Burnt Ragu, Wind, Rain and Finally Sun.

Well that was the week that was. Holidays are not supposed to be this tough. Perhaps I went a little too far in my last post but when under pressure many of us struggle. That was a wearying, cumbersome and in the end successful week. How much more I can cope with I'm not sure but my short break is almost upon me. Glyndebourne here we come on Wednesday.

What started as a wet windy Saturday has morphed into a brighter day and a culinary catastrophe. I enjoyed a very pleasant lunch at The Waggoners with my former colleague Rachel. All had been going well until I returned home, got back to cooking my Ragu then promptly turned the hob up to 5 instead of 2. What a disaster. I'm left with very burnt Ragu and a ruined pan. Must learn to concentrate more when I'm doing things. I ought to throw it away but can't simply waste good produce like that. Will try and rescue it.

Away from the kitchen I'm listening to Beethoven's string quartets and musing on my latest book adventure. Some years ago a very wise woman for whom I have lot of respect said a sightly disturbing thing about sex and relationships. A therapist who has spent much of her career delving into the minds of people most clinicians won't touch she knows the darkness in the souls of men. She said something on the lines of "when men go on a date they want to get sex. When women go on a date they don't want to get killed". Harsh and controversial I guess but with some of the stories I have heard an element of reality lies in that bleak statement.

Earlier in the week I started reading Anais Nin's Delta of Venus, an journey into erotica from a female perspective written I think in the 1940s. The first chapter was brutal, nasty, sordid and repulsive. I considered putting the book down and leaving it there. Come the second chapter though I realise that Nin got it. She knew of the sexuality and sensuality of women. She also knew the carnal domineering male sexuality perpetrated in a male dominated world where women to some are play things. Men want sex, women don't want to die.

I'm now gone from wanting to put the book in the bin to the intrigue of moving on. I mentioned it to Rachel today who also happens to be a therapist. Must mention it to Kym too.

The rest of the day brings more music, more fish and more switch off. A day in work on Monday will give way to the opera. I'm anxious about it but eager in my anticipation of the glories of opera. I'm not familiar with The Barber of Seville but I look forward to finding out.

I Heard a Voice.