When I'm writing, getting hungry is just plain annoying. These days, as I'm trying to get through a seemingly endless (albeit interesting) stream of information, I really can't be bothered to fiddle around in the kitchen, let alone leave my flat for supplies. So, I usually end up eating something cobbled together from various leftovers in the kitchen. This week, I think, I hit an all-time low.
Yesterday I had dried ostrich meat.
OK, so it was biltong from South Africa, brought home (and forgotten) by The Man, but still. What's worse is that I actually mixed the meat with the one remaining egg we had left to scramble. Sounds disgusting but actually, it wasn't too bad.
Today I resorted to toast sprinkled with Worcestershire sauce, since we were sans butter. And then there were the days last week when I plundered the (generic) Bran Flakes, tearing through the large box at the speed of light.
I think I need to get out more.