Cake-alamity

Louis and I had been high alert for my period starting all day yesterday. At the Museum of London he'd put his hand into my high waisted shorts pocket and been startled to fish back an entire handful of tampons. Oh. Whoops. Well, I said, they're so tiny these days that I do need eight. One for every crevice. 

It still hasn't come but in anticipation of all that fluid leaving me I thought I'd eat a lot of cake today as a sort of skin tampon to sponge it all up.

First I started with Shreddies. Which if you think about it is a sort of cereal cake in chunks. Like mini millionaire shortbreads.

Then Dani Bristol and I met Louis for lunch at Lizzy B's hot new cafe in Newington Green. We shared banana, pear and chocolate cake, and chocolate, rose and cardamon cake and pronounced Lizzy a genius!

After that I went off to Ariana's to make beetroot and chocolate cake with her, Greyson the greyhound, and Ariana's soft soft soft baby. I promise I won't accidentally eat him or use him as a menstrual cork! He's just so compact!


Oh and I managed a Whole Foods chocolate Brownie whilst the cake was cooking. Had to build up the dam. I'm as leaky as the Thames when I get going.

Lionel messy

I had a bit of a wild and out of character weekend not too long ago. I might as well take up Championship football at this rate I went so off the chart. Quick Wenger, call me up before the transfer window is over! (I just wanted to squeeze the name of the blog into partial sense, rather than actually insert myself into the game, although it may be the only way to get SOMEONE's attention right now). 

Anyway, the ladeez on Friday night persuaded me to ditch the habit and wear a Fran 2006 playsuit out. Very uncharacteristic. Where's my red puffa jacket? Where's my Tims? Unfortunately Anna had even banned cotton so most of my Mum's trousers were out. No thermal leggings to sneak under it. WELL, clearly no consensual sex this weekend then! 

Also very out of character- I bought and made my own dinner that night! Chaz was having a ladeez boozeh dinner but she was too busy being drunk or fun or something to cook for us so I supplied parsley, cheese, eggs, spinach and various other spaghetti carbonara ingredients from the fridge de Granny. First time in ten months that I'd cooked a meal I do believe! 

Might as well go out wearing Ro's sex rags and slag bol it up. I'm as forward as Theo Walcott these days! 

Oh no, but I've got the washing up to do... Another night maybe. 

Foraging for tampons

It was very heavy work cleaning Ro's room to move into it. I had the hoover out all day, and Lexie backing me up as a sniffer dog foraging for hair extension balls and old tampons. He's got such odd taste in food.

I was exhausted by the end. 

Luckily I was going back to London for a lovely sleepover at Harrie's house. I'd heard a rumour that she had a memory foam mattress and I certainly wasn't disappointed. I wasn't sure I'd remember to leave in the morning!

But before we could snuggle down we tucked up our insides with a Greek feast. We had roasted aubergine and butternut squash, tomato and baby cucumber salad, and onions and feta. With figs and yoghurt for desert.

Ooh it was relaxing.

A berry nice time

 Did some classic Bob and Fran "stalking pretty children in art galleries" the other day at the National Portrait Gallery. There was a hot ginger pre teen with impertinent accessories who really needed taking down a peg or five! Of course you can have a small coral handbag when you have a Mum to carry your water bottles and sandwiches. Pah. Just you wait till you're our age and you can only afford to drag round the old tote you got in Berlin in 2005 (sorry Bob). I'm not even mentioning the bag of muddy vegetables I was carting around in Granny's battered Holland and Barrett.

After we'd poked holes in all the portrait awards we went to Hyde Park for some boating. It was lovely. We decided our calves needed more work than our upper arms so went for the pedalo. We pedalled round the lake feeding all the ducks the crusts of my smoked sandwich sandwich, and messy blackberries for pudding.  

No I didn't kill them. I'm only clearly not a fruitarian...


What good taste ducks. They were as happy as we were. And probably happier because at least they can see straight in direct sunlight! Aargh! Watch out for that boat!

It pomp-pays to be in the queue

The other day I was waiting in line for the Pompeii exhibition at 8.30am and Bob texted me. I told her what I was doing. She said, "What! Is that like the new One Direction or something? Did you camp overnight?"

Beep beep. Another text came through. She obviously wanted to get in on this action.

"I hear lead singer ASHley has a girlfriend. Let's troll her."

