Citric acid

I was eating my breakfast grapefruit half this morning when I realised it was very bad tasting. On closer inspection it seemed a bit off. It was brown. Eurghh Granny! Someone didn't have her glasses on when she was laying out breakfast this morning.

I thought I'd better finish it as I didn't want to distress her, and I only had a bit left anyway. 

But now I feel a bit sick. 

I don't really feel well enough the finish this blog post. Maybe later. 

Great fruit

I was on the train at 8am on Easter Friday, sitting behind three people on their way to Alton towers. Unfortunately for them they were annoying and I was tired and so began an hour of possibly subtle mind games.
There were two Australian women, one British guy with a black leather studded wrist band who cleared worshipped their particular brand of exoticism. He practically didn't even talk. He just listened wide eyed to them screech about "wagging school" and how "there isn't a Pret in Brisbane".

I peeled my piece of fruit and listened to them discuss, confused, what the smell was. "Whaaaat's that?" They howled. "It smells like oorrange and cooffee? Maybe it's a chocolate orrange?"

It's Grapefruit suckers. I decided I'd tell them where the smell was coming from if they guessed it but they didn't. I wondered if I should put my peel in the pocket of her coat which is over the back of the chair.

One of the girls then flung her hand over my seat. She needs her nails cutting. She might like it if I did them for her.

Luckily for them I shortly arrived at Rugby station. I took the peel with me, the law abiding citizen that I am. But then left it in the car. A day later Mum said, "Is it you who has left that orange peel in the car?"
Oh God not this again. GRAPEFRUIT!  It's GRAPEFRUIT! You'll be telling me there isn't a Pret in Monks Kirby next.

Heaving

I decided to take Louis out on a hot date to Craft in Hackney Wick for pizzas. We walked along the canal to find the place very busy but with a lucky table outside in the evening light.

I was feeling the romance flowing with our 9% craft ales until a Spanish girl with a very low cut top asked to share our picnic bench. We were snuggled on one side leaving her the whole other side to parade her breasts on.

Oh great. I was expecting to eat a feast not to stare at it! Is Louis looking? Can't tell. Maybe he's nuzzling my neck just to crane forward for a better view? Maybe he hasn't even noticed and it's just me? Maybe I should ask for the pizza cutter to cut open my own tee shirt? Hers are only a bit better than mine and that's just because she's fatter!

Ah Maybe when the pizzas come I could rub some melted Stilton into Louis' eyes. That's the one.

When they came they were very nice. As heaving  with ingredients as her chest.

We had sweet potato and Stilton and walnut, and something with some other vegetables on.