So Sven is staying with his boyfriend Andrew while a visiting friend uses his flat. He gave me Andrew's phone number, which is a big deal given Sven's compulsion to orchestrate and oversee all interactions between any of his friends; he assumes a nucleus position while the rest of us orbit atomically around him.
I phoned and Sven answered.
"I'm very drunk."
Sven holds his alcohol about as well as I do, so two pints of beer and a vodka lemonade had done some severe damage. Andrew and I were both amused.
"Yeah, see, Andrew was just on the phone to his mother in Australia. He was wishing her a happy Good Friday. I said, 'AAAAndrew. Christmas, Easter, Epiphany...ANY of these are appropriate religious holidays for well-wishing. But ANdrew. Good Friday is not something you wish a happy one of. 'Oh, Mum, happy crucifixion day!' '"
Even drunk he has a point.
I'm trying to make my family Easter cookies, which, like bread, is one of the easiest recipies to make. Like bread, it eludes me every time. This time, dammit, I will arrive with a suticase full of pink-and-green cookies, and they will be good if it kills me.