I think it takes at least 3 repeats for something to become tradition. And the Christmas dinner for all our uni friends is now firmly cemented as such. And everytime a new mini tradition is added - secret santa presents, certain drinking games, brownies for pudding, etc.
We never manage to get everyone every year, but there is always a good number and every year there will be someone new (new boyfriends or girlfriend, new housemates, or colleagues) but it never matters - the philosophy has always been the more the merrier.
This year, in true festive spirit the snow came down thick and fast the morning of the dinner. It looked wonderful. But it did make the walk to ASDA a little more problematic. Though not as bad as the day before. When I fell over. Carrying 8 (yes EIGHT) carrier bags of food for the dinner (I had decided to do the booze and mixers on the day, so there were no bottles, however I was carrying all the potatoes, carrots, parsnips, etc - basically everything bulky and heavy) I had carefully balanced myself with four bags of equal weight in each hand. Clearly the planning was not so great as I really did fall totally flat on my back. Carrots went rolling off, broccoli florets were bouncing across the frozen tarmac. And a line of traffic had to stop while I picked myself up. In fact three people FROM SEPARATE CARS (two were the actual drivers) had to get out of their vehicles to pick me and the shopping up. One even got some spare bags for life out of his boot. And to top it all off I still had over half the walk home, and am now sporting a rather impressive bruise on my bum. Great.
The walk on Saturday was slightly less eventful (I only fell down once, and the Wiganer was on hand to pick me up, also a hedge was blocking the view from the road so the humiliation was lessened). And luckily the Boyfriend picked us up in his brand new car (RIP the micra...).
But we were running really late - it was 3pm and the turkey was not even in the oven, and we were apparently eating at 6.30. No chance I hear you snort, but actually we were not far off that. Because we have an ingenious, foolproof, and most importantly, a lazy way of cooking the turkey.
Ingredients:
Turkey
4 Carrots
2 sticks of celery
2 Leeks
3 Onions
4 cloves of garlic
Seasoning
White wine (about half a bottle)
1 1/2 pints of chicken stock
Stuffing
First stuff and season your bird. Then roughly chop all the veg into fairly large chunks. Place in a large disposable aluminium roasting tray and put the turkey on top. Place on the hob and pour in the liquids. Bring to the boil on top of the hob and then cover with two layers of bacofoil and pop in a pre-heated oven (200 degrees) for 2 hours.
That is it. No basting, no need to check it. After two hours take it out, have a look and pierce it with a knife - juices run clear and no one should die. If there don't pop it back in for 20 minutes.
Once it is cooked take it out. Mix together some honey, a little butter/marg and some lemon juice. Using a pastry brush paint it all over the top of the turkey and then sprinkle with thyme. Into a hot oven for 20mins until crispy and brown. Take out and rest for 20mins until ready to carve (or be hacked apart by inexperienced Boyfriend).
We did the usual veggies and trimmings (homemade sausage meat stuffing was my piece de resistance). And rounded it all off with brownies and choc sauce, mince pies and creme fraiche, crackers and secret santa presents. And then we played games and danced and drank and eventually went out (but would not get into the cabs until some people had started a snowball fight).
We went to a club and danced. And got in at 3am to turkey and stuffing sandwiches and leftover brownies. Another tradition. Yum.
Monday, 20 December 2010
NYC....
....is my new favourite place in the world (apart perhaps from my sofa with the Boyfriend and Elf on TV).
We were there for 5 days. In that time we did as much as is humanly possible.
It was -8 and really cold. Bone chillingly cold. But the good thing about New York is that there are coffee shops and cafes on every corner, between every street, in fact every other place sells some sort of caffinated beverage.
We went to the Top of the Rock (amazing, much smaller queue than the Empire State Building and you can look at the Empire State Building - you can't see it if you climb it!) and Grand Central Station, New York Library and Times Square.
We walked across Brooklyn Bridge and got the Staten Island ferry. We drank in a speak easy and ate in a diner. The Boyfriend drank buckets of beer and ate greasy chicken wings. I went to the Magnolia Bakery and re-lived Carrie's Sex and the City cupcake eating. We went shopping and saw Elf The Musical on Broadway.
We stayed with a friend, who is still a true Croydoner, but is also slowly becoming a New Yorker. He took us to some hidden gems (Whiskey Town - free shot of whiskey with every drink and truly delicious whiskey sours, PDF - old speakeasy hidden behind the wall of a rather scrubby looking hot dog stand, ESS Bagel - best bagel place in New York and when we went inside were accosted by a local asking us how we knew about the place and that we were lucky as it really was the best bagel place in the city).
We got the ferry to Ellis and Liberty Island (FREEZING) and saw the Statue of Liberty up close. And watched a very informative film about the history of New York immigrants and Ellis Island. We also went to the History of New York Museum (bit rubbish apart from the BRILLIANT film about the history of the city, starting with the Native American tribes that lived there, then the Dutch settlers, right through to the modern day).
We wandered through Chinatown and the Boyfriend nearly went to the Chinese McDonalds. We went for dinner in Korea Way (apparently containing the highest number of Koreans outside Korea). Dinner was a BBQ sunk into our table and platter after platter of raw, marinated meat and fish were bought over for us to cook ourselves. It was delicious and also such a novelty!
We wandered through Central Park, went ice-skating, but avoided the extortionately over-priced horse and carriage ride. We went to Bloomingdales (Bloomys) and had frozen yogurt and tried on stupidly expensive outfits. We visited wall street and saw the big bronze bull from the film "Hitch".
While the boys indulged in the constant sport shown on every TV in every bar I wandered the streets of Soho and Greenwich Village, trying on vintage one-offs and restraining myself from buying 101 trinkets. In fact it was the wandering of the city that were perhaps my favourite part of the trip. It is just the best city for that - not too big, easy to navigate thanks to the ingenious grid system and just FULL of amazing things at every step.
We were there for 5 days. In that time we did as much as is humanly possible.
It was -8 and really cold. Bone chillingly cold. But the good thing about New York is that there are coffee shops and cafes on every corner, between every street, in fact every other place sells some sort of caffinated beverage.
We went to the Top of the Rock (amazing, much smaller queue than the Empire State Building and you can look at the Empire State Building - you can't see it if you climb it!) and Grand Central Station, New York Library and Times Square.
We walked across Brooklyn Bridge and got the Staten Island ferry. We drank in a speak easy and ate in a diner. The Boyfriend drank buckets of beer and ate greasy chicken wings. I went to the Magnolia Bakery and re-lived Carrie's Sex and the City cupcake eating. We went shopping and saw Elf The Musical on Broadway.
We stayed with a friend, who is still a true Croydoner, but is also slowly becoming a New Yorker. He took us to some hidden gems (Whiskey Town - free shot of whiskey with every drink and truly delicious whiskey sours, PDF - old speakeasy hidden behind the wall of a rather scrubby looking hot dog stand, ESS Bagel - best bagel place in New York and when we went inside were accosted by a local asking us how we knew about the place and that we were lucky as it really was the best bagel place in the city).
We got the ferry to Ellis and Liberty Island (FREEZING) and saw the Statue of Liberty up close. And watched a very informative film about the history of New York immigrants and Ellis Island. We also went to the History of New York Museum (bit rubbish apart from the BRILLIANT film about the history of the city, starting with the Native American tribes that lived there, then the Dutch settlers, right through to the modern day).
We wandered through Chinatown and the Boyfriend nearly went to the Chinese McDonalds. We went for dinner in Korea Way (apparently containing the highest number of Koreans outside Korea). Dinner was a BBQ sunk into our table and platter after platter of raw, marinated meat and fish were bought over for us to cook ourselves. It was delicious and also such a novelty!
We wandered through Central Park, went ice-skating, but avoided the extortionately over-priced horse and carriage ride. We went to Bloomingdales (Bloomys) and had frozen yogurt and tried on stupidly expensive outfits. We visited wall street and saw the big bronze bull from the film "Hitch".
While the boys indulged in the constant sport shown on every TV in every bar I wandered the streets of Soho and Greenwich Village, trying on vintage one-offs and restraining myself from buying 101 trinkets. In fact it was the wandering of the city that were perhaps my favourite part of the trip. It is just the best city for that - not too big, easy to navigate thanks to the ingenious grid system and just FULL of amazing things at every step.
Friday, 10 December 2010
The tree!
The Boyfriend and I have put up our enormous tree. It is a 7 footer (not as big as Louise's at 8foot but the Micra was not going to cope with another inch, let alone foot). It comes with a state of the art stand (the Boyfriend was possibly more excited by this than the actual tree, demonstrating its merits to me a total of 4 times) and the Boyfriend got a LOT of lights.
The tree decorating got off to a wonderful start. We twined the lights round, taking the time to place them the correct distance from the centre of the tree, but not too close to the edge, evenly spaced as they ascended the tree, and finally twirling the last few around the top. We switched them on and.... nothing. We tried everything (including changing a fuse, and checking every bulb) until 30minutes later when I suggested that perhaps they were broken, and needed to be returned.
So back to Homebase, who were very obliging and even gave us a further £5 off (the already half price lights - bargain!). And set two worked perfectly - twinkly and multi-coloured and magical looking.
On went the decorations, and tinsel, then off came the tinsel as I disagree with it on the tree and despite the Boyfriend's attempt to sneak it on, it is not inconspicuous enough to be overlooked. It went over the picture frames and the window. Much better.
It looks amazing. Though it is minus an angel at the top. This is partially due to the argument of angel (me) versus star (the Boyfriend). And the result has been the purchase of neither. And also, as we are off to New York tomorrow, I'm harbouring a secret hope of getting a statue of Liberty wearing a Christmas hat to pop on the top.
The tree decorating got off to a wonderful start. We twined the lights round, taking the time to place them the correct distance from the centre of the tree, but not too close to the edge, evenly spaced as they ascended the tree, and finally twirling the last few around the top. We switched them on and.... nothing. We tried everything (including changing a fuse, and checking every bulb) until 30minutes later when I suggested that perhaps they were broken, and needed to be returned.
So back to Homebase, who were very obliging and even gave us a further £5 off (the already half price lights - bargain!). And set two worked perfectly - twinkly and multi-coloured and magical looking.
On went the decorations, and tinsel, then off came the tinsel as I disagree with it on the tree and despite the Boyfriend's attempt to sneak it on, it is not inconspicuous enough to be overlooked. It went over the picture frames and the window. Much better.
It looks amazing. Though it is minus an angel at the top. This is partially due to the argument of angel (me) versus star (the Boyfriend). And the result has been the purchase of neither. And also, as we are off to New York tomorrow, I'm harbouring a secret hope of getting a statue of Liberty wearing a Christmas hat to pop on the top.
Monday, 6 December 2010
Christmas shopping
I'm doing rather well on the Christmas shopping front so far this year. And not just because I have completed a fair amount, but also because (given my dire financial situation - reconciling lifestyle and salary has elluded me for the last few months) I have managed to not pay full price for a single present.
It could just be me noticing for the first time, but I really don't think it is. Every high street shop seems to be offering some sort of discount. Our Christmas decorations, courtesy of Debenhams were 3 for 2 AND 10%. All department stores seem to be having weekends of 20% off, or matching the cheapest price elsewhere. Even smaller shops have discounts if you can be bothered to do a bit of hunting, or do day specific shopping (much easier if you finish work in central London by 2pm I know, but hey, I need some perks for the rubbish hours and low pay)
Online discount codes and free delivery has also helped me out, as has internet checking for the cheapest deals. All in all I'm feeling a little smug. And ready to totally NOT be frugal on my upcoming trip to New York City.
It could just be me noticing for the first time, but I really don't think it is. Every high street shop seems to be offering some sort of discount. Our Christmas decorations, courtesy of Debenhams were 3 for 2 AND 10%. All department stores seem to be having weekends of 20% off, or matching the cheapest price elsewhere. Even smaller shops have discounts if you can be bothered to do a bit of hunting, or do day specific shopping (much easier if you finish work in central London by 2pm I know, but hey, I need some perks for the rubbish hours and low pay)
Online discount codes and free delivery has also helped me out, as has internet checking for the cheapest deals. All in all I'm feeling a little smug. And ready to totally NOT be frugal on my upcoming trip to New York City.
Festive baking
I have found a cheap, quick, low fat and practically fool proof way to make mince pies.
All you need is a pack of ready made filo pastry sheets, a jar of mincemeat and some milk.
Get a sheet of filo pastry and fold it in half. Cut it into 4 and place a teaspoon of mincemeat at one end. Flatten it out and then roll up the pastry like a cracker. Pinch the ends and repeat until all the pastry and mincemeat are used up (should you run out of mincemeat substitute with jam - especially if the Boyfriend has recently purchased some fancy stuff from Borough Market).
Place on a baking tray and brush with milk. Bake for 8-10mins until golden brown.
Leave to cool as molten mincemeat is hotter than the sun.
All you need is a pack of ready made filo pastry sheets, a jar of mincemeat and some milk.
Get a sheet of filo pastry and fold it in half. Cut it into 4 and place a teaspoon of mincemeat at one end. Flatten it out and then roll up the pastry like a cracker. Pinch the ends and repeat until all the pastry and mincemeat are used up (should you run out of mincemeat substitute with jam - especially if the Boyfriend has recently purchased some fancy stuff from Borough Market).
Place on a baking tray and brush with milk. Bake for 8-10mins until golden brown.
Leave to cool as molten mincemeat is hotter than the sun.
Perfect weekend
I have been ill for the last three weekends. It has been rubbish. And this weekend was the first one I felt like a normal person.
Friday - had friends round for a drink and a catch up.
Saturday we bundled up nice and warm and went to Borough Market. It was fun and festive, and we had a chippy lunch (warm chips, cold hands, equals perfect match). We returned home with beer and jam (both chosen by the Boyfriend - how quaint!).
Went to coffee house The Black Lab in Clapham to see my sister. We drank tea and gossiped, and laughed and laughed and laughed. Friends came to meet us, and they laughed (mainly at us I think) and then it was time to go home and even though it was dark it wasn't late and the walk back was chilly but not freezing thanks to a bellyful of warm tea.
Train to Wandsworth town, and appreciation of a beautiful Christmas tree accompanied with a gin and tonic. Dinner was Thai and then drinks at The Ship (big bizarre and beautiful pub right on the edge of the river). And then things got hazy and there were cabs and shots and dancing, unexpected friends and a broken tooth (not mine). And then home and bed and a long long sleep.
Sunday was lazy. There was tea and scones (a McDonalds for the Boyfriend) and a walk and some baking, christmas cards, fajitas and then X Factor.
Everything just came together to make the weekend exactly what I needed
Friday - had friends round for a drink and a catch up.
Saturday we bundled up nice and warm and went to Borough Market. It was fun and festive, and we had a chippy lunch (warm chips, cold hands, equals perfect match). We returned home with beer and jam (both chosen by the Boyfriend - how quaint!).
Went to coffee house The Black Lab in Clapham to see my sister. We drank tea and gossiped, and laughed and laughed and laughed. Friends came to meet us, and they laughed (mainly at us I think) and then it was time to go home and even though it was dark it wasn't late and the walk back was chilly but not freezing thanks to a bellyful of warm tea.
Train to Wandsworth town, and appreciation of a beautiful Christmas tree accompanied with a gin and tonic. Dinner was Thai and then drinks at The Ship (big bizarre and beautiful pub right on the edge of the river). And then things got hazy and there were cabs and shots and dancing, unexpected friends and a broken tooth (not mine). And then home and bed and a long long sleep.
Sunday was lazy. There was tea and scones (a McDonalds for the Boyfriend) and a walk and some baking, christmas cards, fajitas and then X Factor.
Everything just came together to make the weekend exactly what I needed
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Tree Envy....
The Boyfriend and I have come to a disagreement regarding the Christmas tree. He wants to get it now, I want to wait until we return from New York (is there much point having a tree when we can't see it? Especially when we risk returning home to a tree with no needles?). He however, is adament that it is vital to get the tree as soon as December commences.
This weekend we went round to our friends' house. They too have had an argument regarding a tree. Needless to say it was won by the female, and there is now an 8 foot (yes EIGHT!!) tree wedged in their living room. The furniture has had to be moved, and you can only see half the TV but this tree is actually one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
It is red and cream and twinkly. There are little wooden decorations, big glass baubles, and glossy silk stockings. There is even the odd poshy chocolate. My moral stance on Christmas trees has totally vanished. The minute the Micra is rescued from snowy Croydon we are going straight to Homebase, home of the festive tree.
