And here endeth my twenty three part series. OK, it might not end, I might add to it if I have a picture without a great deal to say about it, but for now it’s done and I need to get back to writing something proper.
So, the final picture. I’ve been cooking a lot recently, but as soon as I’m by myself I just can’t be arsed to cook anything of any consequence. To be honest, I can’t be arsed to eat anything of any consequence and I don’t really know why. My latest effort? Yes, the worst thing you can buy in a supermarket, especially if coupled with alcohol (mine was a bottle of red, on special offer) is the meal for one. All this says is, “I am pathetic and lonely, but not only that, I can’t cook either. I’m going to go home by myself and eat shit curry, and drink wine alone in my bedsit.”
Only some of that is true for me in this particular instance. Only some of it.