Fish Face

I woke up this morning with a sandpapery feeling in my eyes.



this is not my cat

To discover the cat was licking my eyebrows and sockets with fervour.  I screwed up my eyes for fear she should lick off the top two surfaces of my eyeballs and tried to brave it out, as it is truly an honour that a cat should deign to take a break from licking it's own arse to give you a wash and brush up too. 

But the red raw skin and fish odour was too much for me and I took off to the bathroom with my eyes closed, bumping off the walls all the way to find a wet wipe.

Phew.

It has been a long time since my last blog post.  Things have happened, but as they slip into dim and distant memories, it seems less vital to bother to blog about them.  But I will give it a go, as I do find my blog a useful record of 'stuff done'.

In no particular order:

I found that I actually enjoy running after the confessed loathing of competitive athletics which I undertook in my teens.  I have been puffing my way around 2-3 miles since January with very little improvement in pace or fitness, but after slowing my pace down considerably it suddenly dawned on me that I liked pootling along with my own thoughts, and that I could run 4-6 miles with an improvement in both pace and fitness.

To this end I went along with Mark one Saturday to Killerton House to do their weekly Park Run.  This is the first 'race' I have attempted in over 25 years - a real milestone for me as I thought I would NEVER want to do it again.  I came 118th out of 250 ish runners, and was 25th female overall.  Not bad, but am aiming to do better this Saturday.

I found a lump in my breast.

This was a sudden discovery, and a heart-stopping moment.  Thus followed a trip to the Docs and three hospital visits, all within the space of a couple of weeks to discover it was a 'whopping' blood-filled cyst which they showed me on ultrasound before sticking in a needle and sucking it all out.

Flippin eck.

I am so glad it is all done and dusted - grateful to the NHS for their speed and care and fully appreciative of the fact I have been able to walk away from this with a big sense of relief when many others would not have that luxury.

Thank you thank you thank you.

We rejoined the National Trust (again) and had a lovely trip out to Coleton  Fishacre.  I bought a Jazz-age CD and it fills me full of Sunday afternoon melancholy when I listen to it.  Lovely.

 

There is a walk down from the house to the coast - truly wonderful on a good day.

 

Mark and I attended a book signing at Torre Abbey with Sophie Hannah, who has written the new Poirot story - The Monogram Murders.  Having discovered her by accident over the last year and read her avidly, I was thrilled to bits that she was given permission by the Agatha Christie estate to write a new Poirot.  The Agatha die-hards are whining endlessly over the fact that she killed off Poirot in Curtain, but this book just slots neatly into a gap where there were about four years where Poirot did not appear, between 1929 and 1932.

Apparently. 

So there.

I haven't read it yet.  And it cost me £18.99 which I resent enormously.  But there you go.  And I met her and managed a conversation without drying up or stammering, so that's Good.

The new school term has started (is it just me, or did the Summer just pass in a blur this year??) with a vengeance and I have upped Oliver's 'work'.  I am pushing him more this year, as I am hugely conscious of the GSCE factor looming on the horizon and if he does end up wanting to go on to Further Education, I have to be thinking about it now....

OH - MIDORI!!!!!

I sold my Filofax on ebay - for £80, can you believe, so I got myself some leather and notebooks, and made myself this:

It is very me, very satisfyingly chunky and full of the bits I need, and I love it.  Happy days.  I am going to make a 'Traveller size' one, and fill it full of holiday ephemera.

The Tour Of Britain passed through Exeter.  I have NO interest whatsoever in cycling, I find it yawn-tastic to the nth degree, but an event is an event is an event, so we trundled along for a look-see.

It was boring waiting,  and so entertained ourselves with selfies.

 

The event was all over in a matter of minutes, and for me the most exciting part was the volume of police motorcycles whizzing by.

 

That is all.

 

I have a new thang...

...brewing.

Midori notebooks.

I happened across these on you tube when browsing art journaling.  As you may, or may not know, art journaling is a hobby I have on the back burner waiting for an opportune moment to burst forth with stunning creativity. 

Since this depends on the availability of Oliver's bedroom as an office/art room where I visualise my very own desk strewn with arty things, this vision is but an ever decreasing shiny thing on the horizon.  For me to lay claim to Oliver's room, the loft conversion must be finished and have him happily installed in the eaves.  It seems to be a project popped into long term pending and my arty farty ambitions lay dormant.