This weekend we went round to our friends' house. They too have had an argument regarding a tree. Needless to say it was won by the female, and there is now an 8 foot (yes EIGHT!!) tree wedged in their living room. The furniture has had to be moved, and you can only see half the TV but this tree is actually one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
It is red and cream and twinkly. There are little wooden decorations, big glass baubles, and glossy silk stockings. There is even the odd poshy chocolate. My moral stance on Christmas trees has totally vanished. The minute the Micra is rescued from snowy Croydon we are going straight to Homebase, home of the festive tree.
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
Festive preparations....
Obviously, any of you that actually know me either in person or via this blog will be aware of my potentially unhealthy obsession with all things festive.
Being ill has meant that my unwillingly forced pre-crimbo detox has only heightened this excitement to new levels. I have two advent calendars. One choccie courtesy of the Boyfriend who pitied my father's choice of a picture only calendar (which I secretly LOVE - a remnant of our mother's incredibly strict views on confectionary). The Boyfriend and I have bought a lovely selection of Christmas decorations (thanks to his sister's generous housewarming vouchers) and even looked at Christmas trees this week.
I'm currently putting the finishing touches to the preparations for the annual Christmas dinner with us and our friends (secret santa organisation takes time!) and have just invited some friends round to ours for an evening of festive songs, mince pies, mulled wine and (a newly discovered favourite last year) Winter Pimms (normal Pimms but with wintery clove flavours and a lot of brandy served warm with apple juice - AMAZING).
I shall be making my own mince pies, and found a lovely Delia recipe using filo pastry and making the mince pies into mince crackers! For me this sounds very exciting and shall be debuted next week. I shall let you know the results.
I am also going to attempt my own Yule Log (basically a swiss roll surely?) and although I have missed stir up Sunday, I may even attempt a Christmas cake.....
Oh the possibilities are endless!
Being ill has meant that my unwillingly forced pre-crimbo detox has only heightened this excitement to new levels. I have two advent calendars. One choccie courtesy of the Boyfriend who pitied my father's choice of a picture only calendar (which I secretly LOVE - a remnant of our mother's incredibly strict views on confectionary). The Boyfriend and I have bought a lovely selection of Christmas decorations (thanks to his sister's generous housewarming vouchers) and even looked at Christmas trees this week.
I'm currently putting the finishing touches to the preparations for the annual Christmas dinner with us and our friends (secret santa organisation takes time!) and have just invited some friends round to ours for an evening of festive songs, mince pies, mulled wine and (a newly discovered favourite last year) Winter Pimms (normal Pimms but with wintery clove flavours and a lot of brandy served warm with apple juice - AMAZING).
I shall be making my own mince pies, and found a lovely Delia recipe using filo pastry and making the mince pies into mince crackers! For me this sounds very exciting and shall be debuted next week. I shall let you know the results.
I am also going to attempt my own Yule Log (basically a swiss roll surely?) and although I have missed stir up Sunday, I may even attempt a Christmas cake.....
Oh the possibilities are endless!
Cake Boutique
Sundays should be exactly as mine was this weekend. The Boyfriend and I got up (hangover free! as we had gone straight to bed after dinner - me recovering and him jetlagged) and got all wrapped up in coats and jumpers and hats and scarves, and even dug out some (rather grotty looking) gloves and then we went out.
We wandered down to Battersea Park and went for a big walk round the whole thing. It is a gorgeous park - big, wide, tree-lined avenues, bits of landscaped garden, a boating lake, another lake, a sub-tropical garden, outdoor gym and even a zoo (didn't go in as it was closed). There were also of lovely dogs (one of which we tried to adopt as it did seem to prefer us to its acutal owner).
The park is the perfect size to walk around in the cold - by the time we were starting to get seriously chilled we had done a full circuit and headed back homewards (via a newsagent - the Boyfriend got a paper and also some pic and mix).
We bypassed the flat and carried on up to Lavender Hill and went into the Cake Boutique.
I've walked past numerous times, and even popped in but never actually had anything. It is a lovely little cafe that sells cakes, both homemade and ready to eat, or you can commission them to make personalised baked goods from cupcakes to muffins to gateaus and birthday masterpieces. They also, a little oddly though lovely nonetheless, have a beautiful selection of rather grand mirrors for sale.
The Boyfriend and I spent a good 10minutes surveying the gorgeous range of homebaked cakes. I opted for the carrot cake (moist, sweet and very big slice - cream cheese frosting was a little cheesy and at first it put me off, but acutally was quite nice as the cake was really sweet) although deliberated for ages between that and a lovely looking apple crumble slice. The Boyfriend went for a full english, but swapped the egg and mushrooms for extra bacon and sausage (which they took very well - often places seem a little peeved at all the swapping that inevitably happens when people personalise their great english fry up). He also had a coconut macaroon on the side (his sweet tooth never ceases to amaze me - nor his ability to consume so much and yet never gain weight).
My earl grey came in a teapot with a tea strainer as the tea was real loose leaves - for me a real treat and something so hard to find! The English Breakfast was really good - proper sausages, good quality bacon and some proper farmhouse toast, served with butter NOT marge.
The prices were reasonable for somewhere so nice, and so close to the catastrophically expensive (and rather pretentious) Northcote Road. The service was quick, but not too quick to make you suspect microwaves instead of proper cooking, and the atmosphere was calm but not dull. All in all if you are in the Clapham vicinity check out this South London gem.
We wandered down to Battersea Park and went for a big walk round the whole thing. It is a gorgeous park - big, wide, tree-lined avenues, bits of landscaped garden, a boating lake, another lake, a sub-tropical garden, outdoor gym and even a zoo (didn't go in as it was closed). There were also of lovely dogs (one of which we tried to adopt as it did seem to prefer us to its acutal owner).
The park is the perfect size to walk around in the cold - by the time we were starting to get seriously chilled we had done a full circuit and headed back homewards (via a newsagent - the Boyfriend got a paper and also some pic and mix).
We bypassed the flat and carried on up to Lavender Hill and went into the Cake Boutique.
I've walked past numerous times, and even popped in but never actually had anything. It is a lovely little cafe that sells cakes, both homemade and ready to eat, or you can commission them to make personalised baked goods from cupcakes to muffins to gateaus and birthday masterpieces. They also, a little oddly though lovely nonetheless, have a beautiful selection of rather grand mirrors for sale.
The Boyfriend and I spent a good 10minutes surveying the gorgeous range of homebaked cakes. I opted for the carrot cake (moist, sweet and very big slice - cream cheese frosting was a little cheesy and at first it put me off, but acutally was quite nice as the cake was really sweet) although deliberated for ages between that and a lovely looking apple crumble slice. The Boyfriend went for a full english, but swapped the egg and mushrooms for extra bacon and sausage (which they took very well - often places seem a little peeved at all the swapping that inevitably happens when people personalise their great english fry up). He also had a coconut macaroon on the side (his sweet tooth never ceases to amaze me - nor his ability to consume so much and yet never gain weight).
My earl grey came in a teapot with a tea strainer as the tea was real loose leaves - for me a real treat and something so hard to find! The English Breakfast was really good - proper sausages, good quality bacon and some proper farmhouse toast, served with butter NOT marge.
The prices were reasonable for somewhere so nice, and so close to the catastrophically expensive (and rather pretentious) Northcote Road. The service was quick, but not too quick to make you suspect microwaves instead of proper cooking, and the atmosphere was calm but not dull. All in all if you are in the Clapham vicinity check out this South London gem.
Monday, 29 November 2010
Tom Illic
Tom Illic is a restaurant literally around the corner from the flat. It is at the end of our road, and since we have lived in the flat for a month now we felt that it was definitely time to try it.
It seems to have won every award going, from Square Meal to Toptable, to a Michelin recommendation. It was a surprise dinner from the Boyfriend as part of my weekend of spoiling. We got there at 8pm on Saturday and it was packed. With a lively but not obnoxious crowd of all ages - there were elderly couples, big families celebrating birthdays, several tables of young couples and even a family of four with two kids under 10.
The atmosphere was fun. The service was swift, polite but unobtrusive. The menu looked a little pricey, but there was also a very reasonable set menu that looked just as good.
I started with chicken livers pan fried with caramalised red onion and artichoke. It was delicious. Flavoursome without being overpowering and the chicken livers were tender and rich and perfectly paired with caramalised red onion. The bread which came to the table meant that I could spread some of the chicken as a pate - and it went wonderfully with the nutty walnut brown bread.
We both had the sea bass with crushed new potatoes and broccoli. On the face of it this sounded a little dull (fish, mash and greens). But it was far from that in reality. Covered in a well seasoned and mildly spicy dressing the whole dish worked brilliantly. The broccoli was firm and not over cooked, the sea bass steamed to perfection, and the crushed new potatoes were well seasoned and a little crispy on the outside - just perfect.
The Boyfriend had pudding - pineapple tarte tatin with coconut ice cream. He loved it, though it was a little tangy for me (I don't really like pineapple so it was never going to a winner). Being nosy however, I had a good gander at the puddings around and would definitely have gone for the assiette of derserts - a mini portion of each.
Being full of antibiotics meant that alcohol was off the agenda, but the wine list was a good'un. I would have pushed either for a bottle of the Chablis, or, as we were celebrating a nice bottle of prosecco.
It seems to have won every award going, from Square Meal to Toptable, to a Michelin recommendation. It was a surprise dinner from the Boyfriend as part of my weekend of spoiling. We got there at 8pm on Saturday and it was packed. With a lively but not obnoxious crowd of all ages - there were elderly couples, big families celebrating birthdays, several tables of young couples and even a family of four with two kids under 10.
The atmosphere was fun. The service was swift, polite but unobtrusive. The menu looked a little pricey, but there was also a very reasonable set menu that looked just as good.
I started with chicken livers pan fried with caramalised red onion and artichoke. It was delicious. Flavoursome without being overpowering and the chicken livers were tender and rich and perfectly paired with caramalised red onion. The bread which came to the table meant that I could spread some of the chicken as a pate - and it went wonderfully with the nutty walnut brown bread.
We both had the sea bass with crushed new potatoes and broccoli. On the face of it this sounded a little dull (fish, mash and greens). But it was far from that in reality. Covered in a well seasoned and mildly spicy dressing the whole dish worked brilliantly. The broccoli was firm and not over cooked, the sea bass steamed to perfection, and the crushed new potatoes were well seasoned and a little crispy on the outside - just perfect.
The Boyfriend had pudding - pineapple tarte tatin with coconut ice cream. He loved it, though it was a little tangy for me (I don't really like pineapple so it was never going to a winner). Being nosy however, I had a good gander at the puddings around and would definitely have gone for the assiette of derserts - a mini portion of each.
Being full of antibiotics meant that alcohol was off the agenda, but the wine list was a good'un. I would have pushed either for a bottle of the Chablis, or, as we were celebrating a nice bottle of prosecco.
Being spoilt
One of the other upsides to being ill is being spoilt. For the first few days I was not really with it (mixture of a lot of painkillers and a general aneasthetic meant that poor sister had a lot of the same conversations, mainly focussing on Christmas. She was extremely good humoured and didn't seem to mind answering the same question umpteen times).
But after the first few days, when my brain started to function a bit more normally I fully managed to enjoy the spoiling.
I missed seeing Harry Potter due to surgery. And so was taken to the poshy cinema near Queen's Park with the uber comfy premier seats to watch it one afternoon.
My dearest Deeks popped over to see me and brought me some lovely jammies (M&S - must be sensible when you're ill) which were exactly what was needed (big tum meant expandable waistbands were a must).
My aunty brought me cake and yummy edible treats.
Pearse bought me good books and flowers and a lovely card.
Lovely step-mum Jennie took me to Bicester shopping village, and while shopping was slow, we did have lots of yummy coffee/cake/soup stops.
And the Boyfriend planned a low key but fun packed weekend of activities all designed with me at the centre. We went to Battersea dogs and cats home to look at potential kittens. And pottered round a little farmer's market. And got me a treat in Topshop. And watched X Factor. And went out for a lovely dinner. And had a yummy Sunday brunch with papers. Almost worth him being away for the illness for the pure pleasure and cosiness of the past weekend. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
But after the first few days, when my brain started to function a bit more normally I fully managed to enjoy the spoiling.
I missed seeing Harry Potter due to surgery. And so was taken to the poshy cinema near Queen's Park with the uber comfy premier seats to watch it one afternoon.
My dearest Deeks popped over to see me and brought me some lovely jammies (M&S - must be sensible when you're ill) which were exactly what was needed (big tum meant expandable waistbands were a must).
My aunty brought me cake and yummy edible treats.
Pearse bought me good books and flowers and a lovely card.
Lovely step-mum Jennie took me to Bicester shopping village, and while shopping was slow, we did have lots of yummy coffee/cake/soup stops.
And the Boyfriend planned a low key but fun packed weekend of activities all designed with me at the centre. We went to Battersea dogs and cats home to look at potential kittens. And pottered round a little farmer's market. And got me a treat in Topshop. And watched X Factor. And went out for a lovely dinner. And had a yummy Sunday brunch with papers. Almost worth him being away for the illness for the pure pleasure and cosiness of the past weekend. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
Sunday, 28 November 2010
A small pause
I have been ill. And not the sniffly, feeling chilly, want to snuggle up in duvet and a bit sorry for myself ill, but going into hospital ill. And on top of it all the Boyfriend was in Mozambique until two days ago. Poor him - he nearly flew home and had a thoroughly miserable and stressful business trip. Poor me - he wasn't there.
I've never really been ill before, and the whole experience has been a bit alien.
Poor Pearse (extremely good red headed friend) had popped round for a glass of wine and found me curled on the floor calling a cab to take me to A&E. Without hestitation he packed me an overnight bag, jumped in the cab with me and sat with me in St Thomas' A&E for over 3 hours.
I discovered that the best way to be rushed through A&E is to faint in the middle of the floor and that dry shampoo is the best invention EVER for a hospital stay.
After suspected appendicitis and a laparoscopy (camera in tummy) I was diagnosed with PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease - extremely broad umbrella term that seems to cover A LOT) and after 3 days was sent home.
I also learnt how much I use my tummy. Having any sort of surgery in the abdominal area is horrible. Coughing, laughing, sneezing, breathing, sitting, moving, EVERYTHING seems to use those muscles. And causes pain.
3 days on and I managed to dress myself (it did take the best part of an hour but I DID IT!). 5 days on and I managed a shower without my sister hovering nearby, and 6 days on I managed to wash my hair unaided. The dependency issues made me appreciate having a sister practically my own age, as any remnants of dignity disappeared the first time she had to help me put on clean knickers.
It was a fast forward to what old age must feel like - feeling tired and fragile, being a little slow and being unable to have proper independence.
I lost my appetite. They pump your stomach full of air so that the camera can see your insides - and it takes a while for the air to come back out ( "oh, you'll be windy" my dear Wiganer informed me) and it also gives the appearance of being in my thrid trimester of pregnancy. On top of it all, your stomach feels full all the time, and squeezing meals in is a struggle. I have however, lost an impressive amount of weight.
I'm still rattling with various pills, and will be until the end of the week. And they all have big scary warnings about mixing with alcohol. And so by the end of this week I will have been sober for the best part of 3 weeks.
So all in all, illness has got its positives - I've had an enforced detox in the run up to the festive period, and an enforced temporary gastric band, and so feel fully able to overindulge as of the end of this week. One must appreciate the small things in life!
I've never really been ill before, and the whole experience has been a bit alien.
Poor Pearse (extremely good red headed friend) had popped round for a glass of wine and found me curled on the floor calling a cab to take me to A&E. Without hestitation he packed me an overnight bag, jumped in the cab with me and sat with me in St Thomas' A&E for over 3 hours.
I discovered that the best way to be rushed through A&E is to faint in the middle of the floor and that dry shampoo is the best invention EVER for a hospital stay.
After suspected appendicitis and a laparoscopy (camera in tummy) I was diagnosed with PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease - extremely broad umbrella term that seems to cover A LOT) and after 3 days was sent home.
I also learnt how much I use my tummy. Having any sort of surgery in the abdominal area is horrible. Coughing, laughing, sneezing, breathing, sitting, moving, EVERYTHING seems to use those muscles. And causes pain.
3 days on and I managed to dress myself (it did take the best part of an hour but I DID IT!). 5 days on and I managed a shower without my sister hovering nearby, and 6 days on I managed to wash my hair unaided. The dependency issues made me appreciate having a sister practically my own age, as any remnants of dignity disappeared the first time she had to help me put on clean knickers.
It was a fast forward to what old age must feel like - feeling tired and fragile, being a little slow and being unable to have proper independence.
