an old entry and a reveiw

Is it me, or does the New Year seem to be the busiest time of the year?

Anyone who says Januarys are boring is lying. Lying through their teeth. Since the last post I wrote in this blog, I have lost a sister and gained a very distant step- something. Well, many things have happened on that front but I don’t really like talking about arguments, especially the particularly nasty ones.

On another, brighter note, I have noticed that spring is once again in the air. I do love the first notes of spring. The air smells different, that fresh, green smell that wafts on the breeze that’s neither too hot nor too cold. I love awakening into a wintry world where the earth is encrusted with ice and frost, and watching and feeling the world awaken and warm as the day wears on.

It makes me happy, more energetic; the touch of the sun warming my back even when I am indoors just gives me a sense of hope. It’s also infectious!

You can feel this hope from every creature on earth as they wake up from their winter slumber, from the tiniest crocus (The first flowers) to the first bars of the song that the blackbird sings. Soon we will be hearing the dawn and dusk chorus, that beautiful watery warbling of the morning song.

(It also makes me feel much more poetic ;-)

One of the early stories of Valentine is that the birds paired up with their mates on the 14th February, especially the dove, who it and it’s relatives mate for life. Valentine’s Day is actually deeply centred on spring birds, ever heard of the bird of love, the Turtledove? Or Lovebirds, cooing and billing each other? And when you hear two lovers kissing and calling each other pet names, it’s said that they are “cooing” to each other, or the way a mother “coos” to a baby.

I have also deducted that February is the mating month for humans. Or more specifically, my family. No, don’t laugh; it’s quite true! There are 7 family members so far recorded that were born in September- October months, plus several more born in November. And Daniel, he was born a day before me! Seems that there’s a strong family link here. Wonder if it’s hereditary? :D

The Libra Link. I could make a million out of that term!

This was the blog entry I had written on the day before Valentines Day. Wow, I was in a good mood! Today is a different story with the weather front. It seems today that Mother Nature has gone into a fierce cold snap, laying thick fog over my town like some large, sinister blanket, making the once-blue skies grey and thick.

And along with the weather going downhill, my taste seems to have slipped with it. On my break from maths questions on ratio (which in the first five minuites made my frontal lobe shut down from confusion) I took the time, in my temporary insanity, to buy a Ginsters Indian Style Spicy Chicken Pasty.
And wow, do my taste buds hate me right now. Armed with a strawberry milkshake (my old faithful) and chewing gum ready to re-fresh my breath, I opened the package eagerly and took my first chunk.

At first I was surprised that it actually tasted Indian. Well, Indian-ish. The chicken tasted manufactured, wishy-washy and reminiscent of the meat skewers that I ate at a recent party that almost gave me chronic food poisoning. Maybe it’s just me as I am started to enjoy salad a lot more than I used to and actually moving off of the carnivorism, which, not that long ago, used to be my lifeblood.

The pastry was bland, the meat was bland, the colour was bland, and the flavour was, you guessed it… BLAND! The only strong essence to it was that the maker had stuffed this poor pastry to the brim with cloves, which made the mush inside taste remarkably like Chanel No.5. After this harrowing experience (and I ate the whole lot save for the end when I couldn’t stomach any more taste torture), I actually rinsed and gargled my mouth with my strawberry milkshake. Can anyone say “Cavity”?

Now, as I sit writing this entry, I am busy chewing two Wrigley’s spearmint gums whilst my digestive tract recovers.

Avoid the Indian Pasties at all costs. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of nuclear winter and you’ve got three limbs growing out of your chest and your kidneys have bred, DON’T TOUCH THEM.

Gnaw that ear off that’s growing on your foot. It’s probably more nutritious anyway.


“From now on, I’ll connect-the-dots my own way” ~ Bill Watterson