I am now several months into my gap year and settling into the rhythm of things quite nicely, thank you very much. Unfortunately, ‘settling into the rhythm of things’ means being hopelessly bored of work, home, work, home and nothing else to do besides work on my personal statement.
In a spirit of rebellion against being pigeonholed for a year, I have become middle aged. I bought a house plant today and went grocery shopping for sensible things like soured cream and fruit. I have taken up knitting. I decorated a cake*.
In fairness, the cake-decorating was carried out under threat of my mother’s wrath if she got home from visiting her friends and found it Not Decorated. She left me with a bowl of coffee-marscapone cake topping and told me to slap it on the cake yesterday. As I am an intensely proactive person, I decided to let the cat get there first and was left with half a bowl of coffee-cat-saliva-marscapone with which to demonstrate my culinary prowess and reliability to my mother.
This would not do, so I made a chocolate buttercream and stuck that on there, along with toffee sauce, by which time I was becoming enamoured with the idea of making a mess of the kitchen and topped it with cocoa powder and grated chocolate. The results are thus:
It also appears that my kitchen is somewhere at sea. The tilt is me, my house isn’t that wonky.
*I hate baking, cooking and decorating food items. I have nothing against eating said food items, but I don’t actually like making them.
**EDIT: It’s a cyclamen, apparently. I told you I didn’t know about plants.