I lost my appetite. They pump your stomach full of air so that the camera can see your insides - and it takes a while for the air to come back out ( "oh, you'll be windy" my dear Wiganer informed me) and it also gives the appearance of being in my thrid trimester of pregnancy. On top of it all, your stomach feels full all the time, and squeezing meals in is a struggle. I have however, lost an impressive amount of weight.
I'm still rattling with various pills, and will be until the end of the week. And they all have big scary warnings about mixing with alcohol. And so by the end of this week I will have been sober for the best part of 3 weeks.
So all in all, illness has got its positives - I've had an enforced detox in the run up to the festive period, and an enforced temporary gastric band, and so feel fully able to overindulge as of the end of this week. One must appreciate the small things in life!
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Italian eating
San Gennaro. Another near-flat eatery, recommended by fellow foodie and highly esteemed friend Irish redhead Pearse (whom incidentally we bumped into as we left).
It is a little Italian place on Battersea Park Road. They do a half price offer for those early enough to make it (not us) and the staff are all Italian (very authentic, although some confusion over ordering).
We started with bread (big chunks of warm ciabatta with oil and balsamic - YUM). The Peroni comes in the authentic Italian brown bottle, and the wine menu has some of my faves on there (Gavi de Gavi - delish). I had the seafood linguine, and it most certainly did not disappoint. A big steaming portion of tender linguine in a tomatoey herby sauce absolutely choc-a-bloc with seafood. Mussels, clams, prawns, squid, a giant prawn like thing (head, claws and all).
The Boyfriend had the Diavolo pizza (minus mushrooms to the confusion of the waiter - hence having to send it back). Once it arrived as he requested it was lovely. Properly Italian - thin crispy base, fresh tomato topping, flavoursome without being greasy.
Being the nosey so and so that I am, I couldn't help having a good look at the other dishes surrounding our table (and for a Thursday, the place was packed, and had a steady stream of takeaway customers). All the pasta dishes looked lovely - fresh and decent portion sizes. The risottos looked equally good, and the calzone was nothing short of impressive (nb. you need to be HUNGRY to go for that bad boy - it was enormous).
Too stuffed for a desert (the tiramasu on the other table did almost tempt me) we got the bill (again, very reasonable) and toddled the short distance home (bumping into aforementioned redhead).
Italian number 2.
For our dearest father's birthday (actual day, not weekend prior to) we found ourselves in the strange position of being a three (me, my sister, and the Birthday Boy). The Boyfriend has abandoned me for Mozambique (a work trip, and possibly abandoned is a little unfair) and my stepmother is off in France.
So Lucy and I were meeting our dearest Pa at 6pm sharp to try, once again to get into Jamie's Italian in Covent Garden. Now, I have tried and failed a number of times to eat there previously, always giving up on the queue (you can't book unless there are more than 6 of you) and so was rather excited when we got ushered to our table.
We started off with two antipasti boards (one meat, one veggie). They were delicious, but not big. Better value at Browns round the corner. But the bread was really lovely (unstable container though - managed to knock it on the floor at one point) and it meant we still had space for the mains.
Sister and Pa both had the Pasta of the Day (spaghetti with roasted veggies) which was lovely. Not too greasy, the spaghetti was nicely aldente and the veggies cooked but not soggy. I had scallops (one of my FAVOURITE foods). I got four, and they were delicious, but at nearly £16 it would have been nice if they came with a bit more (accompanied by a tiny side salad, and some tasty, but not liberally added tomato salsa - a bigger salad wouldn't have gone amiss). But yes, all in all the food was very good.
Perhaps the best part were the puddings. We had two with three spoons. Awesome chocolate and Espresso Tart with glazed figs and orange creme fraiche (totally wonderful, coffee prevented it from being too sickly, figs were ripe to perfection and the tangy orange again cut through the richness of the choc) and baked walnut tart with espresso creme fraiche and hazelnuts (possibly the best pudding I've ever had. It was slightly chewy, but crunchy with the hazelnuts, crumbly with the pastry and the cool creme fraiche was tangy and a great accompaniment.
I dashed off to the "loo" and paid the bill behind the Birthday boy's back. I think that was the best part of the entire evening - he was so touched, I felt like we were in a mastercard advert - look on Daddy's face: priceless.
It is a little Italian place on Battersea Park Road. They do a half price offer for those early enough to make it (not us) and the staff are all Italian (very authentic, although some confusion over ordering).
We started with bread (big chunks of warm ciabatta with oil and balsamic - YUM). The Peroni comes in the authentic Italian brown bottle, and the wine menu has some of my faves on there (Gavi de Gavi - delish). I had the seafood linguine, and it most certainly did not disappoint. A big steaming portion of tender linguine in a tomatoey herby sauce absolutely choc-a-bloc with seafood. Mussels, clams, prawns, squid, a giant prawn like thing (head, claws and all).
The Boyfriend had the Diavolo pizza (minus mushrooms to the confusion of the waiter - hence having to send it back). Once it arrived as he requested it was lovely. Properly Italian - thin crispy base, fresh tomato topping, flavoursome without being greasy.
Being the nosey so and so that I am, I couldn't help having a good look at the other dishes surrounding our table (and for a Thursday, the place was packed, and had a steady stream of takeaway customers). All the pasta dishes looked lovely - fresh and decent portion sizes. The risottos looked equally good, and the calzone was nothing short of impressive (nb. you need to be HUNGRY to go for that bad boy - it was enormous).
Too stuffed for a desert (the tiramasu on the other table did almost tempt me) we got the bill (again, very reasonable) and toddled the short distance home (bumping into aforementioned redhead).
Italian number 2.
For our dearest father's birthday (actual day, not weekend prior to) we found ourselves in the strange position of being a three (me, my sister, and the Birthday Boy). The Boyfriend has abandoned me for Mozambique (a work trip, and possibly abandoned is a little unfair) and my stepmother is off in France.
So Lucy and I were meeting our dearest Pa at 6pm sharp to try, once again to get into Jamie's Italian in Covent Garden. Now, I have tried and failed a number of times to eat there previously, always giving up on the queue (you can't book unless there are more than 6 of you) and so was rather excited when we got ushered to our table.
We started off with two antipasti boards (one meat, one veggie). They were delicious, but not big. Better value at Browns round the corner. But the bread was really lovely (unstable container though - managed to knock it on the floor at one point) and it meant we still had space for the mains.
Sister and Pa both had the Pasta of the Day (spaghetti with roasted veggies) which was lovely. Not too greasy, the spaghetti was nicely aldente and the veggies cooked but not soggy. I had scallops (one of my FAVOURITE foods). I got four, and they were delicious, but at nearly £16 it would have been nice if they came with a bit more (accompanied by a tiny side salad, and some tasty, but not liberally added tomato salsa - a bigger salad wouldn't have gone amiss). But yes, all in all the food was very good.
Perhaps the best part were the puddings. We had two with three spoons. Awesome chocolate and Espresso Tart with glazed figs and orange creme fraiche (totally wonderful, coffee prevented it from being too sickly, figs were ripe to perfection and the tangy orange again cut through the richness of the choc) and baked walnut tart with espresso creme fraiche and hazelnuts (possibly the best pudding I've ever had. It was slightly chewy, but crunchy with the hazelnuts, crumbly with the pastry and the cool creme fraiche was tangy and a great accompaniment.
I dashed off to the "loo" and paid the bill behind the Birthday boy's back. I think that was the best part of the entire evening - he was so touched, I felt like we were in a mastercard advert - look on Daddy's face: priceless.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Le Pot Lyonnaise
My Daddy is turning 54 on Tuesday. To mark this grand occasion the boyfriend and I were due to go to Rye for the Rye Fawkes Bonfire Night. However, both being struck down by a dreaded winter lurgi, we had to bypass the trip and spent the weekend lying pathetically on the sofa, downing lemsip and watching a bizarre selection of films (culminating in Bedknobs and Broomsticks - the Boyfriend really surprising me by singing along, word perfect to "Bobbing along, singing a song").
Instead of a yummy Italian lunch as the Tuscan Kitchen in Rye, it was decided that en route back to Queen's Park, my parents and sister would stop off at the flat, and we would go for birthday lunch at the Parisienne style bistro across the road.
Le Pot Lyonnaise. DO NOT GO.
We turned up for our booking at 12.45. And were seated in the emptiest, gloomiest and coldest part of the restaurant (we didn't realise this until we went to the toilet, and wandered through into a far livlier area). We specified that we were in a bit of a hurry (haircut for the Birthday boy back at Queen's Park at 3.30) and so promptly gave our drinks/food order.
Our waitress was new and had not the foggiest about the menu. After looking blank at the third question she disappeared off to "ask the chef" never to return. In her place we got a surly looking, yet far more capable waitress.
So we ordered at approx 12.55. By 1.30 there was no sign of our food. By 1.45, having mentioned the considerable chill, and being met with the response of "Oh, yeah, it is cold in here - the radiator is a bit old" a glass of ice, ordered with our drinks an HOUR before turned up.
An hour after ordering, and we were starving, cold, and getting grumpier by the second. Birthday boy went to investigate. Surly waitress came to tell us, not how sorry she was for the wait, but that it was our fault for ordering the duck - it takes the longest (yet there is NO mention of this on the menu).
Finally, in dribs and drabs, the food started to arrive. The corn fed chicken was delicious, as were my Moules Mariniere (though the side order of crushed new potatoes with aioli was most definitely a form of instant mash potato). The duck was fine, if a little greasy. Sadly, Birthday boy's steak had a similar texture to old leather. It was cold, dry, and so tough that even the steak knife was making little headway.
He went to take it back, and the previously full restuarant appeared devoid of any staff. So he went into the kitchen to be met by a torrent of abuse from the authentic French chef.
By this point we had been there over an hour and a half, and my father had no food. Dreading another hour wait, he just picked off our plates, paid the bill (minus the discretionary service charge, and the fee for the untouched steak and chips) and we left.
The apology from Miss Surly was pathetic to say the least.
On return to the flat, we had lots of cups of tea, and a slice of delicious homemade coffee and walnut cake, and this seemed to successfully salvage any overhanging ill feeling.
My only advice is to avoid Le Pot Lyonnaise, unless you have buckets of time to spend in a freezing resutarant eating tough, dry and tasteless food. And if you do risk it, make sure you have a good homemade cake back at home.
Instead of a yummy Italian lunch as the Tuscan Kitchen in Rye, it was decided that en route back to Queen's Park, my parents and sister would stop off at the flat, and we would go for birthday lunch at the Parisienne style bistro across the road.
Le Pot Lyonnaise. DO NOT GO.
We turned up for our booking at 12.45. And were seated in the emptiest, gloomiest and coldest part of the restaurant (we didn't realise this until we went to the toilet, and wandered through into a far livlier area). We specified that we were in a bit of a hurry (haircut for the Birthday boy back at Queen's Park at 3.30) and so promptly gave our drinks/food order.
Our waitress was new and had not the foggiest about the menu. After looking blank at the third question she disappeared off to "ask the chef" never to return. In her place we got a surly looking, yet far more capable waitress.
So we ordered at approx 12.55. By 1.30 there was no sign of our food. By 1.45, having mentioned the considerable chill, and being met with the response of "Oh, yeah, it is cold in here - the radiator is a bit old" a glass of ice, ordered with our drinks an HOUR before turned up.
An hour after ordering, and we were starving, cold, and getting grumpier by the second. Birthday boy went to investigate. Surly waitress came to tell us, not how sorry she was for the wait, but that it was our fault for ordering the duck - it takes the longest (yet there is NO mention of this on the menu).
Finally, in dribs and drabs, the food started to arrive. The corn fed chicken was delicious, as were my Moules Mariniere (though the side order of crushed new potatoes with aioli was most definitely a form of instant mash potato). The duck was fine, if a little greasy. Sadly, Birthday boy's steak had a similar texture to old leather. It was cold, dry, and so tough that even the steak knife was making little headway.
He went to take it back, and the previously full restuarant appeared devoid of any staff. So he went into the kitchen to be met by a torrent of abuse from the authentic French chef.
By this point we had been there over an hour and a half, and my father had no food. Dreading another hour wait, he just picked off our plates, paid the bill (minus the discretionary service charge, and the fee for the untouched steak and chips) and we left.
The apology from Miss Surly was pathetic to say the least.
On return to the flat, we had lots of cups of tea, and a slice of delicious homemade coffee and walnut cake, and this seemed to successfully salvage any overhanging ill feeling.
My only advice is to avoid Le Pot Lyonnaise, unless you have buckets of time to spend in a freezing resutarant eating tough, dry and tasteless food. And if you do risk it, make sure you have a good homemade cake back at home.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
The Book Club
My lovely Deeks has upped sticks and moved from ultra poshy Vogue House, to working in an artist's old workshop in Shoreditch. She is doing a dream job, and I couldn't be happier, not only for her own well being, but for the new opportunities that have opened up for lunch.
Finishing work at 12.30pm yesterday, I was one of the lucky (well, if it's considered lucky to get up at 3.15am!) people to have finished work and still have at least 4hours of sunlight left. And due to Miss Deeks' new location, coffee at our favourite Starbucks followed by a mosey round Topshop was out, and so I walked to Holborn, and hopped on a bus to Old Street.
Now east London is not somewhere I pretend to know. I have been a number of times, but to specific locations which I have got to by following strict directions. Yesterday was the first time I've wandered through some of the little streets in order to find a friend.
I met my Deeks outside an Eat. There was also a Pret at the other end of the street. And in between were a medley of wonders.
We settled on The Book Club. It was warm (delicious compared to the practically sub-zero temperatures outside), looked fun inside (randomly collected tables, chairs, stools and sofas) and the menu was perfect for a cold November day.
I had a jacket potato with chicken fajita pieces and a lovely green salad. Deeks had brocolli and cauliflower cheese with maple glazed ham. Both were big and hot and delicious.
After nattering/gossiping like old ladies, we soon had to part ways. As Deeks wandered back to her office, I decided to walk towards the city as it was a lovely day (sunny, but chilly) and I could have done with walking off some of my enormous lunch.
Wandering the streets of Shoreditch I cannot claim to now know the area, but I definitely feel less of an alien there. Give it a few more Book Club lunches (or after work drinks - a very impressive cocktail list including one Garden named one with elderflower and prosecco YUM!) and I will definitely be feeling more at home.
Finishing work at 12.30pm yesterday, I was one of the lucky (well, if it's considered lucky to get up at 3.15am!) people to have finished work and still have at least 4hours of sunlight left. And due to Miss Deeks' new location, coffee at our favourite Starbucks followed by a mosey round Topshop was out, and so I walked to Holborn, and hopped on a bus to Old Street.
Now east London is not somewhere I pretend to know. I have been a number of times, but to specific locations which I have got to by following strict directions. Yesterday was the first time I've wandered through some of the little streets in order to find a friend.
I met my Deeks outside an Eat. There was also a Pret at the other end of the street. And in between were a medley of wonders.
We settled on The Book Club. It was warm (delicious compared to the practically sub-zero temperatures outside), looked fun inside (randomly collected tables, chairs, stools and sofas) and the menu was perfect for a cold November day.
I had a jacket potato with chicken fajita pieces and a lovely green salad. Deeks had brocolli and cauliflower cheese with maple glazed ham. Both were big and hot and delicious.
After nattering/gossiping like old ladies, we soon had to part ways. As Deeks wandered back to her office, I decided to walk towards the city as it was a lovely day (sunny, but chilly) and I could have done with walking off some of my enormous lunch.
Wandering the streets of Shoreditch I cannot claim to now know the area, but I definitely feel less of an alien there. Give it a few more Book Club lunches (or after work drinks - a very impressive cocktail list including one Garden named one with elderflower and prosecco YUM!) and I will definitely be feeling more at home.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Books
I have always loved books. My family are readers. So much so that every holiday there is one case purely dedicated to literature. Even if it takes us over the baggage allowance, as a family, the Howes will not back down.
I have always loved stories. One of the first things I learnt to say was "tell me a story". My poor father has told me more or less every single significant (and many many more insignificant) details from his childhood, adolescence, university life, even life as a parent to my sister and I. And despite having heard them umpteen times (indeed, despite living through a lot of them) they never get old.
The first book I ever read by myself were the Milly Molly Mandy stories by Joyce Lancaster Brisley. Absolutely nothing happens in these stories - the stories are entitled things like "Milly Molly Mandy goes for a walk" or "Milly Molly Mandy earns a penny" but I LOVED them. So much so that when told I could name our cat, I chose (you guessed it) Milly Molly Mandy.
