Either the heat is slightly less brutal today, or walking to Mum's was the exact right amount of exercise to kick my system into functionality; I feel better than I have for weeks.
I am sick of feeling so crappy all the time. Trying to do something about it. I doubt I'll ever have the motivation to eat a truly healthy diet, but I went shopping last night and started work on a slightly less unhealthy one.
And I am cooking. I am cooking RIGHT NOW. It is a sort of vegetable stew, with carrots, chickpeas, leeks, cabbage and celery, all held together with either mushed canned tomatoes or canned ratatouille - I haven't decided yet. And bacon. Big chunks of pinky-gold smoked bacon, dirt cheap because they were the tail-ends that wouldn't fit neatly in the slicer. But a lot more vegetables and pulses than bacon.
The celery is even organic - admittedly only because Asda had run out of bog-standard celery, but it still counts.
(argh, pissfuck, the thrice-damned onions burned while I was typing this. Oh well. It'll add a nice chargrilled flavour. Or something.)
Also included: the remnants of a bar of dark chocolate flavoured with chillies that neither I nor my mother could bear to eat as is. I've had it lurking in the kitchen cupboard for months waiting for just such an opportunity. I might add in some cream of coconut as well, and turn the whole thing into a sort of fusion ersatz mole.
...I remember now why I used to enjoy cooking.
Also, arse. I've put everything into the biggest pan I have and there's no room for the fucking chickpeas. (I soaked those last night and cooked them by themselves this morning, because if you cook vegetables for as long as it takes to cook chickpeas they dissolve.) Hopefully there'll be room for them when the vegetables have cooked a bit.
NEED MOAR PANZ.
Edited to add: Further notes on cooking: This flat does not possess a smoke alarm, although the council have visited twice, expressed concern and promised to return and install one at some unspecified future date.
However, the spotted dog does appear to possess an inbuilt smoke alarm. As soon as the pan reached scorch point, Squish started yowling and indicating that I should visit the kitchen. I love my weird dog.