Tacos of love and bambi handholding

It has been a full and crazy last 24 hours. Not much sleep has been had but I think I'm travelling on adrenaline.

Yesterday I left work early, with a list on a post-it of things I needed to get done before relinquishing Norm for my holiday. Bodhi tree for book, pet shop for treat for Smokey, butcher for fatty bacon...alas I ran out of time to make it to Balcatta and went to Primavera in Mt Hawthorn. And oh how i love old Italian men. Especially butchers. I got a gorgeous slab of pancetta for cooking for the princely sum of $5!

Then on to Maddington, where Kym made tacos while we quaffed some very drinkable white wine, and then sat and watched a Bon Jovi concert from Chicago where they played the whole Lost Highway album. I whimpered as usual. I shouldn't need reminders of how wonderful my friends are, but last night was a great example of why life would be eight shades greyer without Kym. We laughed ourselves stupider.

Then at home, after belting out Cher songs badly in the car, I set to making the bambi dish with the gorgeous shoulder from the Margaret River venison farm. The woody, romantic smells filled the house and my belly with wonderfulness, but I wasn't happy with how the beast was behaving in the oven. So much so that my eyes flew open just before five this morning and I felt it necessary to send Em a text begging for help in my bambi crisis.
Not long after, the call came from Sydney, and she metaphorically held my hand, as I cut into the meat and tasted it, and realised that it kicks arse, and venison is not going to be as melty as lamb shoulder. So I think I'll be okay tonight. If not, Smokey will get more of a treat than he bargained for, and we can have pizza.

So I'm just about ready for work. There are pockets of panic that sometimes spill over onto me, but once I'm in the air I think all will be fine.