Yesterday's London day drained me, so came home late and spent wanting everything like love and food, in excess.

Whilst mixing bolognaise and tri colour pasta together we had the Godfather on, you know the one, the original one, the best one, the one with Brando and the horses head.
And as the theme music soothed and relaxed and the night got darker, as dark as my thoughts, I melted by roughly tearing hot herb bread and quickly sipping blood red sherry. The moody soundtrack was the perfect accompaniment to a much required night time feast...and so there we sat in our low lit room enjoying both sound and taste.

Back to yesterday.
Mum bought a mauve flimsy blouse and dad wheezed, and in between rasping wheezes, spoke about Giggsy, Obama and God.
I looked at him from the comfort of my leather tub chair thinking "stay with me" and glanced over at mum as she held up her 'new' blouse to the beautiful sunlight. "Not see through is it Ang?"
"No, not see through, just perfect for summer".

Then after drinking a passion fruit yoghurt I left.
Passion.
Passion.
Passion.
I've got loads of passion.