In the past few weeks I have: eaten flapjack on the pitch black of the Downs having seen Jupiter, a dreamy blue nebula, an orange star and craters on the moon, had my first meal at the Thali Cafe (after three and a half years of suspense), realised I am not really a fan of house parties, had a picnic on a sunny Saturday morning and covered my jeans in chocolate spread, flipped a pancake successfully, drunk a lot of tea, sung to old people, read a number of very sad books, had a lovely catch up over tea with S., been for many a walk in the spring-heralding sunshine, eaten more (Caribbean) food in one sitting than is possibly advisable (thanks W!), talked to a woman born in 1913 about the fleetingness of life, applied for an internship, drunk late night hot chocolate (reminiscent of Regensburg in the best possible way), rekindled the love affair with my (still flagging) bicycle, chatted with the inimitable Ashley on the most varied of subjects, appreciated the company of my sweet Mitbewohner, dropped pancake batter all over my pyjamas, cried and laughed, got lost (and found) in Clifton, read the newspaper and climbed a tower.
All of these things have reminded me that life is beautiful and I am taking pains to remember such.
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