So tonight, in a desperate act of starvation, I attempted to recreate the perfectly fried eggs on top of happy little hash-browned potato islands that may Dad makes whenever I sufficiently beg him to: morning, noon or night. Upon doing so I discovered several rather upsetting things...
1. Egg yolks in Scotland (or at least those bought from the friendly Pakistani man at the corner market) are orange.
2. I can't fry a freaking potato cube into a hash-brown to save my life.
3. There is a reason I always choose to poach eggs in the States, not fry them.
I'm currently sitting at my desk eating a semi-orange egg/potato jumble that is in no way appetizing looking, but doesn't taste half bad.
Nothing exciting to report in Kiltland. I slept most of the weekend. If you've ever met me, you won't be surprised. I am a sleeping CHAMPION!
On the exciting-things-to-happen-in-the-near-future side (Gosh, I love hyphens. How about you?) I'm going to England on Thursday. Wonder Pants and I have planned a four day extravaganza including, but not limited to: Bristol, Bath (Oh the Jane Austen!), Glastonbury (lots and tons of King Arthur-y goodness), and Stonehenge. Various side trips are bound to happen and mayhem will settle in Wiltshire upon the arrival of the Apocalypse (aka, me and Pants on vaycay). SOOOO exciting.
Did I mention my eggs are orange? I may be dead by this time tomorrow...
Okay, I'm officially out of fabulously witty things to say. It's probably the salmonella eating my brain stem. But at least I don't have SCURVY (good, good oranges!).
Good night all,
M
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i'm so, so, so, so, so happy you're going to bath. it's a magical, magical place. check out the joint discounted ticket to the roman baths and the uk fashion museum. :)
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