Thinking ahead, I really should have seen it coming. When you live in a house that has all of the physical warmth as the shower room at the 3 ducks hostel, Paris has in physical charm (though I fear only Mitch will get this reference) you should come to expect this sort of thing. Not to say that I don't enjoy my house, just that it can be a wee bit nippy on occasion. Especially in the kitchen, where temperatures have been known to plunge to sub-zero (and even, some say, sub-Kelvin) degrees. [This is not in any way meant to be confused with a really cool degree, however, such as history.]

So I left some food out on the side to defrost naturally overnight. Primarily this was because I don't trust our lying bastard of a microwave, Marcus, which ignores the time and power setting you tell it and decided to cook food on whatever basis he sees fit. Such a Russian Roulette approach to cooking - even defrosting - makes me a little nervous and so I steer clear of him wherever possible. Anyway, so there I left my culinary masterpiece (the gastronomic equivalent of the Sistine chapel that it is), checking on it before I went to bed to see how it was coming along.

I went to the kitchen this morning and, to my surprise, had found that it has re-frozen in parts. Areas that were completely defrosted by last night are now once more covered in ice and frost. This does two things to me - firstly, makes me consider the fact that, on occasion, our kitchen becomes very, very cold and secondly makes me wonder if I'll ever get some food defrosted in order to eat tonight? Maybe I should take the food to my bedroom where it always seems to be quite warm (and I'm restraining myself from egotistical jokes here) and let it defrost there. However, then my room will smell of cold food, which will mean I'll have to work somewhere else. Like the kitchen. Rinse and repeat.

Gaz out.