Once upon a time, a week or two ago, I opened my letterbox and found a cheque. For me. For achieving the highest psychology grades in my year. And everyone lived happily ever after. I suppose I could have spent it on books for the coming year, stationery, invested it even, but in the end there was just the one sensible choice.
Shoes. Obviously. It's not that they are anything spectacular, it's that they are mine, the fruit of my very own guts slogging. A young friend christened them my smart shoes, and I am pretty sure they actually do raise my IQ by a good 10 points everytime I wear them. Or is that my height by 10mm?
And? As part of my study this year I get to write a thesis on creativity and blogging. It feels like cheating and pretending, like I get to play 'school'. I'm pretty sure there is a rule against research topics being that much fun.
The salad. Also low on the spectacular scale, and also all mine. Well, Iona's. She planted, picked and chopped everything in it, and thinks it well worth its own piece of internet glory. I think she's right. For sure, it tasted good.
