Public Eating

Confessions of The Food Hater.

Today was the occurence of the meal dedicated to the manager of the Cancer Research shop in Ross who is leaving on Saturday. I work there as a volunteer, usually Saturday mornings, but more time during the holidays.
There was a limited menu and I had to choose between two to three options on each course a few weeks previous.
I didn't know what to choose because I hadn't tried half of the food on the menu. The dessert was fine - sticky toffee pudding all the way, but I was relatively nervous ordering the other two courses. At first when I was asked by the manager what I wanted, I had to choose there and then without consultation with anyone who knows what I eat better than me.
I chose steak which was quickly followed by the question "How do you like it done?", I had no idea what to answer so I shrugged my shoulders trying not to be embarrassed and, to my relief, he took this as a 'doesn't really matter'.
Anyway, after hearing that other people were having salad I decided to quickly change to this choice instead, because, though I don't eat it, I know it's a safe option.

So the day comes, not too nervous really - I knew I could blag my way through it by messing the food up on the plate to look like I'd at least tried . .
Starter: Pate on toast. I don't remember ordering that.
Never had pate before. Layer of fat on top of the pate. The butter is too frozen to spread on the broken toast and the pate is sat there in a short cylinder at the side of the plate expecting to be knived, so I can't get away with eating only the toast and butter.
My body often acts without my mind actually being aware of a feeling - my body was nervous but my mind wasn't, hence the first thing I did was throw the knife on the floor with an inelegant tinny clatter.
Anyone for white wine? Yes please.
All too willing to try foods these days (but not too eager to try them at gatherings of people) I spread some of the pate on the toast, missing the layer of fat and i tried a very small triangle of it. It seemed nice, kind of salty. I'm not used to things having after-tastes, I'm used to block foods - nothing lingering afterwards, just immediate block tastes, so I was a bit surprised and dismayed when I had to quickly wash it down with water or wine.
I think I ate about half a piece of pate on toast and it took me the entire time that it took the other thirty guests to finish their starters.
The girl collecting the plates asked if everything was "alright" regarding my barely-started starter.
Pour a glass of water. Sip the dregs of white wine.
The next course is being dealt out - chicken and salad everyone is having. Oh, is that what I ordered?
No, I ordered feta cheese, olives and salad. I don't remember ordering the former two either.
Cold cheese has got to be the food I hate the most, just below the mixture of tuna and sweetcorn. I detest the texture of cold cheese with a passion. I thought I was going to be alright with a mouthful of wine after the first centimetre square cube, but trying another piece I retched, but I hope not noticeably, sat in the centre of the very long dining table, surrounded by volunteers tucking in to their free meal merrily. I also tried two black olives that were not to my tastes either.
I ate several pieces of vegetables and tried some chilli sauce that I thought might disguise some taste, but in vain.
I think I was drawing a bit of attention at the lack of food I was eating; at how little the large pile had reduced.
Finally after a pretty painful wait for the plates to be removedCan we get another white wine over here please?the pudding arrived.
Sticky toffee pudding in custard. Typically my forte, but not today; I just did not feel like eating after the feta cheese and embarrassingly ate with the dessert fork instead of the spoon, not feeling inclined to look like a fool swapping cutlery after realising half-way through.
My ignorance of food and it's accessories has haunted me for all of my life.

I felt like I had to write this so I can refer anyone to it when I can't describe my habits correctly.
I think this about explains it.

Sun, Sky, Rain and Metaphors

I think I'll write a note . .

"You can never spend too much on ebay."

I haven't done so in a while. And here I can ramble without the worry of boring an unvoluntarily person.

The past few days have been a strange few . . the week started brilliant with sunshine and hope and optimism - even at my super-early rising hour of half-past dawn, my attic bedroom was washed in a creamy yellow as I rose unhesitantly at the sound of Joni Mitchell's 'For Free'. On returning from the bathroom forty-five minutes later, the sun happily blinded me without apology from atop the tree-encrusted hills beyond the edge of the town. It was going to be a good day.
And indeed, I was kept engaged on the bus journey by how shockingly beautiful an utterly clear sky can be. If Yves Klein had been obsessed with sky blue I think I'd be able to understand him a little better.
It was going to be a good day. It was going to be better than Thursday when the sun appeared from behind rooftops to surprise the world like a husband presenting a yellow diamond to his genuinely shocked partner.
But it appears that the husband found himself in debt and no matter how much his wife begged for him to keep the diamond he had to sell it. The next day it rained. The sky was yesterday's blue in monochrome. The only view from the bus window was the dusty rafters of the sky. A sky that was reflected upon everything - the pavements and the windows and the roads and the people. Especially upon me. The only reason to be positive was through being thankful that there wasn't too much of a necessity to be inspired - inspiration doesn't flood my thoughts during the continuous wretchedness of an upset sky. Eventually you beg for her to cry heartily, but she will only lie with a pathetic pale face, sighing heavily with single tears dribbling down her cheek.
It's been two days since the sun smirked from the blue and I can still hear the wheels of cars crushing the small puddles that barely patronize the gutters.
I asked for these days to come when I had been bent over the kitchen table sewing an eight metre hem, and to save the sun for when I was lain on grass instead of itching my neck as I pinned the remnants of ermine stoles to the breast of the mannequin. But as contrary as it is, the weather just laughed at me out of sight above the kitchen window, while it slowly baked us inside.
It seems my will-power can deny and accept many things, but it can never ignore the emotions of Mother Nature - she cannot be controlled.
Meanwhile Mother Lesley has been on a three day holiday to Wales (likely related) with her beaux, she sent me a card that arrived today, when she arrived home. She couldn't have chosen a better card to send me - It was a humourous card but I was pleased (more pleased than I let on) that she understood me so well. I've attached it to the note.

