Help me! I think I am turning 'arty'

Blimey. I accidentally turned myself into an artist today. I picked up my iPhone without realising that the camera was turned on, and accidentally took a surreal photograph. I didn't even know I had done it until I downloaded the images to my laptop.

So please may I introduce my photographic masterpiece..........

Pic.No.1. Surreal Photograph

I have named my artwork, "banana striving to be bowed sheeps leg; symbols of the insecurities of modern man."

As you will probably agree, it is beautiful, and I am now inspired to try and take some more. Just call me David Bailey.

Lunch at The Mole, Toot Baldon

After a busy night out, what could be better than a leisurely lunch with at friend? So yesterday lunchtime, I decided to try out an eaterie called The Mole, located in a small village outside of Oxford, amusingly called Toot Baldon.

It has a pretty good reputation as a gastro-pub, and so I arrived at 2.30pm.... having forgotten my camera, which meant I had to blatantly nick a photo from The Mole's website to include in this blog. I would have got away with it too if it wasn't for those pesky kids. Yep, some clever dick spotted that the garden in the photograph below was in full bloom, which was a slightly unusual state of affairs for mid-winter.

"Darn you, pesky kids!" [shakes fist in general direction of aforementioned juveniles]

Pic.No.1. The Mole, Toot Baldon

The Mole has received many accolades, including a Michelin 'Bib Gourmand', and has been placed in the top100 restaurants in the UK by 'Eat Out' magazine ....... so I had high hopes. Especially as I had had to book three days in advance, to get the last available two seater table.

Pic.No.2. The reception area with leather sofas

Pic.No.3. Dining in the Gallery

Pic.No.4. Dining in the conservatory

First impressions were c'est bon [that is the sum total of my French, but it makes me sound sophisticated, don't ya think?] ...... akin, I would say, to finding a tenner down the side of the sofa. They had taken an historic pub and given the interior a contemporary twist by adding modern leather dining chairs, and other 'stuff' like arty farty statues.... you know the ones..... they look a bit blobby, but art conniosseurs admire them with head cocked to one side; "I like the way they have managed to capture the pain of poverty in this particular piece." I look again, and it still looks blobby. 

Anyway, again I had to nick the interior shots from The Mole's website. So instead of appearing empty as it does in the pictures above, it was actually full to the gills.... every table in the place was taken..... again, another good sign.

Whilst perusing the scrumptious looking menu, we ordered drinks. I sipped my full-bodied Merlot and turned to my companion asking, "how is your drink?" 

"A bit watery," he responded. 

"Oh no, how disppointing..... what did you order?" I replied, a little dejected that we were off to a shaky start. 

"Water," he replied. 

"Oh. ok. I suppose that is fair play then," I nodded, turning my attention back to the menu and selecting the roast lamb as my main course.

The main course did take a little time (probably 35 minutes) before it arrived, but hey, I don't mind waiting if the food is good...... and was it?

Pic.No.5. Roast lamb with Yorkshire pudding

Yes, it was good, but not great. In fact, it made me wish I had chosen a signature dish from the menu instead, because I properly felt that my lamb hadn't given the chef the opportunity to showcase his obvious talent. 

Having said that, aside from being a little fatty ........ "it's a like eating a kebab from a  burger-van in the early hours of Saturday morning," asided my companion..... it was very succulent, and the gravy was excellent (especially important being the northerner that I am). 

Would I go again? Definitely. And next time I would choose something far more adventurous from the menu...... which I have copied below for you to have a look at........ yummy.

A La Carte Menu

While you wait - Home made focaccia, marinated olives, balsamic + olive oil

4.95

Starters

Cream of  cauliflower soup, smoked haddock, poached egg

6.50/12.00

Grilled sardines on toast, anchovy, lemon + herb butter

6.50/12.00

Salmon fishcake with Thai flavours, aioli, sweet chilli, fragrant herbs

6.95/12.50

Goats cheese fritters, sweet pumpkin puree, rocket + parsley salad, balsamic

6.95/12.50

Shredded pork belly, chilli, peanuts, bean shoots, lime, coriander

6.50/12.00

Mole Inn Gravalax with a radish, green apple + honey mustard salad

6.95/12.50

Cappuccino of wild mushrooms + truffle, parmesan straws 

6.95/12.50

Main Courses
28 day dry aged Aberdeenshire Rump steak, mushroom, tomato, pepper sauce, fat chips

17.95

Confit duck, Toulouse sausage cassoulet, pomme puree

15.75

Venison steak, faggot, carrot + swede puree, bacon Pan-Haggerty

15.95

Pepper + onion seed crusted pork tenderloin, parsnip dauphinoise, curly kale

15.95

Roasted cod steak, tomato + herb mash, scallops, pea puree

15.50

Natural smoked haddock, parmesan mash, spinach, mustard seed sauce

15.50

Seared sea bass, chilli greens, red curry + coconut broth, sticky jasmine rice

15.50

Fettuccine, wild mushrooms, essence of truffle, parmesan, fried duck egg

12.50

(please note that our vegetarian starters are also available as a main course portion)  

Side Orders
Fries 3.00,  Fat chips 3.50,  Mash 3.00

House salad 3.00,  Rocket + parmesan salad 3.00

Savoy cabbage + bacon 3.00,  French beans + almonds 3.00


Desserts

Chocolate orange mousse, blackcurrant sorbet 

5.95

Berry + white chocolate pavlova
5.95

Sticky toffee pudding, vanilla ice cream
5.95

Sherry + strawberry trifle
5.95

Treacle tart, vanilla bean + balsamic ice cream

5.95

Bread + butter pudding, Bird’s custard, cinnamon ice cream

5.95

Selection of fine British cheeses, bicuits, celery, apple, grapes + chutney
6.95

Selection of home made ice creams + sorbets - 4 scoops, you choose;
4.95

ice creams - raspberry ripple, chocolate chip, orange + lemon, amaretti biscuit, vanilla, white chocolate

sobets - blackcurrant, mango, raspberry

A quirky night out? I'd say so

So, it had been Sam's birthday last weekend, and she invited me to go out and celebrate with her this weekend.

"For definite, I'll be there," I said to her, "what do you fancy doing?"

"How about going into Oxford?" she suggested, "maybe Cowley Road?"

"Wicked ..... yep, that sounds great," I replied. Cowley Road is a pretty hip part of Oxford with the most cosmopolitan mix of people, bars and restaurants.  

The taxi turned up at my house at 8pm and after picking up Sam, we arrived at the Cowley Road 15 minutes later.

  Pic.No.1. Night time - Cowley Road, Oxford (I really didn't need to specify 'night time' did I? In fact, why do people do that?)

The first bar we went to was the bohemian Cafe Baba, specialising in mediterranean food and more importantly, cocktails (two Mojitos please barman!). The good things about the place were a cool mix of funky music, mosaic tables, candles and a great drinks menu..... yep the place had atmos.

 Pic.No.2 Inside Cafe Baba

 Pic.No.3. Moi...... Inside Cafe Baba

But even the most impressive venues have a downside - in this case, it was that the stairs to the ladies toilets were treachorous.

"Those stairs are trechorous," I motioned to Sam after nearly breaking my neck during descent.

"Are you sure it isn't down to the fact that you are wearing heels?" she pointed out.

"Ah. Good point... well made," I acquiesced. [Urgent comment recall: stairs to toilets in Cafe Baba aren't treachorous unless you negotiate them in rarely-worn heels].

Vid.No.1 Sam in Cafe Baba, plying the troops with refreshment

After Cafe Baba, we ambled down Cowley Road, when Sam suddenly suggested; "do you fancy going somewhere totally barking?"

