What do you eat?

A good friend of mine (hey K!) and I were chatting the other day about stuff I do. I was talking about writing, about having done well in Maht's fiction comp and not being sure what to do because I like writing and I like maths and I like making films ... and she interjected:

Yeah, well you're totally an omnivore.

(you need to add a kinda laid-back-east-west-coast-mixed-up US accent there to get the full effect).

I love that description of me. It feels so accurate - I like the taste of numbers, I like the taste of words, I like the taste of music and pictures and philosopy and sociology and psychology and poetry and the combustion engine. I like the texture of journalism, I like the way true stories crunch between my teeth. I like chewy meaty things and silky soupy things. I like dry and wet. I like sweet and savory - sometimes even together. I like chinese and indian and street food and home made jam.

To make the point to myself, I just spent my lovely amazon gift voucher from Maht for winning the short story comp on a book called "Use Cases: Patterns and Blueprints" which is a high level theoretical study on best practice in software design for use.

In short: I am an omnivore - I eat everything.

What do you eat?

Snack attack ...

Clickety click. I am busy tapping away at my keyboard, hammering out flash code with my back to the rest of the room.

Crunch crunch crunch. The sound of Ruby's teeth working on something brittle slowly percolates into my consciousness.

Clickety click. I try to identify, from the sound, what exactly Ruby is eating ...

Crunch crunch crunch. It doesn't sound like anything she should be chomping on.

Clickety click. Maybe it's a biro? Ug, don't want ink all over the sofa ...

So, I spin around, jump out of my chair, and lean over the sofa to investigate more closely ... and then wish I hadn't.

Of all the things I had imagined it might be, it never occurred to me that it was a fully formed skull.

I'm trying to persuade myself that it was that of a fox, or a badger ... and definitely not anything to do with the fact that the previous occupant kept Jack Russells.