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I completed not one but two heroic tasks this week.

Numero uno, I gave a girl on the tube a plaster (the blood was minimal and in the bottom bleeding bracket, but it made her day so, whatever).

Number two? Of course! I de-iced the fridge with a hot ladle. And you thought Tuesdays were boring.

I have also been feeling peely-wally all of January, and feel as if I have hardly seen any of my friends (hark! is that a tiny violin?)

Scottish slang aside, guess where I went? (If you are guessing ‘to get frozen yoghurt when temperatures were hovering around freezing’ you would also be totally correct, but that, believe it or not, was secondary to the main attraction.) I went to see Cosi Fan Tutte!

It was the first time I had ever been to the opera in Covent Garden and it was so fancy! (Also I availed myself of one of those booster seats that children use, so that I could see…)

It contained things like this:

I defy you not to go around humming this and flirting with the mirrors of your house now:

Some days later, I scratched a very different itch, and braved the cold along with fellow tiny woman to go to Salon London and be seduced by an evening of dark romance.

There was little seduction with the first speaker, then slightly more with the second, then, in a programming move that felt akin to being taken from a Michelin starred restaurant to a brothel adjoining a gin palace, the audience was thrown into the arms of Salena Godden, and given a sound seeing-to.

She is beautiful, filthy, and her poems accrete, taking time to build so that it is the reading as a whole rather than the individuals items read, that contribute to the atmosphere of fierce, unswerving, love for and despair of the world. A curious style, this, but one you expect from someone who speaks about the world in a continuous narrative, rather than wrangling individual moments and preserving them.

As much for the banter as for the poem.

She certainly buoyed me up into the weekend, where I ventured out into the world of ramen, and learned a necessary lesson about how much I dislike stock made from pork bone marrow.

Its something we’ve all got to learn, right?

However, it was a nice, secret experience. Look! – its a different tasting session of the same Ramen type we had, Tonkotsu, from the same company, written by the best food blogger in London, Food Stories, who tells it better AND took photos. Go and look at her account.

The only difference is that they had ‘boned-up’ (AHAHAHAHA) and produced a far porkier treat for us – a bit overpowering for my wimpy tastebuds.

Then we wandered a while, people watching as people started looking colder, and then of course, it snowed.

The Dollis Hill roses woke up shocked.

Since then, there has been a deal of eating with lovely people, wine, snowballs, and deep deep sleep.

And, as I was walking home this afternoon, this: