Tuesday 7th April 2020

Only 4 hours sleep – so worried about the Prime Minister and our Nation. Now, do we dare to hope?

Laura Malcolm, cleaner-less in lockdown, said she didn’t know how to wash the floor. She looked in the cupboard but could see nothing to clean it with. Maybe just water would do?

Text from the bank, supposedly. Unusual activity on Debit Card. Pls ring. All the bleach-wiping of the card, I should think.

Angus Willis will not, will not grasp the layered soufflé. Don’t add anything to the Soufflé, he goes. It will be watery. But the Gay Mother’s tomato and spagetti soufflé and her leek and bacon and her smoked haddock have triumphed all through the years. But no, Angus Willis isn’t having it.

I had a layered soufflé last night. It was horrid through my error and the Prime Minister going into Intensive Care. I told Angus how horrid it was which was why he came out and condemned the entire genre.

Merle Barr and Angus listened to Woman’s Hour today. Angus thought nothing of Mary Berry’s ideas for lock-down cooking. Pasta with frozen peas and how to ice a cake. He said the Nation needs to know how to plan to minimise shopping outings and what to do when you can’t cook, which is most people.

In the night I was dreading Ottolenghi Roasted Romanesco Salad with Lemon, Garlic and Toasted Hazlenuts. But it was quite nice actually.

The Birds’ Custard mania has rather waned. It’s awfully bloating. I wonder now if I’ll ever open those cans of tinned fruit. Maybe the Food Bank, if I can find one.

I feel snowed under with food. The vegetable box delivered from the Farmers’ Market – well, I don’t want to have carrot soup when it’s not winter. Nor Biked Pootaato for 8 nights. I’ll have to give some of it away. The food box was how I got condemned to the Romanesco.

Tomorrow another box is coming. But more selective this time.

I can’t keep up with the eating and the menu-ing.

Harry Rollo said that if you go to a certain square half way down Roseberry Avenue, you can see Grayson Perry cleaning out his own fireplace through the window. Mercury Mr Kitten got wind of it somehow and went to investigate. Just so extraorder.  Even he is shut up. But I suppose he could get extra time out by adopting some of his other persona – like the Milk Maid with the bonnet or the Marge Proops version. The Police would never know it was the same person.

Who now remembers Marge Proops? Long gone.