Long Covid Redemption.
Suitably refreshed by two superb Negroni cocktails, (long glass, 2 ice cubes, equal measures of: Booth's gin, Campari & dry vermouth, and forget the shaken not stirred bit,) I attempt to overcome two plus years of Covid induced writer's block.
I must confess that there was a short enjoyable interlude of sparring online with one ragged arsed fundamentalist, which sadly has come to an end. However, we must with Christian charity move on.
Covid has been a *****, but I was determined to fight the restrictions it initially imposed. A healthy mind in a healthy body was the mantra.
There was no travel for inspiration in two years; five-star hotel exotic locations; crisp cool linen sheets and hot female companionship of an equitable disposition.
No. I was restricted on the physical side to a gym workout twice a week locally; where one could observe some rather prominent males pumping their pecs, and clenching their glutes in torsos adorned, (if that is the right description) in skimpy body-hugging gym apparel, Not that the female of the gym species was much endearing either; comprised as it was of a seeming obsession with their gluts; added to which was strategically positioned tattoo turn offs, comprising in the main of extensive dragons down the outer legs, and incomprehensible Chinese calligraphy in the small of the back. It's not as if this were some kind of primitive David Attenborough courtship attraction. Very definitely a “Look but don’t touch” reality.
But away from the physical to the mental. Solitaire on the computer for two years helped, but did not overcome writer's block or attempts at immersion in Madame Bovary and likewise literature for writing inspiration.
Instead, there was an insidious perversion in reading cookery books!!
Hours were spent in supermarkets resourcing fresh ingredients; followed by extensive research into recipes, extending from Nepal to South London, Islamabad to Glasgow. The week ahead was planned akin a computer spread sheet: prawn & mango curry on Monday, potato and mushroom gratin on Tuesday and a Spanish Omelette on Wednesday.
Hemingway committed suicide when he felt he could no longer write. I hope, indeed I pray, that there is hope in the days ahead, even if it is Negroni induced.