lunch spent walking round Liverpool and there being a shop in Liverpool come across over lunch selling a magazine with the same article in it.

The lamb stew is cooking now and we are listening to King Creosote and looking out for bats as the sun goes down.

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