Oprah, get your hands off of my spirit!

Ugh, watching cheesy Oprah episodes and feeling tearful.

I've just eaten a big bowl of scrambled eggs and quinoa pilaf with pasta sauce left over from last night, liberally seasoned with capers, olives and tobasco sauce. This is one of those meals that was both really revolting and really tasty, as only leftover lunch meals can be.

I'm thinking I might have a big slice of chocolate tofu cheesecake now.

The girl who took over me and Andy's room in our first flat had a real thing about Oprah and liked especially the "in touch with your spirit episodes". She was a rather peculiar German girl with a penchant for a trumpet player called Thomas, who would visit her armed with 2 litre bottles of milk (ostensibly for tea). Wore lots of leather coats and played the piano.

This was the time I learned of the dodginess of music students... so dodgy.

The flat was one of those typically Aro Valley student flats, mouldy with dampness and with steeply sloping floors. The sun warmed the house for about half an hour everyday, so it was permanently freezing and the washing came in off the line damper than when it went out.

However, we did have a friendly fantail and a family of tui lived in the bush up the back of the flat. We had a Hawaiian themed party for our flat warming and I was determined to wear my bikini and sarong, despite the fact it was the middle of winter.

 Ah! The fortitude of the youthful! I shake my grizzled head with affectionate dismay.