Mostly I'm just eating cereal and watching Breaking Bad. Just currently my entire cereal stash is Granola, because it is exciting and has little fruity bits in, but is relatively cheap. One of the high points of my Saturday last week was buying two packs of Jordan's Raisin and Almond Crunchy Oat Granola, which has a wonderful texture but lacks the banana chip bonus of its Tesco value counterpart. It was on offer, which made them both about the same price. The offer wasn't a two for one or anything, I'd just convinced myself that one packet wasn't enough. To be fair, it probably wasn't - I've gotten through a quarter of my entire supply in less than 48 hours.
Hey, guess what else was on offer. You can't. It was Cravendale. In case you don't know, Cravendale is like regular milk, but filtered to make it super pure and good. My flatmate who grew up on a dairy farm says he doesn't think it's anything special, but how would he know? I don't normally buy it because I have more sense than money, but a couple of days ago it was reduced to the point of being cheaper than regular milk. With two kilograms of high quality granola and four litres of Cravendale in his inventory, it's hard for a man to limit himself to just one breakfast per day.
You probably expect this whole post to be about things I've consumed in the last couple of days, and why disappoint? Yesterday evening I made a prizza. Like the dough and everything. It's pretty easy really. I had to borrow some cheese from my flatmate yesterday, and today I traded him a calzone for some more. I'm basically becoming a pizza master.
What else stuff am I eating? Nothing, really, unless you count ceilidhs. You shouldn't count them though, because they are a dance, and not a food. You cannot eat them. However, you can attend them, which is what I have been doing as often as possible. Sheffield University has a ceilidh (Kay-lee) society, and they run them about once a fortnight. The last one was on Friday, and it was super wild. I had to help my friend John ask for a partner (the trick is to be speedy and needy). Don't tell my mum, but I did like five dances with the same girl. That isn't really what you're supposed to do, and nor is it something that I wanted to do. Normally at the end of a dance there's this mutual understanding that you'll both go your separate ways and find other partners. Most of the fun of ceilidhs is the excitement of avoiding being left on your lonesome whilst everyone scrambles past each other looking for partners. This young lady didn't really seem to know about that, but fortunately John came to my aid and swapped partners with me, thus restoring balance to the ceilidhverse. Probably the weirdest part of the evening was towards the end. A crazy dance was about to start, and I was without a partner. Ladies without partners were in short supply. It looked as if I would have to sit this one out.
Suddenly, a girl across the room caught my eye. She was wearing a black dress with white polka dots and sipping elegantly on a glass of red wine. "Are you sitting this one out?" I asked cautiously.
She smiled warmly and said, "Not necessarily". She seemed friendly and yet, a little introverted. Her hair was red and her voice was soft and deep. Decorating her jaw was an uncanny spread of short stubble. It took me about twenty seconds to realise that I had just enthusiastically offered to dance with a man who was dressed as a woman. There was no polite way to back down, and so dance we did. The particular dance we were doing, as it turned out, involved a move called the 'Gypsy Twist' (or something similar), which involved circling your partner and gazing intently into their eyes. I think my partner understood the irony of this, and laughed away most of my discomfort. The whole thing was more unusual than uncomfortable, although both feelings were present.
Hey my parents love me very much. They bought me a kick board and then sent it to me via courier. They are swell, and so is the kick board. It has like a bendy wooden base and adjustable tension on the steering mechanism and everything. It doesn't fold up because it is somehow jammed. I have not told my mother because I am going to fix it so nobody has to worry. She probably knows now because of her finding out skills.
Okay have fun and be good!
What else stuff am I eating? Nothing, really, unless you count ceilidhs. You shouldn't count them though, because they are a dance, and not a food. You cannot eat them. However, you can attend them, which is what I have been doing as often as possible. Sheffield University has a ceilidh (Kay-lee) society, and they run them about once a fortnight. The last one was on Friday, and it was super wild. I had to help my friend John ask for a partner (the trick is to be speedy and needy). Don't tell my mum, but I did like five dances with the same girl. That isn't really what you're supposed to do, and nor is it something that I wanted to do. Normally at the end of a dance there's this mutual understanding that you'll both go your separate ways and find other partners. Most of the fun of ceilidhs is the excitement of avoiding being left on your lonesome whilst everyone scrambles past each other looking for partners. This young lady didn't really seem to know about that, but fortunately John came to my aid and swapped partners with me, thus restoring balance to the ceilidhverse. Probably the weirdest part of the evening was towards the end. A crazy dance was about to start, and I was without a partner. Ladies without partners were in short supply. It looked as if I would have to sit this one out.
Suddenly, a girl across the room caught my eye. She was wearing a black dress with white polka dots and sipping elegantly on a glass of red wine. "Are you sitting this one out?" I asked cautiously.
She smiled warmly and said, "Not necessarily". She seemed friendly and yet, a little introverted. Her hair was red and her voice was soft and deep. Decorating her jaw was an uncanny spread of short stubble. It took me about twenty seconds to realise that I had just enthusiastically offered to dance with a man who was dressed as a woman. There was no polite way to back down, and so dance we did. The particular dance we were doing, as it turned out, involved a move called the 'Gypsy Twist' (or something similar), which involved circling your partner and gazing intently into their eyes. I think my partner understood the irony of this, and laughed away most of my discomfort. The whole thing was more unusual than uncomfortable, although both feelings were present.
Hey my parents love me very much. They bought me a kick board and then sent it to me via courier. They are swell, and so is the kick board. It has like a bendy wooden base and adjustable tension on the steering mechanism and everything. It doesn't fold up because it is somehow jammed. I have not told my mother because I am going to fix it so nobody has to worry. She probably knows now because of her finding out skills.
Okay have fun and be good!
