Around nine months ago, during one of those highly satisfying admin days that come around no more than once in twelve months, I filled out the risk assessment for my Year Abroad. This is a standard form that every MML student has to complete, whether they’re off to study art history in Vienna or teach English in rural Colombia. It is mostly a tick-box exercise, rating the risk of financial troubles, pick-pocketing and volcanoes – high, medium, low.
My mum is one of the strongest women I know. No, really. She works out a lot, and there are actually weights in the house that weren’t an unwelcome Christmas present and aren’t gathering dust in a cupboard along with a set of fancy cheese knives and half the contents of the Betterware catalogue.
“I don’t care.” I say these words – or variations thereof – a lot. Gently, when someone asks where we should eat and I don’t have a strong preference. Wearily, when I am tired, and all out of absolutes. With force when someone just won’t leave me alone.
"Go to the box in the middle of the room, take things out, and name them." This would be very well and good – I would have no issue with this task – were the box real. The problem was, however, that it was not real.
It’s 7 o’clock on a Sunday evening. I am staring at a tray of yet-to-be-baked mini cupcakes. The oven is on, ready. All I have to do is pick up the tray, put it in the oven, wait a few minutes and take them out again. That is it.
Eleven days ago, I moved from the UK to Brussels. This is significant for a number of reasons: 1) I have known for a long time that going to university would mean a year abroad for me, and I never thought that I would be doing what I'm doing, and in Belgium.
I started a baking blog! I've been threatening to for ages, but I finally did it. Join me at Bake Believe ☁︎ for all things baking. I've already done my first couple of posts: how to make an actual jigsaw puzzle biscuit (see photo below), and what I've been baking this week (spoiler: lots of chocolate).