Back to Midori.

I currently use a Filofax. 

I like the whole bits and pieces in one place idea, I like filling it with post its and lists etc.  However, Midori looks like the sort of thing which is right up my street, as I will be able to make my own inserts and it will be more arty.   I think I will be able to fulfil all my notebook yearnings in one hit, so roll on payday where I am planning to indulge in a little Midori lurve.

image: livingwithlisa.wordpress.com

image: dyrmdaily.com

image: karawheeler.wordpress.com

Will report back.

On the cookery pokery front, I made a fruitcake last week.  Yep, a proper, grown up fruitcake, not just for Christmas.  It was a Tana Ramsay recipe and produced a very moist cake indeed.  I like Tana Ramsay recipes.  Although I have to say I was very disappointed in her when she appeared on Dancing on Ice a few years back - she came across as very dull and I was a bit disillusioned to tell you the truth as I was all set to love her.  Never mind. I try not to dwell on this setback when I cook her lamb mince curry.  Which is quite sublime. 

In the woolly section of my life, I have pressed on with the granny patchwork blanket, having decided to give this to my parents for Christmas.  It's a quick grower, and I am considering knocking out a Christmas red/white/green combo lap blanket for the living room for us.  Mark reminded me that the Christmas blanket I started last Christmas was not yet finished.

Thank you Mark.

Moving swiftly on, work.  I work alternate Sundays on an all day shift retrieving patient notes for emergency admissions.  I like this job - I really do.  On a good day it is satisfying and a bit of a buzz.  On a busy day (most Sundays),  it is stressful and sweaty and a little bit sweary.  I had to step in to another role yesterday, so a colleague filled in for me.  She is more than a little bit sweary, and by the time I caught up with her an hour in, she was scowling and ranting about people 'taking the f****** p***', so I gathered it wasn't going too well.  By 3pm when I took over from her, she was just throwing the phone down on some poor unfortunate who had dared request some notes and was sweating profusely and looking very angry indeed.  She had clearly worked herself up into a right old rip and said that she couldn't do this 'f****** job' every week and that she was 'just f***** off with talking to people to be honest'.  This made me throw my head back and roar with laughter because that is EXACTLY what the job feels like by 3pm.  Oh I do love people sharing my pain.  Yes, I am that selfish.

Just four more days to push Oliver through with his home-ed work before we can breathe a sigh of relief that there is a long break for the both of us where we don't have to spend every morning trying to simultaneously educate him whilst keeping hold of our fragile tempers.

I have a summer project brewing for him though.....

mwah ha haaah.

I simply MUST tell you

that I have just cooked the Tofu dish as discussed in my last post, from Hello Fresh, and it was bloody delish.

I would not have given this recipe a second glance, much less actually cook it - not in a million.  However, having been sent the exact proportions to make the dish, it would be quite wrong not to.  So, in lieu of anything else edible in the house, I sulkily set about this little affaire.

Oh me oh my. 

I was shocked to my core at how good this tasted, and at how narrow minded I have been about trying this before.  I am a strictly white basmati girl, but the brown rice we had with this was fab, chewy and satisfying.  And Tofu.  Tofu?!  The weirdy food of sandal-wearing vegans everywhere.

Meh.

Oh my little silken tofu, we shall meet again in the yummy fields of Bok Choi. 

I am so happily surprised by my tea that I am inspired to pull out my soap box, mount it with glee and spew forth on the virtues of the nutrition and taste that has just passed my lips.

Another bright and shiny point of the day has been a spot of charity shopping.  Another hobby of mine.  Today I picked up these babies

for 10p each.

TEN PEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I bought one at full price a week ago for £4.25.  They are about History for Cripes sakes, they will never go out of date. 

I loves them.

H A P P Y   D A Y S .

lol.

health vs happy

I have things to say.  I hope I don't run out of oomph before I have spilled all my beans.

