Could you lemme know if it’s ok to talk about bein’ a mother an’ Masterchef,
which I love? It’s gone 7pm and me brain heaves out bodies without organs
and transhuman digital futures like…

I eat with me fingers usin’ roti for cutlery, like me mates taught me. Order
sides with me main ‘cos that’s how we do it. I’m still wearin’ me work clothes
which was silly ‘cos me top is white an’ I eat whilst I’m talkin’, prone to spillin’.

Did you take a deep breath ‘cos I didn’t order off the menu? I’d recommend it
for you but you’re safe: masala / korma / jalfrezi / bhuna. I don’t drink ‘cos I’ve
got Crohn’s (I don’t drink’cos I over-share).

I won’t come for a drink ‘cos I don’t drink. I’ll drive home, kiss me kids, cuddle
me dog, sit on me sofa, watch Masterchef, which I love. I’l say thanks to the
wait staff. I’ll offer the tip.