I read everything as a child - the Narnia books, everything by Enid Blyton (the Magic Faraway Tree - oh the joy!) Jacqueline Wilson, Joan Aitken, Roald Dahl, Lynne Reid Banks, anything illustrated by Quentin Blake or Shirley Hughes, Peter Pan, Swallows and Amazons, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, any stories by Louise M Alcott, Mark Twain, E. Nesbit, I could literally go on for pages. Even now, if I'm ill or homesick the only things that can really make a difference is a Harry Potter or One Hundred and One Dalmations.
Since going to university (to read English) I not only accumulated a LOT more books, but I also became much more restricted on space. Student houses are not renowned for their size or grandeur, and nor are books known for their mobility - in fact they are the most difficult things to move due to their volume and weight.
So over the last few years more and more crates have appeared at my parent's house, and I have managed to keep the amount of literature in each of my various flats to an almost well-controlled minimum.
But now I have a flat with the boyfriend. A whole flat, not just a room in a flat which is our home. And (after many an evening of swearing and sweating) he has lovingly put up shelves, and driven crate after crate of books from Queen's Park to Battersea and finally, after nearly 6 years I have been able to unpack my little library.
It filled an evening (I don't have THAT many - I just kept getting distracted by things I hadn't seen or forgotten about) unpacking them, and ordering them to my satisfaction. The Boyfriend did try to help with this bit, but seeing as my sorting process follows no traditional method (alphabetical, chronological, etc) and is all down to personal preference, the poor boy was on a losing side.
The shelves are now done, and filled. And the living room, my living room finally, finally feels like home.
I have always loved stories. One of the first things I learnt to say was "tell me a story". My poor father has told me more or less every single significant (and many many more insignificant) details from his childhood, adolescence, university life, even life as a parent to my sister and I. And despite having heard them umpteen times (indeed, despite living through a lot of them) they never get old.
The first book I ever read by myself were the Milly Molly Mandy stories by Joyce Lancaster Brisley. Absolutely nothing happens in these stories - the stories are entitled things like "Milly Molly Mandy goes for a walk" or "Milly Molly Mandy earns a penny" but I LOVED them. So much so that when told I could name our cat, I chose (you guessed it) Milly Molly Mandy.
I read everything as a child - the Narnia books, everything by Enid Blyton (the Magic Faraway Tree - oh the joy!) Jacqueline Wilson, Joan Aitken, Roald Dahl, Lynne Reid Banks, anything illustrated by Quentin Blake or Shirley Hughes, Peter Pan, Swallows and Amazons, Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, any stories by Louise M Alcott, Mark Twain, E. Nesbit, I could literally go on for pages. Even now, if I'm ill or homesick the only things that can really make a difference is a Harry Potter or One Hundred and One Dalmations.
Since going to university (to read English) I not only accumulated a LOT more books, but I also became much more restricted on space. Student houses are not renowned for their size or grandeur, and nor are books known for their mobility - in fact they are the most difficult things to move due to their volume and weight.
So over the last few years more and more crates have appeared at my parent's house, and I have managed to keep the amount of literature in each of my various flats to an almost well-controlled minimum.
But now I have a flat with the boyfriend. A whole flat, not just a room in a flat which is our home. And (after many an evening of swearing and sweating) he has lovingly put up shelves, and driven crate after crate of books from Queen's Park to Battersea and finally, after nearly 6 years I have been able to unpack my little library.
It filled an evening (I don't have THAT many - I just kept getting distracted by things I hadn't seen or forgotten about) unpacking them, and ordering them to my satisfaction. The Boyfriend did try to help with this bit, but seeing as my sorting process follows no traditional method (alphabetical, chronological, etc) and is all down to personal preference, the poor boy was on a losing side.
The shelves are now done, and filled. And the living room, my living room finally, finally feels like home.
Monday, 8 November 2010
The flat
So we have been living in the flat for just over a week. And it acutally looks like a home. Even the second bedroom (previously not dissimilar to a scene from Baghdad) looks like a normal (if rather messy) bedroom.
We are still missing a lot of stuff (wardrobe, curtains, bin and bathmat for bathroom - you know the things) but perhaps the main thing we (well, I) am desperate for are shelves. I come from a family of readers (and 4 literature degrees, including my own) and accumulate approximately 4-8books a month. I literally have crates of books (21 to be exact) and at the moment they are the main culprit for the state of the second bedroom.
My father's DIY skills rival those of a meerkat. They are non-existant. And should he ever attempt anything, the mess and destruction and temper that follows really do not make it worth it.
On the other hand, the Boyfriend's father is some sort of DIY diva. He can do anything, has a shed of power tools, and the patience of a saint (this is clearly the main component lacking in my own father).
So on Sunday the Boyfriend's dad popped over with several crates of scary looking tools, and settled down to teach the Boyfriend the ins and outs of shelf building.
It took a LONG time. After half an hour, with still absolutely no prospect of getting out the big drill (they were still measuring and drawing piddly lines with a special pencil and holding a spirit level (?) - sounded like something out of cheerleader film Bring It On) I got bored and started to watch X factor on catch-up.
Another hour later, and STILL no drilling. Patience is definitely a virtue in DIY.
By about 7pm the Boyfriend's dad went home, leaving the Boyfriend alone with the power tools. By 8pm we had no shelves, a lot of holes in the wall, and just three out of a potential 12 brackets hanging precariously out of the wall. The aura of calm had disappeared.
We have done nothing since. So the visually pleasing aspect of living room is no more. Although the Boyfriend does have today off, so they might be up and finished when I get home. Or I shall return to further destruction and a boyfriend with a temperament similar to mine with PMT. Wish me luck.
We are still missing a lot of stuff (wardrobe, curtains, bin and bathmat for bathroom - you know the things) but perhaps the main thing we (well, I) am desperate for are shelves. I come from a family of readers (and 4 literature degrees, including my own) and accumulate approximately 4-8books a month. I literally have crates of books (21 to be exact) and at the moment they are the main culprit for the state of the second bedroom.
My father's DIY skills rival those of a meerkat. They are non-existant. And should he ever attempt anything, the mess and destruction and temper that follows really do not make it worth it.
On the other hand, the Boyfriend's father is some sort of DIY diva. He can do anything, has a shed of power tools, and the patience of a saint (this is clearly the main component lacking in my own father).
So on Sunday the Boyfriend's dad popped over with several crates of scary looking tools, and settled down to teach the Boyfriend the ins and outs of shelf building.
It took a LONG time. After half an hour, with still absolutely no prospect of getting out the big drill (they were still measuring and drawing piddly lines with a special pencil and holding a spirit level (?) - sounded like something out of cheerleader film Bring It On) I got bored and started to watch X factor on catch-up.
Another hour later, and STILL no drilling. Patience is definitely a virtue in DIY.
By about 7pm the Boyfriend's dad went home, leaving the Boyfriend alone with the power tools. By 8pm we had no shelves, a lot of holes in the wall, and just three out of a potential 12 brackets hanging precariously out of the wall. The aura of calm had disappeared.
We have done nothing since. So the visually pleasing aspect of living room is no more. Although the Boyfriend does have today off, so they might be up and finished when I get home. Or I shall return to further destruction and a boyfriend with a temperament similar to mine with PMT. Wish me luck.
Presents
Since moving in with the Boyfriend people have been incredibly generous. It is totally and utterly not expected, but absolutely lovely, and greatly appreciated.
We have had gifts ranging from a hoover, iron, ironing board and various cleaning products/potions (the Boyfriend's mother), to a bed, wine rack and chest of drawers (my parents - although a lot of that has been inadvertantly stolen from various unused bedrooms) to rice bowls (lovely girl at work) and champagne flutes (old housemate). We've had flowers and plants and vouchers and cards galore, and the Boyfriend's sister (same age as my own) gave us a significant sum to spend in a well known home store, which really was incredibly touching.
On the other hand, my sister gave us..... the Harry Potter boxset. The Boyfriend has never even seen a trailer, let alone one of the films all the way through. So really it was just a big juicy present for myself. And I am faintly ashamed to say that I think it is my favourite.
We have had gifts ranging from a hoover, iron, ironing board and various cleaning products/potions (the Boyfriend's mother), to a bed, wine rack and chest of drawers (my parents - although a lot of that has been inadvertantly stolen from various unused bedrooms) to rice bowls (lovely girl at work) and champagne flutes (old housemate). We've had flowers and plants and vouchers and cards galore, and the Boyfriend's sister (same age as my own) gave us a significant sum to spend in a well known home store, which really was incredibly touching.
On the other hand, my sister gave us..... the Harry Potter boxset. The Boyfriend has never even seen a trailer, let alone one of the films all the way through. So really it was just a big juicy present for myself. And I am faintly ashamed to say that I think it is my favourite.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Queenstown Road eateries
Since moving to a new place (albeit, less than 20minutes from my former location) the Boyfriend and I have decided that we must try out as many of the new establishments near us as possible.
On night one, we went to Bangkok Boulevard - a delicious Thai place on Lavender Hill. Despite not getting there until half 10pm, it was still lively. They brought over some really yummy prawn crackers (Thai style, so drier and less greasy than Chinese ones). We shared a starter of steamed pork and prawn dumplings, which were YUM (especially when washed down with Champagne - we had to have something to celebrate with). Then I had a chilli and garlic prawn stirfry with Jasmine rice. The Boyfriend had sticky rice and a spicy beef stirfry. The food was quick, piping hot and full of flavour - totally delicious and exactly what we needed.
We then tested a roast at The Victoria on Queenstown Road. Tender beef, crispy yorkshires, amazing homemade stuffing... the perfect hangover cure.
This week we went to Sultan's Kitchen - a curry house, again on Queenstown Road. Now, in the past we have had a few issues with curry houses, so much so we had given up, and only ever had curry when in Croydon, and could get a takeaway. Well, we have now found one that is not only tasty, but also remarkably cheap (poppadums, curry, rice, drinks = £25. Bargain).
Elephant on The Hill for a roast. Very tasty (but maybe not quite as good as the Victoria) but the staff were HOPELESS. Our food took over an hour, we were asked just once if we wanted more drinks, and it took half an hour to get the dessert menus, let alone the desserts themselves.
I have constructed a comprehensive list of other places to visit, including the Cake Boutique (you can design your own cakes! and they also sell a remarkable array of yummy teatime treats), San Gennaro (a highly recommended Italian) Le Pot Lyonniase (fun looking French Bistro) and the Boyfrind is DESPERATE to go to Santa Maria del Sur (apparently the best steak house in London) although that one may have to wait as sadly, I don't really like steak....
On night one, we went to Bangkok Boulevard - a delicious Thai place on Lavender Hill. Despite not getting there until half 10pm, it was still lively. They brought over some really yummy prawn crackers (Thai style, so drier and less greasy than Chinese ones). We shared a starter of steamed pork and prawn dumplings, which were YUM (especially when washed down with Champagne - we had to have something to celebrate with). Then I had a chilli and garlic prawn stirfry with Jasmine rice. The Boyfriend had sticky rice and a spicy beef stirfry. The food was quick, piping hot and full of flavour - totally delicious and exactly what we needed.
We then tested a roast at The Victoria on Queenstown Road. Tender beef, crispy yorkshires, amazing homemade stuffing... the perfect hangover cure.
This week we went to Sultan's Kitchen - a curry house, again on Queenstown Road. Now, in the past we have had a few issues with curry houses, so much so we had given up, and only ever had curry when in Croydon, and could get a takeaway. Well, we have now found one that is not only tasty, but also remarkably cheap (poppadums, curry, rice, drinks = £25. Bargain).
Elephant on The Hill for a roast. Very tasty (but maybe not quite as good as the Victoria) but the staff were HOPELESS. Our food took over an hour, we were asked just once if we wanted more drinks, and it took half an hour to get the dessert menus, let alone the desserts themselves.
I have constructed a comprehensive list of other places to visit, including the Cake Boutique (you can design your own cakes! and they also sell a remarkable array of yummy teatime treats), San Gennaro (a highly recommended Italian) Le Pot Lyonniase (fun looking French Bistro) and the Boyfrind is DESPERATE to go to Santa Maria del Sur (apparently the best steak house in London) although that one may have to wait as sadly, I don't really like steak....
Fireworks. Part 1
Friday was Bonfire Night. Which, despite being in my mid-20s, still fills me with an inordinate amount of excitement. We got all wrapped up (a little unnecessarily as it was acutally incredibly warm) and wandered up to Clapham Common. It was a free fireworks display, and really rather good. It was over 20minutes and there were so seriously big bangs.
Next weekend the Boyfriend and I are going to stay in Rye with my parents. And we are attending Rye Fawkes - their equivalent Bonfire Night. Apparently it is a little overwhelming as people march through the streets carrying flaming torches. I'm bringing some sparklers so I'll let you know how I fit in...
Next weekend the Boyfriend and I are going to stay in Rye with my parents. And we are attending Rye Fawkes - their equivalent Bonfire Night. Apparently it is a little overwhelming as people march through the streets carrying flaming torches. I'm bringing some sparklers so I'll let you know how I fit in...
Friday, 5 November 2010
Domestic Goddess
Since living with the Boyfriend (ok, ok, I know it's only been 6 days, and this may be very short-lived) but I have really embraced my inner domestic goddess.
I am still messy, but seem to take great pride in cleaning, dusting, wiping down my kitchen surfaces. I nagged the Boyfriend to put together the hoover, even before I had unpacked all of my shoes. I have never before even owned a hoover, and yet for some reason it suddenly appeared to be a vital piece of household equipment.
The other thing I have embraced is cooking. Now, my cooking skills have always been somewhat sporadic. I will happily survive, sometimes for over a fortnight on toast and fish finger sandwiches, and then suddenly get the urge to bake a four tier devils foodcake, with homemade truffles to decorate (needless to say, it never turns out as beautiful as it sounds - but it is always tasty). Alternatively I can swing the other way and turn my hand to a range of complicated and challenging dishes, using exotic ingredients following time consuming receipes, only to have spent hours in the kitchen and then go off the idea and have a yogurt.
At the moment I am in full chef mode. And as it is winter I am embracing the winter warmers. Jacket potatoes with mushrooms, spring onions, bacon and cream cheese, sausage, mash and onion gravy, and the piece de resistance, my absolutely wonderful cottage pie.
The Boyfriend insisted on buying a vat of mince, adament that he would eat the best part of half a kilo of meat in one go (yeah right). He wanted to "cook" his bolognese, which bascially equates to him cooking mince, emptying in a jar of sauce and poking it with a spatula for about half an hour. He then cooks spaghetti (normally 6 times the amount actually needed) forgets about it so it is overcooked and fused together, and then either mixes in the bolognese pan and eats out of that, or piles it onto the smallest plate he can find, therefore dropping bits of mince all over the floor.
But not this time. Oh no. I was going to make a proper cottage pie. So, in the haphazard style favoured by myself in the kitchen, here goes:
400g mince
2 onions
Lots of mushrooms (I LOVE mushrooms, he does not, but if you keep them big they are easy to spot and pick out)
3 small carrots
Half swede
Half a butternut squash
1 1/2 pints beef stock
1 tbsp gravy granules
Some garlic
Fry off the mince for about 5-6mins. Set aside and fry off the garlic, onions. Add a little of the beef stock, and then add the carrots and mushrooms. Once all the veggies are looking softer, add to the mince, and pour in the rest of the stock. Add gravy granules. Cover and simmer for 40mins with the lid on. Remove lid and simmer for a further 15mins. The sauce should be rich and not too liquidy, but with enough gravy not to be dry.
Peel and cube the swede and butternut squash (be warned - this is an almost impossible task and a large cleaver/axe may be the only implement able to assist with this task - at one point a piece of chopped swede leapt from the chopping board, and lodged itself behind the fridge, never to be seen again). Pop into some boiling water and cook until soft.
Pour the mince mixture into a large ovenproof dish. Drain the swede/squash, add seasoning and a little milk and butter, and mash. Spread over mince and brush the top with some melted butter. Pop under the grill for about 7mins until top is a little crispy. Serve with brocolli (possibly the healthiest piece of veg in the world - or at least so my aunty would have me believe).
Eat in front of The Apprentice snuggled with the Boyfriend on the sofa. I couldn't be happier.
I am still messy, but seem to take great pride in cleaning, dusting, wiping down my kitchen surfaces. I nagged the Boyfriend to put together the hoover, even before I had unpacked all of my shoes. I have never before even owned a hoover, and yet for some reason it suddenly appeared to be a vital piece of household equipment.
The other thing I have embraced is cooking. Now, my cooking skills have always been somewhat sporadic. I will happily survive, sometimes for over a fortnight on toast and fish finger sandwiches, and then suddenly get the urge to bake a four tier devils foodcake, with homemade truffles to decorate (needless to say, it never turns out as beautiful as it sounds - but it is always tasty). Alternatively I can swing the other way and turn my hand to a range of complicated and challenging dishes, using exotic ingredients following time consuming receipes, only to have spent hours in the kitchen and then go off the idea and have a yogurt.