I'll start with my birthday.  I LOVE my birthday, I really do.  There is no dread at being older (it now kind of just hangs there anyhow on a permanent basis) and the approach of it is a thrill as ever.  I don't do anything wild and wonderful - I just get a buzz out of knowing it's my special day, and feeling as if I can justify any naughty thoughts or deeds for that day.  We are not talking about planning murders or mugging old ladies here, just giving in to utter sloth and greed if the mood takes.  Just for one day.  So, here I am post pressie opening:

And I stayed there, in pretty much the same position (without the inane grin it has to be said) just lolling and reading for another couple of hours.  Then, quelle horreur, the flea stuff came in the post.  Darn it.  We have a flea issue at the moment, with Oliver and Mark getting bitten loads and visible fleas (bleeurgh) being seen on our actual persons at various points.  I have vacuumed and changed bedding and blobbed chemicals on the cats and then some, but still the blighters persist.  So I ordered some kill or cure spray over the internet to 'do' the house, and it bloody well came on MY special day.  So I had to do the flea deed.

Never let it be said I don't know how to celebrate. 

I got given these by Oliver,

who knows all about my personal problem with Maltesers.  I only have them on high days and holidays, because I scoff them in handfuls.  Really.  A whole box at a time.  I can't get enough of feeling them melt in my mouth into a large oozy ball of choc and honeycomb.

Dribble.

Transpires I have actually consumed over a kilo of Maltesers in just under 4 days.  I dare not buy another one until Christmas or I may just have to start attending a support group.

In the evening we went for an Italian meal.  Again, a low key thing, and very us.

So on to food. 

Raw food.

I read an article (a term used loosely here, as this is Reveal magazine I refer to) at the weekend about Kate Middleton/Duchess of Cambridge eating raw food once a week 'to keep her trim' or whatever trite bollocks they said.  This interested me as I have heard about raw food eating before, and been amazed that anyone in full possession of their faculties would choose to eat this way.  However, it clearly MUST be good for you - all those enzymes and stuff, and surely it would be easy to do just once a week??

And I would feel all aglow with inner energy and my insides would be all clean, pink and sparkly.

So, armed with a little knowledge (always a dangerous thing when it enters my head) I trotted out to spend the best part of £60 on fruit, salad, seeds and tahini.

On Tuesday I ate nothing but raw foods.  I think it fair to say that this must be the first time in my entire life that I have had a chemical free 24 hours.  It wasn't as easy as I thought, I felt permanently hungry and desperate for the comfort of a cup of tea or coffee.  I was glad to see my bed at the end of the day, I don't my telling you.  On Wednesday I awoke to the feeling that I had a massive hangover, probably due to chemical withdrawal.  Never being one to push through the pain barrier, I gave in immediately and had a coffee.  I just don't possess the desire to go through caffeine withdrawal, as in all likelihood I will not give it up for the rest of my life anyhow. 

This experiment left me feeling a bit bothered really.  I am quite convinced that the best way to eat is the wholesome brown rice and sandals way, but it is just so NOT a lifestyle that I want to embrace.  I read about Susan Jane White over on The Coffee Lady's blog.  So interesting, and quite, quite understandable that eating like this would cure your body of all ills. 

However.

My quandary is that it seems to be all or nothing.  I really want to eat 'better', although I don't think my diet is bad anyway,  (lets just pop the wine, pizza, coffee and maltesers into pending for a moment), and I am still on the 5:2 way of eating, but the more I stray towards the wholefood shop, I worry that I my body will not straddle the gap between 'normal' and 'healthy'. 

I made up a batch of these, also something I picked up from The Lady of the Coffee.

They are pretty damn fine.  I haven't calorie counted them (I dare not) but they are low carb, and therefore a really good, healthy snack for Oliver.  On my 'raw' day I was popping them like sweeties, and even Mark likes them.  Sacre bleu.

Mind you, the first time Oliver ate one he made a face and said they tasted of 'health'.  But the minor grumbling I find I can tune out, so all is good.

I also threw a mini-tantrum at my hand blender which is shit, whistles like a dentists drill and doesn't so much blend as gather together in a dirty great clump - jumped in the car and drove up to Tesco to buy the food processor I have been making noises about for months.   Now my culinary life can really begin.  I can make stuff now like proper cooks.  So there. 

I made pesto for the first time with it.  Clever me.  Although I have discovered two whole cloves of garlic in a little bit of pesto is a bit too much for just Oliver and I.  We stank to high heaven, tasted nothing but garlic all day and Oliver complained his tongue hurt when he ate it.  Not a total triumph then.

