Reader, I am currently obsessed by a cake. Not just any cake, or even cake in general. More surprisingly, not a cupcake. It's a big old brick of a Christmas cake, left at my house by my grandmother. I know, fruitcake is supposed to be really dull, one of those cakes that only old ladies like, but I have a particular fondness for it, especially when it's washed down with milk. It has to be jam packed with fruit and brandy of course (and this one certainly is) and dotted with glacé cherries like little lucky dips, and although I normally can't stand marzipan, I can't deny that it utterly defines a marvellous fruitcake.
Considering that I'm trying to keep my weight down for the tour, it is not ideal that I keep coming home and sawing off big chunks of the cake to munch on, but it's so utterly, deliciously, luxuriously good. Like eating a box of charbonnel and walker pink champagne truffles all to yourself (which yes, this Christmas, I did). Eating crimble cake also gives me the delightful sensation that Christmas is not over yet, while there are still things to be greatly enjoyed from it. And having such a lovely thing to come home from work to serves to distract me (mostly) from the fact that this is the most depressing time of the year. Monday actually was statistically the most grim day of the whole year. Which is a pain, because I felt perfectly happy in the morning, but like a self fulfilling prophesy, by the end of the day I just wanted to hide under my bed. Ah well Reader, only two or so more weeks till I stop coming into the call centre for a blessed month and spend my time doing what I love with a bunch of like minded individuals. So I won't complain!
I don't think I'll be the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when it starts getting a bit warmer though. Today was so cold I had to wear four layers just so my boobs didn't look like they were saluting strangers. We were driving my younger brother back to uni (which, if you're interested, took HOURS. I left the house more than 8 hours ago and have only just got home. That's love.) and had to have both the heated seats (best invention since oil burners) and the normal heating on. What with that and my mum's talking books, we were all feeling pretty drowsy for most of the trip. Of course, my mum and I were particularly disappointed not to get to meet any of the brother's housemates, as we'd been looking forward to embarrassing him all weekend. Ah well, some other time perhaps! It actually made me quite jealous. I remember that lovely sensation of finally being alone after the holidays, in a space that I could call my own, with a packet of fags, a freshly filled fridge, Christmas pressies to put around my uni room and the promise of drinks later that night. Living with the parents may be a delight (and great for saving money), but you don't really get the same independence that living alone offers. Not that I'd ever want to move back into uni accommodation. I all too clearly remember the weird smells, bad plumbing, mess and sharing a loo with too many people.
Right, now what to have for dinner? More fruitcake perhaps....