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Confession: I used to have no idea how to cook. When I first moved out when I was 17, I used to subsist mainly on toast and I thought that putting every vegetable I had in the fridge in pasta sauce was a good idea. I could just about manage to make misoshiru.
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I avoid playing games (board games, sports, cards!) because, as I’ve mentioned before, I am a bad loser. Not just the garden variety pout-a-bit-and-get-over-it type, but really, execrable. Not only that but I crow when I win! I blame being the only girl brought up with a brother and another five rough and tumble, always-around boy cousins – I got used to winning everything because I am the oldest and learned how to bend them to my will lest I became swallowed into a pit of anarchy from which there would be no emerging. Or something. Maybe I just have a bad character.
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Life recently has been rather exciting, if a little hectic: a trip to London, another to Milan – on which more soon but meals were taken al fresco in picturesque settings and gelato was eaten – and a 3-day wedding in South Tyrol to ready ourselves for (I’m going to sing!), as well as the usual day to day.
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