Turns out you can't live on beans and cheese.
Bit of a problem.
A quandry.
Such a good word.
Mum took me to Asda the other day and made me shop for myself, because I'm moving to Bournemouth in three weeks. I actually did alright in my A Levels (asterisks turned up out of the blue, uninvited. they couldn't stay away, couldn't fight it wait hold on) and UCAS said I could go to Oxbridge instead. I thought about it, but the only plus point I could conjure up was being on the rowing team, and therefore improving my chances of being in Rio 2016. Because I WILL be in Rio, 2016, winning Gold. Okay? OKAY? Good. As you were...oh right no I'm still talking. AS I WERE....
So I'm moving to Bournemouth and therefore need to learn how to be an autonomous individual, without frantically tweeting, "THE OVEN'S MAKING A NOISE HELP WHAT."
or, "AM I MEANT TO BE INSIDE THE DUVET COVER, OR IS THAT NOT PART OF THE PROCESS?"
or, "IT SAID 1-2 MINUTES BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS A TYPO AND PUT IT IN FOR 12 AND NOW EVERYONE'S DEAD AND OH DEAR." etc etc.
I would happily have bought just a week's worth of Quavers in my Asda shop, and maybe a banana, but mum said no. Then I suggested perhaps a Quavers multipack to vary the flavour. She said no. So I had to buy proper meat and put some broccoli in a bag. But I couldn't buy any meat, oh no. APPARENTLY some meat doesn't have a lot of meat in it so you have to check. .... .................... I don't get it either. So I wasn't allowed any chicken nuggets. Pff.
"You could buy a whole chicken and do a roast for your flat!!1!!!1" Yep or we can go to the Harvester. I think mum's really overestimating my culinary skills. After our shop, mum dropped the bombshell that as well as having a go at doing my own food shop, I in fact was also cooking ALL OF MY MEALS. All of them. Along with the washing, ironing, cleaning, LOVING, I had to do all my own cooking too from now on. Haha. Oh.
Oh.
No really, when I say I cannot do my own cooking, I really can't. This was meal 1...
and this was meal 2...
Mum's developing a very nasty rash that seems to intensify every evening at about 7pm (time depending on how hard I've tried to escape to a friend's for dinner). To clam her rash (can we just all agree to change 'calm' to 'clam', because my fingers really don't like putting the 'a' before the 'l', and it'll save so much hassle, thanks), my family came down from Birmingham and we ate out a lot. My mum told me to watch how the chefs present food (like really), but I was too busy watching my cousin. She's a vegan, and demolished a tomato so impressively that I was almost jealous. 'Almost' because I demolished a pollo mariano so impressively that I fell back in my chair going, "LIKE A PRO." when I finished.
Cooking I will learn. The washing I can do. The only thing I have to get over with washing is feeling racist when I say, "I'M PUTTING A COLOURED WASH ON." I'm just too up for equality, y'know. LET WHITES AND COLOURS BE TOGETHER, MAN. No, no let's not let that happen, Louise. Stand down.
By 11am today I had put a load of light washing on, emptied the tumble dryer, hung out clothes on the line, sorted out my ironing, and cleaned up the kitchen after baking flapjacks and cookies, which varied in success. The cookies? I was so proud of them I did the cha cha slide, then I stopped doing the cha cha slide, sat down, and had a think.
The flapjacks?
Well they look alright from this angle, if you want to eat them from this angle...eat them from this angle...
So baking I can do. Washing I can do. Ironing I can do. Look at me holding this iron with such vigour and determination. Like an Iron Warrior.
The putting stuff on the line bit WOULD have been successful, if this didn't happen (it was raining, okay, but the camera didn't catch the rain so i did this editing thing and LOOK IT LOOKS LIKE RAIN or something good okay).
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