Henrik Ibsen was Norwegian. You're so glad I told you that. (By the way, I asked Mr. Clark who is much more reliable than Wikipedia ever was.)
In 20 minutes I am going out to dinner with my work-mates. Shall be fun. Now the rest of my day (/week) has also revolved around food. For some reason, unknown to me, dairy foods just don't sit right with me. "Not to worry!" says I, "Too get rid of it I'll just drink chocolate milk, cheesy pizza, cheesy lasagna, yoghurt (it goes on...)". Stupid I then winds up with the kind of stomach ache you wouldn't wish onto your arch-enemy. Cue the Ibuprofen and singing loudly (which you would recommend anyone to listen to, even your arch-enemy.) I've been sick from poor food choices for most of this week.
Now out to dinner to eat some cheesy cauliflower bake, and a big bowl of banana ice-cream to wash it down. Oh! Woe is me!
It is currently mandarin season. That makes me happyface.
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