That takes the biscuit

I am ashamed. Yes, there was the roast beef, but if I'm honest with you, in recent times, my consumption of cookies has been astronomical.

So much so that I feel strongly that I should found Cookie Addiction Anonymous. Consider this the first CAA meeting. Don't be shy. No one is here to judge. To put you at ease, let me go first.

Hello. My name is Day in Bed and I'm obsessed with cookies.

Welcome Day in Bed!

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I can't help myself. I can't just have one and forget about the others sitting in the cupboard. No, I have to eat them all, until there's none left.

I'll eat rich tea biscuits, not one or two but 10 at a time, with every cup of tea. And I drink a lot of tea. Luxurious school boy cookies, a whole box at a time. Chips ahoy, as many as I can cram into my mouth simultaneously.

Then there's the homemade cookies that my boyfriend has been making on a weekly basis: Ginger bread men, I'll eat six or seven in one sitting, even if they've only got one eye. Butter cookies, they're just alright, but I'll have three or four while I'm at it. And delight of delights, oatmeal (healthy) cookies with butterscotch chips (not so healthy). And the latest cookies of choice, chocolate oatmeal cookies. In the last week we've had two batches of those. Yesterday I ate eight. And they are, or rather were, enormous.

But I don't stop at cookies. I also love cake. And apple crumble and ice cream. And raisin bread. And chocolate. Cote d'or chocolate. And gummi bears. And fantasy belts. For those who think I have veered off on a sexual tangent, this is what I mean:



But enough about me.

Who's next?

Sunday roast

I'm not a big cook. I like to keep it simple. Consequently, my evening meal repertoire consists of: pasta and sauce, hot and sour soup, shrimp and veggies, dumplings and veggies, and steak and baked potatoes in rotation.

But the six weeks I was working a full-time job in the boonies, my diet was reduced to not much through sheer laziness. A brioche loaf got a lot of mileage. As well as canned soup and salmon spread on crackers. And cups of Bovril.

I know, I know, I should be ashamed of myself. Eating healthily fights off colds, gives your skin a warm glow, improves your mood. I skipped all that and then filled up on chocolate bars and cookies in between meals because I was weak with hunger. It's a wonder I'm not the size of a house. Especially because I stopped going to the gym because of my exhausting 1-hour+ extravaganza journey home.

Tonight, however, I excelled myself by becoming a gastronomical wonder. I made a roast beef with roast potatoes, vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. And all from scratch!

I am still in shock. It was absolutely delicious. A proper English roast with all the trimmings. And I made it!

I even did the washing up.

How about that for a Sunday evening?

As free as a bird

It's not always an easy decision to make. Should I do what I'm supposed to do? Or break away and do my own thing?

I recently took on a full-time job. As regular readers will know, this involved a 1-hour+ extravaganza journey that sometimes included the walk of death in -30 temperatures.

I was seduced by money, benefits and stability. There, I admit it. But almost immediately my spirit started to wither.

I've done the office thing long enough in the past to know that I am not and never will be an office girl. I can't deal with it. Having to fit the mould. Having to be at the office all day, even when you've finished your work. Having your copy pulled apart and re-written. After all, anyone can write, right?

Such is a copywriter's lot. Yes, you have to take criticism, that's all part of the job. But hell, at the end of the day, it's all so subjective. Everyone's got their own ideas. And that's when egos get in the way.

So I did a month and gave in my notice. Some people think I'm crazy. Some people think I made a decision too fast. But what I know is this - I felt like I was suffocating, like I was being contained. This was probably all in my head, but nonetheless it was there. I had to get out.

So I'm back to freelancing. No financial stability, no benefits, no knowing how much money will be coming in and when. But my spirit can breathe again. It feels good. It feels liberating. I have a smile on my face.

I don't think I could do anything else. This writing lark is the only thing I know how to do. But it has to be on my terms. And those terms are at my pace and when I'm inspired. It's not necessarily between 9 and 5, sometimes it's not necessarily on a week day. It just happens. And when it does, it feels great.