December 15th 2019

Today I passed up on a home-cooked roast dinner from my mother for a microwaveable shepherd’s pie that I found in my fridge. I was supposed to go back to Swindon to see my parents, have dinner, and pick up the remainder of my things, but I couldn’t face getting out of bed, and didn’t really think that I could drive.

I also couldn’t face walking to the Waitrose that is a 4-iron from my house, so I didn’t eat particularly well today. That shepherd’s pie was brought over by my work friend on Friday. I’m not entirely sure why he brought it to my house, but he left it in my fridge, some reason, and said I could have it.

I hate shepherd’s pie. It’s literally like my least favourite meal in the whole world. I don’t like mashed potato, and I don’t like mince mixed with gravy. And yet, I still ate it. Because it was either that or the remaining 7 Bounties in the box of Celebrations we have. I hate bounties too, so I ended up with this:

What a mess of a plate that is. I could have had a beautiful roast dinner, lovingly cooked by my Mum.

Until tomorrow, instead, I had mash.


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