At the moment I am in full chef mode. And as it is winter I am embracing the winter warmers. Jacket potatoes with mushrooms, spring onions, bacon and cream cheese, sausage, mash and onion gravy, and the piece de resistance, my absolutely wonderful cottage pie.
The Boyfriend insisted on buying a vat of mince, adament that he would eat the best part of half a kilo of meat in one go (yeah right). He wanted to "cook" his bolognese, which bascially equates to him cooking mince, emptying in a jar of sauce and poking it with a spatula for about half an hour. He then cooks spaghetti (normally 6 times the amount actually needed) forgets about it so it is overcooked and fused together, and then either mixes in the bolognese pan and eats out of that, or piles it onto the smallest plate he can find, therefore dropping bits of mince all over the floor.
But not this time. Oh no. I was going to make a proper cottage pie. So, in the haphazard style favoured by myself in the kitchen, here goes:
400g mince
2 onions
Lots of mushrooms (I LOVE mushrooms, he does not, but if you keep them big they are easy to spot and pick out)
3 small carrots
Half swede
Half a butternut squash
1 1/2 pints beef stock
1 tbsp gravy granules
Some garlic
Fry off the mince for about 5-6mins. Set aside and fry off the garlic, onions. Add a little of the beef stock, and then add the carrots and mushrooms. Once all the veggies are looking softer, add to the mince, and pour in the rest of the stock. Add gravy granules. Cover and simmer for 40mins with the lid on. Remove lid and simmer for a further 15mins. The sauce should be rich and not too liquidy, but with enough gravy not to be dry.
Peel and cube the swede and butternut squash (be warned - this is an almost impossible task and a large cleaver/axe may be the only implement able to assist with this task - at one point a piece of chopped swede leapt from the chopping board, and lodged itself behind the fridge, never to be seen again). Pop into some boiling water and cook until soft.
Pour the mince mixture into a large ovenproof dish. Drain the swede/squash, add seasoning and a little milk and butter, and mash. Spread over mince and brush the top with some melted butter. Pop under the grill for about 7mins until top is a little crispy. Serve with brocolli (possibly the healthiest piece of veg in the world - or at least so my aunty would have me believe).
Eat in front of The Apprentice snuggled with the Boyfriend on the sofa. I couldn't be happier.
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Soup
Last year I realised I was becoming old before my time, having developed a love for soup.
Well, as the winter months come rolling in (and we all know how much I LOVE this time of year - walking through Battersea Park last weekend through the leaves I could BARELY contain my excitement!!) it has become soup season once again.
And this year I have taken my love of soup to a new level. This year I have been making it myself!
It is a great way to use up all the rather mushy looking veg in the bottom of the fridge, it is a great snack, and can literally be made en masse.
My favourite (it took a few attempts, including one batch that was so spicy even the Boyfriend turned an interesting shade of purple on trying a spoonful - but have now got it down to a total tasty art) is red pepper and butternut squash.
My rather haphazard recipe is as follows:
1 butternut squash, cubed and peeled.
2 red peppers
1 1/2 pints of veggie stock
1 large onion
Paprika
Chilli flakes (but be careful - overly liberal use resulted in the purple faced and choking boyfriend)
Put it all in the biggest saucepan you can find and boil it all together for about 40mins. Then grab yourself a handy hand-held blender (got one from ASDA for a grand total of £4.87 - works fine thus far) and blitz it until it is smooth (although if your attention span is similar to my own you may lose interest after a bit, and therefore every serving you have is a bit of an adventure - lumps of butternut squash, large chunk of onion, etc).
It is easy to vary this recipe. I have added tomatoes, parsnips, swede, carrots, even mushrooms, all to a rather similar, but equally tasty end.
Serve with a yummy toasted sandwich (might I recommend a homemade egg mayonaise one - another of my newly discovered culinary delights). Either that or a part-baked baguette with sausage and tomato chutney. The perfect winter warmer.
Well, as the winter months come rolling in (and we all know how much I LOVE this time of year - walking through Battersea Park last weekend through the leaves I could BARELY contain my excitement!!) it has become soup season once again.
And this year I have taken my love of soup to a new level. This year I have been making it myself!
It is a great way to use up all the rather mushy looking veg in the bottom of the fridge, it is a great snack, and can literally be made en masse.
My favourite (it took a few attempts, including one batch that was so spicy even the Boyfriend turned an interesting shade of purple on trying a spoonful - but have now got it down to a total tasty art) is red pepper and butternut squash.
My rather haphazard recipe is as follows:
1 butternut squash, cubed and peeled.
2 red peppers
1 1/2 pints of veggie stock
1 large onion
Paprika
Chilli flakes (but be careful - overly liberal use resulted in the purple faced and choking boyfriend)
Put it all in the biggest saucepan you can find and boil it all together for about 40mins. Then grab yourself a handy hand-held blender (got one from ASDA for a grand total of £4.87 - works fine thus far) and blitz it until it is smooth (although if your attention span is similar to my own you may lose interest after a bit, and therefore every serving you have is a bit of an adventure - lumps of butternut squash, large chunk of onion, etc).
It is easy to vary this recipe. I have added tomatoes, parsnips, swede, carrots, even mushrooms, all to a rather similar, but equally tasty end.
Serve with a yummy toasted sandwich (might I recommend a homemade egg mayonaise one - another of my newly discovered culinary delights). Either that or a part-baked baguette with sausage and tomato chutney. The perfect winter warmer.
Work Experience
At my work we weekly, and at times daily have work experience people come in.
I got my job as the result of a work placement. I cannot praise the value of work experience enough in many circumstances. When I came in I was keen and eager, and offered to do anything, from hourly tea runs to sorting out cupboards or photocopying. I was interested in everything, and asked questions but not too many. And it paid off.
2 years on and it is my turn to look after work experience people. And gosh, haven't they gone downhill.
Just to give an indication of the current calibre....
I go down to reception to meet the newest workie
Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So are you interested in radio?
WE: Yeah, yeah, I'm really into my music
Me: Oh. Well we are a speech radio station. It's only talking. We don't actually play any music.
WE: What? Are you serious? That's so weird. I've never even heard of a station doing that. You must be the only one?
Me: Well.... there's a few others, like Radio 4, 5 Live, Talksport, most regional BBC stations are predominantly speech.
Work experience the next week....
Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So do you listen to our station much?
WE: Yeah, all the time.
Me: Oh great! What do you like about it?
WE: I love how new it is - so original and fresh. Have you been here since it started?
Me: Errr... no. The station started in 1973.
WE: Oh. Are you sure?
In the studio, the presenter wants a cup of tea in the middle of live breaking news and it is MANIC....
Me: Do you mind popping to the kitchen and getting a cup of tea?
WE: Actually, do you mind if I don't? I am here to learn
In the studio the presenter wants a cup of tea....
Me: Do you know where the tea and coffee making facilities are?
WE: Oh, I only drink water, so no thanks - I don't need a tea.
Me: Oh. I meant could you get one for the presenter?
WE: You want me to go?
During a show taking live feeds from Westminster. We have various TV screens showing live news so we can time when to cross to, for example the Prime Minister's speech.
WE: Wow! Look at the size of that TV! Can we put the cricket on?
Me: Well, um, not really - we need that TV for the breaking news.
WE: OOohhh. Spoilsport.
And then promptly got out his i-phone and put in the headphones.
This is just a snapshot of the wide ranging and varied levels of ineptitude. I'm hoping that this is just a dip in the quality, and in all fairness, some of the kids that come through the door are great - informed, intelligent and eager to learn/help out. But those ones are getting less and less. And instead seem to be replaced more and more often with total drongos.
If you are going on work experience it is not hard to get on well. You just need to do some simple things....
1. Listen/watch the output, even if it's only for half an hour a day the week before you go
2. Google the company - it literally takes seconds
3. Be eager and friendly and polite.
4. Always offer to do things, regardless of how menial.
5. If it really is that bad, it is only for a finite amount of time, and a bad impression is remembered much more than a good one - so it's just not worth leaving that behind.
I got my job as the result of a work placement. I cannot praise the value of work experience enough in many circumstances. When I came in I was keen and eager, and offered to do anything, from hourly tea runs to sorting out cupboards or photocopying. I was interested in everything, and asked questions but not too many. And it paid off.
2 years on and it is my turn to look after work experience people. And gosh, haven't they gone downhill.
Just to give an indication of the current calibre....
I go down to reception to meet the newest workie
Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So are you interested in radio?
WE: Yeah, yeah, I'm really into my music
Me: Oh. Well we are a speech radio station. It's only talking. We don't actually play any music.
WE: What? Are you serious? That's so weird. I've never even heard of a station doing that. You must be the only one?
Me: Well.... there's a few others, like Radio 4, 5 Live, Talksport, most regional BBC stations are predominantly speech.
Work experience the next week....
Me: Hello!
WE: uh... hi.
Me: So do you listen to our station much?
WE: Yeah, all the time.
Me: Oh great! What do you like about it?
WE: I love how new it is - so original and fresh. Have you been here since it started?
Me: Errr... no. The station started in 1973.
WE: Oh. Are you sure?
In the studio, the presenter wants a cup of tea in the middle of live breaking news and it is MANIC....
Me: Do you mind popping to the kitchen and getting a cup of tea?
WE: Actually, do you mind if I don't? I am here to learn
In the studio the presenter wants a cup of tea....
Me: Do you know where the tea and coffee making facilities are?
WE: Oh, I only drink water, so no thanks - I don't need a tea.
Me: Oh. I meant could you get one for the presenter?
WE: You want me to go?
During a show taking live feeds from Westminster. We have various TV screens showing live news so we can time when to cross to, for example the Prime Minister's speech.
WE: Wow! Look at the size of that TV! Can we put the cricket on?
Me: Well, um, not really - we need that TV for the breaking news.
WE: OOohhh. Spoilsport.
And then promptly got out his i-phone and put in the headphones.
This is just a snapshot of the wide ranging and varied levels of ineptitude. I'm hoping that this is just a dip in the quality, and in all fairness, some of the kids that come through the door are great - informed, intelligent and eager to learn/help out. But those ones are getting less and less. And instead seem to be replaced more and more often with total drongos.
If you are going on work experience it is not hard to get on well. You just need to do some simple things....
1. Listen/watch the output, even if it's only for half an hour a day the week before you go
2. Google the company - it literally takes seconds
3. Be eager and friendly and polite.
4. Always offer to do things, regardless of how menial.
5. If it really is that bad, it is only for a finite amount of time, and a bad impression is remembered much more than a good one - so it's just not worth leaving that behind.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Warren Evans
As mentioned in previous blog, we got our bed from Warren Evans. It is the only bespoke bed shop in the UK and there are a variety of branches across London.
Originally we went to Dreams. Do NOT, under any circumstances even set foot in any of these establishments unless you are desperate for a pee (very nice customer facilities in at least 3 of the branches we went to). On first impressions it seems fine. We even found a bed we rather liked, and was affordable. But then it came to buying it. We were told we could upgrade the slats for £40 to their "Luxury" bedbase. Good idea we thought. Until we saw this "Luxury" base.
Now, a little back story. When I first moved into my flat in Stockwell one girl had a brand new leather bed. We were all a little jealous as it was lovely, and had a memory foam mattress, and was really comfy. Yet on the first night, my housemate woke in the night with a thud. Half the slats had fallen through. So at 3am she slotted all but one back in (that one didn't seem to fit at all). And then was awoken an hour later with a similar problem. As the weeks progressed you stopped being able to sleep, sit, even place light objects on the bed without the customary "thud" following. She tried everything - gluing them in, placing things under them, but nothing made a scrap of difference. In the end the landlord provided an enormous piece of MDF to put over the bed base. It worked, but my god is it uncomfortable.
The "Luxury" base at Dreams was this exact base. You can see why we walked out.
On the tube I noticed an advert for Warren Evans, mentioned it to my Dad, who confirmed that he and my step mother got their bed there. Fearing the expense the Boyfriend and I popped into the one in Clapham Junction (looks terrible from outside but is cosy and inviting inside). We spent over an hour bouncing, napping, and spooning on the vast range of beds.
The prices are as varied as the frames. There are basic platform bases from about £150 or you can get full super kingsizes for about £1000. They also sell mattresses, again across a similar price range.
You can pick the bed frame, and also the wood you want it made in (we went for a double Cottage in Elm - it is gorgeous). We didn't need a mattress, but we did look at some of the other things we could get. Underbed storage made to fit/match your bed looked good, although at the rate we are haemorrhaging money, they can wait. You could also get bedroom furniture.
Originally we went to Dreams. Do NOT, under any circumstances even set foot in any of these establishments unless you are desperate for a pee (very nice customer facilities in at least 3 of the branches we went to). On first impressions it seems fine. We even found a bed we rather liked, and was affordable. But then it came to buying it. We were told we could upgrade the slats for £40 to their "Luxury" bedbase. Good idea we thought. Until we saw this "Luxury" base.
Now, a little back story. When I first moved into my flat in Stockwell one girl had a brand new leather bed. We were all a little jealous as it was lovely, and had a memory foam mattress, and was really comfy. Yet on the first night, my housemate woke in the night with a thud. Half the slats had fallen through. So at 3am she slotted all but one back in (that one didn't seem to fit at all). And then was awoken an hour later with a similar problem. As the weeks progressed you stopped being able to sleep, sit, even place light objects on the bed without the customary "thud" following. She tried everything - gluing them in, placing things under them, but nothing made a scrap of difference. In the end the landlord provided an enormous piece of MDF to put over the bed base. It worked, but my god is it uncomfortable.
The "Luxury" base at Dreams was this exact base. You can see why we walked out.
On the tube I noticed an advert for Warren Evans, mentioned it to my Dad, who confirmed that he and my step mother got their bed there. Fearing the expense the Boyfriend and I popped into the one in Clapham Junction (looks terrible from outside but is cosy and inviting inside). We spent over an hour bouncing, napping, and spooning on the vast range of beds.
The prices are as varied as the frames. There are basic platform bases from about £150 or you can get full super kingsizes for about £1000. They also sell mattresses, again across a similar price range.
You can pick the bed frame, and also the wood you want it made in (we went for a double Cottage in Elm - it is gorgeous). We didn't need a mattress, but we did look at some of the other things we could get. Underbed storage made to fit/match your bed looked good, although at the rate we are haemorrhaging money, they can wait. You could also get bedroom furniture.
Please note, this is not our bedroom, but it is the bed/wood we have chosen. It looks even lovelier in our room.
You order the bed and it takes a week to make, and then they will deliver it and put it up. They recommend that everytime you move house you contact them to help dissemble/reassemble the bed as apparently everytime an amateur does it, the bed ages by several years (which probably explains the state of my bed, now relegated to the second bedroom as it is so shakey and unstable the Boyfriend refused to move in with me unless it was replaced).
When delivering they were prompt, expert and polite. And the bed gives us a wonderful night's sleep, with none of the lurking potential nightmares of Dreams.
Moving 3.....
By Sunday, the flat actually resembled somewhere to live (except the second bedroom, which even now still resembles a war zone). We had an enormous sofa and footstool (courtesy of Ebay - £89. Total bargain as from Ikea more like £550) and a TV that rivals a cinema screen (first thing the Boyfriend bought - even before a bed).
The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.
The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).
Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).
We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.
The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.
The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).
Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).
We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.
Moving 2....
So I went into work. And obviously could not concentrate. And also had an incredibly busy day. It was not good, and by midday I could barely contain myself, and practically ran to Waterloo to get on the train to MY NEW HOME!!!
Seven minutes later and I was at Queenstown Road. 6minutes later I was outside the new flat. The Boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason there was an Estonian lady industrially cleaning the kitchen. I then realised the the whole flat was distinctly dusty, grubby, and definitely in need of a good clean.
I rang the boy, and waited outside. I then heard what sounded like an army truck, turned, and saw the Boyfriend driving something enormous. Apparently the van he hired looked a little small, so he had upgraded. To something not dissimilar to a small lorry. It turned out to be a good decision as all my stuff filled it to bursting. And he had left some bits behind.
We unloaded, but had to leave everything in the second bedroom as nothing had been cleaned. And then jumped back in the van and went to my parents. And then to the Boyfriend's to get the rest of his stuff.
By the evening we were exhausted. And hungry. And grubby. And tired. The Boyfriend was determined to bring his hideous leather armchair (think Chandler and Joey's from Friends) into the house before we went out for dinner. Sadly the damn thing was too wide to get through the gate. So we lifted it (all billion kilos of it). And then it was too wide to get through the front door. Did this put him off? No.
