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… that studying for a degree in English Literature inevitably catalyses a hatred of reading. There’s a pile of 13 books on my desk, my reading for the semester, contributed to heavily by my other subjects. Last time I posted, about a bajillion years ago, I was considering swapping Classics for Philosophy. However, my brief love affair with French ended after two weeks, when I realised there are only so many times one girl can be taught the alphabet. Especially when she first learnt it aged 11. So au revoir French, and hello Philosophy – it might be an enormous pain in the face, but at least it’s interesting.
First blog post of the year… first since September, actually. Whoops. The past few months have been a blur of nights out, subsequent hangovers, naps and inhaling books as quickly as is humanly possible. I seem to have found a lovely group of people who mostly don’t like other people, but do like tea, bad television and getting smashed. So basically my friends from home. With weirder accents.
There are days where I miss Newcastle, so much so that the sight of Greggs on Byres Road is liable to send me to tears and the sound of Cheryl Cole on the X factor makes me want my Mum. But mostly I love this place, in all its heroin-addict, rats-outside-my-building, yes-you-might-get-stabbed glory. As a boy in my Lit tutorial so eloquently put it, “Glasgow’s a shithole, but it’s our shithole”. I think there’s more for me here than there.
So hungry. The downside to living away from home is that no one reminds me to eat, or makes me food. In the fridge, I have a chicken kiev, some strawberry jam and half a packet of tortellini. Should probably go to Tesco… or read more books and attempt to coerce my lovely boyfriend into doubling up as a bag carrier and waiting until he visits at the weekend. And, until then, live on beans. In my last entry, you might recall me mentioning making meals from scratch in a very healthy and responsible fashion. That lasted two weeks, at which point I realised that I’d rather have a nap than contribute in any way to my 5 a day, and became addicted to toasties instead.
It has been suggested that I could, post-University, open an art-house toastie shop. My current criteria for making them are:
- Is it delicious?
- Does it fit between 2 slices of bread?
- Will the toastie maker still close?
You’d be surprised what you can do with some bread, a semi-empty fridge and a desperate desire not to go to the shops. And, as for my toastie shop… I suppose it’s one useful thing to do with my English degree.
