Slow-cooked beef, terror attacks, parsley salad, double bass strings and Dreams of Donald

Slow-cooked beef, terror attacks, parsley salad, double bass strings and Dreams of Donald

Terror attacks, just really briefly. Sorry everyone. I caused them. Apparently. I have been clearly told that –

A) I am stupid and it is my failure to properly calculate statistical probability that makes me worried.

(I would say this isn’t true – I don’t change my kids’ actual behaviour or my own, and I worry insanely whether there is an actual risk or not. Love is the risk taken. It always means fear of loss. We make it concrete, project it outwards, in order to manage it). (ALSO, you phone someone to make sure they’re home and back safely not because you actually think they might be dead, for fuck’s sake, but because it is reassuring that everyone is safe and sound however low the risk).

B) The very fact of worrying about my kids when they go out causes the terror attacks. Because then “they” win and that’s what “they” want. Yuh.

So. I caused the attacks. I profusely apologise.

I hate  everything I read about this. I hate the “We can’t let them win.” It isn’t a win or lose situation. Nobody wins whatever happens. The only way to deal with terrorists, historically, the only thing that has ever worked, is to negotiate with them. Eventually. Somehow. Very, VERY difficult in this situation, but we won’t beat them any more than they’ll beat us. It’s not that kind of thing.

The idea that “they” want anything is completely absurd. They want to kill some people and they do. They don’t want to divide us. In what way? These are not sophisticated thinkers (at least not the poor boys who blow themselves up and get themselves shot in the name of fuck only knows what). They want us to hate them, perhaps? If so, this is working very well indeed.

Also, it seems really obvious (and this has been said more eloquently than I can say it) that these suicidal boys who feel totally useless and unwanted would join pretty much any gang – Isis, street gangs, whatever. Violence is attractive to bored young men (and probably young men who aren’t bored) and if they are wanted and adored for it, even better. The Nazis were similarly attractive to people who wanted to belong and have a sense of purpose. And street gangs offer the same. Obviously, I don’t know what the answer is (National Service…., but no..) but trying to put them all in prison isn’t the answer. Oooh, fun fact. America has a bigger prison population (this is per 100,000 of the population) than was ever in the gulags even at the height of Stalin’s terror.

Covfefe. God, that was fun.  Wait! I had a dream about Donald Trump. I was at this outdoor restaurant with him and there was a jazz band playing at the front. Though there were candles and twinkly lights in the trees, deferential waiters in white, champagne and oysters type of place, we sat in the dark so he wouldn’t be recognised. I felt as I do feel about him – sort of sorry for him, compassionate towards him, fascinated by what the hell is really wrong. I was listening, wondering, sad. Suddenly, dancing started and our table was lit as the dancers, can-can-ish or tango-ish, came near. He quickly slapped a weird brown wig on his head, just slapped it on as if he already had it in his hand, so he wouldn’t be recognised. We moved out to the dark back of the garden and then there was a really awful rapey, bloody bit that I won’t gross you out with. I can psychoanalyse it and it isn’t about Trump, but so weird to have him off the television/Twitter and into my mind in this totally surreal way.

Double bass strings are very, very expensive. That’s all. My son needed some (according to his new teacher). Man alive. Who knew? £200.

My labradors are nice. Here they are on a blue beanbag.

So, short ribs are delicious. This is ANOTHER Honey and Co. recipe that I kind of cheated with, but please make this immediately. In a pan that can go in the oven, or in the roasting tray (I did), fry the short beef ribs to brown them in olive oil (or whatever) along with salt, pepper, some new potatoes or cut up big potatoes and some (very) roughly chopped onions. This takes less than a minute. Okay, three minutes max. Then add some dates. Any kind. Chuck them in. A tablespoon of tomato puree, some powdered cinnamon or a cinnamon stick, 200ml of water and put it in the oven with a lid on or wrapped in foil – FOR FOUR HOURS OR MORE.

Eat it with this parsley salad I copied from a Lebanese restaurant in Marylebone. Chopped parsley and mint, spring onions, pomegranate seeds, salt, pepper, pomegranate molasses and lemon juice. Heaven.

Therapy via Skype or email: annablundy@gmail.com

 

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About Anna Blundy

Honorary psychotherapist with a Masters in Psychoanalytic Theory and another in Psychodynamic Clinical Psychotherapy. Novelist - Author of the Faith Zanetti quintet - The Bad News Bible, Faith Without Doubt, Neat Vodka (US - Vodka Neat), Breaking Faith, My Favourite Poison. Also a memoir of my father, Every Time We Say Goodbye and my most recent thriller - The Oligarch's Wife
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