After nearly an hour (yes an HOUR) I suggested it might have to go back. The response was a little frosty. So on we went.
We eventually got it in by putting it in the recline position and literally dragging it through the house. It is a little dusty, has a little gloss paint on it and several small rips, but the monstrosity is now happily planted in the second bedroom. Oh joy.
Seven minutes later and I was at Queenstown Road. 6minutes later I was outside the new flat. The Boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason there was an Estonian lady industrially cleaning the kitchen. I then realised the the whole flat was distinctly dusty, grubby, and definitely in need of a good clean.
I rang the boy, and waited outside. I then heard what sounded like an army truck, turned, and saw the Boyfriend driving something enormous. Apparently the van he hired looked a little small, so he had upgraded. To something not dissimilar to a small lorry. It turned out to be a good decision as all my stuff filled it to bursting. And he had left some bits behind.
We unloaded, but had to leave everything in the second bedroom as nothing had been cleaned. And then jumped back in the van and went to my parents. And then to the Boyfriend's to get the rest of his stuff.
By the evening we were exhausted. And hungry. And grubby. And tired. The Boyfriend was determined to bring his hideous leather armchair (think Chandler and Joey's from Friends) into the house before we went out for dinner. Sadly the damn thing was too wide to get through the gate. So we lifted it (all billion kilos of it). And then it was too wide to get through the front door. Did this put him off? No.
After nearly an hour (yes an HOUR) I suggested it might have to go back. The response was a little frosty. So on we went.
We eventually got it in by putting it in the recline position and literally dragging it through the house. It is a little dusty, has a little gloss paint on it and several small rips, but the monstrosity is now happily planted in the second bedroom. Oh joy.
Moving 1.....
Packing up my stuff and leaving the girls was sad. And also rather impressive. I seemed to have accumulated so much extra stuff in the few years since uni that I not only filled every single box/suitcase/bag for life in the house, but when piled up, my belongings took over my room, the kitchen, and the living room (including under and on the table - also mine, and on all the sofas).
I made little fairy cakes, spelling out "I'll miss you" in tiny smarties. Sadly the Boyfriend ate three not realising they actually spelt anything, so it then read 'll iss yu. Not quite the same.
I finished packing at approximately 11.20pm. I then had to be up for work at 3.20am. And realised I had packed my bedding, pillows and pyjamas. So slept in my clothes with a towel for a pillow and a throw that could definitely have done with a wash.
Oh the excitement for tomorrow!
I made little fairy cakes, spelling out "I'll miss you" in tiny smarties. Sadly the Boyfriend ate three not realising they actually spelt anything, so it then read 'll iss yu. Not quite the same.
I finished packing at approximately 11.20pm. I then had to be up for work at 3.20am. And realised I had packed my bedding, pillows and pyjamas. So slept in my clothes with a towel for a pillow and a throw that could definitely have done with a wash.
Oh the excitement for tomorrow!
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
I have to live with a boy.....
I've been bad again. Although it is not an excuse, but the last couple of months have been a bit hectic. Work, holidays, work, house hunting, work, work, a bit more work, and house furnishing.
So to give you all a quick update... Househunting got progressively worse. I had seen EVERYTHING on the market, and it was all rubbish (too expensive, tiny, not what we wanted, ex council - just to give you a flavour, we were looking for a two bed flat with a garden. I was shown a 1 bedroom with a "study". Said study was a conservatory with a table in it. When I asked where the chair was I was told that there wasn't space. And they wanted £1350 pm. What a joke).
So the boyfriend and I abandoned the search, booked a wonderful holiday (5* Rhodes Spa Hotel - I read 5 amazing books, got a fantastic tan, and ate/drank/slept far too much). On our return I reluctantly went to look at ANOTHER flat, totally disinterested and prepared to hate it on sight.
Oh, how wrong I was. I LOVED it . It is in a lovely place (off Queenstown Road) it has 2 proper double bedrooms, a garden, living room, kitchen, bathroom and as none of my homes have ever been complete without at least one idiosyncracy there is one problem (only access to garden is through the bathroom) but it is not so bad that it becomes a dealbreaker (the toilet is in a separate room - and as I pointed out to the Boyfriend, how often do you decide to shower when having friends round for a barbeque?).
So we move next week. It is unfurnished and so we have embarked on a beg, borrow, steal mission from both our long suffering families (and have been rather successful - chest of drawers, wardrobe, mattress - although my stepmother keeps trying to fob us off with frankly, rather useless/unimportant things - a gravy boat, and large box of, mainly broken, Christmas decorations to name but two).
The other fascinating thing was how much the Boyfriend and I differed on flat necessities. Without delay, the Boyfriend immediately bought a 42" plasma for over £500. I went to Lom Bok, got a lovely mirror in the sale, got a hand knitted throw, and some lovely prints to frame. Neither of us felt the immediate need of getting a bed, sofa, pans, shelves. But at least we will be warm in our throw, sat on the floor watching an enormous TV.
The main thing we are now currently lacking is a sofa (and gosh, aren't they expensive!). Even Ikea are asking upwards of £400 for one! Don't even get me started on DFS - hundreds for a hideous, overstuffed monstrosity, that is not only an eyesore, but less comfortable than a park bench.
The Boyfriend suggested getting one from Tesco. He sold it to me wonderfully, telling me "they look a bit weird, and the reviews say they are all really uncomfortable, but they are only £200". Great.
So we are resorting to Ebay. Fingers crossed. I promise I shan't leave it so long to give you the update.
Friday, 20 August 2010
Celebrations
I am back up in the North. I am not working the weekend for the first time in a long time. And yesterday The Wiganer and I celebrated my belated birthday and her new job by going to a spa, courtesy of Dragon Mr Bannatyne.
I'm not good at spas. I can't sit still, get easily distracted and often a little bored. Plus I am incredibly ticklish and never having had a massage, shy away from the idea because they are a lot of money to spend to feel uncomfortable because you are desperately trying not to wriggle.
But The Wiganer and I put all this aside, and went. We went to the gym (I sweated, The Wiganer did not). And then we went for a swim, and then into the jacuzzi and then steam room and sauna (as predicted I lasted approximately 90seconds before I started fidgeting, getting too hot, annoying every other resident of said hot room, and I had to leave).
And suddenly it was time for our massages (The Wiganer had bought two for both of us - BEST PRESENT EVER). I really was a little nervous. I am REALLY ticklish, and whenever I have a pedicure there is an uncomfortable few minutes when I really do have to wrestle with myself to keep from kicking the poor pedicurist in the face.
I went in, lay down putting the my face carefully in the hole (not like The Wiganer who rammed hers in with such force that she had an interesting red ring around most of her face) and the massage began.
It was wonderful. It wasn't tickly (well, there was a little wriggling at one point) it was relaxing and therapeutic and wonderful.
Afterwards it was all I could do to get up. And as we showered and got ready for dinner I felt light as air. I am getting one again, and for those of you that are in similar financial straits as myself - look at the London College of Beauty Therapy and you can a full body massage for £20 from a trainee therapist.
After spa the celebrations carried on with dinner at Wagamamas, and cocktails in Deansgate (may I recommend the beautiful roof terrace in the Deansgate pub/bar). We had Lychee and Prosecco martinis and bellinis. Perfect.
I'm not good at spas. I can't sit still, get easily distracted and often a little bored. Plus I am incredibly ticklish and never having had a massage, shy away from the idea because they are a lot of money to spend to feel uncomfortable because you are desperately trying not to wriggle.
But The Wiganer and I put all this aside, and went. We went to the gym (I sweated, The Wiganer did not). And then we went for a swim, and then into the jacuzzi and then steam room and sauna (as predicted I lasted approximately 90seconds before I started fidgeting, getting too hot, annoying every other resident of said hot room, and I had to leave).
And suddenly it was time for our massages (The Wiganer had bought two for both of us - BEST PRESENT EVER). I really was a little nervous. I am REALLY ticklish, and whenever I have a pedicure there is an uncomfortable few minutes when I really do have to wrestle with myself to keep from kicking the poor pedicurist in the face.
I went in, lay down putting the my face carefully in the hole (not like The Wiganer who rammed hers in with such force that she had an interesting red ring around most of her face) and the massage began.
It was wonderful. It wasn't tickly (well, there was a little wriggling at one point) it was relaxing and therapeutic and wonderful.
Afterwards it was all I could do to get up. And as we showered and got ready for dinner I felt light as air. I am getting one again, and for those of you that are in similar financial straits as myself - look at the London College of Beauty Therapy and you can a full body massage for £20 from a trainee therapist.
After spa the celebrations carried on with dinner at Wagamamas, and cocktails in Deansgate (may I recommend the beautiful roof terrace in the Deansgate pub/bar). We had Lychee and Prosecco martinis and bellinis. Perfect.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Being a grown-up
After several weeks of fighting my freezer, this weekend I came to realise that my freezer was not just too full, or on slanted floor, or that the door had changed shape - I has to face the reality as to why it wasn't closing properly. It needed defrosting.
Having consulted housemates, we realised that none of us had any idea how to do this (a phone call to a helpful mother, and a quick google consultation rectified this) and that we would also have a vast array of frozen food that would need to be dealt with.
The first thought was party. But we had to defrost it mid-week (the situation was near breaking point - we could not wait til the weekend). So the next option was a mass cook-a-thon, as we realised that we could cook frozen chicken into a curry, and then freeze the curry - genius!
The next day I had totally forgotten about the cook-a-thon and was happily preparing to watch Inception (totally brilliant - really really recommend it). I got in the front door, ready for a 45minute turnaround and was confronted by a mountain of frozen chicken and nearly a kilo of frozen prawns. And I had bought no sauce of any kind.
Now, my family are very evenly split when it comes to cooking. Both my mother and father are two of the worst cooks, possibly in the history of the modern world. my grandmother, while a good cook, hated it with a passion, and sadly this did sometimes feel apparent in her food. Yet my sister, aunty, Deda and my step-mother are all truly inspired chefs, and not only does the food look and taste great, but they geniuinely love it.
I am almost exactly in the middle. I oscillate wildly between loving to cook, and getting irritated and angry and frustrated, until I eventually abandon the whole thing to the bin and get a takeaway. Some concoctions work wonderfully, others, less well (note - do NOT subtitute oil for butter in cake - it does not work).
Luckily last week I was blessed with a good humour, and some even better inspiration. I cooked up the prawns with veg and thai green curry paste and made a vat of the stuff (keeps in the fridge - ate that a lot for lunch that week). And with all the chicken breasts I was a little more adventurous.
First I chopped two red onions and a load of garlic. I softened them over a low heat with some olive oil, and then added the chicken. I then added about two tablespoons of paprika, a pinch of sugar, some seasoning, two chopped peppers, and a tin of tomatoes. I may have added other things, but was limited to the minimalist contents of my cupboards.
I left it all bubbling away while I showered, dressed and made myself presentable for said date with the Boyfriend. I finally turned off the heat as I was pulling the front door closed.
When we returned from the cinema, we were starving (Inception is a great film, but a long one) and so I heated up some of the stew, made a healthy portion of cous cous (fast food of choice as it takes approximately 3 minutes to cook and is less hit and miss than rice) and I may have made it myself by god, it was DELICIOUS.
Having consulted housemates, we realised that none of us had any idea how to do this (a phone call to a helpful mother, and a quick google consultation rectified this) and that we would also have a vast array of frozen food that would need to be dealt with.
The first thought was party. But we had to defrost it mid-week (the situation was near breaking point - we could not wait til the weekend). So the next option was a mass cook-a-thon, as we realised that we could cook frozen chicken into a curry, and then freeze the curry - genius!
The next day I had totally forgotten about the cook-a-thon and was happily preparing to watch Inception (totally brilliant - really really recommend it). I got in the front door, ready for a 45minute turnaround and was confronted by a mountain of frozen chicken and nearly a kilo of frozen prawns. And I had bought no sauce of any kind.
Now, my family are very evenly split when it comes to cooking. Both my mother and father are two of the worst cooks, possibly in the history of the modern world. my grandmother, while a good cook, hated it with a passion, and sadly this did sometimes feel apparent in her food. Yet my sister, aunty, Deda and my step-mother are all truly inspired chefs, and not only does the food look and taste great, but they geniuinely love it.
I am almost exactly in the middle. I oscillate wildly between loving to cook, and getting irritated and angry and frustrated, until I eventually abandon the whole thing to the bin and get a takeaway. Some concoctions work wonderfully, others, less well (note - do NOT subtitute oil for butter in cake - it does not work).
Luckily last week I was blessed with a good humour, and some even better inspiration. I cooked up the prawns with veg and thai green curry paste and made a vat of the stuff (keeps in the fridge - ate that a lot for lunch that week). And with all the chicken breasts I was a little more adventurous.
First I chopped two red onions and a load of garlic. I softened them over a low heat with some olive oil, and then added the chicken. I then added about two tablespoons of paprika, a pinch of sugar, some seasoning, two chopped peppers, and a tin of tomatoes. I may have added other things, but was limited to the minimalist contents of my cupboards.
I left it all bubbling away while I showered, dressed and made myself presentable for said date with the Boyfriend. I finally turned off the heat as I was pulling the front door closed.
When we returned from the cinema, we were starving (Inception is a great film, but a long one) and so I heated up some of the stew, made a healthy portion of cous cous (fast food of choice as it takes approximately 3 minutes to cook and is less hit and miss than rice) and I may have made it myself by god, it was DELICIOUS.
Monday, 9 August 2010
Enjoy it while you can
At the weekend the Boyfriend and I did what we normally do. We got up late, read papers, had a brunchy type meal to help the hangover and then went for a walk. Due to a sudden torrential downpour we had to take shelter in a nearby pub (the recently re-furbished Frog in Clapham Old town - v. nice and recommend it).
We sat down with drinks and felt really cosy (despite it being August) watching the rain pour.
And then.... enter family stage left.
A yummy mummy (chanel sunnies, sass and bide skinnnies and a Velvet vest top, complete with Louboutins) came in with two little boys. Being hopeless at guessing the age of anyone, let alone two small people, I can only surmise that one could only just walk, while the elder could walk, talk and throw things.
In she came, and whipped them both into high chairs. While she rooted about in her bag the older one started eating the napkin and stabbing another napkin with a fork. The younger started banging his knife on the table and shouting "wah wah wah". Mummy then gave them both some toy cars; the younger hurled them to the floor, while the older continued to eat the napkin.
They both were given juice cartons, which excited the younger SO much that he drank it all in one and promptly vomited Ribena all over himself and the floor. By this point Daddy had turned up.
Eventually their food arrived. The older one was more interested in the ketchup than the chips. He dipped his finger in the pot and quickly licked it off, keeping his eyes on his father constantly. Just as he was pulling his finger out of the ketchup and propelling it mouthwards his father turned, saw what was happening and said very sternly "DON'T YOU DARE PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH". His son's response.... to quickly suck the ketchup off anyway.
By this point the Boyfriend and I were quite literally in hysterics. Which I'm sure did not help in the slightest. Luckily the parents too had a sense of humour. The father looked over at us, smiled and said "you just wait. Enjoy it while you can".
Playing witness to this hilarious epsiode brightened our otherwise selfish and childless weekend. But as we walked back home it suddenly dawned on me that when you have children EVERY MEAL, EVERY DAY would be like that. And it then seemed much less entertaining.
I'm not sure that motherhood is beckoning quite yet.
We sat down with drinks and felt really cosy (despite it being August) watching the rain pour.
And then.... enter family stage left.
A yummy mummy (chanel sunnies, sass and bide skinnnies and a Velvet vest top, complete with Louboutins) came in with two little boys. Being hopeless at guessing the age of anyone, let alone two small people, I can only surmise that one could only just walk, while the elder could walk, talk and throw things.
In she came, and whipped them both into high chairs. While she rooted about in her bag the older one started eating the napkin and stabbing another napkin with a fork. The younger started banging his knife on the table and shouting "wah wah wah". Mummy then gave them both some toy cars; the younger hurled them to the floor, while the older continued to eat the napkin.
They both were given juice cartons, which excited the younger SO much that he drank it all in one and promptly vomited Ribena all over himself and the floor. By this point Daddy had turned up.
Eventually their food arrived. The older one was more interested in the ketchup than the chips. He dipped his finger in the pot and quickly licked it off, keeping his eyes on his father constantly. Just as he was pulling his finger out of the ketchup and propelling it mouthwards his father turned, saw what was happening and said very sternly "DON'T YOU DARE PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH". His son's response.... to quickly suck the ketchup off anyway.
