Eggs Changed My Life

Today is Monday, 29th May 2016 EDIT: NO IT ISN’T, IT’S THE 30TH omg. That sounds very formal and conscientious (I had to use spell checker for that.) So I guess that I should say HAPPY MONDAY to absolutely no one, seeing as I’m sat in the house on my lonesome. Oh and 3 Cats. I mean 4 cats. George’s ashes mean that he’s here in spirit… right? (Grieving person over here, you have to agree with me). For the longest time ever, I have wanted to commit to writing a blog about my life, my travels, my struggle with the Conservative government being in power for the 6th year (F U David Cameron if you’re reading this) and today just felt like the day to make my debut.I feel like a clichéd introductory blog post of  ’10 facts about me’ is a little 2006, so I’m keeping it real by rambling any given sentence that pops into my brain. “Pops” is quintessential British slang, lately I’ve been overusing that word and I really need to stop.

Yesterday my Mum, aka “Mama C” left me home alone (with 4 cats) to have a social life in the Devonshire community, with a motorbike that I am unable to sit on, without it slutdropping to the floor. Moving on…

As a 21 year old, you would expect me to call all of my closest 100 friends for a house party, consume the entirety of Morrison’s “Any 5 for £20” offer, and have to use the “Magic Eraser” to get vomit out of the pony hair rug. The reality is, is that we don’t have a pony hair rug. (Brian May you can breathe now). And I have 3 friends…if that, so instead I ate my bodyweight in food, and blamed it on my impending monthly reminder of womanhood. My biggest achievement of yesterday was finding a Russell Brand Documentary on Amazon Prime, which allowed me to procrastinate the washing of the Mount Everest of dishes. Wild.

If you thought yesterday was out of control, wait until you hear about today. I successfully POACHED an egg. I’ll say it louder for those at the back, and for Hilda to turn her hearing aid up. P O A C H E D. In 21 years of existence, I never thought that I would be capable of fitting into society by mastering the skill of poaching. I feel that when you say that you’ve poached an egg, it’s slightly more upper class than boiling an egg. Almost like you’ve gone from Tesco Value to Tesco Finest. Also with a boiled egg, you have to have bread soldiers, and NO BREAD FOR ME. Bloating=BYE. If you don’t have bread soldiers with your boiled egg, then you probably think that David Cameron is an angel. #BLOCKED. So anyway, I oven baked my hash browns to go with my perfectly POACHED egg. Sorry nevergettingoverthat. I’m not a dietician, but I think that meal was about 2 calories, so it counter balances my 5000 calories that were consumed within the 24hr period.

To maintain my crown for Procrastination, I decided to go for an extended walk to blow the hypothetical cobwebs away, and to work off my 2 calorie breakfast. 20 year old me would have rather died than go out without putting my makeup on with a shovel. 21 year old me however, went out with bed hair, a hole in my leggings and no moisturiser. I was internally screaming, but my resting bitch face ensured that nobody could read my emotions. However, I brought it back to Shabby Chic with a Disneyland Paris hoodie, and 4 euro, Prada replica sunglasses. *Hair Flick* (Well if it wasn’t stuck to my head that is.) Along the way 2 cats ran away from me, despite my welcoming “HELLO BEAUTIFUL”accompanied with casual sprint towards them, and I saw a “Michael Owen Gallery” I didn’t realise that I needed that in my life until now.

I suppose that I’d better shut up.


A x


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