Buzzards and talking to myself were my main interests and concerns today. The one I have no pictures of and the other I’m trying not to talk about, except to myself. I was about to write the phrase “Can I share with you” but I had to punch myself in the face when I saw what my fingers were up to on the keyboard. Today I cooked good things instead of worrying about the possible onset of something untoward. I cooked a raft of good things while the buzzards circled on thermals until they disappeared above the clouds and I tried to forget how I was chatting to myself in the car park of the supermarket. I feel that talking to yourself in public on a Sunday morning is more worrying than on a weekday. Weekdays are packed with weakness whilst mad folk on Sunday carry the red letter F around their neck signifying fundamentalism or fucking madness. At all events I got out of the carpark unnoticed. Do you think Strauss Kahn had the same feeling of relief in the business section of his Air France flight just before Tourette’s struck and he had to mention his admiration of the air stewardess’s bottom. Could he have claimed he was talking to himself? Could he have really have said “Graters!” as he thought of Parmigiana Reggiano for some delicious Parmesan Souffles, the recipe for which I won’t be including, instead of “Great arse”. No time to muse as I curse the oven for cooking too hot which cheekily replies “Maybe a little less red wine when you set my temperature”. A bad oven blames the cook. The end of the day, after very good Baked Beans on toast, gives me the chance to inspect today’s work – a score of Parmesan souffles, a huge and brilliant lemon cake/tart, a pot of braised red cabbage and two excellent shortcrust tarts filled with tapenade and roasted cherry tomatoes. I saw one of the buzzards suddenly drop vertically from several thousand feet onto some hapless four legged snack that he hadn’t had to cook.