I just checked and realised that due to a combination of getting something vaguely resembling a life and general laziness (rather more of the latter it has to be said), it has now been a whole nine days since I last blogged. I would apologise as seems to be the protocol of any blogger worth her weight in words but frankly I'm under no illusions about the importance of my sorry little blog in the big, bad blogosphere. Desperately refreshing the page every minute in the vain hope that God will deliver you the salvation of a sixth instalment and bless you with the knowledge that life can go on if only you keep the faith? I didn't think so.
Unfortunately however, my days of getting something vaguely resembling a life are now over and I find myself sitting here with a long weekend of nothingness stretching ahead of me. Now, out here in the sticks exciting adventures don't just drop into your lap the way they do in the city: there's no walking out of your front door, bumping into someone you know and suddenly finding yourself at an arctic-themed BBQ, drinking moonshine and talking to someone from Tuvalu about the merits of communism (nah, that's never happened to me either). Indeed, if you want to spend your weekends doing something other than sitting around watching yet another repeat of The Gimore Girls you have to make it happen; you have to plan for it.
Not making any advance plans to fill my weekend, that was mistake one. Mistake two was not making some last-minute ones, however desperate and tragic those plans may have been. Going on a solitary bike ride on a broken bike in the pouring rain? That was something I could have got down with. But no, I now find myself sitting here with nothing to do except eat myself out of my self-induced boredom. Yep, that's right, my name's ***** and I'm a boredom-eater. And once the boredom hits no cupboard, no fridge (we have two, I wasn't just grappling for another food-storing facility to add to my three-point list), no brother's lunchbox-from-their-school bag will lay unturned. No matter how out-of-date it is, I will eat it; even mould hasn't been known to stop me.
Now all this boredom-eating isn't necessarily a problem except when the thing I want to eat isn't in the house, and when this happens things can turn ugly. You see, once I get a craving for something that craving just won't go away until I have eaten anything and everything in sight in an effort to cure it and along the way made myself feel suicidally sick. Take this morning for example: I woke up and all I wanted to eat was a bagel and cream cheese. That's fine I thought to myself, bagel and cream cheese, we've got both of those. Except when I went to the fridge I found that no, we didn't have any cream cheese, none at all. No doubt one of the cavemen of a brother had taken the last of it. But I had the craving you see and so, hunting high and low, I searched for a worthy substitute.
Five minutes later and having dismissed a mayonnaise bagel as an eatable option I spied some Quorn chicken-style slices. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I'm sure they could work in a bagel. It very quickly dawned on my however, that yes, they WOULD work in a bagel - a bagel with cream cheese on it. So, still minus the cream cheese, I searched for another viable condiment to accompany my fake chicken and bagel. And that's when I saw it: the big fat jar of organic peanut butter, sitting there all shiny and smooth and ready to be drafted into my boredom breakfast fantasy. Peanuts and chicken work in satay chicken, I thought to myself, so why not peanut butter and chicken-style slices in a bagel? Yeah, in hindsight that logic makes no sense to me either.
A chicken-style, peanut butter bagel. Don't make this at home kids, it's disgusting.
Maybe if I hadn't used organic peanut butter....
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And for those of you wondering what ever happened to that waitressing job I applied for with the overly political owner (see The suburbs gets political), yes I did get a trial shift and no, I am not still working there. I would love to go into further detail but unfortunately there is only one French cafe in Leigh-on-Sea and the last time I checked that wasn't a high enough number to protect you from getting sued for libel. Back to the job hunt drawing board. (Don't worry, it won't be anywhere near as exciting as you're probably imagining.)
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