I hope it doesn’t come up, I really really hope that it doesn’t. I’ve practised for everything else, every other question I can answer with ease. I can write essays and essays on everything else, but I pray it doesn’t come up.
It’s not that I’ve completely ignored it in my preparation, it’s just that I don’t have the answer. And whenever I find it, I forget it. It refuses to stay in my mind. Everything else I remember, but this one question I just can’t master.
It’s dreadful, because I know it will come up. I know it’s going to be the first question and I don’t know what I’m going to do when its asked. What am I going to say? Nothing I think of sounds right, it all sounds like bullshit.
I need a miracle. I need supernatural intervention. Anything! The whole earth opening up and swallowing me whole!
Oh no! Just like I thought, It’s the first question.
In school we are taught Maths and numbers because we’re told that they are necessary to navigate through life. I always think about the last time simultaneous equations or Pythagoras’s theorem was used in my life outside school; the answer is never. However, the skills that I learnt from Maths, such as problem solving, I use every day.
Maths and numbers are in our everyday, just not in the ways I expected them to be. From the moment I wake up, I’m using maths by checking the time and grumbling at having to get up so early. To the time I spend eating breakfast, constantly watching the clock to see if I’m running late. To calculating my walk to the station and then to work. For me, I’m always on a budget so every time I spend money, I have to do some mental maths and calculate how that affects the whole budget. Even buying a cup of tea at work, I have to make sure I’m not ruining my budget from just one cup.
Numbers are such a crucial part of our day to day lives, not just for telling the time and budgeting, but it’s in everything, the architecture of a building, to the price of a dress, to the design of your iPhone. Maths is used in all of these and so much more. So let’s stop grumbling at having to learn Maths and embrace it and all the good its bought into our lives.
So today I’m going to write about my favourite recipe that I make with sugar, my banana bread.
I love banana bread. It is by far my favourite dessert because it easy and simple. It also has bananas so I can brag that its technically healthy.
For my banana bread recipe, I use coconut oil, eggs, brown sugar, flour, vanilla bean paste, nutmeg, baking powder, and overripe bananas. When it comes to food, I don’t usually measure my ingredients, I just play it by ear. If you want to make this recipe and need measurements, just google banana bread recipe and replace butter with coconut oil and brown sugar instead of white sugar.
The first thing I do is mash up all my bananas with a fork, until it has as few lumps as possible. I then add some vanilla bean paste, 2 eggs and coconut oil and whisk it all together.
In a separate bowl, I mix all the dry ingredients, the flour, baking powder, nutmeg (just a teaspoon), and slowly add it to the wet ingredients until the consistency is just right.
Next, I place it in the oven for 30-45 minutes depending on how much I’m making. I usually put a wooden skewer through it after 30 mins to see if its ready, and if the skewer comes up wet, it’s not ready. You could do this with a knife as well, but it might leave a big hole in the middle of your banana bread. So here you go; my simple, healthy banana bread.
Like most December winter mornings in London, the weather was horrendous. Waking up at 6am for work was proving to be a more difficult task than was anticipated. My body could not gather the strength to leave the bed and the thought of another cold shower made it all even less appealing. With little to no choice, I forced myself to leave the bed, washed my face and began to get ready for work. I rummaged through my old and broken wardrobe trying to find a clean shirt, when my hand brushed passed one of the rats that I shared my occupancy with.
“This is going to be my last year in London”, I told myself, “1953, things are going to change.”
I opened my front door to a concoction of smoke, fog and haze, whilst the dry cold air penetrated my thin grey coat. I could barely see the road ahead, as I tried to make my way to the bus stop, I bumped into a lamppost and telephone box, before finally reaching my destination. I knew it was going to be a bad day, I could feel it in my bones. I waited 20 minutes for the bus to finally arrived, as I could barely read the numbers before getting on. The driver drove slowly as visibility was atrocious. Ahead we saw the tips of Westminster Bridge, Parliament and Big Ben, outlined in the haze. All around I could hear horns being blasted as drivers and cyclist were informing others of their presence. This was, by far, the worse fog I’ve ever witnessed in my 2 years in London. I knew it was a sign, to finally leave London. In the distance I heard the sound of crashing vehicles behind the bus. This was going to be a long day.