Finding Yourself in a Packet of HobNobs by Kate Schulman

There is something so intoxicating, so sensual, so tantalizing about the biscuit aisle at Tesco. Namely: McVitie’s HobNobs.

With a tinny backing track of an indiscernible Ed Sheeran song, I pass red jars of sauce and paste, bags of pasta, tiny bottles of colorful spices, and sheaves of naan until I arrive at the sacred aisle of crumbly sweets. Bourbon Creams, Jaffa Cakes, Jammie Dodgers, and Wagon Wheels call out to me like sugar-buttered sirens performing their art of seduction in order to steal a priceless family heirloom from me. 

But nothing ever catches my eye quite like a bright blue package of milk chocolate HobNobs.

I’m not quite sure I can describe it, but in layman’s terms: I’d date a HobNob, propose to it, get married to it with a sunny seaside view, buy a house with it, and go through a tawdry divorce with it that will latently affect our milk chocolate children.

What is it about an oat base with chocolate topping that gets to one so? While chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes with frosted flowers get all the press, oat-based confections usually get tossed to the side and labeled as a “health treat” or “the food form of your nan’s favorite autumnal blouse.” I can assure you, though––milk chocolate HobNobs are not a health treat, no matter how many times I tell myself that they are a relative of the Digestive family and therefore possess some sort of antacid property. I end up discreetly slipping a package into my cart as if someone will tell on me if they see this sinful act either way, even though nobody in London has a clue as to who I am and would really need to have a lot of time on their hands to want to call out a mousy-looking girl caught under the fluorescent lighting of a Tesco, vice in hand.

I sit on the bus with my shopping bags, listening to ABBA or another anthem wherein I imagine myself doing a spontaneous, choreographed dance on a city street in leather pants. I think about what I will make for dinner, but even more so about the oat-y, chocolate goodness that I will devour afterwards. I will put only a few on a plate and pair them with a cup of tea, priding myself on the moderation and elegance of it all. This dream comes to an end the moment I put the last one in my mouth, though, when I have the sudden realization that I must have just one more. And then another. And perhaps one more after that. And before I know it, all that remains are the battered and buttered crumbs, a mass carnage completed by a girl with a dream and a good belt.

When I arrived about a month and a half ago I expected I would try to go on a precious journey to “find myself,” preferably by a serene, foggy lake in the countryside or in a random pub where no one knows my name. However, it seems I’ve found myself the way the universe has always intended: clutching a half eating cylinder of HobNobs from Tesco, foaming at the mouth for more.

First Month in London by Cameron Coughlin

...is the most overwhelming place that I’ve ever been, but in the best way possible.

I flew off to London with the goal of understanding it, getting some sort of grasp on what life is like in another country. Now that I’ve been here for thirty days, I’ve realized that maybe I won’t ever quite understand London, and that’s the reason I love it so much. There are beautiful alleys full of pastel-coloured houses and matching flowerpots on every doorstep that I’ll only come across by taking a wrong turn. There are people my age from all over the world that I’ll only meet by crazy coincidence. There’s so much mystery. I have no idea what to expect out of this weekend, or even tomorrow, and I love that. I’ve realized that researching and planning can only take you so far. I’ve discovered some of my favourite spots in London by just being out and seeing a place that catches my eye and deciding to take a chance on it. I never would have discovered my new favourite coffee shop if I hadn’t decided to walk across this bridge just for the fun of it, and I wouldn’t have found my favourite club if I hadn’t made a wrong turn on my way back to the tube.

London is crazy, weird, and wonderful. The energy that floods the streets and seeps into every club, bar, theatre, and restaurant is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Everyone seems to have goals and a purpose, no matter where they’re headed at the moment.

I don’t think I could ever get bored of London. I walked out of the theatre after seeing The Ferryman on a Tuesday night, only to see a man sitting in the middle of Leicester Square singing (very badly) into a huge traffic cone. I’ve watched a tourist pose for pictures while holding her hand out to a pigeon on the street. I’ll also never run out of things to do. The city has pretty much anything you could possibly want. While there are busy, brightly lit streets full of people, there are also massive parks and plenty of fresh air.

One of my favourite (and free) things to do is to choose a destination that’s more of an area, rather than a specific place. Then, when you get there, just start walking. Walk down whatever street you think looks interesting and see where it takes you. Doing this has lead me to many unexpected gems. I’ve wandered through Brick Lane and come across some really beautiful street murals. I’ve walked past Camden Market along the river, and discovered beautiful houseboats covered in flower pots and bright paint.

The popular destinations, of course, are amazing as well. I loved walking through Trafalgar Square and seeing massive chalk drawings on the sidewalks. I love Carnaby Street in Soho, with all the colourful lights hanging overhead and the never-ending sounds of people talking and laughing.  I’ve visited five museums since I’ve arrived, and each one is beautiful in its own way.

I’m already so in awe of this city, and I can’t wait to see what adventures the next three months bring!