"Yeh definitely," I replied (thinking to myself that it can't be that barking), and so we entered the Hi-Lo Jamaican Eating House and bar. And so commenceth the most bizarre approach to customer care that I have ever experienced in my entire life.

Firstly, we had to pay a saucer-eyed spotty door attendant £1.00 each for entry, following which we were pitched into the dingy interior, blinking as our eyes adjusted to the light.

The bar seemed to consist of a number of large communal tables, with drinks being dispensed from a counter situated to the right of the room. The counter was manned by an aged, and seemingly drunk Jamaican rasta Landlord who dished out cans of Red Stripe to the queuing masses. As the queue shortened and we approached our turn, we witnessed a girl asking for a glass of water.

"If you want a f&*£ing glass of water, go and drink from the toilets," the Landlord shouted at the girl, waving her away. Woah!.... being perceptive, I could sense that this particular business owner wasn't focussed on client satisfaction.

And so our turn in the queue arrived. Sam innocuously ordered two 'Jack Daniels and Coke.' The Landlord was just turning to get the glasses from the shelves behind, when he spotted my camera (yep, my blogging camera) in my hand.

"You. B*%&$. What the f%*$ are you doing with a f£*&ing camera in here?" he screamed at me. "Get rid of it, or I will f*&king smash it with a hammer." he added, leaving me a little taken aback. 

I was just about to indignantly retaliate, when something..... I don't know what...... told me to keep quiet and just put the camera in my bag. Sam noticed, and sighed in relief.

"That'll be £13.00," demanded the Landlord, slamming the two JDs and coke on the counter. Something..... I don't know what...... told me to keep quiet and just pay the extortionate price tag. 

Once esconced at one of the large tables, I took in the place. Very funky music (played by a DJ), good mix of people, very dark and atmospheric, but more than anything...... quirky. In fact, after recovering from the Landlord's abuse (which took me nearly 20 seconds), I can safely say that Sam was spot on when she described the place as totally barking.... quirky is just too nondescript for this place.

Pic.No.4. the Hi-Lo Jamiacan Eating House. For obvious reasons, this is not one of my photographs

Anyway, before I move on, I thought you might like to look at some of the ...erm...... eclectic reviews of the place....... it's amusing reading!
Reviews 1, Reviews 2, and Reviews 3

After finishing our drinks, Sam recommended going to another Cowley Road bar called the Kazbar. Flippin hek, that girl is good at picking decent places to go. The interior of the Kazbar was amazing in that it was designed to be like a outdoor Spanish restaurant. It had a terracotta square with balconies overlooking it, and the tables were all congregated around, so that it was almost like being outside.

 

Vid.No.2. Sam's distress at paying £13.00 for two JDs and Coke at the Hi-Lo Jamaican place

However, I won't go into too much detail because this is turning into the longest post in history, but suffice to say, it was atmospheric, the food is supposed to be brilliant (even though we didn't eat there), and the service was excellent. It doesn't look much from the outside, so make sure you take the opportunity to venture in if you ever visit Oxford .

Pic.No.5. Here I am at the Kazbar

So it is back to village life after a great night out in the city. Au Revoir. A Bientot, and thanks for a great night out matey!

Curry-house chicken tikka masala

Not being a domestic goddess in any way shape or form, if I find a recipe that goads me into that desolate wasteland behind my living room (i.e. the kitchen), it would be rude not to share it with you. Now, all 'Anne approved' recipes must conform to two criterion: 1. They must be easy to make, and 2. they must be super tasty. So if you think you have a secret recipe that fits the bill, please forward it to me, and I will see if it is good enough to make the blog!

Believe me, I have to kiss a lot of frogs before I find a recipe that it good enough to make it here. But today I have....... and here it is:

Curry House Chicken Tikka Masala
Serves 4

4 large chicken breasts
Salt
Juice of 1 lemon
8cm / 3in piece of fresh root ginger, finely grated
8 cloves garlic, crushed
4 green chillies, deseeded and chopped
4 tsp garam masala
4 tbsp plain low-fat yoghurt
1 x 400g can of chopped tomatoes
3 tbsp tomato puree
8 cardamom pods
3 cloves
1 tbsp of runny honey
125g / 4 1/2 oz butter, plus extra for basting
250ml / 9fl oz single cream
2 tsp ground fenugreek (optional)
2 handfuls coriander leaves

Skin the chicken and cut each breast into three. Make three short slashes in each piece, and then put in a dish and sprinkle with salt and lemon juice. Massage in the salt and lemon and then leave for 20 minutes. Put half the ginger plus any juice, half the garlic, 1 chopped chilli and tsp of garam masala in a largish bowl. Tip the yoghurt in and beat together, then add the chicken along with its juices. Rub the mixture into the slashes. Cover and refrigerate for 24 hours or overnight.

Make the sauce now (it can be reheated the next day, and tastes better for it). Tip the tomatoes into a saucepan, then fill the empty can with water and tip this in too. Add the tomato puree, remaining ginger, garlic, chilli and garam masala, cardamom pods, cloves and some salt. Stir and bring to a gentle bubble. Allow to splutter for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Beat in the honey, then the butter, then the cream and, if using, the fenugreek. Taste and add a touch more honey or salt if needed. Leave to cool and then refrigerate.

Turn the oven to its highest, then remove the chicken from its yoghurt bath. Lay the pieces across a baking sheet then roast for 20 minutes (if it's off the bone, 15 minutes). Melt a little butter and use it to baste the chicken half way through. Reheat the sauce, add the chicken and heat through. Serve with coriander (and if you like, a few toasted, flaked almonds scattered over).

Obviously, it tastes the dogs danglies as is, but I like serving it with Basmati rice. A nice Pilau rice would be good too, and here is a link to a recipe: BBC Food Recipe - Pilau Rice. I haven't tried making it, so if it is any cop, could you drop me a line and let me know?

MOTs - The cost of failure

My peugeot is my chariot. I dislike the bloody thing intensely because it is small, and isn't blingy enough, but it is still my chariot.......and today I realised that my chariot's MOT certificate had run out.

[For people who don't live in the UK, MOT stands for Ministry of Transport. Cars are tested to make sure that they conform to basic safety standards ...... something which takes all the excitement and mystery out of motoring if you ask me].

Yep, it is a legal requirement in the UK that every car has an MOT certificate, so I was pretty sure that my day was going to be spent procuring the blasted document. Why? Well firstly, it is a governmental requirement for crikey's sake, why make it easy? And secondly, I was fairly sure my chariot was going to fail the test.

Pic.No.1 My car undergoing MOT forensics

After arriving at the garage and spending 50 minutes waiting in a drafty office, it became pretty obvious, pretty quickly that my chariot had indeed failed its MOT. And the general demeanour of the mechanic made me adament that I wasn't going to pay him to do the repairs............

"Ooh," he said, sucking in his breath whilst simultaneously stroking his chin, "it's gonna cost ya." (don't you just hate it when people do that?)

"Just tell me why it failed," I snapped (unlike me, but I did). 

He scowled and handed over a list of chariot failures.........

"That'll set you back at least £300," he grinned, like a weasel in the undergrowth, "do you want us to commence repairs?"

"No thank you." I answered, and picking up my car-key. "I already have someone else lined up to do the repairs." (that was a bit of a fib)

"Suit yourself," shrugged the mechanic as I stomped out of the garage, on my way to another garage that I knew about. 

Fifteen minutes later I was standing in Garage B where another mechanic was sucking in air and shaking his head, "trouble is," he said, "I don't know how much it is gonna cost you until we dismantle the brakes."

Grrrrrrrrr. It was getting towards afternoon, and I was getting truly fed-up of garages and mechanics.

"Ok, just do it," I said, leaving the keys on the counter.

