Day 48: Murder Clubs, Mexican Standoffs & Mystery Gas

Last night I was living my best pensioner-meets-Broadway life because I finally watched The Thursday Murder Club and OH. MY. DAYS. What. A. Cast.

I loved the book, but this? Better. Than. A. Book. Imagine Richard Osman’s words being slathered in butter and delivered to you by Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, and whoever cast this thing clearly sprinkled crack dust over the script because I was glued.

My partner kept glancing over like, “Are you okay?” because apparently I was making noises of suspicious approval (you know, the kind you’d make if Idris Elba personally offered to make you a cup of tea).

Then sleep… or at least what I thought was sleep.

Ruby the cat, God bless her furry vocal cords, decided the night was the perfect time to audition for Cats: The Musical (The Ghost Edition).

She was chatting away, telling me about her hopes, dreams, and possibly her tax return.

And as if that wasn’t enough, I’m pretty sure there was a feline Mexican standoff at 3 a.m. complete with hissing, howling, and the general vibe of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western.

Honestly, I half expected tumbleweed to roll across the landing.

Still, I woke up thinking I’d slept okay… until my stomach entered the chat.

Not constipation this time (hallelujah) but what can only be described as a gas chamber audition. I blame last night’s Thai green curry.

Delicious going in.

Apocalyptic coming out.

I spent the morning sounding like a haunted accordion.

Work-from-home day today, which started in my usual glamorous way: collagen coffee. Except… can we talk about this?

I used to be a two-coffees-before-9am kind of gal.

Now? I can’t even finish one.

By the time I’d stared at the mug for an hour like it had personally betrayed me, I decided to tackle my protein bowl. Which, again, I could not finish.

At this point, I’m starting to think my appetite has been replaced by vibes and sarcasm.

Lunch was an experimental combo of chorizo and butter bean soup, with added chicken slices (because apparently I thought I was a contestant on Ready Steady Cook).

It was okay-ish, but between the queasy seasick feeling I had all day and my body acting like food is a personal insult, I barely touched it.

Honestly, I felt like I was on a ferry to France but without the cheap wine and duty-free Toblerone.

Post-work, I dove straight into the new episode of Love Is Blind UK.

Yes, I watched it before my better half got home. And no, I will not apologise. Judge me all you want, but there is something so gloriously chaotic about watching fully grown adults emotionally implode in glass pods while discussing “forever” with someone they’ve known for 72 hours. High art.

Dinner? Don’t be silly. Just water and ginger tea, like the fragile Victorian invalid I apparently now am.

Tomorrow it’s the office, so I’m off to bed early like the responsible corporate queen I pretend to be.

I’ve missed my team – can’t wait to see everyone and exchange actual human words that aren’t just “Ruby, please stop screaming.”

Night fellow jabbers ✨

May your stomachs be calm, your cats be silent, and your murder clubs always come with A-list casts.

With Love,

JABatha Christie