I can map my moods against certain behaviours, certain things, certain foodstuffs. Chipped rose-bronze Rimmel nail varnish I don’t have the energy to redo. Paperwork I can’t be bothered to complete. Ready-meals that I purchase in bulk, rather than rise to the effort of cooking. Not sure what’s sparked this particular round of depression off, but me and the Grey Horse have been facing-off across the paddock fence again, and she keeps threatening to kick the gates down and join me for a proper, old-fashioned, Human vs Mental Health, Fists vs Hooves fight to the death.
Pulled myself together this afternoon (having eaten all the ready-meal vegetarian cottage pies. And all the kettle chips). Boiled, fried and mashed some black-eye beans and vegetarian bacon into a paste suitable for refried beans-and-salad tortilla wraps. Sacrificed vegetarian sausages and mince to Heuvos a la Flamenca, to create a pot of bubbling scarlet overlaid with creamy baked eggs. And I turned to the tastes and spices of the Middle East, in this case an Eygptian recipe, in the hope that the scorching sunshine burned into the spices and lentils might work to blow away some of the mist.
Original recipe nicked from the British “newspaper” the