More conversations from the kitchen

Most people will be shocked and astonished to hear that in a house of five men and one (attached) woman, we occasionally discuss women. Or, as the Europeans here (like PJ Harvey) have been known to phrase it, “beautiful girls”.

Shocking, I know. And astonishing.

This morning, breakfast conversation ran something like this.

Greek mathematician: “My friend. How are you?”

Me (joking): “Throat’s still a bit sore, but I don’t mind the sexy voice. Now I just need to find a woman who likes a deep voice and doesn’t mind catching cold.”

GM (looking at my jeans and hooded blue jumper): “You should also not wash these clothes for a few days. So you smell.”

Me: “Um … ”

GM: “And get some of the black stuff from the bicycles.”

Me: “Grease.”

GM: “Yes, grease. Get a little of it on your hands and face.”

Me (comprehension dawning): “And let my beard grow out to around the two-day point. Not as bad as when I went to London, but stubbly.”

GM: “Yes. Like you worked as a mechanic.”

Me: “Because Cambridge would be the one town where if I couldn’t pass for mechanic-sexy, I might just manage bicycle-mechanic sexy.”

The Greek mathematician laughed, I washed out my porridge bowl. I wondered who really is the most mad person in this house.

I still suspect I’m the front-runner.