cream of tartar

Having spent most of yesterday migraining it between bathroom and bed ( though mostly in bed, and squeezed between three purring Birmans and one surprisingly unratty Kitty ), I am not at my best today , though I drag myself out at nine when Alice will wait no longer for her morning constitutional ( though to be fair D did offer to go it alone , and having spotted me on the edge of the bed at five am swallowing pills he did do the early shifts too , the first yard duty then breakfast half an hour later , with brief spells back in bed ).

The waves are high and the snow is less today , and the wind has dropped . Altogether it is pleasanter , but I am easing my way back into Life as we know it .

I sit staring at my laptop , sipping ginger tea and thinking my thought as he revs up to his usual pace and plots his next Action .
The Shops .
What will we be eating tonight ? I try to calm my stomach and being the sensitive soul that he is , he backs off slightly and tries to ascertain what he needs to know without talking Pork and Chicken in quite such a stark way . I drag myself to the cookery books and with bad grace read out the ingredients we will need for an old Delia recipe .
He is off and I am left to my devices in the armchair for an hour with the Saturday magazines . Bliss .
After an hour , my mobile rings .
The tone is apologetic " Is cream of tartar the same as tartare sauce ? " he asks . " What does it look like ? "

I describe the baking section , the paper tubs etc reminding him that earlier in the week when I had added this to the memo board I had described how he would find it next to the bicarb of soda and the baking powder .....but I fear there has been a memory slippage.

I suggest he asks someone . He tells me he has tried this but will try someone else .

Ten minutes later , a triumphant text appears " Got it " .

It is the modern day equivalent of the dripping stag , freshly killed , or the fat boar , strung on two sticks and carried home at the end of a big day out . And will , as my sister texts my later , when we ponder the subject , be presented with a flourish .

It's no wonder I hate shopping so much . Except when I'm in the mood of course . Then its safer to go on my own . My lack of coherent method , tendency to hoy everything into the bags willy nilly , and occasional giving up the ghost half way round in a fit of ennui just drive him to distraction . To him shopping is a great challenge , something to be achieved in the shortest possible time . To me its just a mild bad dream , something I'm delighted to forget about whilst I flick through the clour supplements .

He's back . Better go and help with the unpacking .