Pic of the day: I've spent some time in the world of Daggerfall, as is
good and proper for a playful character. Here is a picture of me in
front of Perore's, the pawnbroker in Bubyrydata, known all over the Iliac
Bay for its great prices.
Back on Earth, I went to another grocery shop today, slightly less than half an hour's walk away. The one I use to shop in is a bit closer, but I bought the last two strawberry yoghurts there yesterday. I tend to eat quite a few strawberry yoghurts during a weekend. The shop I visited today is quite a bit larger, and had as much strawberry yoghurt as I could wish for. And more importantly, they had fruit soup.
I've raved about my gold-plated water boiling jug for some days now. With all due respect for tea, which protects against cancer of the colon, my favorite hot drink is soup. I rarely ever have soup for dinner. If I outlive my teeth, soup and porridge for dinner may have some appeal. Not now. Thursday I had vegetable soup at work. Yummy. But the thing I had really looked forward to was fruit soup. Put a couple spoonfuls of fruit soup powder in a big cup, add boiling water, mix thoroughly, and work a while until it's ready to drink. If you have soup powder, that is.
To my surprise I searched two of the supermarkets in town and found no trace of fruit soup. With shocked dismay I realized that the family pack of fruit soup powder in my cupboard may be the last surviving fruit soup in Norway! There were asparagus soup, Mexican soup, two different Norwegian fish soups, and many other exotic things. But no fruit soup, an article that has certainly been around since my childhood if not longer. Now that it was too late, I wished that I had bought dozens of them. Nobody warns me when my favorite things are withdrawn. I only have one left of my favorite deodorant stick, for instance.
And today, way out in the countryside, I found this shop with 5 packets
of dried fruit soup! And there was much rejoicing. It is a small
world, and it revolves around soup.
Also this morning, I spent some days hanging out with prez Bill Clinton and his wife, though not at the same time. In my dream, which was a real long one, I found the First Lady to be a rather petulant woman with very little sense of money. Good thing it was only a dream! And even better that Bill was only a dream, because despite his charm and wit he still tried to poison me after I had happened to notice him and some unimportant female in a car. It took me ca ten days of dreamtime to recover, and I still had a headache the first half an hour or so after I woke up...
Isn't it incredible how much you can pack into a day when you don't have a life?
Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.