ellebeebee:

I think the fire pit pitas are a step in the right direction, but I’m looking forward to gbbo 2019, when the bakers will have to thresh their own wheat, mill their own flour, run an obstacle course chased by mill stones and animatronics with scythes, single-handedly raise a calf until it can give milk, churn their own butter, and fight Paul to the death.

Honestly, if they can’t do that, how can they really be called gbbo champions?

pasiphile:

Oh my god did y’all fall in a canal?!

Almost!

What actually happened was that right on the day of our arrival Venice had a high tide – and not, like, just any high tide, noooo, it was the actual worst-high-tide-since-1966 full 160cm above Sea level evacuate people from San Marco’s kind of high tide.

Anyway, we arrived near midnight, just missed our boat (next one in 50 minutes), decided to walk instead to our lodgings (because “hey, it can’t be that bad”), crossed the bridge out of Piazzale Roma and went oh fuck.

The first street down from the bridge was already a good twenty-thirty centimeters (i.e. roughly a foot) flooded.

I played tough and thought my sturdy stompy boots could resist the water, which was true for about three steps and then there was a shlomp and suddenly I was going squish with every step. Anyway, at the next bridge I followed koni’s excellent sensible example and just took off my shoes and socks (all this in the dark because it was near midnight – at least it wasn’t raining). 

And so we waded through Venice for like twenty minutes, barefoot, through a foot of water (which luckily wasn’t that cold), up to San Tomá. 

The morning after, first thing we did was buying wellies.