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While I spend the next few minutes in the shower, consider this (no, please do not consider me in the shower; I promise you, it's not the least bit sexy):

1.  I have been to the Blogathon website, where it has now been revealed:  The Official Theme Song of the 2005 Blogathon is the theme song of SpongeBob Squarepants.  Really.  Go check the Blogathon page if you doubt me.

2.  I have also gleaned some truly happy news from the Blogathon page:  We -- i.e. all of the Blogathonners -- have raised $49,675.09 in pledges.  Considering that our goal was $50,000; considering that as of this past Wednesday, we were at the halfway mark; and considering that pledges will be accepted through Tuesday, this is wonderful and gratifying news, and says volumes about the generosity and public-spiritedness of our internet friends.  You are all wonderful people.

Okay, all together now!  "Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?...Absorbent 'n' yellow 'n' porous is he!..."

Upon viewing the quivering luminescent yellow-green bath jelly I was carrying into the bathtub, he mused, "How erotic, in an H.P. Lovecraft kind of way."

Of course,  it probably didn't help that I shook the container at him and growled, rather like Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein.

(Postscript:  I told Bunni this anecdote, right after informing her we needed a case of this stuff.  "That's just what we need," she answered.  "A case of Cthulhu bars."

I have never been so happy to go outside in my life.  I am going to show my appreciation to the city that never sleeps by going to my local all-night fruit & vegetable emporium and buying some more Red Bull. 

Just as soon as I have a Red Bull.

Dear friends, I shall return. 

This weekend I finally found the box which contained my copy of Good Things by Jane Grigson. Mrs. Grigson, who died in 1990, is one of my top three heroes of food writing; I would give my left arm to write the way she does, and it makes me ache that this sort of food writing is so hard to come by at this time, in this country. Not that we are without fine food writers -- far from it -- but I am of the opinion that there is too wide a gulf between the best of our foodwriters and the larger-circulation newspapers that should be bringing them to a wide readership. The food section in Wednesday's edition of this week's New York Post led with a temper tantrum penned by their restaurant critic, regarding a piece in the new GQ about the supposed finest four restaurant cities in the world -- gasp and amazement, New York City wasn't on the list! This is what passes for food writing in a major metropolitan newspaper. Mrs. Grigson, I still miss you.

Everybody knows that gooseberry fool, like steak and kidney pudding or junket, is a truly national dish. What many people don't know is that 'fool' comes from the French verb fouler, to crush; it's not a description of someone prepared to pay the price of half a pint of cream. In France grapes, not gooseberries, are foules, crushed, or rather mangled, quite literally, on their way to the winepress. This, I think, gives a good idea of how a gooseberry fool should be made. Too often gooseberries are overcooked, then sieved or liquidized to a smooth slop. Ideally, they should be very lightly cooked, then crushed with a fork, before being folded into whipped cream. Egg custard is an honourable, and an ancient alternative to cream; commercial powder custard is not. Don't spoil this springtime luxury. It's better to halve the quantities, than to serve a great floury bowlful.

The lovely Kimberly has noted that I have not posted any song lyrics or any pictures from my life-changing trip to Arkansas last year.  Why, duly noted, ma'am. 

This church in Eureka Springs is still for sale, according to my dear friend Mary.  Doesn't this look like the sort of place from which you would like to buy a nice cherry pie?