A good friend relapsed yesterday and I simply felt too sad to write. Another reminder what a tricky and persisting enemy we have in alcoholism. Hoping he comes out of this with nothing worse than a bad hangover.
My Muslim neighbours, startled by my temerity in offering to cook buryani, are sending around stuffed rotis and dosas, presumably to show me what delicious North Indian food tastes like. So tempting, but only eaten in the evenings, since I am embarking on a week of raw vegetable and fruit lunches — right now we have the most amazing choice of papayas, custard apples, passion fruit, peaches, plums, tangerines, nectarines, and berries of all descriptions. Yesterday I composed a salad of chopped apples (stored last autumn), diced cucumber, par-boiled purplish broccoli, coriander, spring onions and a dressing with balsamic vinegar and crushed raspberries with a little olive oil. Cashew nuts and a handful of boiled edumame beans. It reads like a strange combination but tasted surprisingly good and filling. Afterwards I had a sunburst of energy and got back to Nanowrimo, am now sitting at 48 000 words and no fewer than five endings.
Dismayed to see that one of my favourite composers, Henryk Gorecki died at the age of 76. This video is the most moving and beautiful interpretation of his work, his Symphony No 3, Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, conducted by John Ireland. It is based on a 15th-century sacred lamentation, as well as a simple prayer (“Oh Mamma do not cry — Immaculate Queen of Heaven support me always”) scrawled by a young girl on the wall of a Gestapo prison in southern Poland, and a plaintive Polish folk song in which a mother grieves for a son lost in war.