I had a strange day today. Firstly, the egg I cracked–doing so in such a way that it touched all the other elements of my breakfast in the pan–was rotten. It stunk out the entire flat and I am still figuring out how to remove the haunting ‘fragrance’ from my trusty cast iron pan. Not long after, on the way home from the supermarket, I was narrowly missed by a driver recklessly zig-zagging through traffic, between cars and other cars and barricades and lamp-posts on a street I would not have thought could contain all of this in its width. And finally, we went to the beach to blow out some cobwebs and came across this thing. Do you know what it is? Is it a kind of sea sponge? I can comfirm it is not raw chicken, nor grey matter.
This poem by Vincent O’Sullivan sums up my day.