Foodie.

Anyone who knows me could tell you that I'm not exactly what you might call a "foodie".

I've actually got real issues with food. For starters, I'm a vegetarian with a severe nut allergy, so let's just say my diet is fairly limited.

Secondly, I'm the worst cook in the world.

I repeatedly burn toast, set my microwave alight, and wind up ordering takeaways I can't really afford.

A fictional hero of mine once said: "You don't understand. The only thing I have ever made in the kitchen, is a mess".

This statement well and truly applies to me tonight!

After months of living on a menu of pasta, cheese toasties, and jacket potatoes stuck on repeat, I am BORED of mealtimes.

So tonight I decided to attempt something a little more adventurous and well out of my culinary comfort zone.

Vegetarian sausage, mash, peas and gravy.

Yes, I can almost hear the snorts of laughter coming from you as you read that, you may have just sprayed your own tea all over your iPhone in disbelief, but for me, this is a major step forward!

And just look at the result...

I've got a way to go to being Jamie Oliver, but by god it tasted good! 

Even my parents were impressed...

L x

Peter Pan.

Thick twiney threads of dust and dirt scale the edge of the platform, like many filthy spiders legs caught in the breeze of a passing train.

Not my train.

A couple comes to stand right in front of me, whispering (not so discreet) sweet nothings to each other in a language I don't understand, rubbing noses like Eskimos.

I'm getting really irritated now.

My train is delayed. First it was 20 minutes... Then another 10 then another 5... Here I am 40 minutes later still standing on platform 12D waiting for a train home that doesn't seem to want to come, watching the flashes of lightning overhead illuminate the packed out platform.

At least it has given me time to reflect on my manic week.

The first big bit of news is that I finally signed a contract which extends my internship until December.

I thought that this would subsequently leave me homeless by October as I only signed a 6 month lease on my flat.

Piece of good news number 2 came via email from my landlord yesterday, he's going to let me stay on until Christmas.

Halle-fricking-lujah! I don't have to move in with any smelly students!

Also, my project at work which has taken up much of my time since April is finally all coming together, and is looking more brilliant than I ever imagined it could be.

Quite a whirlwind week!

A friend of mine is getting married tomorrow, this has brought it home to me still how far I have to go on this road to "growing up", but I can safely say, this week I have felt very mature.

The level of responsibility resting on my shoulders is incredible but I feel ridiculously on top of things!

That's a first!

Oh, the train is here...

L x

Salsa.

So I am slightly delayed in writing this. It has taken me this long to overcome the shame of my actions to actually put thumbs to keypad.

The incident I am about to relay to you occurred this Wednesday evening just passed.

After some not-so-subtle nudges from workmates, I was talked into joining a club. A salsa dancing club no less.

For a while my workmates had been trying to convince me into taking up a sport. As I can neither catch nor run without getting hit in the face/falling on my face, I thought I would try something relatively within my comfort zone.

From the age of 4, up until I started university, I was part of a dance school. So I can hardly say I have 2 left feet. Of course, I am no Beyoncé, but I can wiggle my hips sufficiently enough without making people think I'm just having a fit of some sort.

Salsa is something I did a little of in dance classes, and even MORE of when I was on holiday last month.

Oh those Spanish boys can move!

Anyways, when I saw an advert for a salsa class down the road from my place in Leeds, I figured mehh! Why not!

On the website it said it was a "sociable class", people of "all ages"  can join in, and "no partner necessary!"

Sounds decent! I thought.

So I psyched myself up and arranged (with myself) to go check it out on Wednesday. 

I then made the fatal mistake of going out with my workmate and getting bladdered on the Tuesday night. 

Damn cocktails.

So feeling rather worse for wear, I admit I wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of going ahead with my salsa plan. But out of fear of letting myself down, I pushed myself to get ready and wander down at 7.30. 

Only to find the venue had been changed last minute, and instead of the nice little bar with lots of dark corners to hide in, it was to be held in the middle of Leeds Corn Exchange, in full public view.

Dear Lord.

With some hesitation I lingered in the doorway and watched people file in, in true Noah's ark fashion, two by two.

There was the odd foursome, but it quickly became apparent that everyone was "with someone"... Except me.

I lingered a bit longer, praying another loner (preferably a hot Spanish guy) would sashay through the doors to my rescue. 

But no one came.

So what did I do? I did what any other wimp would do in my situation and I turned and ran. Ran all the way back to my flat, kicking myself for being so cowardly.

So much for "getting out there".

I'm thinking I might give it another shot in a few weeks and hopefully this time it won't be so 'coupley'.

I just have to leave things a sufficient enough length of time that the other dancers will have forgotten what the back of my retreating head looks like.

L x