Old before her time

We saw this ten year old quite a lot in an around the theatre. Thomasina the ten year old. 

She put us quite to shame with her cheeky white summer dress, hair in a high ballet bun, dangly earrings, white leather and gold sandals, boxy leather bag, and exposed bra. 

If only we'd made the effort! She was chatting on her two mobile phones as her Mum propelled her along.  Yes dahling, I will call you back, but I've just GOT to pop into Paul's boutique. I have to be home to do my homework and I go to bed at nine... 

She'll be just like the remains of our picnic will be when it spent all night resting in the wicker basket in the hallway. Overripe. I'll give you the recipe for the potted prawns, as Bob told me it. 

Cook the prawns in butter. Add mace (we don't know what mace is, just like this child doesn't yet know that early puberty isn't all that..), paprika, and more butter. Then chill it so it kind of sets. Ours was quite wet, courtesy of Bob's four hour commute on a warm day, but it was absolutely delicious. 

An enchanted picnic

For my birthday present, Bob and I went to see the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in Kensington Palace gardens.
Beforehand we settled down on a rug under a tree. I think she thought we were on a date.

No, we're not going to end up like the couple rolling about a few yards away. No matter how cold it gets. I bought my thermal leggings exactly for that reason.

Although...Then I saw the picnic. I'll do anything for food. Especially picnic food. I think that was why I stayed with Andy for so long at Uni. His Mum just kept stocking his cupboard with chocolate rolls and hula hoops. Yes of course I'll dress up in your hockey kit and shin pads. Now give me some Cadbury's fingers!

I digress. We had the most amazing picnic. Ham cooked with cherry cola, potted prawns, potato salid, normal salid, roast salmon, breadsticks, champagne, and gooey chocolate cake to eat with a spoon.

After all that food I was glad I wasn't staying with David Haddrell's friend in Paris!
Private joke eh Dave ;)

I have to say, we were pretty popular with all the baby starlings in the tree above. I hope their Mum's let them eat chocolate cake. Don't want it to spoil their tea.

Battered

What feels like a long time ago (memory of a goldfish you see, it was probably yesterday), I attended an excellent fish banquet with Dave, Chris, Mark and Chaz. It was by the Thames so if I stared hard enough out the window I could start to pretend I was in the depths hauling up our catch myself. 

Who am I kidding? I couldn't have caught this much fish myself!

And certainly not after that much wine. 

It would have been like croatia-bob-broke-foot-gate all over again... 

Hi fans,

Since I'm too scared of the house to go down to breakfast I'm going to sit in bed blogging and eating mars bars until it's time to go to work. Oh. I don't know how I'll go to work without showering. But I can't go in the bathroom either..

Now I'm stuck here I might as well give you a first in the form of an actual recipe.

Time to get meaty:

Method (for 6):

In a medium heat pan with a little olive oil colour the cubed pancetta. When it is lightly golden all over add in chopped or crushed garlic and reduce the heat to take the edge off the garlic.Add in 1 big or two medium onions that have been peeled and halved (remove before service). Simmer for 20-30 mins whilst you make your balls. 

For the meatballs I injected some summer into beef mince in the form of finely diced apple, celery and onion. I added breadcrumbs from the remnants of my chocolate sandwich earlier, chopped parsley and grated cheese. I mixed these together with an egg. Then grilled them. 

Added to the sauce. Spooned over spaghetti. We purposely did a lot of spaghetti which backfired this morning when, already terrified, I woke to the sound of a scary crow eating the remains off the grass. 

I also awoke at 1pm to the dulcet tones of Bob wishing me goodbye. I asked why she was leaving and she said she had to go to work. But Bob, it's not time yet. You can't love looking at photos of the Cannes film festival that much! Obviously, the house spirits had conspired to make her leave me so they could do their ghost stuff on me in the night. I calmed her down/locked her back next to me and she slept ready in her clothes till morning. 

Can you imagine realising when you arrived at the station that it was only 1am? Not 6am. She would have to have stayed there as she didn't have a key back in the house. Naughty ghosts! 

Meatballs most haunted

I've been staying alone in Granny's house whilst they're away. Much to my terrror. It's not just that I have to do my own washing, and my scrabble skills are going to waste. The house feels HAUNTED.

Now I do know a thing or two about scaring boys away. But I've never tried it with ghosts before. So I invited Alex, Roast, Tom, Bob, and Chaz round to have a go.

Roast and I worked on the meatballs and tomato sauce, whilst the others cooked up some trouble by themselves...

Alex and I were patrolling the house when he whispered, 'What was that noise?' Frightened, I peeked round the bedroom door and jumped out of my skin at what was there.

Alex! They're my Aunty Ali's boots fresh back from the shoe mender, by the way. Not a dead body. Oh my gosh. After that shock I was glad we could enjoy a meatball picnic, followed by ice cream with Nigella's chocolate coffee sauce. I felt much safer. 

That was...until I went to brush my teeth. 

Inky thinky

I've got an inkling you don't wash.. Is what a boy would say to me if I ever went near one.
Lucky I don't, as I've had an ink stain the size of Bob's whole bruise collection dimpling my thigh for an eternity.
This is what it looked like on Sunday.











This is what it looks like on Friday. Two weeks later.

What am I to do?

It took at least five minutes to take a photo of it that didn't look like porn or cellulite*.

p.s I can't remember. Is this blog meant to be about cooking? I think I only ever have recipes for disaster. Don't replicate.

*disclaimer: I have neither.

Oceans of tears

Cried all the way to Alex's the other day because I was sure I was going to fail my interview and fall into a pit of despair forever. Luckily, once I arrived it became clear that all I was going to fall into was an over large glass of red wine.

They mopped me up with hunks of crusty bread and Chaz's sleeve and talked about how, even if I failed my interview, never had a career, and had to live in the gutter, I would still have a place on the sofa there to sleep.

By that I mean, go to sleep immediately.

This was just what I had intended to happen so I had craftily worn my Stella McCartney via Zara silky pajama-bottoms-but-trousers-really. All the better for jumping straight from the supper table and into bed. Almost like the sartorial equivalent of yawning...

Suddenly everyone was brushing their teeth, saying 'I think it's your fault, I don't usually feel tired at 9.30pm', changing into their own inferior versions of really-pajama bottoms but could be Stella McCartney silky trousers if you're not looking properly.

Oh yeah, but we still had a lovely supper to slurp up. Mussels in a very creamy delicious broth, a nice red onion salad, and rustic bread. Two puddings two but I'm too sleepy now to detail them.

OH MY GOD. "They" have changed the format of blogging and now I don't know how to do it!
Answers on a postcard..
Should we petition? What do my five readers think? xxx