Monthly Archives: March 2011

The Great Sacrifice

It has now been 3 weeks since I gave up listening to Belle and Sebastian for Lent. Precisely why I decided to mark a religious festival to which I have no affiliation, I do not know.

But mark it I did.

I have managed to so far successfully avoid listening to Stuart’s soulful tones, which is quite a surprise as I thought I would miss them terribly. I also gave up listening to Camera Obscura as I thought withdrawal symptoms would kick in. Apparently not.

It has meant I’ve been able to listen to and discover an absolute CRAPLOAD of new bands. So many that my brain is buzzing with the excitement of new sounds. It’s like crack. Beautiful, musical crack.

In fact, I’m quite annoyed that I’m typing this at work and I’m not at home, beavering away on last.fm. GodDAMN.

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Breakfast Countdown – No. 2

2) Crete (2010)

It’s widely known amongst those who know me that I am a yogurt fiend. In fact, previous blog posts regarding breakfast are testament to this very fact. I like it in all forms, except mega cheap horrible supermarket ones. Yogurt is one of the few things I will be snobby about when shopping.

Then I went to Crete.

I nearly died with pleasure.

Greek yogurt is glorious at the best of times, but eating it on a Greek Island was divine. So thick you could stand (several) spoons in it and drizzled with honey, it was a thing of wonder. I’d force myself up for breakfast everyday, even AFTER the most horrific hangover, just to polish off several bowls. There were also huge chunks of watermelon to be devoured and a variety of exciting toppings, but nothing held a torch to the honey. I don’t ever get boned up about honey.

Oh fuck I love yogurt.

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Breakfast Countdown – No. 3

3) Berlin (2008) – St. Patrick’s Day

A brief trip to Germany’s capital with Alex resulted in a whole multitude of ridiculous anecdotes and the consumption of a bloody delicious and stupidly cheap breakfast at our really brilliant hostel.

It was a continental style affair, with all of the usual suspects up for inhalation – although not on the same scale as No.5 in my countdown. The little pastries they had were bloody beautiful and the actual vats of yogurt on display were enough to send me into diary related convulsions of joy. The best part of all, this mammoth grazing session set us back €2. TWO SHITTING EUROS. At the time, that was a little over a quid, which suited us penniless students fine.

While we were at it, we employed that scabby student method of sneaking some bread rolls and cheese back up to our room for our day full of adventures. We were skint, so it was handy saving some money where we could. Our scavenging ways seemed vindicated that night as we blew a load of money on a taxi across the city escaping from a Canadian’s bedsit.

The last of our dosh went on seeing this little dude.

He was handsome. Though not as excellent as infinite pastries.

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You’re just a baby, baby girl

I got a serious amount of cuddling done this weekend and it was bloody brilliant. Meet Eloise:

 

She’s the BEST.

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Breakfast Countdown – No. 4

4) My 20th Birthday – Student House

Having lived together for a few months, the girls I lived with new precisely how much I bloody loved breakfast; so along with a couple of our other friends, they arranged a big old birthday breakfast for me to celebrate my 20th.

Except, I managed to ruin it by waking up earlier than everyone else, after we’d been out on the lash the night before to celebrate.

I woke up really early for a post-booze piss to find Sam busying himself in our kitchen, unpacking bagels and other such treats. I got shouted at a bit and banished back to bed. When I was eventually allowed out of my room, I came downstairs to find a veritable treasure trove of presents waiting for me, along with buckets of yogurt and juice, fruit, baked goods and tea on the boil.

My housemates slowly emerged from their rooms at the smell of toast and the present opening and breakfast munching began.

Not only was everything utterly delicious, I was really really touched by how sweet a gesture it was, even if my pesky bladder got in the way.

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Have some toast instead

If truth be told, I’ve been in a bit of a funk recently. It’s been difficult to find joy in most aspects of my day-to-day life. Everything just seems dull and repetitive and stale. I have, however, found solace in one (always reliable) thing. It’s not especially profound, but it satisfies me beyond belief.

Breakfast.

I fucking love breakfast.

I’m fairly sure I could write an entire thesis on breakfast and it’s majesty. It is without question, the best meal of the day and if I had the inclination, I would open a restaurant that served only breakfast related items, so that folk far and wide could have breakfast at any time of day.

It saddens me that a meal so beautiful is basically restricted to the morning time. Yeah, sure, there are things like “brunch” – but that doesn’t COUNT. I often wonder whether I should just only eat breakfast instead of all the other rubbish meals, but that might dull the wonder of the brekkie for me.

Just THINK of all the variety that breakfast has! I just started typing a list of all the wonderful breakfast items available to chow down on and it went on for so long that it basically is ridiculous. Instead, I will treat my 2 readers to a countdown my top 5 ever breakfasts over the next few posts. It’ll be thrilling, I’m sure.

5) Age 11. A hotel somewhere in Paris.

Holidaying with my parents and younger brother, I’d never stayed in a hotel before, but I’d already established myself as a breakfast FAN. In fact, according to my baby book, it was one of the first words I ever uttered. Preparing for a full day of fun at Disneyland, my folks bring us down to the dining room for the breakfast buffet.

Oh my, what a buffet it was.

There were three wagons full of delicious treats which you could help yourself to. One full of ice, in which nestled hundreds of yogurts and compotes, jugs of milk and juice and a whole spread of cheese and cold meats. Another housed everything you might want for a cooked breakfast. The third was laden down with baked goods and cereals, in true inimitable French style. It was a thing of beauty. The concept of a buffet was new to me, so I selected a few choice items, before being reminded I could have whatever I wanted.

So I unleashed hell.

I began with cereal, moved swiftly on the yogurts and then crammed my face full of hot bacon and eggs and crunchy toast. My hands dived into the huge baskets of pastries before returning to the yogurt wagon, cradling several pots of stewed apple. I inhaled those croissants like buttery air.

I was a girl possessed.

I barely remember chewing.

I ignored my parents warnings of something about my eyes being bigger than my belly. (Which is a phrase I fucking hate, because it doesn’t make sense and in my case has never been true. I’M FAT.) My younger brother marvelled at my iron stomach. I longed for the ability to unhinge my jaws and just tip platefuls of cheese down my neck. I ate so much because I feared, deep down, I wouldn’t never experience this utter bloody joy ever again.

In retrospect, it was an absolute fucking miracle I didn’t throw up on Space Mountain.

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Bored out of my mind, too sick to even care.

My philosophising on the arrival of my friend’s new baby has yet to inspire me into making any changes to my actual life.

I’M SO BORED.

Nothing in my life is fulfilling me in the slightest but I’m so sodding lazy that I’m failing to drum up the motivation to sort it out. So I will resort to the tried and tested method of recent times – moan about it on the internet.

Anyway, drumming up motivation would involve effort and I just can’t commit that sort of energy to anything right now, you know?

I have very busy evenings mainly filled with American Sitcom repeats, casual gossip with housemate and light alcoholism. My weekends are usually spent enjoying my bed (alone) and drinking (alone). I sometimes venture back to London to the loving bosom of my family, where I overeat, listen to everyone else’s problems and drink too much. So, as you can see, that doesn’t leave an awful lot of room for the gym, guitar practice, painting, joining some sort of club, dating, expanding my social circles and leaving my house.

I mean, I’m not superwoman am I?

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