Burning the Midnight (Olive) Oil

Well I've been ill, again. Seven years of university and for six of those I've caught freshers flu. The only time I didn't get it.... yeah, you've guessed it - when I was a fresher. So between the sniffling, the sleeplessness, the unending agony of having to write a personal statement (still not finished) and the fact that there are still 33 weeks in which I have to dwell here, I'm less than chipper. On the plus side I am half way through a fine bag of olives that the splendiferous Deema bought for me in the ever-so exotic "euro"market that's been visiting.

I'm suspicious of "euro"markets, ever since a visit to Darlington, where a large quantity of cheese was ill advisedly purchased. As with all dodgy fromagerie it had a particular olfactory pungency - in this case you could even smell through the relative safety of a fridge, though at the the time we didn't realise where this acrid stench of decay was coming from. Or, I may add, what its ungodly origins may be - had the dead risen from their graves outside? Was there an unwashed sock protest march underway? I thought for certain that one of the others had contracted a strange and rare illness and they were just faking being well to make sure they got their wine glass topped up on a regular basis. Sadly the next day the cheeses (then uneaten) came for a long hot drive back down to Wales. No matter how fast we sped the smell still followed - an ominous waft from the boot.

For the most part the Aber market was the much same as Darlo; it hawked cheese, leather belts and handbags, fruit cider, and disturbing sausages, but tucked away amidst all the meat offcuts and strange knickknacks, was a very lovely olive stall. The vendor fitted into the stereotype of the typical sort of olive hawker that you see in such grandly named but oft disappointing markets; slightly unwashed, limited patience, a tendency to look hard done by and shirty customer manners - it's the aplomb with which they sigh when you ask for something which gets me. All the same he delivered the green and lemon stuffed goods. All in all it's a pity though; these great men and women should relish the role that they play; being proud of their gift of selling a fine and ancient foodstuff. Sometimes the simple things in life can bring such joy. Joy limited to a very short period admittedly, and financial liquidity, but it all counts all the same.

I've finished my bag now.

I still can't sleep. I may require toast.