George would have loved that

Arriving home from cooking in Zac's on Wednesday I noticed what I thought was a graze on my knee; it turned out to be dried-on curry.

Yesterday I spilled gravy on my foot when dishing up meals.

As Stu, head chef for the week, said, "George would have loved that."

He certainly would have done. He'd have licked the skin clean off my foot.

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I'm speaking in a church tomorrow. On Thursday I thought I had mastered my talk; yesterday I was a disaster, stumbling and stuttering through it. Today I will make some little memory aids and hope that helps. 

Sometimes I get dodgy stomachs. (No I don't, I get a dodgy stomach. I am not a cow; I only have one.) I tried cutting out gluten and my stomach was good but it continued being good when I re-introduced gluten. 

A friend suggested it could be stress. My stomach is bad this week so that ties in with my nervous anxiety. I should learn to say no when someone asks me to speak - but I love being given the opportunity and it only happens about once a year and I'm so thrilled to be asked and anyway I'll have forgotten by next time.

My fault. I can blame no-one but myself. Now must go and shower and practise.

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By the way, has anyone watched The Watcher on Netflix? It was one of those things I lost patience with in the middle but had to keep watching to find out who did it. A bit like the book I finished reading last night. I disliked the narrator/main character, didn't enjoy the story, but wanted to finish it to find out what happened. I speed read the last chunk and, though the narrator got her come-uppance, still can't think of anything good to say about it. In spite of the fulsome praise on the cover and the 'laugh out loud' comments. Some people must have a very strange sense of humour.