I've recently become an addict of cereal again. In particular, Shreddies. Here is the typical process for eating Shreddies:
Bleary-eyed, I get up, get the milk out of the fridge, come back, get a shower (If you're wondering why I do it in this order, it's because it seems that nudity isn't wildly popular as a habit in my flat. I could joke I have learnt that the hard way, but I don't want you to get the wrong impression, so just assume I divined it using careful application of my knowledge of social norms) and then hop out of the shower, feeling fresh. Then I pop on my towelled dressing-gown (I'm a man of ostentatious opulence, I cannot deny my desire for the finer things in life) and sit in it, whilst pouring my Shreddies, then my milk. This is where things start to go wrong. I cannot get the milk level right. Get the right amount for the end to still be crisp, and my first few mouthfuls are like shovelling dry weetabix into my face. Get the right amount of milk for the first few mouthfuls to be nice, and by the end of the bowl, I've ended up with some sort of wheaty pulp, like cold Shreddie-porridge. Once I've decided which of these two outcomes seems least unappealing, I pour and consume. "Delicious", I think. I then pop the bowl to the side, and go about my day (For the purposes of time, and to save you from the tedium of my actual life, feel free to imagine I'm a Soviet spy, and I spend all day trying to gather information on top level government ministers).
Then I arrive back, and look at that bowl and think "Tsk". But if my other bowl is beside it (I'm a two-bowl man. One must make cutbacks in crockery in order to afford towelled dressing-gowns) then I usually go "Oh. Bollocks", because this means I have to wash up. And something that always escapes me after I eat a bowl of Shreddies is that, as we all know, Shreddies + Milk + Time = Superglue, in fact, it is the strongest glue known to man, and is used in the construction of major structures instead of relatively weak alternatives, like rivets or welding. I swear, I'm relatively certain the Shreddie remains have chemically fused themselves to the bowl on some sort of atomic level. I might as well try to clean the carbon out of steel with soapy warm water. I have to dig out my jack-hammer to get these tiny pieces off. 40 minutes later, I've finally cleaned my bowls with a combination of power-washers and a small army of trained bowl cleaners.
Then I go to bed and look forward to the whole cycle the next. Shreddies: The bane of my life.