...is not the way to live any life...really.
All that pent-up play was bound to burst out in some way. No: not in the kitchen. Sorry. No recipe today. Yes: I know I've not posted anything foodish in a little bit. But, as my regular readers know, sometimes real life takes over and I just don't have the opportunity to cook or post.
My lost-for-far-too-long play unleashed itself at last night's Toronto Duran Duran concert in Toronto. Yes, I'm a fan. Yes, they're still touring (minus Andy Taylor). Yes, we (that's Cathy, the music trivia queen in with me--taking the picture was her friend Amy) had a great time, lost our voices and danced for hours. Oh...and the songs from Red Carpet Massacre are much better live than the recording. Just in case anyone was wondering.
Whenever I'm in Toronto and can manage to get my schedule to match up with our favourite Cream Puff's, we share a meal or two. Luckily enough this morning we were able to meet up at my favourite breakfasty-brunchy place in The Big Smoke.
Even though we always have a great time together--she's such a lovely, witty, intelligent and compassionate soul--I must admit I was brave to ask her for an early-ish breakfast after a night out...not necessarily at my best after being out 'til late and gossiping until later. There's a reason there's no morning-after photo of me. Want an idea? Scramble the curls, add a bleary-look of pained concentration along with three times the make-up from the concert photo...
She had pancakes and sausage, and I had quite possibly the best morning after the night before breakfast I could hope for--a full English (toasted malted bread, potatoes, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms and poached eggs). Well-fed and happy we parted, each to our own offices.
All I know is that I need to play more often...