"More like (ancient) ruin her!" I hit back. Gosh we're funny.

Elated from this exchange I ploughed through the exhibition (after waiting for an hour and a half for it to  open) desperate to make it to the gift shop to stock up on merch. Luckily in hindsight, Katrina stopped me from buying a Rosetta stone tee shirt.

I wasn't sure what lunch would be I was so in the zone: official pompeii carbonised figs or seeds? Saxon fudge from the gift shop? Somehow Katrina steered me out of the British Museum and back into the real world and we went for a lovely Indian buffet nearby.

I needed sustenance after all that screaming with the other fans!

Bob falls flat(bread): The interview

When I met Bob for stalking teens in gallery time the other day I gave her a goody bag of veg from Granny's garden. My only friendship draw these days now i've got no hair or invites to Pizza East. 

She texted me the next day with a lovely photo of the vegetable chilli in homemade flat bread that she'd whipped up. It had one of the homemade beetroots, an onion, and a courgette. 

I asked her if she'd write a guest blog for me to fluff up my readers for when I decided to return to the blogosphere, and she replied, 

'You've read my texts. I can barely form a sentence!'

That is true. I've already had to change chile to chilli above. She's just so exotic and well travelled that she can't help naming all the countries she's been to in every sentence. 

I decided to interview her instead. "What was the occasion?" "Any mishaps?" "How did it taste?" "What was your inspiration for this piece?"

I only got one reply. 

"No occasion, just had lots of veg to use and trying to make DH love me by cooking nice dinners."

Well, Bob your interview skills are a bit flat even if your chilli was full of flavour!

Nigella sympathy

As I live in a nursing home and we have to keep the bathroom light on at night incase they fall, and the window open to waft any faint cheeks, we've been somewhat inundated with moths. 

It's very distressing for me during my mid morning bath when they start dribbling down from the ceiling into my bath, batting their little wings for help. I could spend a whole shampoo time clearing their bodies up sometimes. And I do help, I promise. I've practically opened a refuge centre for battered baths in the plant pot on the window sill.

Here's one of my more crushed clients.


Recently, once i'd cleaned them all up and set them on their way I set off myself to Brighton to visit Bob. With all that sympathy fresh in my mind, and no doubt told at length to her, we decided to do something else to help. Create a little more traffic on the Nigella site to feed her soul and her purse. She must need a few more pennies now Charles isn't giving her pin money for strangles.

We chose a chocolate olive oil cake to soothe Nigella's cause.


Mmm. Unfortunately I suddenly started wanting actual lunch so as brutally as Charles I brushed all thoughts of pudding away and Bob and I went to eat vegetables on the beach. Sorry Nigella. We didn't mean to actually be ANTI you...

Orange you on trend

Seeing as I now have hair like a boy and have to move to the countryside I really need to be working on my cool rating. It's dipping as low as James Gandolfini's heart rate. Is that a current joke? How should I know. I never even managed to watch the Sopranos. It was past my bed time. 

In a lucky attempt to get on the Summer cool bandwagon I stumbled on some Aperol in Louis' kitchen. Wasn't sure I liked it that much but then a party a few days later convinced me otherwise. "Oh have you tried Aperol Spritz?" "Yeah, I drank them all last summer at Franks. That's when they hit London."  "Yeah all I do is sit in the garden downing Spritzes with my new artist boyfriend." 

Ohho ho. Louis was right. Back I scampered to down a whole bottle. On trend drunk me!

Seeing as I don't do things by halves I decided to accessorise a few pints of Aperol Spritz with an orange plate of food and my favourite neon jumper.

You'll be very sad to know that not but a day later I was delivered this cruel blow in Grazia. 

Lean In

I had a dreamy time recently gathering blackberries with Jen and Simon. I was a little unsure at first about our possible bounty but Jen's enthusiasm was brimming enough in our buckets so we set off along the canal.

Soon we were coming across huge ripe plums of blackberries dotting the hedgerows but they were ever so high up. The ones nearest the sun had all come out for us.

Hmm what to do? How to pick those elusive berries?

Well, like my friend Sheryl Sandberg says, it's all a matter of leaning in.

She pointed out to me that once women start thinking about having babies that they stop taking job promotions and asking for extra responsibilities and fleshing out their role. She's right about flesh! I was pretty worried about mine being punctured by all those thorns- and then I'll never be able to have children! What was her advice again?

