one fried bread, one wayward pinch of spicy paprika, one errant twitch…and kablooie!

Be advised: This post talks about food about as much as a Brian Jacques book, and made me hungry when I reread it. Have snacks on standby.

A number of the small bolts holding my desk chair together have attempted to declare independence. The causes of the revolt are uncertain; did the unpopular government practices of leaning/wriggling a lot put more strain on them than they could bear? Was the foundation of my fundament already fragile when I took to the throne? Or has some seditious outside nation crept in and sabotaged the chair as a drunken student prank? Regardless, armed with my Allen key I have viciously denied the secession, though judging by a few empty threaded holes, some rebel elements escaped to the hills/cupboards. I just hope none of them saw my Maoist Strategy notes on the screen, because I do not think I could stand a protracted war with my own furniture.

I’ve written to the blasted DSA asking after my case but they still haven’t replied; tried to phone them, gave up after being held in a queue for eight minutes of crap music and six of voice clips telling me to use their useless website. Nor have Take Note, who lack a phone completely. I’m still not at the point that I’m in dire need of either of their services. I can see why those who are get very annoyed.

Yesterday morning my shiny new grill arrived. In a cardboard box, which was itself in another cardboard box three times the volume. No, I do not understand. Still, I gleefully tore it open, read the (surprisingly short, surprisingly lucid) manual, washed down the plates and treated myself to a breakfast of frozen beefburgers, my go-to dead animal product. They did actually taste noticeably nicer than frying, and the drip tray provided a lardy testament to the healthiness of the measure, not to mention the ridiculous ease. So far, so good. For lunch, I broke out the chicken fillets. I… I had no idea that cheap food could taste so nice. By far the best chicken-related thing I’d ever made for myself. For dinner, the grill was subjected to bacon and tomatoes; these weren’t obviously tastier than in a pan, just much easier. I suppose sometimes, the new ways really are better.

To all who advised me on grills: You are blessed in my sight, and shall live forever in my memory. To all those with a grill-shaped gap in their lives: Fill it.

Work isn’t exactly oppressive yet, but the essays will be mounting up fairly soon:
2k War, Armed Forces & Society formative due 25th March.
4k WAFS summative for the same.
3k Analysing Everyday Texts due 28th April, which is likely to be a complete mess…
2x2k Making of the Modern World, first (formative) in next Friday and the summative on March 22nd.

All on different topics which need to be individually researched and referenced. So it’s a lot of reading ahead. Damn. I do so hate books.

Last week, inspired by Gemma’s constantly healthy and delicious-smelling good ol’fashioned down-home cooking (or more accurately, inspired by jealousy watching her eat the products of such) I attempted to make my own Soup. My first attempt, tomato soup made from essentially butter, too much black pepper, and cheap tinned tomatoes, tasted (surprisingly) like butter, too much black pepper, and cheap tinned tomatoes. My second, leek and potato, tasted like heaven. And it’s inexpensive, very filling, keeps well and is disgustingly wholesome. I might well be sorted for fooding from here on out.

Dustings of undecided half-snow are coming down occasionally, but not settling, and the canal still has plate ice in places. Drinking absurd amounts of tea to fend off the cold, also to replenish the pints of body water I seem to be losing through my nose (still running like a river in spring). Paddy was ill, so no RPGsoc; I taunted Jony with my delicious (GRILLED) chicken salad sandviches before relenting, giving him one and cycling home.

House certainty is up to 99% from 95%, the last per cent to be sorted out tomorrow evening.


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