I’m a professional cynic but my heart’s not in it.

Last week I handed in my first psychology assignment. You know when people say things like, ‘OMG! Did you hear what she said?! What, did she just take Feminism 101 or something?’? This assignment was literally a PSY101 essay and there’s a reason for the cliche.

I would have preferred to scratch my nails on a chalkboard for two weeks than write it, so I’m hoping my intuition that I did okay is correct.

Right in the middle of it, I started using hard drugs to help me through, by which I mean macaroni and cheese. I’m pretty sure the recipe I use is from the Commonsense Cookery Book, but I’ve started to refine it. For example: always with the dijon mustard. New discovery: soy milk makes a superior white sauce than cow milk.

Every day, I would eat my macaroni and cheese and watch a Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt episode and then I would stack my dishes in the sink and forget about them and B would say, ‘What are the white globs in the sink that smell like vomit?!’ and I would say, ‘That’s the remains of heaven, B. Heaven’.

Now I have to start essay two, or essay poo, as I like to call it (not really, potential essay marker, I am taking this very seriously.).

As a nice reward, we went to Orange on the weekend with Delilah. It just so happened the annual food week was on, which included some farmers markets, so we went and ate goat sausages and bought some honey goat cheese, and some Stone Pine gin and some fudge.

Delilah rolled in various kinds of poo, and went for a swim in the dam and failed to keep a fox out of the yard.

We brought home one very tired, very happy, very stinky corgi as well as some gin.