Funnily enough, here I am talking about peanut butter again. I think it will be a recurrent theme. In real life, few of my friends have the patience to listen to me wax lyrical about peanut butter. My brother does, thank goodness.
We are peanut butter brethren.
I wonder if we were surreptitiously bathed in it as children.
To be honest, I’m in admiration with myself. I haven’t bought a jar of peanut butter since the last Ground Peanut Butter Jar. My determination has not wavered on this point (but it has elsewhere, as you will see). I have held fast through all my cravings, through all my trips to various stores displaying lovely little jars of Peanut Butter Of The Gods. Singing Siren Peanut Butter. Orpheus Music Peanut Butter. Watching A Sunrise From The Top Of A Mountain Peanut Butter. Swimming In The Sea Peanut Butter. Listening To Birdsong In The Morning Peanut Butter.
I went grocery shopping today and prepped some jars:
(Because I don’t have any cloth bags and have stolen all the tupperware the flat has, to my great surprise. It was only when my flatmates asked me where their tupperware was that I realised I had completely monopolised them. I promptly fessed up and opened my food cupboard for all to see my food stocked in THEIR shiny tupperware. Woopsies. So instead I steal their jars from the recycling bin. I hope they don’t find me too odd.)
WHOLEFOODS HAS THEIR NUT GRINDER BACK.
A NUT GRINDER IS IN GLASGOW.
CLOSER THAN 42 MILES AWAY IN EDINBURGH.
I was vastly unprepared, having only brought small jars, rather than a 5 kilo one.
I spent all afternoon spoon-feeding myself peanut butter.
It also made me think – once again – about Calvin and Hobbes and the great wisdom within it.
I’m beginning to have a lot in common with Calvin’s dad: a hatred of over-consumption; a love of camping and an adoration of cycling.