Wednesday, November 03, 2010


Testament to my boyfriend’s sweet tooth:

My Brit has the most insane sweet tooth ever. He can see chocolate cake through walls. He can sense there’s an apple crumble from two miles away.

In the car the other night, we see this billboard at a bus stop.

“Oh my God I want that biscuit. I want that biscuit right now.”

Peas: You’re the kind of target audience advertiser’s dream about.

Brit: No seriously where can we buy that biscuit.

Peas: Do you realise that it’s fake. It’s an animated drawing of a biscuit.

Brit: Look at that caramel oozing out of its soft inner shell.

Peas: Sorry to break the bad news, Marketer’s Dream Esquire, but that biscuit doesn’t exist.

Brit: Oh yes it does, it’s on the billboard.

Testament to me being homesick thinking about home a lot:

I had a dream last night about getting hi-jacked in my old car.
I don’t own Ludwig anymore, and it still haunts the dick out of me. And yet last night, there I was driving him, with my Brit sitting beside me, and then a tsotsi came out of nowhere with a gun and pressed the cold barrel up against my throat.
Needless to say he stole Ludwig, and we got away unscathed because we ran into a drainpipe and hid.

That said, I always think about the good things when it comes to home.

Testament to nesting:

The Brit wants to buy a house for when we move in together. We’ve decided on early next year. We got driven around last night by an estate agent with an accent from WhereTheFuckDidYouHailFrom, and saw two places.

One was a hole without lino floors from the 60s and a toilet moulded onto a high grey lino pedestal (now there’s a thrown).

The other was brilliant. I loved it. The Brit was so so.

We have more viewings coming up.

Testament to hyperchondria:

I’ve decided to challenge myself. And see how long it takes me to get the office cold going round, if at all.
As a result, am drinking freshly squeezed orange juice twice a day. In a personal quest to become Megatron O' Toast, She Who Foils Disease.

Now have sore tongue, feels like I’ve been licking acid all week. Comfy.

And my boyfriend dreams of the oozing biscuit. Still.


fuzzy logic said...

I've passed several of those posters on my walk to work, but it's only on seeing it now, on your blog, with that lighting, that I've realised it looks rather... vagina-esque? No?

Charmskool said...

Yes Peas I can sooo see how dreaming about being hijacked at gunpoint by a tsotsi would make you homesick for SA and Jozi in particular. Absolutely! Right! As for avoiding colds - it's not the orange juice that helps, it's washing your hands very well and very regularly. You pick up cold germs from touching stuff people have sneezed and coughed on. Also wear a mask over your nose and mouth so when those plague carriers cough and sneeze on you you don't breathe in the germs. If you think the mask looks odd - pretend you're a tsotsi about to hijack a car. In Jozi....

Peas on Toast said...

fuzzy - hilarious, now that you mention it, it does have shades of being a lit up...poenyani!

Charm - touche! OJ and OCD hand washing, that's my schtick at the moment. I'm obsessed with not getting sick at the moment. Too much to do, too much to get through without getting sick.

Spear The Almighty said...

orange juice completely fucks with my digestive system. Let's leave it at that...