Pic.No.2. The cost of failure - £253.70

Four hours later, I got a call from the garage that my car was ready to pick up. Soon after arriving, I was handed an invoice for £253.70. HOW MUCH?

I was flabberghasted, and upon detailed examination, it became clear that £188.00 of that was attributed to labour charges. 

"Excuse me," I asked the lady behind the desk, "what is the hourly labour rate?"

"£50.00" she smiled back. 

Now is it me? But when did mechanics start earning as much as lawyers? That is a salary of £104,000 ($164,701) per year. Un-bloody-believable. And so I left with a heavy heart, and the feeling that somehow, I had been properly jibbed. 

Is it only me that seems to have a high proportion of negative experiences when it comes to garages?

Hurray! My exit pass has arrived

You will be pleased to know that yesterday the long drought of 'not eating out' came to an abrupt, and very welcome, end.

Oh yeh, after 11 days of spending my time in 'lock down' with only a (if somewhat wonderful) four-year-old for company, I finally entered the land of the grown-ups again..... yep, eating out and me finally locked horns again.

My chum Steve had come back from his snowboarding holiday, and decided to give me a ring; "hey, do you fancy going for something to eat tonight.... my fridge is empty."

"Do I? DO I? pick me up immediately or I will sacrifice an innocent carrot." I replied, and within fifteen minutes I was en-route to The Old Fisherman in Shabbington.......... ummmmmmm sigh.

Pic.No.1. The Old Fisherman at Shabbington

Pic.No.2. Steve and Izzy play with my loverly-luscious white iPhone

Pic.No.3. Moi. Back in the land of the living

Ahhhh..... I could feel the life stirring again in my extremities.... and given that it was Sunday, I decided to plump for a terribly British roast dinner; beef (cooked medium rare) with an abundance of seasonal vegetables, topped off with beef gravy. Perfect!

So perfect indeed, that I am now back home and have decided to relish the meal by lying on my sofa for the rest of the evening rather than extolling the virtues of the Old Fisherman....... Actually I will extol a little before I exit - Go there. Great Food. Great Service. That's me done..... over and out.

I'll make an engineer of you yet

"Right Izzy," I said standing in front of my four year old as she cut the hair off yet another doll, adding another victim to her Victoria Beckham short-haired doll army.

"What?" replied Izzy unconcernedly.

"Shall we start training you to be an engineer like me?" I asked, with a cunning plan up my sleeve.

"Ok." She answered with not an inkling of enthusiasm (kids today, tut).

So into the car we got and drove to Oxford centre, stopping outside the...... drumroll..... Discovery Zone at Science Oxford.

'What the blazes is that?" I hear you cry. Well, it was a cultural centre for science complete with .......get this.... an investigation area for children to explore science first-hand.Yeh, you got it..... me at a cultural centre. How weird is that?

 

Pic.No.1. The Discovery Zone

Fortunately, the layout of the building allowed me to bypass all the culture in the foyer and head straight to the Discovery Zone where all the fun stuff seemed to be based.

It was an Engineer's paradise. Loads of basic scientific principles had been transferred into fun and practical applications. Izzy looked underwhelmed though...... that is until we (actually it was mainly me) started playing and discovering the highlights of science...... ooh lurverly!

Pic.No.2.The basics of magnetics

"Look Izzy! This magnet uses the alignment of iron filings to represent magnetic field lines," I enthused.

"If I pull them around, they look like of fish," she responded, "and I am going to pretend they are all having a poo."

Ok, she didn't quite appear to have grasped magnetic fields, but that kind of thing is often learnt, sometimes subliminally, over time, and I'm prepared to wait.... but not without giving her another little lesson first.........

Pic.No.3. Electro-magnetic replusion of steel bands

Next up, and still in the area of magnetism, we had a machine that used electro-magnetic repulsion to shoot steel rings up a pole.

"What do you think Iz?" I asked her after explaining the general principles of electro-magnets and the way force fields could be created from an electric current.

"I like pushing the button because they jump like frogs, and when frogs talk it sounds like they are burping," she answered to my disappointment. I wasn't quite managing to draw out the engineer in her.

"Ok kiddo. Maybe it is just the magnetic thing that you don't like, let's move onto something different," I suggested, clutching at straws, and leading her to the 'balancing ball machine'.
 

Pic.No.4. A beach ball jumps around on a jet of air coming from the black pipe

Pic.No.5 Izzy tries to catch the ball whilst it bounces around on the jet of air

At last!....... Izzy was in fits of laughter, moving the pipe to make the ball jump around on the jet of air, and then forcing the ball through the two target hoops. I seized my chance; "Hey Izzy, do you know what is keeping that ball on the top of the air? It is called Bernoulli's principle."

Izzy looked at me blankly and I continued undeterred; "the reason that the ball doesn't fall down is because air moving fast in one direction (in this case up) pushes less (in any other direction) than air that isn’t moving. How cool is that?"

"I like it because the ball keeps bouncing off my nose," she giggled as the ball did indeed, bounce off her nose again.

Blimey, I was on the verge of giving up, but at just that moment I discovered an application that demonstrated perspective. Basically, there was a glass screen and you had to draw a reflection of yourself on it, to see if you were the same size as aforementioned reflection.

Izzy sat on the stool in front of the glass screen, and as I looked round, I suddenly noticed that the room was empty.

"Hey Iz, the teachers have gone, let's do something funny.......... " I whispered.

"Ok!," she giggled uncontrollably as I drew a moustache and glasses on the screen in front of her face.

Pic.No.6. Izzy not demonstrating perspective

"I want to do it to you," she pleaded, still giggling.

"Ok, quick. Before the teachers come back," I hissed at her.

 

Pic.No.7. Messing about with the glass screen

So, we ended up being the baddies in the classroom, and I also found out that not only are Izzy's engineering tendencies a bit iffy, but her photographic skills leave something to be desired if you look at the picture above. Never mind, she will probably improve in time, but if not, I am holding out hope that she will be a pro-snowboarder instead.

Guilty Secrets

Ok, ok..... I have a guilty secret. Earlier today, I posted on this blog that I was having a 'slow news week'.

This is true to a certain extent, but there is also another factor that is leading to me post less this week than other weeks.

Everyone get a plastic chair and form a shifty circle, staring intently at your shoes.

I'll be first..... "my name is Annie and I am a Celebrity Big Brother addict. My evenings are spent in front of the TV from 9pm onwards, watching z-list celebs (as well as Vinnie Jones, Stephanie Beacham and Ivana Trump) humiliate themselves."

Oh yeh, despite my suave, sophisticated exterior, I am a devotee of the last-ever series of Celebrity BB to be screened in the UK. It's a people-watching thing...... you get put an eclectic bunch of (mainly) egotistical celebs in a house for two weeks and then watch the fireworks.

And tonight was the grand finale with five contestants remaining, and the public voting for their favourite "celeb"  [uh hum.... cough] to win. The contestants were Vinnie Jones, Basshunter, Dane Bowers, Stephanie Beacham and Alex Reid. And after hearing Vinnie Jones complain that he was 'depressed' when he entered the house because all the celebrities were 'minor', it was with interest that I watched the results come in. 

Would you believe it?! The winner was the most 'minor' celeb there - Alex Reid. Absolutely brilliant! Famous only for going out with a famous glamour model for the last six months. Oh dear, that's two fingers up at you Vinnie (who, to be fair, was very amusing during his stay).

Oh how I laughed...... in sympathy for all the truly famous people in there of course.

Then it ended, and I realised that I now have a 9pm hole in my life....... Suggestions on a postcard please.

