The grill-cheese report

You see, I can't have Bran this morning. Not that I'm out if bran, no... bran deposits in our kitchen would keep me happily bloggin' for weeks. However, I also need milk. In our tiny shared kitchen it isn't practical to store more than a litre and a litre doesn't last you long, not when you love bran like I do. This means that I end up going to Gainda on a fairly regular basis.

Gainda is an off-license that also sells milk and biscuits, and it is the closest retail outlet to my tower. It was previously known as Londis, and before that it was the St. Clement's street post office. I have loved it in all it's incarnations.

What they also have, bizairely, is a box of tokens that made the washing machines in the tower work. I broke a note buying them when I first moved in, to discover the machines had all beeen removed. They have now been replaced, but with machines of different token requirements. This means that I have to face a choice:

Keep two featureless discs of metal as souvenirs of my time in Oxford
or
Tell the good folks at Gainda that they've apprently been cut off from the lucrative box-of-discs-under-the-counter trade and ask for my £2.40 back.

I can't do the first without feelin' like a jackass, and can't do the second without feelin' spineless. The issue is going to be forced on me if I want to eat bran again, though. And I don't want to have to go tinkerin' with the blog title. It's a dilemma.

Also: Late entry!


I mean, I do love being dry, upright and handled with care...