No one gets to the corner blackberries if they don't think they deserve it. Oh that's right. LEAN IN.

So sucking it up whilst trying to protect our ovaries, we leant the upper part of our bodies hard into the blackberry bushes. Look at Jen go!

We leant right into that bush and managed to scoop up all the most succulent prizes. Simon was tall enough to pick the top ones anyway so we had total gender equality in our hoard.

Just like Shez said we kept our feet on the gas pedal and after achieving our goals with panache we skipped right back across the fields. Past the stripey cows, past the memory train to Chingford, and when we'd just about made Sheryl sick with all our charming whimsicalness we were back cosy at the lovenest to make pie.

Her dream, she once whispered to me, as she recounted a study about how participants rated a description of a successful person as having a pleasant or cold heartless personality depending on a male or female name being given respectively, is for not only a woman to succeed but to be liked for her accomplishments.

WELL. Check this out Sheryl. After blackberry equality we made a pie together with much merriment and liked each other all equally for it.

What a slug

Growing up with a strong vegetarian Mother and having lots of positive vegetarian relationships in my life has generally encouraged me to respect animal's rights to a life without harm or slaughter. I'm generally very nice to the environment in total. I recycle. I don't waste money on records or cds. I only buy expensive clothes not those produced for ten pence an hour. Oh Hi COS. Oh Hi & Other Stories. 

But sometimes as Robin Thicke says, it's just your turn to start degrading the world. 

"People say, ‘Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?’ I’m like, ‘Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I’ve never gotten to do that before. I’ve always respected women,” he said.

Like him, I've been good for 26 years, cough cough he probably has fifty under his expanding Burtons waistline, but now it's time to shake a little loose. Engage in a little animal objectification. 

In Lisbon I was highly attracted by the "Hay caracois" signs dotted around poky old bars. Ooh such an exotic way to say "we've got snails". I'm definitely tempted now. I know they want it dressed up like that in those cute little shells.

Before I knew what I was doing I'd inhaled about 100 of the little things. With their tiny little eyes all silently begging to be sucked out of their homes into my waiting mouth. 

And just like Robin who claimed his video did not denigrate women “because all three [artists in the video] are happily married with children”, I would say that I'm still a huge respecter of animal and environmental rights but that these snails were just really asking for it. 

Whoops. Sorry it's been so long without any blogs. It's just that everytime I go to my blog section I get distracted by Nev's Life in a Suitcase. http://allnevneedsishislifeinasuitcase.wordpress.com/ It's such a thrill.
Haven't spoken to him since Mark and Nath's joint 18th birthday party. He was too busy trying to shove his fingers up Bob to chat much, but I still wonder if we've got enough friendship since to ask him to finish his thai bride story? Did they marry???????? Did his family manage to eat anything in Vietnam but KFC????

Here's the sting

 I really want to make the most of the lovely Summer (and get about five blog posts out of it) with some douchey foraging in the forest. Not for men. For wild garlic and nettles and probably some dirt or poisonous mushrooms to liven up my lack of cooking.

Quick, Granny is out, let's be really naughty and make a wild garlic and nettle risotto! Oh no she's back. Potatoes and tongue it is.

Well, luckily for me one of the (should I say few? I never know how faux mean to be) good things about having a boyfriend is that I can use his house. Can I? Have we had this conversation? No? Ok, fine I'll make my illicit meals over a candle or something.

Ok, so my other Grampa's house.

Hmm, but he doesn't like my nettle soup. What shall I do? Where am I meant to cook the fruits of my foraging?

Mum's house either was no good as Sam got one spindly food caught in some dandelion fluff and it was very upsetting for everyone.

Oh poor thing. Poor me really. Nowhere to cook. I might as well be on the streets or at a soup kitchen. I suppose that counts as looking for food...

Nighella' of an argument

Oh dear, I feel Charles' pain. One minute you're having a lovely lunch of deep fried crab burger with avocado and ten types of salad, the next you just start arguing. 

Chaz and I got a bit deep fried ourselves arguing over just WHO has the best hair length. She won't have any when i've pulled it all out.. 

Bob just sat there mildly admiring her own reflection. She had a ponytail. The best of both. I suppose the hair equivalent of sharing our side dishes. Which were: fries, special slaw, and orange and peruvian apple salad. Mmm. Now if only something was razored off the bill!