P.S. I thought you might like the biographies of the people I have been watching in Celebrity BB for the last 4 weeks:

Stephanie Beacham
Real Name: Stephanie Beacham

Age: 60
Best Known For: Tenko, Dynasty spin-off The Colbys, Bad Girls and a recent stint in Coronation Street. The list is almost endless.
Early Life: Beacham, from Barnet, in Hertfordshire, was born deaf in her right ear and with only 75% hearing in her left. The actress says she can hear perfectly well when people speak directly to her but struggles in social situations and sometimes gets nervous.
Beacham had hoped to become a ballerina but was rejected from the Royal Ballet School and instead decided to teach movement to deaf children.
She studied mime with Etienne Decroux in Paris but returned to the UK after she was sacked from her job as an au pair.
Beacham stumbled into acting and went on to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London.
Career High: Landing the lead role in the 1985 ITV series Connie. Beacham had been seriously ill in hospital when she was given the scripts. In an interview with Hello magazine she said the role ''helped me to go on living''.
Love Life: Divorced from actor John McEnery. The couple have two daughters, Phoebe, 35, and Chloe, 32.
Don't Mention: The 1981 low-budget film Inseminoid. Beacham said she only took the science fiction flick, and other film roles around the same time, to support her young daughters after her marriage break-up.
Words Of Wisdom: On her role as Rose in Tenko: ''I didn't mind millions of viewers seeing me so unglamorous because I've got no real pride in my appearance. I couldn't care less if I'm wearing gorgeous dresses like Connie or Sable (in The Colbys), or rags like Rose. The only thing I really care about is that people believe in my character.''

Heidi Fleiss
Real Name: Heidi Fleiss

Age: 44
Best Known For: Being arrested in 1993, and later jailed, for running a Hollywood prostitution ring which was reported to have many famous clients. She has so far refused to name them.
Early Life: Fleiss is the daughter of a Los Angeles paediatrician.
Career High: Selling the rights to her life story to Paramount Pictures in 2004 for a reported £3.1 million.
Love Life: Fleiss is reportedly engaged to Dennis Hof, whose legal brothels in Nevada were featured in the Cathouse documentaries.
Don't Mention: Ex-boyfriend Tom Sizemore. The Saving Private Ryan actor was convicted in 2003 of assaulting Fleiss.
Words Of Wisdom: ''I don't think prostitution is a career... but maybe a little stepping stone?''



Lady Sovereign
Real name: Louise Harman

 
Age: 24
Best Known For: The singles Love Me Or Hate Me and Nine2Five (vs The Ordinary Boys)
Early Life: Raised on a council estate in Wembley, north-west London, she was influenced by her mother's Salt-n-Pepa albums and inspired by the success of Ms Dynamite.
Aged 14, she began writing raps and uploading them to a So Solid Crew fan forum.
Harman met DJ Frampster online and they started uploading sets online as the garage/grime duo Heavy Like Dat.
Career High: Meeting Jay-Z, then president of record label Def Jam, in 2005. He asked her to perform freestyle and she was immediately signed, although later left the label.
Love Life: Single but self-confessed bi-sexual
Don't Mention: The night she spent in a Brisbane police cell in September after spitting in the face of a nightclub bouncer. The rapper pleaded guilty to assault and to being drunk and disorderly.
Words Of Wisdom: On Big Brother: ''I always end up watching it and getting a little bit addicted.''

Katia Ivanova
Real Name: Ekaterina Ivanova

Age: 21
Best Known For: Being Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood's ex-girlfriend.
Early Life: Moved to London from Kyrgyzstan at the age of three with her parents Sergei and Irina.
Career High: Meeting Ronnie Wood while waitressing at a West End bar in 2008. Wood later left his wife Jo.
Love Life: Ivanova was dating model Dan Turner, 23, but the couple are reported to have broken up. She split from Wood, 62, last month following a series of rows. On December 22, Wood was cautioned for common assault after attacking her in a street in Claygate, Surrey, on December 2.
Don't Mention: Alcohol. Ivanova said the relationship broke down when Wood hit the bottle. His drunken criticism made her feel worthless and she self-harmed, she said in an interview with The Sun newspaper.
Words Of Wisdom: On the split with Wood: ''We would have ended up killing each other. It would have been like Sid and Nancy. I think the violence would definitely have escalated,'' Ivanova told The Sun.
''I can't believe one man turned me into the wreck I became. There is no way I am ever going back to Ronnie.''

Nicola T
Real Name: Nicola Tappenden

Age: 27
Best Known For: Glamour modelling, but also runs online clothing shop Delicious Couture which raises money for Great Ormond Street Hospital Children's Charity, The Eve Appeal and Help For Heroes.
Early Life: Tappenden grew up in Croydon, Surrey, and went to Shirley High School.
Career High: Winning The Sun's first Page 3 idol competition in 2002. She went on to play a red light district girl in the 2005 film Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo.
Love Life: Tappenden is engaged to Crewe Alexandra midfielder Simon Walton, 22, and the couple have a one-year-old daughter, Poppy.
Don't Mention: Bobby Zamora. The couple dated for two years but split up after she said he had cheated on her. Tappenden appeared on ITV2's Wags Boutique while dating the West Ham and later Fulham striker.
Words Of Wisdom: To OK! magazine, about appearing on Wags Boutique: ''Then after, I was recognised by young girls and women, rather than just men who look at you for your boobies. It's been a nice change, having people look up to you because they want to wear what you're wearing or because they like your hair. It's much more rewarding.''

Dane Bowers
Real Name: Dane Bowers

Age: 30
Best Known For: Success with R&B boyband Another Level in the late 1990s.
Early Life: Bowers, from Croydon, Surrey, went to The Brit School for Performing Arts and Technology.
Career High: Another Level's single Freak Me going to number one in 1998.
Love Life: Separated from his wife and agent Chrissy Johnston. Bowers has a son Kai, 12, with ex-girlfriend Emma-Jane North. Glamour model Katie Price, aka Jordan, is another ex.
Don't Mention: Sophie Ellis-Bextor. The Spiller single Groovejet (If This Ain't Love), featuring the singer, beat The Truesteppers single Out Of Your Mind, featuring Bowers and Victoria Beckham, to number one in 2000.
Words Of Wisdom: ''I'd like to be remembered as one of the great singers Britain has,'' while taking part in a Celebrity version of Come Dine With Me last year.

Vinnie Jones
Real Name: Vincent Jones

Age: 44
Best Known For: Being the hard man of British football.
Early Life: Jones was born on a council estate in Watford. He worked on a building site before starting to play football professionally at the age of 19. His football career started off with a brief stint at Wealdstone. He then played for Wimbledon FC, Leeds United, Sheffield United, Chelsea and Queens Park Rangers, as well as captaining the Wales team. Jones then began to concentrate on his acting career and has since starred in films such as Guy Ritchie's Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels and Gone In 60 Seconds.
Career High: As part of the 'Crazy Gang' Wimbledon side, defeating Liverpool in the FA Cup in 1988.
Love Life: Married to Tanya. The couple have a son and a daughter.
Don't Mention: Gazza. Jones once famously grabbed Paul Gascoigne's testicles to distract him on the football pitch.
Words Of Wisdom: ''I happen to have my own values, If I'm given a choice between going to a film premiere or going and catching a trout in a river I'd rather go and catch the trout.''

Stephen Baldwin
Real Name: Stephen Baldwin

Age: 43
Best Known For: Being the youngest of the Baldwin brothers. The others are actors Alec, Daniel and William ''Billy'' Baldwin.
Early Life: Born and raised in Massapequa, New York. Had a few small acting parts before landing a role in the 1988 film The Beast, playing a Soviet soldier in Afghanistan.
Career High: Playing Michael McManus in the 1995 film The Usual Suspects.
Love Life: Married to Brazilian graphic designer Kennya Baldwin.
Don't Mention: The film Speed. Baldwin reportedly turned down the role of Jack Traven, which went to Keanu Reeves.
Words Of Wisdom: About becoming a born-again Christian after the September 11 attacks: ''I had experiences that go beyond most people's wildest dreams, and I can honestly look you in the eye and say the experience I am now having with Jesus Christ blows away everything I did before.''