Adieu for now.

Four Trains, Two Buses, a Mini-Bus, a Taxi and a Car

Well, today's the day we went to Bath Spa.
I awoke at 5:45AM (not a typo) surprisingly refreshed (not a typo).

It was still dark when we left the house at 6:45AM, mother having offered to take me to the station last night.
I can't say I was in the most talkative mood, making the basic agreeing noises that probably came across as silence seeing as I can't tell the difference with my ephed up left ear.
Got to le station, met Lusaaayy inside and she informed me of the price of the tickets at which hyperventilations were in order - £39.96 or some ridiculous price, instead of the £20.00 price we expected.
Oh well. Turned out I had a pair of crisp twenties tucked away in my man-purse.

Anyway, it was ephing freezing at Hereford and in Newport when we eventually got there. I nearly slipped on my face about twenty times as the platforms at Newport were soaking wet from some kind of extra-slippery rain. Plus I was wearing a pair of my special non-grip shoes.
We got loads of strange looks from people! More than in Hereford even. Who knows what they were looking at - Lu's fuschia tights or my mulberry colour based outfit? Maybe the clashage of the two? Maybe they had never seen colour before? They were pretty damn bland.
As Ms Karen Walker says: "What're you looking at? Never seen someone with money and soap before?"

Anyway, arriving at Bath Spa, after two train journeys reading the 'How To Get a Husband Guide For Despo Women' in 'MORE!' and the tales of Amy Winehouse throwing glasses of water at people that looked at her sideways in 'LOOK!' we got lost for the first time.
After pointing out the newly revamped hotel lobby on whose floor I was sick on, the trip quickly spiralled to a remake of the Birmingham open day trip we took a few weeks ago.
It was gloomy in Bath first of all - everyone looked bloody miserable, we decided to go into a shop and Lu asked the girl behind the counter how the H we got to Bath Spa university.
She told us to go down the road to the bus station and look for a bright orange bus and take that to the uni.
So we wander down to the bus depot and we see a few of these fluorescent orange buses parked by the river. They're the weird ones with a bend in the middle so they can be twice as long and bend around corners. So we waited in the freezing cold for a driver to turn up.
He was another delightfully happy person.
Anyway, the bus went on like a complete circuit of Bath stopping every two milliseconds at different bus stops to pick up more students. It being around the time college usually starts.
Eventually we leave the continuous ever so pretty terraced houses and go out onto a road, eventually coming to a private drive on an estate. Narrowly missing a sparkling Bentley coming in the opposite direction we eventually came upon the sixties campus and then to the beautiful Georgian manor house that was the centre of Bath Spa university.
So we leave the bus, and not really knowing where to go we head to the main door of the manor house. Nice automatic doors, hideous giant chandelier and reception.
"We've come for the open day." Lucy said, at which the receptionist's smile dropped.
"You've got the wrong university," she informed us "the Bath Spa Art & Design university is on the other side of Bath - at Xion." There wasn't a curse large enough. Nearly £2.00 that one way ticket had cost!
And what was with " Xion " fgs . .
Anyway. We go outside. The bus is gone. We go back in to ask for a taxi number.
Then three people came though the door, a family I presume - a mother, her daughter and her son.
The mother and daughter dressed in purple, the son with a rather full head of curly blondish hair.
They'd made exactly the same mistake as us.
So, to round it off, we all ended up sharing a taxi going directly to " Xion ". The daughter kept Lu in a state of conversation throughout the whole journey and the son added a few unanswerable quips from the back seat.
Eventually we got there and the fee was £20.00, five of which I paid for Lucy and me. So we got in, the people were very nice, very friendly, we went to a lecture about it - I swear the lecture theatre was like nine-thousand feet above sea level - it seemed so high.
It seemed very interesting and nice. The people on the demonstation video looked totally overjoyed at the fact that they were being filmed . .
I think there was like one, maybe two other boys in the whole theatre ?
So we left the theatre (I nearly barged a man to the floor with my bag) and hopped onto a mini-bus that took us to 'The Circus' where we met the pure fashion people and they told us everything and the head tutor lady told us everything and it was very hot in there and we were dying but it was good and it was pretty wonderful - it was like this little homely family on this quiet huge roundabout of Georgian houses. Very beautiful. I was really impressed.
So after like an hour we left and walked into town.
I bought some clothings from the Bath Oxfam (ohh yeaah) and we went to Jaeger followed by Reiss, both in which Lu was asked whether she needed help/would like to try anything on, to which she took great offence! Haaa!
I quite loved it there - was very wonderful.
And then eventually, after the rounds of some cool sho-OH MY GOD that small sort of gothy shop we went into and the guy was sort of Russell Brand but with more piercings (and was eyeing up Lucy) and as we were leaving guess what song he put on.
Su guess what song he put on?? I bet you can't!! Don't Stop Believing a la Journey! It was intense.
So yeah, we H&Med then did some other shops then re-found the station and homed it.
I really had a great day out - it was way amazing.
*sigh* It was good.

Okay ta!