Butter oh my

As much as I've got children shouting gay at me on the street (once, and I quietly abused them right back) I'm really enjoying my boyish new haircut. I think it's very sexy..

Before it went wrong

This butterfly obviously thought so too as it found me stroking it so exciting that it emitted liquid* all over me.
Mmm, I've always wanted a butterfly golden shower.

It was a bit much though. I felt like I was in some Keith Haring graffiti, daubing ourselves over the Natural History Museum's hot house.

Wrong

Being already, quite busy enough thank you, in a relationship, I screamed and stumbled backwards. It did not quite get the message and attached its claspers to my leg. Douche!

Stalker

I managed to shake it off and went to have a look at the eggs.

Butterfly eggs

Hmm, I think they're a bit too small for me, I'll leave the butterflies too it.






I prefer keeping my fertile strength up with something a bit bigger.

Recently, i've been trying poached, scrambled, even fried. Anything to keep me as on it as Gaston!











*Not sure which one. 

A chilli feeling!

 In this week's paper Hugh suggested that we have our avocado sliced in a salad with strawberries, but this was vetoed.
We wanted to use the avocadoes instead in Angela Hartnett's crab cakes recipe. I make it my business always to cook the recipes of those who I wouldn't mind looking like. Angela will do. Hugh will not. The less said about James Martin the better!

We started making the crab cakes and it seemed quite easy and neat. Mix the crab meat with chopped spring onion and chopped ginger and chilli. Shape into balls (I hate the word patty as much as James Martin's hips), and coat first in flour, then beaten egg, then breadcrumbs.

Unfortunately I think Hugh had probably cursed me as about halfway through I got most of the 1 tsp of finely chopped chilli on my hands. Then on my eyes. Then in every (large) pore on my face. Then in every cut on my finger (and I'd been gardening that day). Hugh is such a witch!

To appease him I approximated his recipe for my pudding. 

Seven Ways

Taking inspiration from Lexie I knew that Granny and I needed to wring the last use from our recent chicken carcass from our roast dinner. 

Saw a little chick on Monday.

Put it in a roast on Tuesday.

We were making stock by Wednesday,

and still using the bits for soup and with rice on Thursday, and Friday, and probably Saturday- maybe Granny uses the leftover grease for something but I didn't see as I was out. 

We crunched it ALL up just like Lexie did those ducklings.

That way there's no blood left to get stuck on our face like Lexie gets.

Petis pois in a pod

 Considering that one of the last times I spent some time with Bob exchanges like this happened:

When was complaining about how cold I was on the train and Bob said, "You'll be cold when I murder you. Foxeehhhh knoxehh."

And when I asked "What deck of the boat are we on?" She said, "I'll deck you."

Considering all that I could have been a bit wary of meeting up. But it was going to be in a public place (The Royal Academy and then Pret) so I figured it was fine. 

This time I think she probably liked me TOO much as she'd unconsciously dressed exactly like me. But better. Her orange was more Christina Hendricks than prison.

We actually like double dressing as two are much better than one.  We ate exactly the same too but as there are only three options on the Prixe Fixe menu at Monmartre that was probably the best of a bad bunch taste than twin thinking. Moules, then some chicken in a sauce, if you wanted to copy us too. 

What was really good was that we multipled into all of our friends. Eight is a magic number

Animal Instincts

 One of the things we've been horrified at recently is Lexie's duckling consumption. Mum was quite traumatised after seeing a six duckling selection pack bobbing along the grass and Lexie going chomp chomp chomp and felling three at a time. Just like a conveyor belt at Yo Sushi. So easy. Ducklings were surely made for snacks.
The next day she had to hold his foaming mouth back whilst she watched a duckling alone, painfully trip over a root and just wriggle there trapped whilst Mummy and Daddy frantically quacked from the pond. She couldn't free the little leg from its tangled state for fear of letting Lexie at him.
Lose lose for that duckling.

Few days later Ro described hearing the cracking of tiny little bones in Lexie's jaws as he gobbled up the last. Crrrack. Maybe the duck family had seen his face coming and thought it was too cute to be carnivorous.

Unlike me. I was watching Ro's face in the car and so had full assessment of my enemy when it came for the prawns to be delivered in the restaurant. I know in the flash of an appetite pang how it could turn from this into this! 

Sharing with Ro, I made sure to eat at thrice the pace of her so eventually my pile was just as crracking as Lexie's