By this point the Boyfriend and I were quite literally in hysterics. Which I'm sure did not help in the slightest. Luckily the parents too had a sense of humour. The father looked over at us, smiled and said "you just wait. Enjoy it while you can".
Playing witness to this hilarious epsiode brightened our otherwise selfish and childless weekend. But as we walked back home it suddenly dawned on me that when you have children EVERY MEAL, EVERY DAY would be like that. And it then seemed much less entertaining.
I'm not sure that motherhood is beckoning quite yet.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Tasty London
Recently everyone I know has obtained a tastecard (previously Taste London card). It is a card that gives you a 50% discount or 2 4 1 on main meals at a variety of restaurants across London.
I was then emailed a link that meant the card was only £30 instead of the usual £70. So the boyfriend and I decided to invest in one.
We recieved a bible-like catalogue of every restaurant that offers a deal. A lot of them are places that generally have a deal already (Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Strada) but there are also some real gems.
Now, the Boyfriend and I do eat out quite regularly, and don't really need another reason to do it more often. But now that we can potentially save 50%.....
Last week we tested it for the first time. We went to The Loft in Clapham with a couple of friends. The Loft does wonderful cocktails (mojito with pear juice - YUM, as was an elderflower concoction) which were also on offer, and the food did not disappoint.
Two of us had seabass with garlic spinach and asparagus and a sun-dried tomato paste. It was delicious. And I don't even like spinach. The Boyfriend had sausage and mash (you cannot go wrong with that) and James had pork belly (you could have it thin and crispy or thick and juicy... thick and juicy was gooooood).
The only complaint was that some of the food was not PIPING hot, but it was all very tasty and mixed very well with the cocktails. And the best part was getting the bill - it worked out as about £10 a head. What a bargain.
I was then emailed a link that meant the card was only £30 instead of the usual £70. So the boyfriend and I decided to invest in one.
We recieved a bible-like catalogue of every restaurant that offers a deal. A lot of them are places that generally have a deal already (Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Strada) but there are also some real gems.
Now, the Boyfriend and I do eat out quite regularly, and don't really need another reason to do it more often. But now that we can potentially save 50%.....
Last week we tested it for the first time. We went to The Loft in Clapham with a couple of friends. The Loft does wonderful cocktails (mojito with pear juice - YUM, as was an elderflower concoction) which were also on offer, and the food did not disappoint.
Two of us had seabass with garlic spinach and asparagus and a sun-dried tomato paste. It was delicious. And I don't even like spinach. The Boyfriend had sausage and mash (you cannot go wrong with that) and James had pork belly (you could have it thin and crispy or thick and juicy... thick and juicy was gooooood).
The only complaint was that some of the food was not PIPING hot, but it was all very tasty and mixed very well with the cocktails. And the best part was getting the bill - it worked out as about £10 a head. What a bargain.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Home sweet home
So the Boyfriend and I are looking for a flat. I have a horrible sense that it is going to be a painful process.
We want somewhere with an outside, and two bedrooms, in an area we like (Battersea, Clapham, Brixton, Stockwell) and within our budget.
The Boyfriend had some other stipulations, but they have been disregarded as silly - a big kitchen (the last time he cooked was 3years ago and he caused a minor fire) and a bathroom with windows. Yes I know, of all the things to disregard an otherwise perfect house, I do not want to have to aplogetically decline over a lack of window.....)
So far I have had a lot of help from some very attentive estate agents. The only problem is that they all seem to have an IQ rivalled by a peanut.
Over the past 3 days I have received over 15phonecalls and emails.
They all start along the same line:
"We have found you a perfect property"
Great.
Then the problems start. I have been offered places in Streatham (no), Kent (no) and Acton (no) among others. I have been offered studios, 1 bedroom places, and places with not even a sniff of outside space. I have also been offered beautiful flats, in brilliant locations, that are 6 times our budget. Fantastic.
At first my responses were pleasant - it's easy to get confused, maybe they mixed us up with someone else, everything's right except the location and the price, etc. But after correcting the same man from the same estate agent for the third time I have come to realise that all estate agents are either
a. Lonely, and desperate for ANY contact, even from an angry blonde.
b. Stupid.
c. Related in someway to the goldfish, and therefore unable to retain information for more than 3 seconds.
I shall keep you informed of any developments.
We want somewhere with an outside, and two bedrooms, in an area we like (Battersea, Clapham, Brixton, Stockwell) and within our budget.
The Boyfriend had some other stipulations, but they have been disregarded as silly - a big kitchen (the last time he cooked was 3years ago and he caused a minor fire) and a bathroom with windows. Yes I know, of all the things to disregard an otherwise perfect house, I do not want to have to aplogetically decline over a lack of window.....)
So far I have had a lot of help from some very attentive estate agents. The only problem is that they all seem to have an IQ rivalled by a peanut.
Over the past 3 days I have received over 15phonecalls and emails.
They all start along the same line:
"We have found you a perfect property"
Great.
Then the problems start. I have been offered places in Streatham (no), Kent (no) and Acton (no) among others. I have been offered studios, 1 bedroom places, and places with not even a sniff of outside space. I have also been offered beautiful flats, in brilliant locations, that are 6 times our budget. Fantastic.
At first my responses were pleasant - it's easy to get confused, maybe they mixed us up with someone else, everything's right except the location and the price, etc. But after correcting the same man from the same estate agent for the third time I have come to realise that all estate agents are either
a. Lonely, and desperate for ANY contact, even from an angry blonde.
b. Stupid.
c. Related in someway to the goldfish, and therefore unable to retain information for more than 3 seconds.
I shall keep you informed of any developments.
Legally blonde
I have renamed my blog. It had to be done. I was having a think about what defines me the most and there were 3 things:
My shoes (even though I abandoned them in favour of Uggs last winter....)
London (even though I did abndon it for a weekend of camping...)
And being a blonde. Which I don't think I will ever abandon. Even when blonde betrayed me by turning green in an overchlorainated pool, even when in a moment of madness I dyed it Brown, I never ever stopped being a blonde at heart, be it platinum, bleach, honey or highlighted.
My shoes (even though I abandoned them in favour of Uggs last winter....)
London (even though I did abndon it for a weekend of camping...)
And being a blonde. Which I don't think I will ever abandon. Even when blonde betrayed me by turning green in an overchlorainated pool, even when in a moment of madness I dyed it Brown, I never ever stopped being a blonde at heart, be it platinum, bleach, honey or highlighted.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Holiday part 2
I was leaving Croatia. And while I arrived courtesy of BA, I was leaving with Whizz Air (budget budget budget!). They were actually really good and quick and efficient, and being a shorty, the lack of legroom went unnoticed.
So I made it back to London, and had a whistlestop tour of my house, Croydon (to see the Boyfriend) and then on Friday morning I was back up at Euston. To get the train to Wigan.
There was a serious lack of seats on the train and so I ended up next to a Cockney Hen Party on their way to Essex of the North, Blackpool.
After two hours of being serinaded with obscene songs, dirty jokes and a plastic penis straw landing on my foot I had arrived in The North.
Janine picked me up and then we were off on step 2 of the Holiday. A three hour drive to North Wales.
Yes, Holiday part 2 was a camping holiday in Wales. Oh, and the best part
Me: It's so hot in London, whats the weather been like in Abersoch?
Janine: Raining. Constantly. For the last week.
Janine: Raining. Constantly. For the last week.
Hurrah! I don't even own a waterproof, let alone wellies...
I also don't own a sleeping bag, camping chair (that everyone else seems to have - I think that is weird) a wetsuit (ha!) sleeping mat (I do have a yoga mat) or a tent.
I did, however bring 4 pairs of shoes (sadly none were waterproof) and 2 bikinis. And some dry shampoo.
When we arrived (I slept the entire way) I realised another problem. We were the first ones. Normally we are the last to get there, and hence all the tents, gazebos, BBQs, etc are set up and ready to go. All I need to do for myself is make a large gin and tonic.
Oh no. Not this time. No no, we were putting up the tents.
There were 5 of us. Four girls and BGI (Big Gay Ian). We were hardly Bear Grylls.
We went for the gazebo first. Eventually it was standing, albeit at a rather alarming angle. It did fall down 24 hours later, but ho hum.
Next came the big tent. Now, one of the issues with being small is that I seemed to be called on often to climb/crawl into the unerected tent to insert poles, hold poles, adjust poles, etc. In the end I lost interest, and decided to appoint myself Barmaid.
By the time we got to tent 3 we had all lost interest. We left it after half an hour. It was still pretty flat, and we seemed to have more poles than tent. But by the time the inhabitants of said tent had arrived, I was well and truly G&T'd up and didn't really care.
It was a bit of a change from Croatia, in that it was cold and rained and really wasn't as cheap. Although we were still by the sea (indeed we even went into the sea! Although left rather quickly when my fingernails turns blue, and I lost the feeling in both feet).
But despite the lesser location and lesser weather, it was by no means the lesser holiday. There was singing and drinking and BBQing and 20 questions (and 54 questions, and even question 33a and b). There were drunken speeches and beach rounders. There were Percy Pigs and Dairy Milk and shopping and surf boards. There was chippy tea (for some there was even chippy tea between bread - chippy sandwich) and morning fry-ups.
At least there was enough sun for beach time on the last day.
Holiday part 1
Holiday part 1. Off on a plane at the sophisticated hour of 9pm from Gatwick. It was a BA flight. So mid-flight meal. And leg room. And allocated seats and so no mad scramble to get aisles next to each other.
And then we got off the other end in beautiful Croatia.
For those that have never been, you must. It is my favourite holiday destination. Miles and miles of beautiful coast, great climate (sunny, but not muggy, hot, but with a breeze off the sea) cheapy cheap cheap and yummy food.
We had a little villa about 12km outside of Dubrovnik. Perfect in everyway it was halfway up a mega hill (as is everything on the coast) with a pool, lots of sunloungers and just enough space for 6.
Directly below was the sea and a lovely little restaurant/bar called the Hawaii (dinner and drinks for 6 came to just under £35. No I kid you not).
It was the perfect chilled out break. In the mornings we would travel to an island, or Dubrovnik or a little beach. When we were tired we'd drive back and eat lunch (followed by Milka - the novelty of being abroad). And then the rest of the day would be spent tanning and swimming and reading (read 3 books - Winter in Madrid - amazing, Fahrenhiet 451 - hmmmmm, and The Help - totally wonderful).
We then showered and went for more dinner.
One day we hired kayaks (being in the Adriatic made this an infinitely more enjoyable experience than being in the freezing depths of the Lake District). I was paired with my father (who, despite whinging about being put with me, was actually the greater hindrance). We paddled out to a cove, got out, ate sandwiches and went snorkling. Then back in the boats and round one of the little islands just off the coast.
I left on the Thursday. They all stayed until the Saturday. But I was brown and rested and ready to go on to holiday part 2.
And then we got off the other end in beautiful Croatia.
For those that have never been, you must. It is my favourite holiday destination. Miles and miles of beautiful coast, great climate (sunny, but not muggy, hot, but with a breeze off the sea) cheapy cheap cheap and yummy food.
We had a little villa about 12km outside of Dubrovnik. Perfect in everyway it was halfway up a mega hill (as is everything on the coast) with a pool, lots of sunloungers and just enough space for 6.
Directly below was the sea and a lovely little restaurant/bar called the Hawaii (dinner and drinks for 6 came to just under £35. No I kid you not).
It was the perfect chilled out break. In the mornings we would travel to an island, or Dubrovnik or a little beach. When we were tired we'd drive back and eat lunch (followed by Milka - the novelty of being abroad). And then the rest of the day would be spent tanning and swimming and reading (read 3 books - Winter in Madrid - amazing, Fahrenhiet 451 - hmmmmm, and The Help - totally wonderful).
We then showered and went for more dinner.
One day we hired kayaks (being in the Adriatic made this an infinitely more enjoyable experience than being in the freezing depths of the Lake District). I was paired with my father (who, despite whinging about being put with me, was actually the greater hindrance). We paddled out to a cove, got out, ate sandwiches and went snorkling. Then back in the boats and round one of the little islands just off the coast.
I left on the Thursday. They all stayed until the Saturday. But I was brown and rested and ready to go on to holiday part 2.
Monday, 28 June 2010
BBQ
Last year I was devastated by the lack of Barbeques. I didn't go to a single one. This was both a mixture of lots of people not having outside space (and lets face it, an indoor bbq is just dangerous) and myself working a lot of weekends.
This year I am determined not to repeat this fiasco, and to set the ball rolling I hosted my first BBQ this weekend. The Boyfriend and I went to Tesco, and instead of buying a few disposable ones, we really pushed the boat out and got a real one, complete with brickets and lighter fluid.
Putting it together was a severe test on the relationship. But a few hours later, after an argument, some lost screws, some extra nuts, an attempt to bend/fuse/force metal and a humiliating call to Tesco customer services (it turned out that we had read the instructions wrong, and not that they had provided us with a substandard BBQ set) we had our very own (if really small) BBQ.
Then came the food prep. Marinating chicken (may I recommend teriyaki - yum and quick), chopping veg and bread, making salads and gin and tonic (no Pimms - too much hassle, and when made en masse it always seems to taste flat), and then people started to arrive.
Pearse brought homemade burgers (the boy is a culinary genius) and we also had more bread, more meat and a lot of juice.
When it came to lighting the BBQ it took a while. I think the flaw was not applying the lighter fluid liberally enough. But once we had reapplied (and moved the table - I was very close to some rather spectacular flames, and one guest was wearing a substantial amount of hairspray - we wanted no disasters) it really got going.
Weirdly, the Boyfriend could not have been more eager to help with the cooking. Considering his last foray into the world of cuisine resulted in fire alarms, a lot of smoke and some very burnt peas (yes it is possible to burn peas) I was impressed (though hardly surprised) at the interest. I think it was more interest in fire than in cooking.
Anyway, the evening was a success. The food was lovely (chicken cooked in oven to prevent any poisoning) the drink plentiful and the company many and varied. Plus one guest did all the washing up (what a treat!) and the Boyfriend cleared up outside (even better treat!).
And at the end of it all, we have our very own love child, in the form of a small Tesco's own brand BBQ. Roll on summer.
This year I am determined not to repeat this fiasco, and to set the ball rolling I hosted my first BBQ this weekend. The Boyfriend and I went to Tesco, and instead of buying a few disposable ones, we really pushed the boat out and got a real one, complete with brickets and lighter fluid.
Putting it together was a severe test on the relationship. But a few hours later, after an argument, some lost screws, some extra nuts, an attempt to bend/fuse/force metal and a humiliating call to Tesco customer services (it turned out that we had read the instructions wrong, and not that they had provided us with a substandard BBQ set) we had our very own (if really small) BBQ.
Then came the food prep. Marinating chicken (may I recommend teriyaki - yum and quick), chopping veg and bread, making salads and gin and tonic (no Pimms - too much hassle, and when made en masse it always seems to taste flat), and then people started to arrive.
Pearse brought homemade burgers (the boy is a culinary genius) and we also had more bread, more meat and a lot of juice.
When it came to lighting the BBQ it took a while. I think the flaw was not applying the lighter fluid liberally enough. But once we had reapplied (and moved the table - I was very close to some rather spectacular flames, and one guest was wearing a substantial amount of hairspray - we wanted no disasters) it really got going.
Weirdly, the Boyfriend could not have been more eager to help with the cooking. Considering his last foray into the world of cuisine resulted in fire alarms, a lot of smoke and some very burnt peas (yes it is possible to burn peas) I was impressed (though hardly surprised) at the interest. I think it was more interest in fire than in cooking.
Anyway, the evening was a success. The food was lovely (chicken cooked in oven to prevent any poisoning) the drink plentiful and the company many and varied. Plus one guest did all the washing up (what a treat!) and the Boyfriend cleared up outside (even better treat!).
And at the end of it all, we have our very own love child, in the form of a small Tesco's own brand BBQ. Roll on summer.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
The Big Bad Budget part 2
So Boy George delivered his Big Bad Budget on Tuesday. It was anxiously anticipated, with many fearing a return of the Nasty Party Tories crushing the little man and saving the rich.
As a 20-something single (well single in the eyes of the law) with no dependents and working in the private sector it will not affect me that much. Fuel, fags and booze remain the same and cider duty has gone back down (the Boyfriend let out a cheer).
VAT will obviously make a difference, although it will be as little as the difference it made when they lowered it by 2.5% (depressingly many of the London public seemed incapable of grasping the new VAT rate - I had loads of people claiming that buying something that was previously £100 for £120 was outrageous. I did try to explain that it would now cost only £102.50, but in many cases it seemed to be to no avail...)
