Apparently I've done a bad thing.
I have just changed the bed covers and now – by total coincidence – have been Googling superstitions in light of an amusing conversation I had with friends earlier today.
Unfortunately, I've just found this:
A bed changed on Friday will bring bad dreams.
Might be a good time to road test my coffee maker.
I'm feeling a little disheartened today.
With coffee, of all things.
How can it be that something that smells so good can sometimes simply fail to deliver in the taste department?
I'm not saying that coffee never tastes good: I happen to love coffee. I'm just saying that sometimes coffee smells outrageously gorgeous but then doesn't live up to its promise.
Perhaps the coffee in question – the coffee that broke my heart – just wasn't strong enough on the day.
Who knows?
That said, I bought a box of those 'instant cappuccino' sachets the other day (admittedly from Poundland – it seemed like a money-wise and, therefore, clever idea at the time). Once water was added, they smelled a bit like brown rice. And they tasted like the water brown rice had been boiled in.
So, I guess, coffee doesn't always smell good either.
It usually does, though.
Although, now that I think about it, it's probably just as well that everything I like the smell of doesn't taste good, or I'd probably have developed quite a nasty Creosote, matt emulsion and petrol habit by now.
Not mixed together, of course. What a silly thing for you to even suggest.
I met an interesting man today.
I was driving to Bath to visit some friends, and I stopped off at some motorway services, fancying a coffee.
It turns out that – randomly – WHSmith's now have a cappuccino/latte/espresso machine. It's self-service, so you get an empty cup and operate the machine yourself. Then you take the finished drink to the till.
Well, I pressed the buttons, watched the froth ooze out, added some sugar, and finally popped a plastic lid on the resulting concoction. Then I went to pay for it, and the guy behind the till rang up latte without even asking me.
I asked him how he knew what drink I had, and he informed me that he was "magical in ways I will never understand".
Just how do you possibly respond to that?
