Guardian Girl

Witness the results of last night. They could’ve done with five minutes less in the oven, but that is a vast improvement on most of my previous baking attempts, which could’ve generally done with two hours more in the airing cupboard – or a lifetime in the bin.

This recipe was highly agreeable in its easiness. I got an extra sense of satisfaction from already owning both wholemeal and spelt flour (CHECK ME!). Lord, I even felt a bit like some kind of warm-hearted wife who does things properly, opening the cupboard and perusing my flour arrangement diligently. Couldn’t be further from the truth of course, but all the invisible spies in my kitchen weren’t to know that, so I managed to impress them at least.

I added salted peanuts, toasted almonds, a bit of lemon juice and muesli for that wind-in-your-hair reckless sensation we all crave when baking, whether we can admit it to ourselves or not, and splodged the mixture into my six-muffin tray because I don’t have a 12-muffin one (what kind of fool… etc).

I thought they were delicious. I ate three. I brought one in for my workmate and she was very grateful before she ate it and quite quiet after she ate it. Not sure if muffin-related because I don’t dare ask.

On to today’s outfit, which is really perturbing for contextual reasons.

The problem is not so much that I look like a nob, which I’m used to by now, but that I have to look like a nob at a gig tonight. Never in a million years would I wake up and think to myself, “I’m going to see the Melvins – yay, I’ll put on a pencil skirt and a shirt, then sling a t-shirt over the top – it’s a fast track to WELL rad!”

I wouldn’t wear what the model’s got on, but I particularly wouldn’t wear what I’ve got on. I have taken off the shirt so it’s now just a pencil skirt and a t-shirt, but still. Maybe if I just plaster on a lot of black eyeliner I can aim for some sort of office-goth angle. Yeh. Just what I’ve always wanted to dress like.

Conclusions:

• You just find yourself in these stupid situations