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Oh dear. I will miss the Yellow Page.
Andrew Collings wouldn’t believe it. This morning I made our porridge with oat milk. And it wasn’t because there was no proper milk in the fridge. It was by choice. What has become of me?
We’ve decided to experiment a bit with trying out some vegan stuff, not (I hope) as a long term decision to never eat any animal products, but just to be a bit healthier and do our bit in moving farming away from being so animal intensive. I was vegetarian for 12 years (though secretly wavered a bit towards the end of that time) and now I am older I certainly feel the benefits of eating healthier food, but I don’t think I would go back. I had grilled chilli haloumi cheese for dinner (not just that, though I would happily only eat grilled haloumi cheese for every meal for the rest of my life) and I am not going to give that up as it is the best thing in the world (including my children). But moving towards a vegan diet without making it an intractable philosophy that we live our lives by seems like a sensible thing to do. If we were all vegan for one day a week, then we have created one vegan for every seven people, which doesn’t seem like a bad hit rate.
Anyway, thankfully for me the oat milk porridge was horrible. Like double denim, oats with oats was too much. And it was both watery and a bit bitter. We made some with almond milk the other day which was a lot better (but then some with a different brand of almond milk that wasn’t as nice). But almond milk is possibly not that great for the environment and, you know, is still a bit wanky anyway, so not sure that would be a permanent change.
But thank God I didn’t betray my past self by liking oat milk. Some things must remain sacred. And milking an oat being ridiculous is the most sacred thing in the world.
We went up to the house today, to see if we could arrange things so we can move into one room next week. There was some moving around to do and a tiny bit of unpacking (remarkably we managed to find some of the bits we were looking for in the first box we opened). There is a very long way to go before we have unpacked everything and can feel like we properly live here, but progress is being made and it’s starting to feel like home.
We then drove around Hertfordshire to check out what facilities are nearby and to find the best gym to join. The countryside looked lush and green and though our days are full of stress at the moment, I still feel surprisingly calm and being amongst these peaceful surroundings has certainly helped. We went to Stevenage, which would shake the awe at the beauty of nature out of anyone. It was reminiscent of Warsaw, Indiana (and I don’t think there can be a greater insult), all roundabouts, concrete and little islands of chain restaurants. It’s good to know that if I am feeling content, this monstrosity of human invention is just a short drive away, Who am I kidding? I’ll be here all the time. They have a Nandos. Civilisation how I have missed you?
I liked the fact that the more expensive the gym the fitter the man showing us around was. In Stevenage the guy was huge in all directions, in Letchworth of more medium frame and in lovely old Hitchin, the man was of a similar body shape to me. I wonder if you can guess which gym we’re going to join.
My daughter found my Edinburgh Penguin Race/Runing Go game in my bag in the hall and wanted to play with it (hers is in a box somewhere). I was delighted to see she is now playing with it properly, letting it go on for hours at a time as she sits entranced by it and watching the penguins in their never ending Hell. It really is a comity contest.
To be fair, it does get a bit annoying after 30 minutes.
