Bolognaise and jelly

There isn’t any milk. There never is unless I buy it so I’m reduced to supping black Nescafe. Nescafe is bad enough as it is, black it is liquidated sludge. However, it’s still coffee.
Despite this I am chilling snugly in the robe the Girlf bought me last week. Apparently it makes me look like a roman emperor. It should be an imperial purple but alas it is only a navy blue. You can’t have it all.
The recycling is sorted for tomorrow’s collection. I now recycle everything. I’m not sure they want everything I put out but that’s at their look-out. I’m new to this and the more I can keep out of the actual dustbin the better. We’ve already missed two collections and it’s mounting up. Pretty much everything that can go into the recycling does, it saves a lot of bin space.
I intend to have the laziest of days today. The plan, after a quick sojourn into town, was to have the Girlf cook for me. I was looking forward to basking in her derision while I ate because this is Tuesday and I always cook on Tuesday. Some how she’s managed to wiggle out of it. Passing the shop and paying a visit on my mum, she’s managed to acquire some bolognaise. That’s now three times this week my mum has fed us. Everyone in the house tells me, repeatedly, that mum is a far superior cook to me. Mum knows this and rings us almost daily to offer food. The Girlf rarely refuses.
Her super fast metabolism requires fuelling regularly so where as I can last out until late afternoon before I start eating the Girlf has to be replenished at short intervals. This she puts down to her super massive, calorie hungry, brain. To this end she’s been cooking cupcakes all weekend. Work is hard at the moment and she needs them to keep her cognitive powers firing on all cylinders. I suspect Einstein ran on icing sugar as well.
I can wait it out until this evening. The sludgy coffee will tie me over; I have deliveries to make in town. Mother expects another consignment of cake and Bone has been promised some for his birthday. It’s his thirty ninth so I feel this will be a quiet one. I’m pretty sure he’s ignoring it as much as he can.
I’d wanted to take him out for jelly wrestling tonight but he’s declined. I don’t think it’s his scene, but to be fair I’m quite certain it isn’t anyone’s scene. I can’t remember once thinking what Weston really needs is a good jelly wrestling night. Rumour has it that tonight they’re experimenting with spaghetti but this would probably be a mistake. You don’t want to mess with a classic formula. I’m told the last one was won by a butch, rugby playing, lesbian. It’s not known whether-or-not she’ll be defending her title.