alisonhogarth

I am a foodie. Not.

I would love to be a foodie. I would love to be a restaurant reviewer. When I go out to a restaurant to eat I insist on taking pictures of my, and everyone else’s, food before we start eating. Most pictures end up languishing somewhere on my  hard drive, never to be posted. A few make it through.

However, if I were a foodie, it would be of weird food, junk food, random food. One of my favorite snacks is dry Rice Krispies, one by one. One of my favorite meals is a Fray Bentos Steak & Ale Pie. It is a pie. Made of steak chunks and gravy with ale with it.

But the best thing is, IT IS IN A TIN. All you need is a tin opener, an oven, and a baking tray. You open it with the tin opener, like you would a tin, put it on a baking tray, and 45 minutes later you have a gorgeous, lovely steak & ale pie. The pastry is the best bit; it is flaky and delicious.

I’m going to have one tonight. It’s a Friday. I’ll treat myself.

Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Ad nauseum.

The last couple of weeks I’ve been working as a receptionist. One might think that, being front of house, one cannot eat while sitting on reception, but we are lucky, in that we can.

The last place I worked I was also front of house (‘customer service, general helper, finder of resources, security patrol, teller-offer’) and we could not eat while out on the floor. This led to me, at first, diving in and out of the staff room at every available opportunity - if you ever passed by and saw a petite Asian girl coming out of a brown door from what looked like a cupboard, she’d inevitably have her cheeks pouched out and be chewing on something. If you’d run through the security footage for one day it’d be at least 15 times, and that doesn’t count lunch.

Months went by and eventually I stopped flitting in and out of the staff room to catch a bite. Time came when I stopped eating at work altogether; this I don’t recommend, especially if you are walking around and carrying things about all day. It makes you dizzy. And nauseous.

And now, finally, I’ve a job where I can eat. And eat. And eat more. Yesterday I ate three sandwiches, an orange, a piece of fried chicken, endless boiled sweets, half a ziploc bag of rice krispies, hot chocolate with double sugar, a bag of tortilla chips. And probably more. I’ve lost count, but I did keep a running commentary on my Twitter, more out of curiosity than boredom.

Today was much the same, although I did some exercise - running from one end of the campus to the other and back. Although the reason for this was because apparently there was a bake sale on.

I’m not overweight (yet). I am a little underweight in fact. I’m just worried that this will become a pattern, because at the moment I do love eating. And dieting would not be something I would be good at. Even if all I ate were carrot sticks and celery, I would eat a LOT of carrot and celery.

/rant

Passing Under Heaven

Do not read any further if you do not want spoilers about Justin Hill’s Passing Under Heaven. In fact, I will put in lots of line breaks, so hopefully you can just scroll down very quickly and not see anything. Or you could wait until I post something new.

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It’s a bildungsroman, following the life of Little Flower, who grows from orphan to girl to concubine to poetess and courtesan, before going completely mad because of her love for the man she was concubine to (incidentally he ditched her when he found someone prettier). In the end she retreats to a monastery (again) and is restricted from the things she loves by her maid, so she kills her.

(Told you there were spoilers)

She was driven mad because she was torn between her love for him and her hatred for his abandoning her.

I’m not in the same situation; I have an adoring partner. He hasn’t abandoned me, he’s providing me with everything I could ever want, but somehow he’s a bit like the maid. But somehow I am still torn.

(it’s fun to act like a 14 year old emo kid again.. you should have seen my first blog. And then you should have seen my LiveJournal. It was a like a trainwreck in very, very, VERY slow motion. But everyone has the right to have a grumpy day, right? It doesn’t help that my partner is listening to the sort of music that one might listen to when you’re a teenager.)

(ps: I am 22.)

(Also it is all my fault, as I spent too much and therefore have no money of my own, unless minus money counts - it’s a very big sum of minus money)

To all Blade: Trinity enthusiasts

You know that shameless bit of plugging where Abi puts in her iPod earphones when she’s about to fight? And then she has to move about and kick and fight and things that require momentum?

HOW DO HER EARPHONES STAY IN HER EARS?

As far as I saw they weren’t those ones that you stick in your ears so deep they never come out again. My earphones are about the same (they’re for a Viewty, but they are white, because white is now cool,  because of iPods). And if I barely move my head they seem to drop out of my ears.

Perhaps her ear-holes are bigger than mine and therefore they are a snugger fit.

One more little rant; surely having your ears plugged up listening to music during a fight means a) you can’t hear the vampire sneaking up behind you; and b) you lose your sense of balance a little. The latter could just be my severe lack of balance.

But I guess it is Jessica Biel after all.

WAH

See title. Am bloody lonely. This flat is also a) really cold and b) really dreary. Perhaps it’s all a ruse so that I waste more electricity by putting the lights on. And then falling asleep with them on. And my landlady is taking a cut from the bills (as in, prior arrangement with electricty company).

A week with myself is terribly boring. How does everyone that’s living by themselves cope? Then again, I may just be pining.

Oh help.

I have resorted to watching children’s TV (CBBC) but by chance, the Sarah Jane Chronicles are on. It’s rather good actually, being a Russell T Davis script.

I had something more interesting to say but I’ve forgotten. I have work at an accountants tomorrow. Scared.

I still really miss my Beloved.

Bah.

Hiccups. They really suck.

My Beloved is in America for a student TV convention. I wish I had gone with him but that would haven’t been weird as I’m a) not a student; b) not a member of Oxford Brookes. Instead I’m listening to music very loud.

It’s weird being on my own. I’m so used to being with him, or at least another person in the house.

And also, hiccups REALLY suck. They hurt.

And my landlady hasn’t turned up.

Moving.

I am scared. In fact, I am scareded. That’s one level beyond scared.

I have moved, and everything is new. It’s not that new, because I’ve been to Oxford before, but it’s still new. As in there are bills, and a new neighbourhood, and generally much scariness.

As in, I’m boiling an egg, but I don’t quite know how the stove works, and it’s gas, so I’m scared of blowing the place up. Which wouldn’t be fair, because the other half of the house belongs to the landlady.

That is most definitely scary.

Also my partner, who’s lived here longer, is working long hours, and has to leave me early in the morning, and I need a job, and I need to write my CV, and all that moving in guff and nonsense.

Gah.

Also, the lovely landlady is allergic to garlic. I really like cooking with garlic. Not Good.

But otherwise all is well.