2: Reason 1.0 Why My Flatmates Are More Fabulous Than Me

From roast dinner to cupcakes to stew to cupcakes to macaroni cheese to cupcakes (they really love their cupcakes) there is scarcely a day that goes by without that the two ladies I live with don’t set themselves to producing culinary delights, grating off bits of their fingers to give that extra pizazz to pasta or violating various chickens with citrus fruit. Many a time we have sat round with some friends and enjoyed a proper meal with wine and matching cutlery, healthily betraying our student status.


 However, I, on the other hand, haven’t cooked a single cake since last July (lemon drizzle cake, I know you were wondering) and don’t cook anything that takes less than half an hour to prepare and cook. It’s not that I don’t like food: I love fresh Mediterranean cooking, especially cheeses, breads and salad. And it’s not that I can’t cook. (Well, I can chop vegetables and add sauces out of jars. So maybe not.) It’s really that I’m just too impatient and often don’t know where to start.                                                                                         

    I'm not happy about this situation. I feel inadequate. The WI will never recruit me at this rate. It’s time to bite the bullet and find some recipes. Watch this space!

1: Manscaping

Greetings Bloggers. I need your advice.

My boyfriend keeps pestering to let him recommence ‘manscaping’. Manscaping, a term he believes he has coined, involves pruning of the male pubic area to something more comparable to the uniform height of a suburban hedge.

Now, I do not confess to be any huge fan of hairy men. This boyfriend is the first to be particularly furry and I have learnt to adapt. It has its benefits (I suppose) and has lead to affectionate cringe-inducing nicknames of the bear variety.

However, said Bear recently announced to me that he was very proud of the fact that his chest hair now meets his stomach hair because it is “like two great civilisations coming together”, with the patch above his navel designated “the embassy”. The small patch of hair he has developed on his upper back has been outlawed, and various sanctions including plucking will soon be enforced. The growth of chest and facial hair is subject to much applause but anything ‘down-below’ is subject to restrictive grooming- surely this deferential treatment is, in the least, unfair?

Is it wrong for me to think this is completely bizarre- was I wrong to ban him from doing it? Perhaps it is my desire more rugged men but perhaps this is some innate warning system causing me to act before he turns to shaping himself to suit particular occasions (a Santa hat for Christmas? a loveheart for Valentines?) or, unspeakably, turning to the male version of vajazzling?!