Sunday, 7 January 2007
Following yesterday's altercation with the East German Pedestrian Crossing Signal Man Chocolate Vegan Biscuit of Doom, I have been shanghaied (repeatedly, if that's possible) by the unscrupulous wiles of HMS Cocoa: to wit, by six chocolate-covered almonds left over after last night's house shindig, and foisted upon me by the totally unforeseeable circumstance of the seven of us all being in the kitchen at the same time, alone; by an unnameable quantity of fancy Parisian chocolates foisted upon me by Mrs Dog* when I popped by to welcome her home from France; and by the better part of a box of Lindt foisted upon me by my lady author friend last night and consumed this afternoon as I remembered fondly my days of yodeling and nanny goats in the Swiss Alps.**
While I am by no means ungrateful to the aforementioned foisters, who clearly know a thing or two about my proclivities, this simply cannot go on. One cannot subsist entirely on a diet of chocolate, not even if it's sourced from the diverse climes of Paris, Switzerland and the Norton St Coles. And as I am not one to achieve moderation in my passions, as, truth be told, it's all or nothing, I find myself staring in the face of total chocolate abstinence. You read it here first, citizens: Lexicon Harlot, and all her heirs and successors, will abstain from chocolate, in forms both solid and liquid and in the whole chromatic scale of whites and browns, FOR THE DURATION OF HER RESIDENCY IN SYDNEY. Which, just to set all in ordnung, is only for the next 34 days, or so. I know it can be done. Jesus, after all, survived forty days and forty nights wandering in the wilderness listening to Satan reading out Christmas cracker jokes. If Jesus could do that, then I can do this. But please, no foisting. The flesh is weak.
* So called because for several years I was in her employ as governess to a young fox terrier named Ollie. I superintended his calisthenics and piano practice and collected his poo in biodegradable bags provided by the local council.
** This is all one sentence. Henry James would be proud.