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rinueOne nice thing about the uneven currency exchange rate is that I get even more excited than usual about finding dropped coins. For the effort of picking up one pence, I effectively pick up two pennies. It's not just the usual joy of money for nothing - it's twice as much money for the same amount of nothing. I found a five pence piece last weekend, oh my god the excitement. I perk up unreasonably every time I hear the sound of metal tinkling against pavement.
Less fun are the coin-sized blisters speckled across the bottoms of my feet. After a great deal of experimentation, I have found that my cowboy boots are the only footwear rigorous enough to withstand the amount of walking I do - easily two hours a day. Good thing I like cowboy boots. Good thing I own cowboy boots.
In a surprise twist to my unsurprising campaign to find the best pasty shop in London, the current forerunner is a small stand inKings Charing Cross railway station, next to the McDonald's Burger King. Nicely saucy filling, lots of black pepper, crust the right balance of flaky and chewy. While I am pleased by this early return on my investigative rigor, which leaves no stone (or pasty shop) unturned, further examination and testing is necessary. Perhaps I merely caught this pasty shop on a good day. Perhaps there is a yet better pasty shop just around the corner. The pursuit of truth must continue.
I have discovered today that LFS, prior to becoming LFS, was not a paper warehouse. It was a banana warehouse. [Insert loads of exclamation points.] This is highly symbolic, and the announcement came just after my lecture yesterday about the fate of the Gros Michel. Significant glances passed between me and my lunchmates.
Less fun are the coin-sized blisters speckled across the bottoms of my feet. After a great deal of experimentation, I have found that my cowboy boots are the only footwear rigorous enough to withstand the amount of walking I do - easily two hours a day. Good thing I like cowboy boots. Good thing I own cowboy boots.
In a surprise twist to my unsurprising campaign to find the best pasty shop in London, the current forerunner is a small stand in
I have discovered today that LFS, prior to becoming LFS, was not a paper warehouse. It was a banana warehouse. [Insert loads of exclamation points.] This is highly symbolic, and the announcement came just after my lecture yesterday about the fate of the Gros Michel. Significant glances passed between me and my lunchmates.
