Straight laced

When I was doing medicine and could control nothing around me I got a little power mad in a really small domain.

No eating disorders, self harm or OCD for me, I really enjoyed getting other people tying my shoe laces for me.

I remember one exciting week I had three people do it and I planned to add more to my collection. I thought it was going to become my secret thrill like some people have spy holes or midnight binging.

At one point I was discovered. I got Helena to do it for me on the walk into Uni. She told me she knew what I was up to but I stood my ground and kept my hands full of bags and my eyes full of smug pleading.

I learnt from watching other people tie my Tims that the tying shoe laces method seems to be quite individual to people. Unless it's me that's doing it all wrong. Which is quite likely. But if it IS based on personal preference then that's quite similar to ones individual method for applying jam and cream to scones, or how to test when spaghetti is done (ceiling or taste).

Another thing that's quite personal is chilli seasoning. Louis has started going to niche chilli shops and keeping bottles on the table. I didn't used to have any at all but I must have got more advanced under his tutelage because I didn't think anything of the curry he made for us and my Dad not too long ago.

Dad couldn't eat it it was so hot and had to have a specially made scrambled egg on toast! Unless that was a trick and his control domain is making people cook special meals for him....

A breeding ground for trouble

Recently I made pizza for dinner. Working from home that day I could start it in my lunch break and leave it to rise and prove and hang out for about four hours under a tea towel at each stage. I felt like a New York pizza man. 

We had a good meal with potato and Rosemary toppings and a Parmesan and rocket and then I thought nothing more of it. 

That is until I went to put out my latest batch of washing. Bits of my pizza dough had stuck around. 

How odd. I don't remember Louis getting any dough on his pants. Or on his jumper. Or tee shirts. 

Ohh I realised I'd I flung the tea towel I'd wrapped the raw dough with into the washing machine and there must have been a scrap on which had thrived in the wet and wild of the machine. 

Hmm quite hard to get off. Maybe I'll just have to tell Louis he's got a yeast infection.... 

Post-tato depression

Louis and I are adopting Grayson, an Italian Greyhound and the imminent adoption day has made me feel quite overwhelmed. 

What if I trip over him? What if Sager and Wilde still refuse to let him eat in the restaurant with us? What if he thinks I'm a bad mother?

I was walking along the road yesterday and I thought "if I just walk into this traffic he won't have to be looked after by me." And when I woke up this morning I thought, "if I just snap ALL our thin legs then we can all just stay at home healing together and I don't have to organise a dog walker.."

Luckily Louis soothed me and reminded me that peri natal depression can be quite common in new mothers and now I feel much better.

I was eating leftover scandi potato, dill and cod pie for lunch at work today when I thought "what's Grayson's little leg doing in my mouth?" I felt it out with my tongue. Yes. Long. Thin. Quite hard. I didn't snap it off in my sleep did I? I fished it out. Oh a massive fish bone!  Phew.

It made me remember that looking after him is going to be just as delicious as the meal I was eating leftovers from. 

We had it with mushrooms baked in cream and parmesan, leeks the same, and kale not cooked but wilted with white wine vinegar, dijon mustard and olive oil dressing. 

 

A grape lot of bother

Sometimes the urge to do something I know I shouldn't is so strong. Like stepping off the tube platform, or dropping my phone down a drain, or posting some dog poo through a letter box.

I texted Louis this and he said replied DO IT. 

Well, well, well, he's not so encouraging usually. Usually he makes me stick to the letter. If he asks me what we're making for dinner so he can buy ingredients, and I approximate and say we just need one thing as I'm sure we can find the rest in the cupboard, he insists on seeing the recipe so he can halt me substituting coriander for parsley, peppers for aubergine, tinned anchovies for smoked salmon. 

Happily he wasn't around when I was making Ottolenghi's grape,cheddar and parsley roasted cauliflower salad. As I was telling him about it later on the phone I said, oh but I didn't have grapes, or cheddar, and I forgot to put the parsley in. 

Apparently the rule is if the ingredient is in the title you have to put it in! 

Clean Cooking

I've got really into tidying recently via Marie Kondo the Japanese folding expert. I've sushi rolled all of my socks, Louis' socks, ro's socks, joey's, mum's, and basically anyone who lets me in their sock drawer. It's very space saving. 


I was at the glass display cabinets in Oliver Bonas with Ro, helping her choose some jewellery. "Which necklace do you think I should get?"
I sighed. "Sorry it's just really hard for me to agree with ANY of this cabinet now. We just don't really do clutter anymore. I'd just sushi roll this whole cabinet into the charity shop."

Louis felt I was making this up entirely. He may have been basing this on my cluttered cooking recently. Why use one ingredient where six would do?

A good example is the Buddha bowl I made for mum when she visited.



It had kale and chilli and ginger and coriander and avocado and peppers and cucumber and grated carrot and chickpeas and brown rice.

It was packed tighter than most of my bags of Louis' old tee shirts i'm planning to throw away.

Concrete Jungle

I sometimes get annoyed by Bear Grylls as he seems a bit of an archaic sexist pig and I'm sure I could do a better job of adventuring than him. It's just that not many opportunities come up. There was the day I had to physically climb two floors to move desk at work. And it was quite good when the shower blocked and I went to the corner shop to buy a plunger and then used it. But nothing where I get to use my full mental and physical capabilities to get out of a sticky sitch.

Then the other day I was walking to a work training session just off Tottenham Court Road and I went to take my ID card out my purse ready. Ever prepared see.  But just then the wind whipped up and plucked out my £100 yoga pass. It flew over high wrought iron railings and down down two mansion block stories below street level.




I was so worried. I couldn't afford to lose that card. And I couldn't possibly climb up over the railings and down.
I rang the door bells of the flats but it was 3pm and no one in.

I think everyone (Bear Grylls I only mean you) should take a minute now to think what they would have done. Let it really sink in how impenetrable the high spiked railings and then two story drop. And how little I cried.

Cool as a cuc I went to my training but didn't take in a word as I was forming a plan. I clearly needed some sort of fishing line. Hmm, there's sometimes men fishing on the canal but not on Tott court road. There's only homewear shops and stationary emporiums. Somehow I didn't think Dwell was going to cut it.

To Cards Galore I went!

Back on the street, ignoring the glances and snickers my expedition was attracting, I unpacked my kit. Sellotape to double side coat the bottom of my lunch box with stickyness. Silver parcel ribbon to lower the bait down.

Cast off! Twenty minutes later I rolled the silver birthday present ribbon back up over the railings with the yoga card stuck to the sellotape covered bottom of my lunch box.


Phew


I had missed Monday's Yin session with Amanda but I had my card.