Yesterday I saw Tom, whose Sixth Form nickname was Fake Tom; however, since I've not spoken to the artist formerly known as Real Tom for nigh on six years, it seems a bit cruel to continue using that appelation. Tom, congratulations, I'm gonna call you by your real name now. Welcome to adulthood.
Tom and I went for coffee and cake and I had possibly the strangest drink I've ever drunk (and I once mixed goon and red bull)- it was a red velvet milkshake. As in, they took a piece of red velvet cake and blended it with some milk.
It would've actually been quite nice, except I'd foolishly ordered a piece of red velvet cake to go with it, and, despite what the waiter chimed when I ordered, you can, in fact, have too much red velvet.
Tom was well; he's got a very interesting new job and has been thoroughly cured of the nast case of conservativism that blighted him in his youth (I can hardly judge, given the weird stuff I used to spout even a year or two ago).
Earlier in the week, my parents went away and so Ella came out to play. And I mean play. We toured Ironbridge's various parks and enhoyed the hell out of them. Children and adults alike were left speechless at the ingenuity and audacity of our recreational activity. We sang. We danced. We rolled. We slid. We swang. We made daisy chains. We very nearly broke every single piece of play park equipment we could get to. It was nauseatingly amazing.
I've also been trying to learn to both cook and drive while at home: these are both activities which take an awful lot of concentration and memory space, neither of which are things that I hold in high supply. I found both incredibly stressful and inevitably end up with the air smelling of smoke, frantically jabbing at buttons and fiddling with knobs. Hopefully, though, I'll master at least one during this stretch of time at home, as I think they're both skills that fully-rounded adults possess.
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