Prestwich Peeps

Pinterest has stolen every free moment of my time, and I hate myself for it.  All my friends rallied around me
 ( all two of them) and encouraged me to check out this "fantasy football for women" site.  I held strong.  I knew it wouldn't be good.  If it's addictive, I'm sure to sink into the lowly pit of lost reality. I know my limits.  Until!  I got sick.  I just laid there in bed wallowing in fevered attempts to rest between sweat-filled outbreaks of shakes and sheer exhaustion.  What was a girl to do?  I can only watch so much period pieces made by the BBC when I start talking like I'm from another time altogether.  As in "Twill only be a short while until I can embrace thee again, dearest Brody, and then we shall never part".  The answer?  You guessed it.  I am lost now.  Pray for me.
 Alas, I shall return when the windy wheat is beaten to the ground thrice and again for good measure.
 (I think that means harvest?)