Sick. So sick.

Not scary sick, not seriously sick, just miserably sick.

Leo’s London cold (I like calling it Leo’s London cold just because then I can imagine Johnny Thunders singing it to the tune of Little London Boys) may have won the battle but I gotta say, I don’t have great hopes for the war either.

I owe you all a post about the house concert but I can’t stop coughing long enough to write much. My stomach muscles are sore as hell from coughing and in one coughing extravaganza I managed to actually pull one of my poor underutilized stomach muscles. Now when I cough my throat burns, my stomach muscles ache, there’s searing pain in one spot and if I’m lucky I’m able to restrain my body from simultaneously peeing and farting. I mean these coughs are intense. If there was anything else in my body I’m sure it would spit that out as well. I know, I know, these are the times in which some friends might suggest not sharing EVERYthing. But I'm impressed with my Little London Cold™️ so I feel I must share its complete and utter domination of me with you. I haven’t been down and out in this manner for eons. To top it off I woke up with pinkeye today.

So, suffice to say. I will write more later. However, I must note that the sheer power of acoustic music performed in a house with a lot of old wood, a lot of good people, a lot of love, and a table full of good food is just awe-inspiring. The power of music, of memories, of middle aged women and of moon cakes. It’s all pretty powerful stuff.

Thomm Jutz and Eric Brace. Photo by Barry Gilbert

Eric Brace and Thomm Jutz singing in our house sounded so right. As right and real and true as the wooden floor we were all standing on.

Love you forever, Eric and Thomm.❤️

More to follow. And pictures by Eva.

Yours in misery,
Cynthia

Oh, and more cookbook details to come as well