Well, that was the plan.
But it looked so appealing as I packed my lunch this morning that it didn't make it to lunchtime.
Much of it barely made it to the car, indeed.
So it'll be muesli cereal for lunch today.
When I was little, roast dinners were a welcome feature of Sundays.
On Mondays the leftover meat would be made into something like rissoles (lamb), stir fry (beef), or - very occasionally - chicken curry. Now, this wasn't the type of curry we'd recognise these days - in fact, my friends laughed at me when I declined to go for a curry with them when my only experience was my mother's white-sauce-with-curry-powder added.
Tonight, we had the modern day equivalent; Thai curry made with red curry paste and coconut milk, the leftover chicken stripped from the carcass and stirred through at the last.
Whether my children will consider it identifiably, authentically Thai will have to wait, at least until they have been born.
The Sparkly One was sitting behind me in The Motor our visit to That Place having resulted in a haul of flat pack self assembly home furniture sufficiently long that the car's interior seating required that configuration.
She had applied some gloss (make-up rather than woodwork) and, catching my attention in the rear view mirror (whilst proceeding safely down the highway), remarked:
"I've made my lips luscious for you."
She pouted demonstratively.
I blinked (checking road conditions, speed, etc) and commented as noted above.
"This one does," she replied happily.
Or: A Polite Awakening at a Rude Hour
Or: Facebook Ruined My Sleep
Last night, I heard the doorbell in the Wrong Hours of the night - the dark, cold, where-am-I-hours.
Then a knock, then the doorbell again.
I briefly considered ignoring it, relying on the many locks and doors, before realising I wasn't going to get back to sleep after that interruption.
It was the Police, looking for a Certain Person, who had apparently used Facebook as a means for threatening suicide. The recipient was so disturbed by the message that they mobilised the police service to locate persons of That Name and check on their safety and well-being.
One such person had apparently resided in my house some months ago. The tall gentlemen in the STAB jackets were very apologetic about awakening me - but given the Mercy Mission nature of their visit, one could hardly complain, feeling sympathy for those folk across the country being similarly awoken.
This morning, a scan of the news sites contains no mention of this, so I can only hope for a happy ending.
I am this morning wearing a jacket - a simple, cheap, unremarkable jacket - for reasons of warmth rather than style (although the latter was, I confess, a consideration).
I had hardly been in the office a minute before it had attracted comment.
"Dapper" was the phrase used.