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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.