Alex Reid
Real Name: Alex Reid

Age: 34
Best Known For: Going out with glamour model Katie Price, also known as Jordan.
Early Life: Aldershot-born Reid got into martial arts at the age of 14. Fighting under the name 'Reidenator', Reid has made a name for himself as a cage fighter and has also trained in Vale Tudo, a combat sport with few rules.
He played Jason Cunliffe in Channel 4 soap Hollyoaks between 2001 and 2002, and has had walk-on roles in films such as Eyes Wide Shut and Sliding Doors.
It was his relationship with Price, which started soon after her split from husband Peter Andre last year, which really launched him into the public eye.
Career High: Appearing in Katie Price's ITV2 reality show What Katie Did Next.
Love Life: Dating Price.
Don't Mention: Cross-dressing. Photos of Reid dressed up in women's clothes were published in the papers last year.
Words Of Wisdom: On the reports of cross-dressing, Reid told the Daily Mirror: ''Look, it's a bit of fun. I don't want to go to a supermarket dressed as a woman and I don't want a sex-change. It's something I do once in a blue moon.''

DJ Basshunter
Real Name: Jonas Erik Altberg

Age: 25
Best Known For: His 2008 dance hit Now You're Gone.
Early Life: Altberg was born in Halmstad, Sweden. He started making music from his bedroom at his parents' house at the age of 18.
He landed a recording contract with Warner Music in 2006, when he released his first single Boten Anna. This song stormed the Swedish charts and became the first Swedish-language song to reach number one in numerous other countries. He re-recorded the song as Now You're Gone in 2007.
Now You're Gone: The Album went straight to number one in the UK.
Career High: Now You're Gone knocked Coldplay off the top of the UK charts and stayed at number one for five weeks.
Don't Mention: School. Basshunter has talked of his schooldays being unhappy and claimed he was bullied for having Tourette's syndrome.
Words Of Wisdom: On dealing with his Tourette's, he told BBC Radio 1: ''I've learned how to take control over it. You could spend a week with me, 24/7 and not know I have it.
''I've learned how to feel when it's coming and push it back... and that took years of training.''

Sisqo
Real Name: Mark Althavean Andrews

Age: 31
Best Known For: His racy single The Thong Song.
Early Life: Baltimore-born Sisqo is the youngest of three children. Formed RandB group Dru Hill with his school and college friends. He then pursued a solo career with the album Unleash The Dragon, which included the 2000 hit The Thong Song. The album went five times platinum.
He has also had roles in films including Get Over It with Kirsten Dunst and Snow Dogs with Cuba Gooding Jr.
Career High: Being nominated for three Grammy Awards in 2001.
Don't Mention: The Dru Hill line-up. The band has been subject to various line-up changes and break-ups over the years, including a notable reunion in 2008 which ended mid-interview when one band member announced live on air he was quitting.
Words Of Wisdom: ''Artists are afraid to say who their influences are because they fear they'll be put in the shadow of that artist. Not me. When I get an idea from somebody, I straightaway say, 'I took it from them'.''

Slow news week

So, looking after a hyperactive four-year-old all week, has resulted in it being a bit of a slow news week. I mean ..... [shock, horror, drum roll] ....... I haven't even eaten out for six days. I am worried that I am fast becoming a hermit, a recluse, and all that it entails - wearing clothes that don't fit properly, shuffling instead of walking, and sporting wild, unkempt hair.

In fact the only time I have gone out is to take Naughty George on his daily drag. So, as you can see, photo opportunities have been rare. However, I did manage to capture this video of the view from the top of the hill that gives my village, Forest Hill, its name.

Vid.No.1. The view from the top of Forest Hill

 

Pic.No.1. Fallen over trees on top of hill

Yep, sorry..... I have had to resort to pictures of fallen-over trees. In fact the only excitement I have had is when Naughty George ran away with a husky and it took me 15 minutes to recapture him.

When I referred to Naughty George's recent antics on Facebook, a friend replied: "I hate George, I thought he was dead. Perhaps it is time that he was put down?" You see, he isn't the most popular of mutts. Even dog-lovers don't like him.

Poor dog. He is forlornly eating mouldy cheese from the compost heap as we speak.

Updated: A trip to the cinema (with new Chris Evans pics)

I am not a big cinema-goer or film watcher, so it was with trepidation that I decided to take Izzy to the cinema last Sunday to keep her entertained.

To put it into perspective, I have only been to the cinema once in the last ten years, and that was when I got dragged to see 'Sherlock Holmes' whilst I was spending Christmas in Leeds. Not only did it cost nearly £10.00 to get in [WHAT?!], but a box of popcorn cost nearly £5.00 [WHAT?!]. Given that the film was only 128 minutes long, that equated to12p a minute.

On top of that, I just did not rate the film at all. I mean just when did Sherlock Holmes morph from a genteel, studious sleuth into an action hero / cage fighter? Purlease.........

Anyway, I digress. Back to Sunday - I drove to a new cinema that has been built in Witney. Apparently Izzy can only watch films with a U after them (oh yeh, I did my research), which narrowed the choice down to precisely two, a 3D film called 'Toy Story 2', and 'Alvin and the Chipmunks 2: the Squeakquel'.

I immediately eliminated the Chipmunks film because of the appalling play on words - the Squeakquel [oh dear] - and so Toy Story it was.

Pic.No.1. Izzy in the cinema donning her 3D glasses

After being completely fleeced by the box office (£9.30 for me, £6.70 for Izzy, and £1.80 for the 3D glasses), we took our place in the auditorium and waited for the film to start.

And then the realisation dawned that Toy Story was in fact, a cartoon...........

I am 39 years old. I stopped watching cartoons when I was seven....... it was going to be a long afternoon. Good job I had brought my iPhone with me, I could watch a different movie if things got too bad. As it happens, Toy Story had mildly amusing special effects if a somewhat dull storyline, but what was really funny was watching Izzy's reaction to the 3D characters. The first time Buzz Lightyear 'jumped out' of the screen, she leapt a mile and then reached out to try and touch him.... awwwwwww!

The joys of experiencing things for the first time eh?

Pic.No.2. "Take off those glasses Iz, you look like Chris Evans" 

Pic. No. 3 "Take off those glasses Chris, you look like Izzy"

The good news is that Izzy loved the film and wouldn't stop chattering about it, or take off her glasses...... for the rest of the day. I kept getting sympathy looks from the public who thought that she was visually impaired.

Anyway, job here is done...... one child entertained!

Saturday at the Millets Farm Centre - Rock and Roll!

So, here we are. Izzy's dad has gone off snowboarding in a foreign clime, and that leaves moi solely in charge of a four year old for the next 10 days.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't totally adore her, it's just that the maternal gene has not only passed me by, but flipped me the bird on the way past.

When Izzy was first born, it didn't even enter my head that I wasn't a 'natural' parent. However, the realisation kind of crept up on me as she got older, and friends kept 'commenting' on all the cool things I have taught her throughout her four years on this planet:

"Are you sure she is old enough to drive a forklift truck?"

"Maybe she should be stirring the bowl rather than chopping those onions with that knife?"

"I would probably have bought her a doll rather than that toy chainsaw."

"You really think she will make it down ok if you strap her to that [snow] board?"

Ahh..... it's all just a symptom of the nanny state. Anyway, ignore that, I had planned lots of fun activities for the weekend and our first sojourn on Saturday was the Millets Farm Centre outside of Oxford.