It is people that get pregnant, claim benefits or work within the public sector that will feel the effects the worse. Or the wealthier among us paying capital gains tax (I for one hold little sympathy for such characters).
Child benefit and public sector pay are to be frozen (some people claiming this is actually a pay cut as due to inflataion their money won't go as far). Housing allowance is to be capped (although not to a measly, unrealistic amount - £250 per week for a 1 bed flat seems fairly decent to me. Especially in Stockwell; moving down to Tooting and that will get you a palace, and going up to Wigan you could get an entire 4 bedroom family house with garden and no I kid you not).
Start-up costs for those that get pregnant will be cut, and anyone claiming disability allowance will need to reassessed.
Hopefully it will make a positive difference. We are all getting a little tired of this recession. And for all those worried about VAT going up listen closely. Chocolate covered biscuits (eg choc covered shortbread) - luxury item therefore pay VAT. Bakery items (such as cakes, flapjacks, etc) and choclate biccies with choc chips - not classed as luxury item, therefore no VAT.
So lesson learned - buy a Maryland not a penguin.
As a 20-something single (well single in the eyes of the law) with no dependents and working in the private sector it will not affect me that much. Fuel, fags and booze remain the same and cider duty has gone back down (the Boyfriend let out a cheer).
VAT will obviously make a difference, although it will be as little as the difference it made when they lowered it by 2.5% (depressingly many of the London public seemed incapable of grasping the new VAT rate - I had loads of people claiming that buying something that was previously £100 for £120 was outrageous. I did try to explain that it would now cost only £102.50, but in many cases it seemed to be to no avail...)
It is people that get pregnant, claim benefits or work within the public sector that will feel the effects the worse. Or the wealthier among us paying capital gains tax (I for one hold little sympathy for such characters).
Child benefit and public sector pay are to be frozen (some people claiming this is actually a pay cut as due to inflataion their money won't go as far). Housing allowance is to be capped (although not to a measly, unrealistic amount - £250 per week for a 1 bed flat seems fairly decent to me. Especially in Stockwell; moving down to Tooting and that will get you a palace, and going up to Wigan you could get an entire 4 bedroom family house with garden and no I kid you not).
Start-up costs for those that get pregnant will be cut, and anyone claiming disability allowance will need to reassessed.
Hopefully it will make a positive difference. We are all getting a little tired of this recession. And for all those worried about VAT going up listen closely. Chocolate covered biscuits (eg choc covered shortbread) - luxury item therefore pay VAT. Bakery items (such as cakes, flapjacks, etc) and choclate biccies with choc chips - not classed as luxury item, therefore no VAT.
So lesson learned - buy a Maryland not a penguin.
Oh, and just to settle the age-old debate, the Jaffa Cake is classed as a cake, thus proven because we do not pay VAT on said bakery item.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
The Big Bad Budget
The budget has been looming over us for the last few weeks. Both Cameron and Osborne have been dropping us titbits of how bad it will be, warnings of the potential pain it will cause, and spreading a general dark cloud.
Perhaps optimistically, but I am of the feeling that so much doom-spreading is merely there to make us feel better when the real thing happens this afternoon. By expecting the worse, we can only be pleasantly surprised when things don't turn out as badly as anticipated.
Or perhaps I am too idealistic. I shall have to let you know whether the optimism is spot-on or severely misplaced.
Perhaps optimistically, but I am of the feeling that so much doom-spreading is merely there to make us feel better when the real thing happens this afternoon. By expecting the worse, we can only be pleasantly surprised when things don't turn out as badly as anticipated.
Or perhaps I am too idealistic. I shall have to let you know whether the optimism is spot-on or severely misplaced.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Khamsa
One of the best things about the World Cup is the sudden awareness it gives us Brits of other countries. Algeria meant very little until Friday, and few people could even place Slovenia on a map, but come Wednesday it will be our arch nemesis.
The Boyfriend has had an entire week off to watch the World Cup. Most days he has not even managed to get dressed properly. On Thursday and Friday I joined him, but by Saturday I was going a little nuts and decided to look at the World Cup Jessica style.
Some friends invited us out for dinner. With new awareness of the African nation of Algeria, we settled on Khamsa, a restuarant on my beloved Acre Lane and Algerian to the max (the decor is mainly Algerian flags pinned to the walls, windows and doors).
It had rather excellent reviews, and although the (extremely short) menu was a photocopied booklet with each one having the pages in a different and varied order, we ordered a range of unpronouncible starters and main courses, and they were all delicious.
It is bring your own booze, and so the cost is kept to a minimum. We shared a vat of hummus and bread, and also a very nice chickpea, tomato and sausage salady thing (it was called chkcoka - and yes the waitress will make you have a go at pronouncing it). For mains I went for chicken skewers with couscous. The others went for rather spectacular smelling (and looking) tagines (order couscous separately though - they don't come with anything) which were also thoroughly delicious.
It is nothing too fancy or over the top. It will not overwhelm you with choice or grandeur. But it will fill you up, won't break the bank and provides you with a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Plus across the road is Brixton's finest bar - The Grand Union, complete with cocktails and treehouses. The perfect end to a tummyful of Algerian nosh.
The Boyfriend has had an entire week off to watch the World Cup. Most days he has not even managed to get dressed properly. On Thursday and Friday I joined him, but by Saturday I was going a little nuts and decided to look at the World Cup Jessica style.
Some friends invited us out for dinner. With new awareness of the African nation of Algeria, we settled on Khamsa, a restuarant on my beloved Acre Lane and Algerian to the max (the decor is mainly Algerian flags pinned to the walls, windows and doors).
It had rather excellent reviews, and although the (extremely short) menu was a photocopied booklet with each one having the pages in a different and varied order, we ordered a range of unpronouncible starters and main courses, and they were all delicious.
It is bring your own booze, and so the cost is kept to a minimum. We shared a vat of hummus and bread, and also a very nice chickpea, tomato and sausage salady thing (it was called chkcoka - and yes the waitress will make you have a go at pronouncing it). For mains I went for chicken skewers with couscous. The others went for rather spectacular smelling (and looking) tagines (order couscous separately though - they don't come with anything) which were also thoroughly delicious.
It is nothing too fancy or over the top. It will not overwhelm you with choice or grandeur. But it will fill you up, won't break the bank and provides you with a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Plus across the road is Brixton's finest bar - The Grand Union, complete with cocktails and treehouses. The perfect end to a tummyful of Algerian nosh.
Monday, 14 June 2010
World Cup Birthday
So the first England game of the World Cup gatecrashed my birthday. Obviously when the news was broken to me I was devastated, and briefly debated fighting the patriotic spirit. But as the Boyfriend pointed out, if I fought it I'd probably lose, and be sat alone at home wearing a party hat.
So I decided to embrace it fully, booking a massive table directly in front of the biggest TV in the pub beer garden. We got there at 5, ordered Pimms and Gin and Tonic, and got stuck into the barbeque (posh chicken kebab in a wrap - YUM).
By 7.10 I had managed to fill the two enormous tables I had booked and was deeply engrossed in a conversation (obviously non football related) with a friend I have not really seen in 10yrs. And suddenly there was singing and bright lights, and I realised there was a big cake with candles. And 200 England fans singing Happy Birthday.
And then the football began, and the same 200 fans that had sung me Happy Birthday were roaring "Roo-ney Roo-ney" and cheering and screaming, and when the goal was scored acting in a manner not unlike that of monkeys.
I feel that both my birthday and the England game managed to co-exist pretty well.
So I decided to embrace it fully, booking a massive table directly in front of the biggest TV in the pub beer garden. We got there at 5, ordered Pimms and Gin and Tonic, and got stuck into the barbeque (posh chicken kebab in a wrap - YUM).
By 7.10 I had managed to fill the two enormous tables I had booked and was deeply engrossed in a conversation (obviously non football related) with a friend I have not really seen in 10yrs. And suddenly there was singing and bright lights, and I realised there was a big cake with candles. And 200 England fans singing Happy Birthday.
And then the football began, and the same 200 fans that had sung me Happy Birthday were roaring "Roo-ney Roo-ney" and cheering and screaming, and when the goal was scored acting in a manner not unlike that of monkeys.
I feel that both my birthday and the England game managed to co-exist pretty well.
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Britishness
A few years ago myself and a close friend dedicated a month of my life to making a short documentary about what it was to be British.
The majority of the content (aside from a few interviews) was made up of vox pops from people all over the UK about what Britishness meant to them. The answers ranged from the serious, to the hilarious to the extreme.
Rain, roasts, big red buses, the union jack, a curry, sense of humour, manners, tea, Buckingham Palace, Shakespeare, Tesco, fry ups, Richard Branson, the list was endless.
I hadn't really thought about that documentary for a while, but recently a close friend asked me for help. Her boyfriend is a New Yorker and they are going over there in June to visit his family. It is her first time meeting family and also in New York. While I am seething quietly with envy at the prospect of her spending a fortnight in the Mecca for all city girls, we are also working hard on thinking of good gifts for the parents.
They need to be typically British but without being naff (no tins of shortbread or stuffed Harrods bears). So far my contribution has been my personal list of the best of British:
Cath Kidston
Jo Malone
Lady and Earl grey tea
Shakespeare
John Lewis
Decent Chocolate
Elderflower martinis
It is currently a work in progress. I shall let you know the verdict.
The majority of the content (aside from a few interviews) was made up of vox pops from people all over the UK about what Britishness meant to them. The answers ranged from the serious, to the hilarious to the extreme.
Rain, roasts, big red buses, the union jack, a curry, sense of humour, manners, tea, Buckingham Palace, Shakespeare, Tesco, fry ups, Richard Branson, the list was endless.
I hadn't really thought about that documentary for a while, but recently a close friend asked me for help. Her boyfriend is a New Yorker and they are going over there in June to visit his family. It is her first time meeting family and also in New York. While I am seething quietly with envy at the prospect of her spending a fortnight in the Mecca for all city girls, we are also working hard on thinking of good gifts for the parents.
They need to be typically British but without being naff (no tins of shortbread or stuffed Harrods bears). So far my contribution has been my personal list of the best of British:
Cath Kidston
Jo Malone
Lady and Earl grey tea
London
TeapotsShakespeare
John Lewis
Decent Chocolate
Elderflower martinis
It is currently a work in progress. I shall let you know the verdict.
Monday, 7 June 2010
Alone in Berlin
I have just read a wonderful book. It has quite literally been lost in translation. Published in 1947 in German, it has only recently been translated and published into English.
Set during the Second World War it charts the actions of an elderly couple taking a stand against Hitler. They drop treasonous postcards around the city, slating the Fuhrer and his actions. They hope that their words will spur other people to take action against the Nazis. In reality Hitler has cultivated such a sophisticated culture of fear in Berlin, and the rest of Germany that the postcards are picked up and immediately handed in or destroyed.
The message of the book seems intially to be a dark one. The Nazis were brought down by foreign powers, not by a German resistance force, and this fact seems to make all resistance efforts even more futile. The Nazi regime was so thorough in its divisive nature that no opposition group came near to getting a firm hold (for more accounts of resistance one only has to watch the Hollywood Tom Cruise blockbuster Valkyrie).
Yet throughout the book there is a theme of good. There is a sense, and it is voiced a number of times towards the end that it is better to die with a good, honest mind and a sense of morality, than to live as a monster, or as someone that did not act against the monstrous.
Very little of our literature in England is translated. But in the last year two translations have come my way, and both had totally blown me away (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo being the other). It seems to me that foreign literature is incredibly rich, and that maybe with our British tradition of expecting everything in English we are possibly losing out.
Set during the Second World War it charts the actions of an elderly couple taking a stand against Hitler. They drop treasonous postcards around the city, slating the Fuhrer and his actions. They hope that their words will spur other people to take action against the Nazis. In reality Hitler has cultivated such a sophisticated culture of fear in Berlin, and the rest of Germany that the postcards are picked up and immediately handed in or destroyed.
The message of the book seems intially to be a dark one. The Nazis were brought down by foreign powers, not by a German resistance force, and this fact seems to make all resistance efforts even more futile. The Nazi regime was so thorough in its divisive nature that no opposition group came near to getting a firm hold (for more accounts of resistance one only has to watch the Hollywood Tom Cruise blockbuster Valkyrie).
Yet throughout the book there is a theme of good. There is a sense, and it is voiced a number of times towards the end that it is better to die with a good, honest mind and a sense of morality, than to live as a monster, or as someone that did not act against the monstrous.
Very little of our literature in England is translated. But in the last year two translations have come my way, and both had totally blown me away (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo being the other). It seems to me that foreign literature is incredibly rich, and that maybe with our British tradition of expecting everything in English we are possibly losing out.
Chipotle
Last year I lost my beloved sister to San Diego. It was sad. We are close in age and size and senses of humour and despite picking the furthest possible UK option for university (St Andrews) at least she was still at the end of a very long train journey (see previous blog) or at the very worst at the end of a phone.
So when she decided that teeny tiny St Andrews was really too teeny tiny, she went to somewhere less teeny tiny - America.
And so began the long and tedious negotiations for phonecalls. She was 8 hours behind, we had to use Skype - brilliant invention for any global relationship. Less great if you use my sister's laptop, which, among other things has a broken mircophone (so you can't really hear her) only one working headphone (so she can't really hear you) and a broken space bar (not so much of a problem for Skype, but made reading her emails a challenge to say the least).
The upside to having Miss Lucy in California was that I had a sister in California. Which, after London, is probably the best place in the world. It is hot. All the time. And so everyday you can plan what you want knowing that without fail it will be nice. You can surf in February and not get hypothermia. You can sunbathe all the time and everyone is happy because they are not constantly being rained on. And there is also the food.
San Diego is about 8 miles from Mexico. This means that the Mexican food really is Mexican, but without the potential risks of Mexican food. Plus, as California is the most Western part of the States, if you go more West (you need to go quite a lot more west) you get to Japan. Which means sushi. And then there is good old In and Out Burger - American fast food burgers. Yum.
But the best place (in a week I went twice, in the year Lucy was there she went approximately 70times) was Chipotle. You get a big juicy burrito stuffed with chicken (or beef, or even just veggies) rice, veg, salsa and the world famous chipotle sauce. They are amazing, and when Lucy listed all the people she would miss, Chipotle was near the top of that list.
Returning to cloudy, rainy UK Lucy mourned her San Diego life for a little while. But she saw her old friends and got to love her cashmere jumpers and Uggs again. She even appreciated the snow.
And then the other day, walking down Charing Cross road I walked past some building work. A new restaurant was being finished. And there was a symbol I recognised. It was a chilli pepper. And lo and behold it was a Chipotle. Opening in our very own London town.
Last week Lu and I went. It was a sunny day in May and the food was perfect - we could well have been in California.
So when she decided that teeny tiny St Andrews was really too teeny tiny, she went to somewhere less teeny tiny - America.
And so began the long and tedious negotiations for phonecalls. She was 8 hours behind, we had to use Skype - brilliant invention for any global relationship. Less great if you use my sister's laptop, which, among other things has a broken mircophone (so you can't really hear her) only one working headphone (so she can't really hear you) and a broken space bar (not so much of a problem for Skype, but made reading her emails a challenge to say the least).
The upside to having Miss Lucy in California was that I had a sister in California. Which, after London, is probably the best place in the world. It is hot. All the time. And so everyday you can plan what you want knowing that without fail it will be nice. You can surf in February and not get hypothermia. You can sunbathe all the time and everyone is happy because they are not constantly being rained on. And there is also the food.
San Diego is about 8 miles from Mexico. This means that the Mexican food really is Mexican, but without the potential risks of Mexican food. Plus, as California is the most Western part of the States, if you go more West (you need to go quite a lot more west) you get to Japan. Which means sushi. And then there is good old In and Out Burger - American fast food burgers. Yum.
But the best place (in a week I went twice, in the year Lucy was there she went approximately 70times) was Chipotle. You get a big juicy burrito stuffed with chicken (or beef, or even just veggies) rice, veg, salsa and the world famous chipotle sauce. They are amazing, and when Lucy listed all the people she would miss, Chipotle was near the top of that list.
Returning to cloudy, rainy UK Lucy mourned her San Diego life for a little while. But she saw her old friends and got to love her cashmere jumpers and Uggs again. She even appreciated the snow.
And then the other day, walking down Charing Cross road I walked past some building work. A new restaurant was being finished. And there was a symbol I recognised. It was a chilli pepper. And lo and behold it was a Chipotle. Opening in our very own London town.
Last week Lu and I went. It was a sunny day in May and the food was perfect - we could well have been in California.
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