In the last hour, Mr Meep and I returned home after watching an amazing film. It was an entertaining, thought-provoking story about making the most out of life. And, best of all, Maggie Gillenhall played a boho babe with great hair, a fab flat and gorgeous clothes, who ran a cake/coffee shop (so, basically, my dream lifestyle).
We left the cinema with the warm glow you get after watching something that touches you. Outside it was cold and windy, and we ran to the car to keep warm. When we got back to Meep Towers, we were greeted with the smell of the banana cake that I had left cooling in the kitchen. Mr Meep had made some dough to make the traditional Sunday evening pizzas. While he made the bases, I chopped up tomatoes, olives, artichokes and mushrooms and tore a ball of mozarella into strips.
There was some dough left, so Mr Meep made some twisted bread sticks with olive oil and sea salt, so we could dip them into some creamy houmous as a pre-pizza nibble. While Mr M put the bread sticks in the oven, I made the lounge look as cosy as possible, with the warm, orangey glow of the fairylights in the fireplace and the candles on the table. Sufjan Stevens was coming from the stereo in the corner and the pets were fast asleep on their beds.
We were all ready for the ultimate cosying-up weekend end.
That is, until the cat suddenly leapt off the pink velvet chair and ran across the room as if he'd just found out that there was a mouse/tuna convention being held in the opposite corner. In his mad rush to find said mice/canned fish, he leapt onto the table and skidded along its length. As he got to the end, he leapt on to the windowsill, his back legs knocking over my beloved digital camera.
In slow motion, the camera fell off the table and landed with a crash on the floor below. I wasn't too worried, I'm sure it can take a few knocks here and there, but I was about to use it anyway, so I tried to take a few shots. I pointed at the candle flames dancing on the table and pressed the button to release the shutter.
Nothing, but a strange whirring sound coming from the lense, which was trying desperately to focus but failing miserably.
Mr Meep came to the rescue, trying to see if he could fix the problem. We tried everything, nothing worked. I was absolutely gutted. My new camera, just a few months old, ruined by my evil pet cat.
We sat in silence for a while, until Mr Meep jumped off the sofa almost as fast as the cat. He rushed into the kitchen and opened the oven, to be greeted by a burning smell - it was the breadsticks, not soft, golden and salty but rock hard, black and burnt to a crisp.
More Sunday Scribblings here.