One of the key attractions of the Milletts Farm Centre is that they have a battery of animals that the children can walk up to, stroke, and feed. But therein lay the flaw in the plan......most of the species in the Milletts farm centre also reside in the farm at the back of my house and therefore hold no 'special' interest to a countryside kid.

 Pic.No.1 Some ducks.... they aren't even exotic ducks, they are bog standard ones

 Pic.No.2. A pig. Apparently eating mud. The countryside is gross

Pic.No.3. Crikey, where's the sheep's head?

And so one field after another, Izzy quickly dismissed the animals as 'boring' whilst I suddenly realised that seeing a sheep / cow / goat was not only mundane, but was starting to make me feel hungry. Admitting defeat, I  leant on the sheep's fence that was next to the kid's playpark (to contemplate my next step) and became aware of a mother behind me explaining centripetal force to a small child on a roundabout...."yes darling, the feeling that you get when you are being pushed sideways out of the roundabout ..... that is centrapetal force"

As if I didn't feel inadequate enough, at the exact same moment, Izzy suddenly developed an interest in the animals and shouted; "Look! that sheep is weeing!" and proceeded to drop to her knees pointing and laughing as the sheep partook in some rather vigorous urination.  

Centripetal mother turned and looked at me, shaking her head in a pitying / berating way.

"Excuse me!" I waved at her, whilst she regarded me with pursed, and disapproving lips.

"I think you will find that your child was experiencing centrafugal force, not centrapetal," I smiled, blowing kisses, and dragging Izzy out of the competitive kid-pit posing as a play area.

"So Izzy," I asked, "what would you like to do now?"

"Eat lunch in a restaurant," she replied assuredly. Way to go! A girl after my own heart and only four to boot.

 

Pic.No.4. Moi in the restaurant

We ordered a panini each, a cappucino for me and a fresh orange for madame Izzy. It was nice, but at nearly £14.00 ($22.69) it was bloody steep and a period of personal quantitative easing beforehand would have made the blow a little easier to take.

Pic.No.5. I could have purchased a small Scottish Island for the price of this panini and cappucino

Finally, after eating, I took Izzy to the park to play, after after watching her descend the same slide 63 times, each time shouting "look at me!" I decided I was getting a bit bored.

"Come on, it's time to go," I told Izzy.

"NOOOOO!" she replied so loudly that every parent in the park turned round as though I was physcially abusing her.

"Sssshhhhh," I motioned frantically, "if you are quiet, you can go on one more thing."

 

Pic.No.6. Izzy samples the wonders of a bouncy chipmunk

After thirty minutes of watching her ride a bouncy chipmunk, I was 'farm centred' out, and this time, I did manage to extricate from the joys of the Farm Centre and get her back home. 

The joys of looking after a four year old

Sorry the posts have been a bit patchy. I have been looking after a four-year-old for the last four days, so my life has revolved around; tidying away toys, making food which she "doesn't like", washing up, tidying away more toys, trying to get her paws off my iPhone, bathing, teeth-cleaning, reading, entertaining....... the lists goes on, and on. It's fun, but it doesn't leave me any time to do my own stuff.

Luckily she has gone back to school today, so I have a bit of time to catch up.

Naughty George's name is literal

"So," asked a friend today, after staring at my dog, Naughty George with a cocked head, "is his name ironic?" (a question that I get asked quite frequently).

Pic.No.1 Naughty George looking innocent. Don't be fooled

"Ummmmm...... no," I replied, "his name is literal. He actually is really naughty."

And you know what, every time I make that statement, I sense people looking me up and down and concluding NG is only naughty because I am unable to train him.

"Can I have a go with him?" requests friend, at which I point to my hound with a flourish and say, "go ahead".

Friend / Dog Whisperer looked at me suspiciously and shouted "sit" at Naughty George. And you know what, Naughty George sat straight away, albeit with a vacuous look on his face. My friend then shouted various other commands; "lie ...... stand ...... paw........sit ...........heel," all of which NG executed perfectly, making friend feel like they were in command of a police dog. 

"Hey your dog is really good," says friend, feeling a bit smug because he had tamed the beast, "why do you call him Naughty?"

"Because you are confusing good training with him being a good dog. It's all the other stuff that he does outside of that which makes him bad."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Loads of stuff," I replied, "in fact I will do a blog on the naughty stuff that he does for the remainder of today."

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long. Alerted by a yelp of fright coming from outside, and then some frantic barking, I ran into the garden to find ...................

Pic.No.2. Naughty George had chased a cat up a tree

Yep, a cat had strayed into our garden, so Naughty George chased it up a tree and was woofing manically as the thing teetered on a branch 15 feet in the air.

A dead cat scenario was then avoided by dragging NG, thrashing and twisting, back into the house. [note to self: go and check tree to make sure cat isn't there still.] 

At that point, Izzy came home from school, excitedly clutching a gingerbread man she had made that day.

"Can I eat it?" she asked.

"After dinner," I replied, putting the gingerbread on the table...... you can see where this is going can't you?

After obediently eating all her dinner, Izzy asked for her gingerbread man, only to be faced with this.........

Pic.No.3. No more gingerbread man

NG had sneakily jumped up at the table and eaten the whole bloody thing. What a git. So I was left trying to console a small child who was sobbing uncontrollably about the fact that she hadn't got to try her great masterpiece.

Pic.No.4. Naughty George looks ashamed after his latest escapade

At least NG did have the common decency to look ashamed after murdering the gingerbread man that Izzy had so painstakingly made at school. Hmmmmmm...... now friend......... do you understand where his name came from?!

Pic.No.5. Naughty George's dog tag

Recipe - Chicken Divan

As you probably know, I try not to go to that lonely, desolate place at the back of my house (the kitchen), unless there is an emergency - for example, I need to get a beer out of the fridge.

So you can imagine, the very fact that I decided to go there yesterday..... and cook something.......... I must have gotten a very tasty recipe. 

Indeed I have, and because I am always putting others before myself, and helping old ladies across the road, I decided to share it with you. I guarantee that you will love this recipe - no one I have ever cooked it for has said they don't like it. It makes me feel like Gordon Ramsay.

Chicken Divan (pronounced Dar'van)

Pic.No.1. Chicken Divan

Ingredients
2 large chicken brests (diced)
1 large broccoli floret
2 cans 295g (10oz) Campbells condensed chicken soup
250g (9oz) Mayonnaise
1 Dessert spoon curry powder
85g (3oz) Gruyere cheese grated
Breadcrumbs (equivalent to three thick slices of bread)
Juice of 1 lemon

Method
Blanch the broccoli by put it in a pot of boiling water for 5 mintues and then remove. Meanwhile, cook the diced chicken with a dash of olive oil until browed off. Lay the broccoli florets over the base of a large casserole dish, and then spoon over the chicken.

To make the sauce, mix the mayonnaise, condensed soup, lemon and curry powder. Once done, ladle the saunce over the broccoli and chicken in the casserole dish. Sprinkle the grated Gruyere on top of that, and then finally, add the layer of breadcrumbs.

Pop in the oven at Gas Mark 4 (350F or 180C), for 40 minutes and then serve on a bed of rice (I like basmati, but you can choose whatever your prefer).


Serves 4 greedy people, or 6 skinny people.

Oh, I thought that whilst I was inhabiting that room 'out back', you might like a little photo tour. If you are anything like me, you'll love a good nosey around people houses.

Pic.No. 2 The eating area

Pic.No.3. The bit where I normally heat up pizzas and make cups of tea

Pic.No.4. The back door. That is my escape route if anyone suggests that I cook something

Pic.No.5. The entrance to that desolate wasteland at the back of my house

Anyway, that's me done - hope you enjoy the recipe! Let me know what you think.

Ahhh! The peaceful country life..........

