TTMFFTTMA 7

It was one of those things that my Father failed to tell me about, like checking that the girl you're walking with has tissues.
As I cycled in the other day a taxi went past with the following emblazoned on the side:
DNT B WSTFL
"Aaaahh" I thought, "How nice, what a lovely sentiment for the mildly depressed."
Unfortunately the next line was all about recycling, so, realising that I'd misread WSTFL for WSTFL, I became wstfl.
However, in the evening I attended an "event" at Heals (a swish furnishing shop), featuring 10% off (ha, let's talk about my salary) and a tasting of Vina Mara wines. I swilled and spat at the start but then the security guard moved me past the planters.
My tasting notes from the evening:
Cava - it's cava.
Rose - it's horrid
Rioja - s'ooright
Rioja Reserva - bit planky, as in licking a freshly sawn bit of oak, or a good kipper.
Rioja Gran Reserva - not as planky as the reserva but a bit more acidic.
Crianza - Has hints of oak, like a cudgel made of that fine wood .
White Rioja - Cor you're lovely! Sorry bit of internalisation. Alright, sort of Spanishy.
White Something Else - I'm sure it would have been fine, but I suddenly found myself in Habitat (the shop opposite) with some unusual pressure bruises round my upper arms.
Habitat had come out in opposition, first of all it wasn't invites only, secondly they had half-naked, HALF-NAKED girls in hula skirts, I seem to remember that their fizzy wine was better but that could have been the Alka-Seltzer I had later, needless to say I won't be shopping there for sometime.
So thus fuelled and inspired I left for home.
Now, I've been frequenting a lot of Turkish shops lately, lured in by the cries of,
"How much? Crikey that's cheap!"
and so have adopted a form of the Mediterranean diet (lots of herby stuff with olive oil, fresh vegetables, a lot of peppers and a bottle of Australian wine, plus an awful lot of mint tea, chiefly due to the awful lot of mint.
I had started the morning with a spot of frantic maceration and had spent most of the day deep in infusion as I'd decided to introduce a piece of tuna to salsa verde. At work, after consulting t'internet, I discovered that I needed anchovies and that I'd left out the capers. Capers I had, a small jar of Spanish nonpareille in salt. I washed them four times, they still constricted the back of the throat like the first accidental contact with the Med. In my younger days, at College, a caper was a manoeuvre in Morris Dancing, though, if you were rich and used to such things, you might know that it was the green stuff in Tatar Sauce that made it taste like peculiar salad cream, but I digress.
I decided I could pick up the anchovies from the supermarket on the way home, so fortified with Vina Maria off I went. Supermarkets seem to offer much more choice that the average Italian fishmarket, so imagine my surprise when, on arriving back home I discovered that I had failed to get just, "Anchovies "and had ended up with "Anchovies with Garlic and Herb in Olive Oil", note "Herb", singular, and even that was parsley, hardly worthy of the name "herb" in my view. Anyway the purity of my concoction was diluted by a momentary lack of concentration.
Moral: Always read your anchovies.