I made these:

Which I think I have over-fruited and undercooked, so they are really wet and need to be eaten with a fork.  It is the foolproof recipe I got from my dear bloggy friend Mrs Thomasina Tittlemouse, and I have not yet buggered these up badly enough so they cannot be eaten. 

I got a good initial offer on 'Hello Fresh'.  They send you recipe cards, and all the fresh ingredients to make said recipes.  Because it only cost me £11, I plumped for the veggie option, as I am a lazy vegetarian cook.  These are the three recipes I got:

Interesting, as I have never cooked any of them before, and never would bother, so £11 well spent I think.  I should point out that I would have been less thrilled to receive this at the full price of £36, so I was very quick off the mark to cancel my subscription the second that this little lot arrived. 

I shall let you know how it goes.

And to finish, some piccies of our weekend in the Isle Of Wight.

A real live English village Fayre.  This was in St Helen's, where we were staying.  I kept expecting to hear a scream from the tea tent, and to see Inspector Barnaby rushing across to deal with an unexplained poisoning.  It was that sort of place.  Midomer St Helen's. 

Proper cars.

 



 

How I hate these things.  £3 for 6 minutes. 

 

Meh.

 Osborne House.  Queen Victoria's place.

 

And very nice too.

 

 

Thanks for tuning in.

 

one is need, lots is greed.

Having a few log in probs with Google, so future postings may be a little erratic.  Well, that coupled with utter laziness is a recipe for failure ce n'est pas?

So, lots been goin' daaaan here.  We've had a holiday (and a couple of breaks too, lucky us) and Oliver has turned 12.  The weather has turned nice, and the garden is yet again out of control.  Think Day of the Triffids.

Mark has taken to competitive running and so Oliver and I have been gallivanting across the countryside to see him take part in events in hitherto unheard of villages, scuttling across farmlands and heaving himself up and down dale.  It is good to see him immersing himself in another hobby - he is very all or nothing, and no stone is unturned in his pressing quest to be better at it.

Albufeira, Portugal:

Our hotel room, with a rather fetching view of D block:

 

 

post running snaps:

 





Determined to crack the cupcake code in time for Oliver's birthday, I did a straw poll amongst some cakey friends and google (my new best friend) and decided upon using Stork instead of heavy butter for the cakes.  Zut alors.  I weighed the eggs (sans shells) and used exactly this amount for marg, self raising flour and caster sugar.  No pissing about - job done.  I is one happy gal.  For the  frostings I went for Hummingbird bakery recipes (butter all the way) and the result is a thing of beauty and a joy to scoff in a few bites.  Oh yeah, I am the Cake Meister. 

lol.

His birthday, despite the excited build-up - was low key, and he is starting to feel the bite of getting older.  My theory is that it is the self awareness which eats into every emotion and can add some reservations to the joy of celebration. 

On birthday boxing day Oliver and I took afternoon tea here:

And ate (most of) this:

Oh such greed.  One between two next time methinks. 

And so to my latest crochet crisis.  I haven't been enjoying crochet lately.  The enforced activity of finishing Katie's blanket kind of did for me, and left me feeling as if I couldn't be arsed to pick up a hook anymore.  Eventually, unable to just sit and watch TV of an evening, I added some more to this,

 

which is a fast-grower it has to be said, but is not inspiring me.  Then, at the end of May, I started a brand new one, in chunky, in zig zag chevrons.  It took bloody AGES to get the foundation row right, particularly as it is for a king-size bed, and therefore verrrry lonnnnng.  So far, these few rows have already cost me about £20, and that's fine and dandy if it is a blanket I am loving, and will use forever.  But each row takes more than your average wee while, and every colour change is virtually a new ball of yarn.  I don't use chunky normally, and therefore keep coming to a complete standstill when it runs out as I have no stash backup.  The colour range of Stylecraft chunky is not as broad as in the acrylic, and I kind of felt 'bullied' into choosing these colours.  I don't like the navy and cream and I can't face frogging it back.  Being a one-piece job means it is not easily portable either and the whole thing is just making me crosser and crosser. 



 

 

What I have decided upon is something like this, which I have always liked and is both colourful and portable.  AND I always have stylecraft kicking about AND they do lots more colours than the chunky.  So there. 



 

 

 

Chunky shmunky. 

 

Never again.

and the next...

