How is it, right, that, even though both of the inhabitants of this flat are actually earning a decent wage, all we have to eat or drink are sour milk, furry cereal and something that has spent three days congealing in the cooker?
Lily, James, Peter, if you're all still coming round tonight, can you bring your own food? And drink? And possibly cutlery and plates?
(Sirius used ours for "experimentation". When I pressed him further, he said that it was "for work purposes" and that it was "classified information" and, finally, that if he told me, he'd have to kill me. I think he's just trying to deflect attention from the fact that he's incredibly clumsy.)
Current Mood: curious