Dire news for the Bran report

There are many definitions of the word "awesome". One of them is walking around at night during a gale- especially if it's the night after an even bigger gale, as then the streets are littered with branches and such. It's not easy to feel adventuresome in the LE11 postcode, but heading out over the blasted heath (read: civic playing fields) on a rickety bicycle under wind-blown stars is half-way there.

If only I had taken more care, though. A cow came whiffling through the tulgey wood and bit me on the neck. I beat it off with my wind-up torch and, sense of adventure thoroughly dissolved, went home.

I ate my bran distractedly and soon retired for the night. I could find no rest, though: I tossed and turned, my stomach feeling like a drum and soundinglike the later works of John Lennon.

At the stroke of midnight the terrible truth was made plain: I was now lactose-intolerant.

Editorial note: Actually, I don't know if it's the ridiculous amount of milk I drink that is causing a problem. In the name of Science, I am going to swear it off for a while, then do milk shots all day. Under normal circumstances that's a terrible idea, but this is for SCIENCE.

If I can't live on milk anymore, I can't bran. If I can't bran, I can't blog. That's just how it works. Posts here may reduce.

I might manage something else, I suppose.