Where do I begin? I’ve already tried to begin an “update”
blog like this many, many times BUT like I just said…where do I begin? I can’t
even be bothered to go onto the blog to see where I last left you guys (ha ha,
guys, readers, of which I have none).
Anyway, I’m pretty sure that everything I wrote about before
now eg: oh, my life in London
is so tragic! and I keep making an arse of myself in a job that actually pays
me enough to afford a room! seems pretty cool and glamorous now. The kind of life I wished I was living was the closest I've ever been to the life I was living! Only, I didn’t
realise it at the time.
I remember when I first found out that the Olympics were
going to be held in London .
It was 2005 and I was (I’ve been trying to calculate this for 10 minutes but my
festive drunk head just can’t work it out)….17. I was 17. I remember doing a
much quicker calculation to work out how old I would be in 2012. I would be 24.
I am 24!
I had all these ideas about how I would probably have a fit,
successful boyfriend. I would reside in London
and we would share a flat together. The flat would be really sleek and modern
and definitely in a really good area of London .
Not a REALLY good area like Kensington but a realistic area. Like Islington.
I would also have a job but it wouldn’t be a stressy job and I definitely
wouldn’t have to commute. I’d come home and cook an incredibly complex
three-course meal and we’d eat with our like-minded friends over candlelight
and talk about music and films and art and our opinions would all be intelligent and similar. We'd all feel so....at home, wanted and belonging to something.
I would suddenly have changed body shape and instead of
looking really clumpy and uncomfortable in a pencil skirt, I'd look sleek
and business-like. My hair would no longer be frizzy and limp, as I would have
presumably conjured up £10,000 of disposable income for a hair transplant. All
my bad personality traits (I won’t list them here as that is surely a very
negative exercise) would have magically disappeared (I also paid for a
therapist) and I would suddenly be generous, accepting, wildly sociable, not
constantly anxious and paranoid and loved by everyone. Shit. Can you now work
out my bad personality traits?
So basically, it didn’t happen.
I tried to make some cookies today and they also failed. I know
that it is always proper to credit your recipes but I got these cookies from a
really nice blogger and I’m pretty sure that the recipe is fine and it’s just
me that fucked them all up but I’m hesitating as to whether to link here.
Upon first tasting of the cookies, I said “these taste like
sausages”. My mum and brother did not agree with this. Once the cookies had
cooled down, I said “these taste of nothing at all”. My mum and brother
remained silent, which is, I think, a sign that these cookies taste of nothing
at all.
I wondered whether I had put too much baking powder or
bicarbonate of soda in the mixture because I have sometimes heard that this can
ruin the flavour. However, as I don’t know what too much baking powder or
bicarbonate of soda tastes like, it’s difficult to accurately say that this was
the problem.
Try these at your peril. Perhaps if you are really bored or
in desperate need of something to nibble on eg: all your cardboard boxes have disappeared
and you need something else to chew on ASAP. A good alternative, I feel, would
be to simply bypass the cookie part and just eat a tube of Smarties.
One more thing. The 24 year old me of my dreams would 1) not
have made anything that turned out wrong and 2) if, by some freak accident, she
HAD made something substandard, she wouldn’t waste the calories by eating
them all.
I am currently eating the 5th cookie of the most
disgusting batch of cookies I have ever made or tasted.
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