Slipped out of the office early yesterday (early being 5pm, as opposed to staying late to write), and headed home unsure of what I wanted to do. The sunlight was honeyed and warm, and I wished the subway trains ran above ground, on elevated tracks over the city so that I could have enjoyed it en route as I sat and read. Got home, puttered about, played some old school Nintendo Tetris (my roommate’s fervor has piqued my interest), and then resolved to cook dinner.

Inspired, energized even by the prospect, I called up my mum and got her special recipe for cottage pie. Suddenly it was all I craved: a large tureen filled with singed mini-crenellations of mashed potato, a wealth of deep loamy mince meat and baked beans buried beneath, tempered with garlic, Worcestershire Sauce, salt, beef broth and onions. Ah! I ran down to the shops, bought the ingredients, and then ran back. I put on some loud music, peeled 12 potatoes in a flash of whittling, and then set about frying the onions and garlic in a massive wok. In went the beef with a harsh gasp of sizzling, and then when it was no longer pink I added the baked beans, WS, a dash of ketchup, beef broth and a few other secret ingredients. Stirred it round, stirred it round, the whole kitchen redolent with its delicious scent, and then after mashing the potatoes I assembled it all in a large cake tin and combed its surface with a fork. A light sprinkling of cheese, and then bunged it into the oven to grill for five minutes.

When it came out, golden and crisp, hot and steaming, I served myself a massive portion and devoured it. Delicious.

From there, I took out a box of chocolate biscuits and lay down on the couch to watch Mulholland Drive; fascinating movie, with overtones of Almodovar. Deep psychological play, which Christina was able to help me figure out afterwards. The kind of film you want to watch over and over again so as to better fit the pieces together with each viewing.

And then – bed!