Ham Fisted

I seem to be making a few mistakes recently. Getting in a lot of scrapes. Let's pretend that when I dropped the soap down the sink and blocked it for a month, or spilled bleach on my trousers, that I had two giant hams for hands and therefore it wasn't my fault at all.

It's nice that when I go to Blue Granny's for the day all is forgotten. She said she couldn't possibly mend all the holes in my clothes that I'd rent since last time, but she sure did darn my spirits! Even though we did have fist of ham for lunch.

It was delicious though. With very buttery mash, sweet turnip and carrots. Two puddings obvs followed- apple pie AND trifle. The mistake there was following that with an afternoon of maids of honour and crumpets. I'm still in pain now. If only my fists were made of ham then I couldn't pick up all those cakes!

I got carroted (prounounce as garotted please)

I thought I'd gone off carrots after the other day when a sluice of orange juice roared upon me.

Someone had wanted to make carrot juice with my help so I dutifully peeled and chopped his sack (yes sack) of carrots and popped them in the blender.
The first blender we tried started smoking so we abandoned that and went onto the next. The cupboard contained four so I had faith that one would work.
Trial and error and disappointment led us to grating the carrots, then boiling them, then finally success with more water.

Carrot juice! Warm, but still unmistakably carrot juice.

I opened the lid of the blender tap and watched in slow motion horror as an orange liquid leapt at me. All over me. Over my jeans, over my ham and egg patterned socks, over my long suffering desert boots. My client remarked that it was '"very disappointing".

I thought as I went on a little date half an hour later with no opportunity to change that at least if someone likes me like this then they really like me.

Alas no.

Oh well. Anyway, so I thought I was 'off' carrots but I enjoyed them surprisingly much on Sunday evening (boiled with honey) along with roast chicken, parnsips, broccoli and gravy. And Leila and Alex's company.

Flobbalobalob

Alex and I have been lusting after a bargain bucket from KFC for ages. I'm not sure why. We've clearly taken leave of our senses. If you want an example of how much by, let's just say that Alex is googling it right now, reading what the blogs say. To prep.

I can hardly throw popcorn chicken (just like stones), I'm blogging about it way in advance, frothing at the mouth like the chickens probably do as they're mauled to death after a 1 week life span in a box.

Anyway, enough about animal rights. We'll have it with salad, yeah (Not).

There are more important things to be discussed here. Such as, to bone or not to bone?

If it were up to me we'd get the chicken on the bone. Juicier. Alex, however, has an aversion to meat on the bone. I have an aversion to not agreeing with Alex, so we're having the "boneless bucket." Even the wings. How do they do that? They remind us of the flobalobalobalobaolob globs of protein that the plant people stick together in Atwood's post apocalyptic 'After the Flood.'

Update: We've just eaten. We feel very sick. It didn't even taste of anything. Apart from the flobalobalobalob which tasted of salt. I think I need a shower.

Pieces of my broken heart

People tend to use cups of tea to soothe away the aches and pains of a bad event.

Well we needed a full cream tea after the disasters of Bob's first birthday party! She obviously had two. As you can see, her cups are overfloweth...

We did have loads of fun at the first party, it was just that all the presents got smashed. Me and David Haddrell were the culprits. Couldn't stand the attention being taken away from us. We wanted to fill the conversation with boys and gambling fraud, respectively, but Bob kept chirping on about Great British Railways with Michael Portillo and we couldn't get a word in. SMASH!

The second one was much gentler. And luckily the RA cafe hadn't smashed their antique Wedgewood chinoiserie three tier cake stand as the Hadron collider had Bob's, so we had something to put our cakes on. And cucumber sandwiches. And scone with copious cream.

Holy mackerel!

Recently I had to help someone attend some Saint's day at a Greek Orthodox Church. It was quite an ordeal. I had to wear a sticker with the Saint's face on it, light four candles, kiss all the icons whilst crossing myself, be the only person there under fifty, be the only one wearing colour (bright red), be the only non Greek..

All this did not stop me taking Holy Communion. Which I only did because I was hungry.. Didn't really get anything good though. A spoonful of honey wine stuff and a chunk of slightly stale bread! At least the Quakers had a proper bring and share lunch after it.

So I was very hungry by the time I got to Granny's later in the week for lunch. I thanked God for providing me with copious amounts of crusty bread and fish (anchovies).

Which I ate like I was a penguin! Mmm. Had to feed myself cos Mum refused to pretend that she was at the zoo.

Black cherry

Roast pirouetted me out of the fog on Monday with a medley of boiled new potatoes, cheddar cheese, bacon, and peas. Otherwise known as Nigella's "back from the bar snack".

As if she ever goes out. You can't maintain such a glossy body weight by doing anything but standing at the fridge tearing off hunks of cheese for a "bftbs". (yes, something she recommends for this dish. Greedy mouths haven't got time to grate).

And Roast and I certainly didn't have time to slice and fork, when it came to the quadruple chocolate loaf. We ripped off the less boiling hot edges like Natalie Portman's cuticles,

and stuck them in some tupperware to take the the cinema. Kept trapping each others' fingers in the tin as we tried to shut it, so desperate we were for more gooey chocolate pud.

We took the whole meal in a series of tupperware to the cinema to see Black Swan. Concerned that the usher would see that we'd brought our own dinner we ate the menu like popcorn with our fingers. Well, that may just have been me. Roast used a fork. Alex wouldn't eat his as it smelt too strongly.

A radiant meal. We were certainly the only members of the audience giggling through any part of Black Swan.

Juicy Couture

What seems like months ago, but may just have been last week (when you mostly exist in a daze of work and bed, sometimes at the same time, it's hard to know where you are sometimes), I went to Dave's for a nourishing little brunchy.

As he greeted me I was enveloped in the pull of sleep. Hmm eau de bed. Could just lick it off him like butter off toast. Luckily I had been told to bring my jarmies so I could emulate sticky slumber myself.

We busied ourselves in the kitchen making Dave's magic muffins whilst Daddy made business calls. Dave poured out the milk for the tea and I helped myself. Tasted a bit funny but I assumed I'd just made it wrong.

Once the eggs were poached and settled upon the buttered bacon stuffed english muffins like wobbly jellies we sat down to eat. Eurgh the milk is off, exclaimed Dave.

Oh. Again, I thought the little white bits in it were just because I made it wrong. Wish I hadn't drunk it all without a murmur. Luckily we had orange juice with juicy bits and a mouthful of pink champagne to take the taste away.

Then I had to go back to work, and Dave and Chris had to sink back into bed so we tearfully parted ways.