Last Sunday was my niece's 17th birthday and I gave her this;

This blanket almost sent my fingers into early rheumatism such was the volume I had to complete on a daily basis come the last few weeks.  I am really happy with it, she seemed to and I hope she uses it for many years to come.

 

Birthday girl.

 

So, left project-less and adrift, I tinkered about with a few options:

 

 

 

 

 

Then settled for a join-as-you-go chequerboard granny. 

 

 

 

This seems to be growing quickly amidst the thrill of back to back Masterchef episodes, and the colours please me.  Particularly the new Stylecraft ones:

 

 

Actually, I'm not even sure that the red is a new one - just new to me.  I may be wrong.

 

It has been known.



 

 

me-yowl.

There is much to say.

Tomorrow it is our 15th wedding anniversary.  This is some achievement I can tell you.  Ours has not been a smooth path of marital bliss, rather a rocky road littered with the issues of childhoods past, a vengeful ex, the anguish of parenting often absent children plus the normal pressures of everyday life.  There have been tears, many, many tears, there has been anger, much, much anger but there has always been love - much, much love.  For each other, for the children between us and above all, the belief that the family  life we both always wanted is within our grasp.

It makes me feel smiley happy that tomorrow we will sit down for a meal to celebrate our anniversary with Mark's eldest two children, (who sat down to have a meal with us at the same restaurant 15 years ago on the day we got married), and the happiest outcome of our marriage so far - our little boy Oliver.  This time last year the relationship with Mark's children was so bad, they had barely spoken for years.  In the last six months, although no words have been spoken about the whys and wherefores of the breakdown, there has been an obvious wish to re-establish a relationship and a forgiveness on both sides I would not have imagined possible.

Enough of the Jeremy Kyle.

To celebrate our anniversary, although we do not normally exchange gifts, I decided it would be a Good Idea to get a Siamese kitten for Mark.  As a surprise.  For years he has been banging on about one day getting a 'proper cat' when ours meet their end, as he once had this siamese who used to sit on his shoulder, come running to see him when he came home from work, blah blah etc etc....

I hunted one down, about an hour's drive away, and on a Friday afternoon, Oliver and I headed off to purchase the Proper Cat.  He was a 12 week old Siamese blue point with a pedigree as long as your arm, very small, very beautiful and VERY vocal.  Which I didn't really appreciate until I was ten minutes down the road and he wouldn't stop yowling.  He yowled on every out breath. Which is a LOT of yowl.  An hour's worth of yowl later, my teeth were on edge and I was starting to doubt the wisdom of my purchase.  Mark was delighted with him, but man cannot live on delight alone.  The yowl continued, on every out breath through the night.  The only thing that stopped him was exhausted cat-napping.  Come the wee hours, we had decided he must be returned before he gave himself a heart attack.  Or we killed each other with our bare hands, whichever was the sooner.

Somehow, after talking to the breeder, we ended up driving back on Monday afternoon to collect a teeny tiny runt of the litter siamese girl to keep the other one company.  By this time  Mark and I were starting to resemble those cartoon characters with gigantic, vein-strained eyes from no sleep.

This one yowled all the way home too.

The little boy siamese was so thrilled to see his litter-mate, they yowled through the night together.  And naughty. These cats were wickedness on a stick.  Whatever stereotype image of siamese kittens you have - they are all true.

And some.

The yowling settled as they found new ways to torture us.  If they couldn't find anything to climb up with their crampon-claws, they would settle for climbing up people.  No cupboard door could be opened before they knew about it and were in there, destroying stuff or squeezing into small cracks leading to the nether.  No door could be closed upon them without them realising they were being excluded from our attention, no matter how temporary, and they were there - yowling urgently and shredding the carpet on the other side in desperation.  The toilet seat needed nailing down, and even if you were sat on it, you needed to guard the little gap at the back by your arse - where there was a gap - there was a compelling need for the gruesome twosome to squeeze into it.

We were prisoners in our own home.  By Wednesday I was meeting the breeder in a layby, handing them over and breathing a sigh of relief as she drove off into the sunset.

It was not to be.  It was akin to how I felt when I first had Oliver - shattered beyond belief and overwhelmed to the point of gibbering.  And I am a decade older.  Neither of us could hack it.

We was crap.

I have no gift to offer Mark as a replacement - the whole kitten thing did for me.

Epic fail.