I have become addicted to chutney. Rhubarb chutney. It's a sad state of affairs when that becomes your major vice, isn't it?
I blame the weather. Although I have a rather smashing balcony overlooking the back lane, it's too damp and cold to be sat out there sipping exotic drinks with cocktail umbrellas, so that kind of rules that one out. There's also not much call for wafting about in long flowery summer dresses and elegant strappy sandals while brandishing secateurs in the garden (a la every young lady in a Miss Marple drama).
Neither will I be spending hours in front of the goggle box, due to the fact that as it's summer there's absolutely nowt on the telly. The cinema listings aren't up to much if you're not into superheroes (although, I have to admit, I'm rather liking Heroes now we're finally getting round to watching series one on DVD), and most concerts/gigs are Proms in the Park type stuff involving horrendous amounts of money to sit around in the rain wearing bin bags.
It really is make chutney or read a book, isn't it? Chutney's winning at the moment, probably on sheer novelty value.