I was doing OK until lunch, not pulling up any trees, but getting some work done. Then I stopped to eat (Julia made avocados for lunch) and went to sit in front of TV with a coffee. (Yes, of course I made her one! And a Kit Kat.) The quizzes started, the snoozing commenced and four hours later I find I’ve frittered the afternoon away, watched some dreadful cricket and have to cook tea. The pizzas are in the oven now. I’m taking ten minutes to do this then I’m going to make the salad. It’s not a great meal, but it’s not the worst meal either. (Actually, it was quite a bad meal, as I got hot cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth).
I’m not sure what the worst meal is, probably something featuring fish, beetroot and salad, or something Icelandic with a sheep’s head or festering fish in the middle. At times like this, you have to ask why British cuisine is so often criticised when people like the Icelanders exist. How bad does your life have to be before you adopt boiled sheep’s head as a national dish? Having just read this link, I can see life was very hard. I now forgive them for their culinary delinquency, though whether I’d want to go on a culinary tour of Iceland is another matter. They don’t have salt because they have no firewood to boil the seawater (and let’s face it, the sun is going to be no help in Iceland) so that’s why they ferment food and wind dry it. It’s amazing how little you can know about someone who is almost a neighbour.
If Iceland had a massive TV industry I suppose I’d know more about Icelandic cuisine and less about American.
I’m tempted to go on from here and discuss the use of soft power in world politics, but this probably isn’t the place for serious political discussions about subtlety and influence. Fermented shark, yes. Russian Foreign Policy, no. Draw your own conclusions.
I was looking for photos when I found these. It was a good day and a big jellyfish – about the size of a dustbin.