Weeknotes 346

Properly cool at last. On Tuesday I woke to tantalising petrichor waft and visible evidence of overnight rain, and so then, yes!, it rained properly on Thursday. I was able to work from home on Monday and Friday because my flat was a habitable temperature. Please let it continue for now.

Another ridiculously busy week on the (trauma) trot. Some decent productive progress, marred by the usual quota of desperate actors arguing, sniping and making things worse unnecessarily. It’s absolutely horrible but I remain grimly determined to focus my energy on keeping my head down and delivering the best technical work possible under the circumstances.

Three years now.

Also, three gyms. Work stress precludes normal sleeping and shitting but I’m starting to bring my weight back under control. Parameters.

On Friday night I returned to Love Shack for Reema’s birthday party. Before heading out I felt too emotionally drained for merriment but — surprise surprise — it did actually cheer me up to be among friends. I could feel the ghost returning to my body as I caught up with Reema after more than a year, plus chatted at length to Anna whom I haven’t seen since… maybe pre-COVID? I felt human again as I walked home through the chill night.

The hot “honey” (agave) ”chicken” (oyster mushroom) burger: great!

On Saturday I rode to Covent Garden in the sunshine and had lunch at Yum Bun Seven Dials. Their tofu bao is, to me, perfect. I couldn’t remember which gelato place’s vegan pistachio flavour Leo had mentioned (La Gelateria, it turns out) so I’ll have to save that for next time.

I began season four of Succession: The Munsters, Rehearsal and the shameless misdirection of Connor’s Wedding. The latter is the obvious dramatic highlight but this time through I found Rehearsal very affecting too; the writing and performances are so emotionally nuanced that I got completely drawn into it.

Of course it’s also very funny:

You’re needy love sponges. And I’m a plant that grows on rocks and lives off insects that die inside of me.

From Connor’s mouth to my annual self-review.

APPLE DRAMA: I ran out of Jazz apples and tried buying some Royal Gala instead of Braeburn because a) they were on sale and b) Jazz − Braeburn = Royal Gala, that’s just basic apple maths. Fucking mistake.

My sourdough starter, bleakly resilient as Connor Roy, sprang immediately to life and allowed me to bake two loaves this morning.

With the windows open my kitchen didn’t become unfit for humans so maybe I can start doing this regularly again. I did forget how much I enjoy executing my minimum viable mastery of the process.

I was happy to see batch support land in Solid Queue after a multi-year gestation. I’m quite looking forward to trying it, provided it works.