Sometimes I reflect on the reasons I left London to live in Oxford...... open fields, no hustle and bustle ..... the peaceful life. Peaceful everywhere other than my house that is. This is the scene that greeted me in the kitchen this morning ...........

Vid.No.1. Naughty George

Yep, Izzy was playing a green trumpet thingy with Naughty George accompanying her. Just what you need on a relaxing Sunday morning.

Night out anyone?

So there I was yesterday afternoon, minding my own business trying to count the number of threads in one of my cotton sheets, when the telephone rang.

"What?" I answered, slightly annoyed that I had lost my place after having worked my way two thirds down the blasted thing.

"It's Sam," came the voice, "do you fancy meeting up for a drink tonight?" she asked.

"Too right I do. I need to commiserate the demise of my igloo," I answered, "See you at 8pm and I'll give Clare a ring to see if she wants to come too."

Clare was initially hesitant because her cat was ill.... something to do with its kidneys ...... but not being much of a cat person, I managed to persuade her that her cat wouldn't want her staying in brooding.

"Just think if you were ill," I said, "you wouldn't like it if you felt like you were holding people back."

"Yeh, s'pose so," she said with uncertainty.

"Cool, I'll see you in the White Horse later," I replied, my work done.

And so it was....... despite cat adversity, igloo adversity, and no adversity (Sam), we all overcame our woes, or lack of them, and met at the White Horse Inn, Forest Hill.

Pic.No.1. 'No woes' Sam

Pic.No.2. 'Poorly cat woes' Clare

Pic.No.3 'Igloo woes' Anne

It just goes to show that community spirit mixed with a dash of red wine, solves most woes.

P.S. I am trying to grow my hair longer which is why is looks a bit straggly at the ends. I am still not sure whether it is better shorter or longer, but watching it grow diverts my attention from my cotton thread count.

The short, but fulfilling life of my igloo

You will probably recall me mentioning not so long ago, that one of my life ambitions was building an igloo..... with a roof on it.

Given the fact that the UK has been turned into a snowy winter wonderland over the last two weeks, I saw my chance and seized it.

I used a bucket to make same-size bricks and carefully calcuated the angle that the bricks needed to be in order to support a roof (I know, the engineering geek in me not only surfaced, but consumed me like a snake eating a pig). Brick by brick, the igloo started to take shape, until the definining moment came - would I be able to construct the roof without it collapsing?

You betcha! Three hours after commencing the project, and well after sundown, I finally had an igloo...... with a roof! Woo Hoo!

Pic.No.1. Oi! Izzy! What are you doing in that igloo? That's my igloo

Pic.No.2. Triumph. Me in my igloo. My new spiritual home

I retired that evening, euphoric that I had finally achieved one of my life ambitions.

As it turned out, my euphoria was to come to an abrupt end. Imagine my dismay, when I awoke the next morning to find that it was raining. After nearly three weeks of sub-zero temperatures and fluffy snow, the very day after I build my igloo, the thaw starts. Bloody typical.

And so commenced the sad demise of my wondrous structure, captured on camera...........

Pic.No.3. The right hand side goes lopsided

Pic.No.4. The door collapses

Pic.No.5. The roof caves in

Pic.No.6. The walls collapse

Pic.No.7. A sad mound of snow where once a mighty edifice stood

As if having my heart cruelly wrenched from my chest weren't enough, the end of the winter wonderland was marked by the return of grey clouds and rain.

I think I must have been really bad in a previous life.

Fun, fun, fun! .... list the countries you have visited

Now then. Just before you ask...... yes, I did build my Igloo today. But I am not going to share it with you just yet (ooh, such a tease), because I found this fun application on the internet.

You click on the link, and then tick (or check, if you live in America) all the countries that you have visited.

When you have finished, it highlights all the countries you have visited on a global map, and gives you percentage 'of countries visited'...

Give it a go, and let me know your percentage by leaving me a comment...... try and beat my 13%!!

Milk, credit cards and snowmen

After tasting freedom in yesterday's posting, I hoped that I had seen the last of being snowed in.

You can see where this is going can't you? Yes sirree, this morning I awoke to another 3 inches of snow, and my inbox informing me that the schools were closed, the dustbins weren't going to be emptied, and the local council had nearly run out of grit for the roads ..... meaning that if I did want to venture out, I would be dicing with death.

EVERYBODY PANIC............ again.

Having run out of milk, but being in urgent need of a cup of tea, I decided to try and make it to the local shop. Luckily, I had had the forethought to park my car down the road, away from any slippery inclines [oh yeh, no flies on me - tapping side of head].

After slipping and sliding my way to the shop, I was feeling pretty self-congratulatory, and after queuing for the till (everyone else was panic-buying), I slid my credit card into the machine to pay....... only to witness the bloody thing snap in half (my card, not the machine that is).

"Ha ha!" laughed the woman behind the till, sympathetically. "Apparently it happens a lot in cold weather.... makes the plastic brittle you see," she added helpfully.

Pic.No.1. My snapped credit card. I had to blank out some of the numbers because you could be a criminal for all I know. You could clone my identity and end up with a urgent desire to eat out all the time.

I sighed despairingly, and ran out to my car to see what change I could muster from the ashtray.....Phew, I scraped together 43 pence...... enough for half a pint.

Once back home, with my hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, I pondered my plight...... no money, snowed in (again), and cold (because my house is so wafty and drafty).

What's a girl to do? ......... ummmmm...... I know! Embrace the winter wonderland and build a bloody great snowman in my garden.

So I did.

Pic.No.2. Me and bloody great snowman get on swimmingly

Tomorrow, I am going to stretch my engineering talent to the limit by attempting to build an igloo with a roof. Oh yeh. I don't shy from a challenge.......... But before I go, here is my favourite snow-survival tip.

Pic.No.3. Don't eat yellow snow. (With thanks to Naughty George who made this picture possible)

P.S. Just one last thing. After going back inside when the snowman was finished, I realised....to my consternation ....... that Izzy had mysteriously disappeared. After searching frantically, I eventually found her lying in the snow outside the back door, catching snowflakes in her mouth. Weird or what?

Pic.No.3. Izzy is the little pink blob under the kitchen window

Scaling the perimeter fence

After being entrenched in Forest Hill for five days, it got to Sunday and I suddenly had an urge to go to Pizza Express. Tired of being trapped like a ferret up a drainpipe, I rallied the chaps from the squandron decided to go 'over the top'.

Car keys. check. Tin hat. check. Weapon (spade). check.

"Right. Everyone in the car." I commanded authoritatively, pointing at my vehicle.

With all the chaps firmly ensconced, I climbed into the driver's seat and tentatively turned the key in the ignition, half expecting the pistons to be frozen mid-flight. To my delight, the engine chugged into life immediately.

"Huzzah! All we need to do now is scale the perimeter fence," I proclaimed loudly, edging forward.

After travelling one (yes, one) metre up the shallow incline of my driveway, things suddenly went awry, denoted by the sudden whining of tyres spinning on snow.

"Pants. We're trapped," I mumbled, letting the car fall backwards and having another attempt, only to get stuck again.

I jumped out of my car distraught about the fact that my visit to Pizza Express was slowly being pulled from my cold, clammy grasp. I glared at the snow, kicked it about a bit, and then realised that my next door neighbour had been watching everything with an amused look on his face. 

"You want a push?" he asked, grinning. Suddenly there was hope. Along with another chap who just happened to be passing ("excuse me mate, can you give my car a push?), they heaved and shoved, and slowly but surely, my car edged up the incline...... until suddenly........ I was free!

I waved my thanks out of the window, taking advantage of my newly acquired momentum to cross the village limits, and soon turning onto the main road into Oxford..... and then I arrived. It was like a scene from ET, where I was a space monster arriving at civilisation, blinking and pointing at the lights, the people walking down the streets and other traffic.

