It is difficult to understand why it is virtually impossible for some authors - of non-fiction - to write a simple, declarative sentence. Instead they often seem to chose  to write - or perhaps, are forced - in a less than straightforward way. This means that - because of the roundabout circumlocutions - it is difficult for a reader (as mentioned earlier) to follow the argument. It was decided by many authorities on writing style - that I have read - that this is not good practice. Other sources tend to disagree with this - implicitly - without saying so in so many words. At this point it is relevant to cite one of these sources on this point, who says: “I cannot agree with this. It is unbelievable that authors writing books and other works still do it.” And yet authors writing books and other works still do! It is odd that those authors writing books do not know better. Undoubtedly - if they were other writers - they would know better. But this does not account for the fact that they do not know better - even though it is obvious that they should.

Found over at the Queen’s, of course. I think 40 words is the best I can manage after a long, hot week, and a short, hot weekend. 

The rules are simple: one word answers to 40 questions.

Where is your cell phone? Kitchen

Your significant other? Beloved

Your hair? Short

Your mother? Barking

Your father? Absent

Your favourite time of day? Twilight

Your dream last night? Unknown

Your favourite drink? Champagne

Your dream goal? Time

The room you’re in? Cosy

Your ex? Several

Your fear? Death

Where do you want to be in six years? Home

What are you not? Relaxed

Your favourite meal? Breakfast (had to go with Emily on this one)

One of your wish list items? Greek lessons

The last thing you did? Water

Where you grew up? Backwater

What are you wearing? Overmuch

Your TV is? Resented

Your pets? Imaginary

Your computer? Essential

Your life? Unbalanced

Your mood? Weary

Missing someone? No

Your car? Toyota

Something you’re not wearing? Jewellery

Favourite store? Persephone

Your summer? Busy

Your favourite colour? Blue

When is the last time you laughed? Yesterday

When is the last time you cried? Distant

Your health? Fine

Your children? Never

Your future? Unplanned

Your beliefs? Cynical

Young or old? Young

Your image? Sharp-tongued (hyphens don’t count, right?)

Your appearance? Unsatisfactory

Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? No

Yesterday evening I got home to find a note on the kitchen table (this is how we communicate these days since our simultaneous presence in the house is so rare it may in fact be a physical impossibility). The note said: ‘Check out the CSA box.’ A large, damp, cardboard box stood on the counter, our weekly entitlement of greenery goodies from the local organic farm. They had done us proud. Spring onions, peas, courgettes, broccoli, fennel, carrots, cucumber and assorted green leafy things I am too inexperienced to recognise. I marvelled at the abundance, the freshness, the variety, the array of healthy, ecologically-friendly meals ahead of me.

Not for one minute did it cross my mind that I could do anything with all those lush ingredients myself. Instead, I folded them carefully back in their box, and poured myself a bowl of Puffins (aka breakfast cereal) and a glass of white wine for dinner. To be clear, I did not pour the wine over the Puffins. I had low-fat milk on the cereal; the wine merely washed it all down.

Lest you think this dinner was not a miracle of nutrition, let me add that I ate it while watching Cary Grant and Sophia Loren in ‘Houseboat’. What could be more wholesome than Cary Grant?