I dream of fantastic patés, bought wrapped in paper from the local charcutier, but then I shop in the local Monoprix, scared to set foot in artisanal shops.
And lo it came to pass, in the year of our infernal lord two thousand and fifteen, I was introduced to Maryland’s finest crooners, Clutch.
I would love to do a podcast or a vlog with a doctor. It’s been on my mind for a while now. There would only be one rule: No discussions of ailments.
Starfish chocolates decorate a beach of biscuit crumb and sugar sea glass. The beaches, in their little containers surround two cakes: one a mermaid, and one a Narwhal.
To the British mind Australia is the dictionary definition of paradise.
We live in a perpetual gloom, where the only true communal activity is moaning about how gloomy it is.
I am looking for the easy ability to strike up a conversation without ending up wittering something elaborately boring, or sensationalist, just because I have got carried away with the weirdness of being in a conversation.
The anger of the extremes – the most certain in the least tenable of views – are the ones who have put us in this position. I am sick of them.