Today is waffle day, and not the sweet, delicious kind. Or the potato kind if that's your ball game. I realised it's been quite a while since we had a little chat over a cup of tea and I thought I would try to rectify that. (Anyone else find it slightly disturbing that rectify sounds like an ass word.. rectum?) Let's try not to think of the search results that I'm going to receive today for that one.
As it stands, I'm hoping that whilst you're reading this, I'm going to be sitting with my feet up somewhere, glass of wine in hand and having a menopausal-esque hot flush from excessive sauna usage. Saunas divide my opinion. On the one hand, they're definitely relaxing but I've never really been one for extremes of temperatures. I can tell what you're thinking. This crazy ho has lived in both the Middle East and now Finland... Yes, I like to screw with myself - apparently. Back to what I was saying. It's taken Scott and I three whole days to decide on what we would do for the Easter holiday. An unearthly amount of time was spent trawling the murky web for a 'villa rental that wasn't in the two places we typically rent villas in' because we wanted to broaden our horizons and experience new things. As it happens, finding a decent rental that isn't a six hour drive away is harder than you'd think. Six hours in a car together sounds like the start of a newspaper clipping, detailing my arrest for strangling my partner so we played it safe and booked the same villa we spent our last Easter holidays in. Rock and roll.
In other news, I've discovered that Hamish is petrified of coriander. Not in the same way as my extreme dislike for tomatoes, but actually terrified. Maybe she should have read my Fear Is Not Real blog post. I was making curry the other day, as all good stories start, (although I actually don't particularly like curry but that's neither here nor there) and I had a bunch of leftover coriander going spare. Ralph demolished his pile in record time but Hamish was so moritfied by the presence of said erb, that she hid in her house and refused to acknowledge my being there. Being the saint that I am, I stuck a leaf in the house with her to see how things would pan out. It turns out, she's pretty good at burying herself under the fleece lining of her cage. Disclaimer: I'm actually not a guinea pig abuser, if you frequent these parts, you'll know how much I adore my pigs, I just fail to see the harm in a little encouragement to eat greens.
In other news, I updated my (personal) Facebook profile picture last week which led to an amusing situation. I was toying around on an editing app to see if I could add a nice effect to a picture of Scott and I. It's safe to say that the mirror filter isn't great, unless you're going for the whole, 'my head is a penis' look. If you are, this is the filter for you.
Also, this conversation happened between us on Monday:
I'm going to blame it on the fact that it was Monday morning and not the fact that I'm in the early stages of losing my mind. Perhaps I'm just subconsciously trying to block out the fact that I will be 30 in a few more years. Does anyone else ever have this problem? I'm sure there will be an app for it somewhere, like an age-tracker. If not, Dragon's Den that idea folks. I can see it becoming extremely handy in several more years.
And that's your lot. I have nothing else remotely interesting to say other than to leave you with this conundrum:
If you try to fail at something and you succeed in doing so, have you failed or succeeded?
Hope you all have a fab Easter break, unless you're not off; in which case you should stage a protest!