It seems like I wasn't supposed to have porridge this morning, but I really fancied some. I have it about once a week. It takes a lot longer to prepare than my usual breakfast of Greek yoghurt with blueberries and nuts. I still feel very low, and a nice warm bowl of porridge would just hit the spot. My gum pain has subsided, possibly to make room for a very sore back. My cold has got to my chest, causing me to rasp. My unwellness has worsened. Bleh! So, I wanted my porridge.
First, the digital scales are mysteriously broken. Delving into the mystery, I might have recently set a heavy pan on top of it, which could have caused the LCD to break. I can be breathtakingly clumsy. Mr Bean without the laughs.
So, how do you measure 50g of rolled oats? I managed to find a conversion for measuring in cups. Then, after not finding any measuring cups, I found a conversion for tablespoons. So far, so good. Except I think I messed up the measure of milk, which I modified to include some of my yoghurt, for its fat content. I needed more fluid as the oats were getting too hot. I gave the pan a quick nudge to move the contents around, but nothing was stuck together, so globs of milk and porridge went onto the hob. Some must have worked its way into a dial's recess, which causes the sparker for lighting the hob to continuously fire...on...and..on...and...on
So now, twenty minutes after finishing my porridge — which was perfect, at least I got that — there is a clicking sound coming from the kitchen, with a one-second interval. Why did I get out of bed? That was actually the back pain! If it wasn't for my sore lower back, I would have just stayed in bed all day. Meh.
Yesterday
While some might spend their sick time watching comforting TV shows or YouTube cat videos, I elected to start building a dystopic prison-style apartment complex.
No comments:
Post a Comment