I found a big bag of cheap muesli at Tesco the other day, sugar-free. So Im currently mixing that with another variety, the sweetened cubes of fruit in which I carefully discard, but keep the dried abanana (sic). Today, I added a little tumeric as a hebal adjunct. Mmmmm, curried muesli, lovely. (cough) which reminds me rather of being invited along to an east end curry house one day long ago when I scratched a living in the big smoke. I didnt much care for the company, they had a distinct air of heroin about them, which I didnt fully understand until leaving London for the peasant countryside of france in 1983. My longtime paramour was there though and I always wanted to be in her company, even if I wasnt fully aware that our relationship was as near as dammit over. There was one particular chap I wasnt too keen on as i saw him as a threat, knowing I think that shed slept with him. I shouldnt have worried really, shed slept with more people than I could count as an antidote to me. bloody caps, really. But i loved her still and she me, in her own non-monogamous way I guess. I decided to forego the curries they were all indulging in, the hot-hot-hot kinds, for breakfast. I also stayed away from their drug of choice. I daresay theres a correlation between smack and and a penchant for palate blistering curry. Ill stick to curried musesli, thankyou. And monogamy.
Posted on: Wed, 20 Aug 2014 08:47:57 +0000
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