Writing or Writhing?

Food or poetry?
Baking or short story?
Spoon or keyboard?

Although I am a very talented writer I've recently left the office in favour of the kitchen and in so doing created some mouthwatering offerings.
Made my first Tiramisu yesterday, and am still recovering from its unctiousness. Never ever have I had anything in my mouth so silky, it was, quite simply, the best cool dessert I've ever made.
It started with me cutting out a recipe from one of mum's mags, it contained lots of things I'm partial to, things like, cream cheese, egg yolks, egg whites, sugar, coffee, sponge and alcohol. The recipe needed rum but I only had an inch of brandy so that was thrown in instead.

As I, God I'm excited just writing about it, as I made a golden eggy custard, the Mascarpone cheese sat idly by waiting to be beaten in along with the sugar. When that was beaten in I whipped up the whites and carefully cut and folded them in with a large spoon. Then the best bit...I sliced into cubes some trifle sponges and dipped them into warm brandy laden very strong coffee, then placed them into my best glass serving dish. (It has legs and looks very grand) . The cheesy mix was then poured slowly over the drunken sponge, a heavy dusting of cocoa was sprinkled on and the cutesy wobbling beauty was left alone for two tortuous hours...

As it rested in the fridge I made a very late Sunday lunch. So late in fact that it was really an early dinner!
Not feeling up to doing a bird I fried some steak and served it with chips, deep fried battered onion rings and peas. A couple of slices of my homemade bread were on the side. Sunday lunch/dinner has never been so rough.

Then a good while later, we watched Charles Bronson shooting the hell out of a few dozen drug dealers in Death Wish 5 or was it 4. Makes no difference, they're all the same. Charlie boy running amok with a machine gun completely devoid of any facial expressions. But it was great fun. Shame Mr Bronson died in 2003 I would have liked to have seen him blow a few more MoFo's away.
Watching a great hunk in great junk is made extra special when eating a bowlful of Angel's Belly...And that is what immediately sprang to mind when the Tiramisu wallowed in my mouth. just after 7.
Angel's Belly. Because it looked plump, angelic and made a silly dent when poked with a little finger.

I love coochy woochy Tiramisu.

It will be made again and again, not just for the Horsehounds but hopefully for non-paying guests who appreciate heavenly food and dire films!

Now I really should make a serious start on a story but I'm baking bread and tarts. They too, like any good piece of fiction, will leave the devourer wanting more....

The pic is of a giant strawberry I found in my punnet.

It's time to relinquish the keyboard and pen and pick up a mug of hot chocolate.
I've been trying to create two characters for a very very short erotic story, a kind of lesson, excursion or dip if you like, into the dreadful art of short story writing.
And so as I wait for the kettle to come to a boil I'll be aiming to put myself in the protagonist's shoes.
It's an unsettling prospect because having a vibrant imagination means I'm not only in possession of a ravishing bed partner but I'm also lumbered with an awkward one.
Goodnight.

A Tender Correspondence part 2

I see no point in waiting until Thursday to post this. So here it is.

Michael

I gave you more than I've given anyone.
You took and took, until there was nothing left for me to give. I had to keep something for myself and that something was respect.

I'm now thinking of all those days and nights when I wondered where you were, have you any idea what that did to me?
Forever wondering who you were with and why you preferred their company to mine. I can't do this any more Michael, you promised much but gave little. I think your 'love' for me was like that of a spoilt person, a person who has to have it all, but nobody has that much to give.

You saw me and wanted me and I saw you and wanted you and we didn't stop for a moment to think about the effect we were having on each other. And now we are both are feeling the worst pain of all, the pain of loosing a friend.

Dear God I wish I'd seen it earlier, seen what was heading our way, then I could have saved us both pain by walking away, by returning home. But I didn't because I was in love and life in your light was good and I awoke every morning and looked forward to our days, I was enjoying my life, our life together.

But it wasn't only you, I was to blame too, because I did wrong, I made the biggest mistake of all, I tried being everything I thought you wanted, I forgot that I was o.k as I was, that it was fine just to be me, I strove to win your love and the effort turned me into someone I didn't recognize, all I needed to do was be myself.
All I should have done was be myself. But I'm Bibi Clemant and I 'messed up' as you say.

We can't be somebody to everybody, that's what they say isn't it?
I just wished I had been enough for you but there's no point in going over and over it, we had our brief spell in the sunlight but now we're back to reality and clouds and yes I do remember the champagne and beans night.
It was the night I knew I was in love with you.

I shall go back to Paris now but what I'll do there I have no idea.

Bibi