"We aren't alone in the universe!" I exclaimed triumphantly.

You will be pleased to know that within minutes, the car was parked and I was striding past Merton College (part of Oxford University), on my way to Pizza Express.

Pic.No. 1. Me in Pizza Hut. Never has a pizza tasted so sweet........

Pic.No.2. Izzy in Pizza Hut. Never have dough balls tasted so sweet.....

Izzy was particularly appreciative of her dough-balls. Especially given the fact that my freezer exclusively contained bulk-buy Chicken Tikka Massalas, resulting in her being fed mainly beans-on-toast for the last five days.

And so with my craving satiated, I headed back home to my prison of the last five days....... Forest Hill.

Vid.No.1. Driving out of Oxford

I made it back....... happy in the knowledge that my new found freedom was hopefully here to stay.

Philosophy on Life

Whilst stumbling around the internet, and generally cyber-ambling, I happened upon the best philosophy on life that I have ever encountered:

"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted, and loudly proclaiming, "F*** ME, that was BRILLIANT!"

Annoying household appliances

Having been snowed into the village for the last five days, I think I might be getting cabin fever.

Firstly, I felt compulsed to habitually check the BBC News website, just to make sure that life was still going on outside of my snowy gilded cage. For all I knew, a huge atomic bomb could have landed on the UK leaving the Forest Hill inhabitants as the only survivors (well, us and cockroaches).

Then, to keep my brain active, I decided to set myself a challenge; Find the two most annoying household appliances ever. I searched all over the house, and in the end, came up with three. In no particular order, the results are:

1. Toasters. We are now in the year 2010, and I find it staggering that no-one has invented a toaster that doesn't eject crumbs all over the worksurface. The ratio seems to be that if you toast two slices of bread, at least 25% drops out through special 'crumb holes' located at the bottom of the toaster.

Pic.No.1. My toaster ejects crumbs with impunity

Who designed those holes in the bottom of toasters? Why can't they be eliminated? Surely a little pull-out tray at the bottom of the toaster would get rid of the crumb-plague for once and for all?

2. Dyson Cylinder Hoover.  This thing is the devil incarnate. Every time I use it, it's like wrestling a crocodile. Ok, Mr Dyson may have invented cyclonic separation, but the ergonomics of his vacuum cleaners are as shaky as an Ikea wardrobe.

Firstly, the wheels don't run too freely, so it is like dragging around a dead badger. Then if that wasn't bad enough, the bloody thing wedges itself on every single corner that it encounters. This means you have to put down the nozzle, extricate the cleaner and carry on (repeat at least 15 times every time the hoover is used). The bloody thing is like a dog resisting a visit to the vetinarian.

It drives me bonkers, and someone needs to invent some rollers that fit on the side, enabling the cleaner to simply glide round obstructions.

Pic.No.2. My Dyson hoover stuck on a table leg

Pic.No.2.  My Dyson hoover stuck on a chest of drawers

3. My freezer. I hate the thing for one key reason. Opening the drawers is harder than a machine-gun wielding SAS soldier.

Pic.No.3. My freezer, my nemesis

Here is the scenario: You try to pull the drawer out. It sticks, you wiggle it a bit, one side frees up, meaning that the drawer gets jammed at an angle. You push it back in, wiggle it again to try and free up the other side, tug, wiggle, tug and eventually the jerks drawer open.

It irritates me greatly, quite simply because it hampers my access to the stash of 'ready-meals' contained therein.

Ok, that is my list of annoying appliances...... please feel free to let me know of any that should be added to the list!

My four year old goes 'gnarly'

After the excitement of waking up this morning to find the snow was going nowhere, I decided that I needed a serious chat with Izzy.

"Izzy, come here kiddo," I shouted. Izzy duly obliged by hopping all the way across the kitchen for no apparent reason, and then stopped in front of me, staring earnestly from knee height.

"So," I said, in my most serious voice, "now that you have reached the grand old age of four, it's time to get gnarly, dude."

"What's gnarly, dude?" she asked in a little voice.

"It quite simply means that in order to gain some street-cred, you need to dump the sledging and get yourself on a snowboard, sister" I replied gravely.

"Ok." she answered in an unconcerned voice, and hopped back out of the kitchen.

I telephoned Izzy's dad, "Right," I said, "bring your snowboard and meet us in ten minutes at the top of the lane that goes to the farm."

We duly congregated, and I pointed to the board, asking Izzy "what's this?"

"An ironing board," came the reply.

"Nope kiddo. This is a snowboard and your Dad is going to teach you to ride it."

"Ok." she answered, stepping onto the bindings as instructed.

Vid.No.1. Izzy's practice run

After a couple of practice runs on a virtually zero-degree gradient, she seemed to be getting the hang of it, despite the fact that she wasn't strapped to the board in any way. Way to go, girl!

I pondered............ her Dad pondered......... 'Shall we?' .......... oh go on then........

"Iz, do you want to go up to the really big hill?" I asked (with just a little trepidation, it must be said). 

"Ok." came the response, and off she hopped in the direction of the aforementioned big hill.

Once at the summit, with the wind whistling round our ears, the descent started to look a lot steeper than it had yesterday when we were sledging.

"Flippin' ek Iz, are you sure you want to go through with this?" I asked nervously.

"Yep," she replied nonchalantly, stepping onto the snowboard (bloody hell, there is nothing like a four-year-old's confidence).

Vid.No.2. And so Izzy's snowboarding hobby commenceth

Crikey! She could actually do it (and if you listen carefully, you can hear her shout 'Yoo Hoo' when she completes her first turn) .............. I was soooooo proud of her.

And for the next two hours, she whizzed down the hill, and finally had to be dragged off the board to go and get lunch.

"Fancy going to the White Horse Inn to celebrate Izzy's new found snowboarding skills?"  I suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," came the reply.

Pic.No.1. Lunch with a hot chocolate drink topped with cream..... yummy

Pic.No.2. Izzy the boarder babe tucks into chicken nuggets (classy)

I am hoping that this snow is set to last, because Iz has been continually asking when she can next go snowboarding, and has taken to shouting, "Yo sister," at me whilst tapping her shoulder with a clenched fist.

Gnarly......... dude!

The big freeze continues........

Crikey, day two of the 'big freeze' hits the UK, and not only is it reportedly colder than Moscow (which is cold enough to freeze the tail off a polar bear - I know, I've been there), but my village remains virtually cut-off, with schools closed and the inhabitants unable to get to work.

Actually, that is not strictly true. If anyone made a bit of a concerted effort, they could probably scale the proverbial perimeter fence. But the will seems to be lacking....... and for good reason. 

The snow has created a real community spirit in the village. With everyone off work, instead of the streets being home to cars, they are now full of parents playing with their children, impromptu snowmen and snowball fights. Even better, the village pub, The White Horse Inn is full of locals at lunchtime, chattering to each other and comparing sledging stories.

It's absolutely bloody great...... well with a few exceptions.............

1. My supplies are dwindling. Having been unable to get to the supermarket, my last two meals have consisted of Tesco's Chicken Tikka Masala. Because I bought them in bulk (they were on offer), the situation doesn't seem to be changing anytime soon. I estimate that if I eat three meals a day, I will have enough Chicken Tikka Masala to last me a further five days...... beyond that, I am a goner.

2. My house is freezing cold. The heating is running 24 hours a day, the boiler is groaning and sweating under the strain, but it just doesn't have the grunt to cope with the drafts and wafts of a house built in 1646. So I remain permanently clad in my normal clothes, plus a thermal vest, bodywarmer, two pairs of thermal socks and a woolly hat (yes, indoors that is). Ok, not the sexiest look, but without my garb, I am sure I would have to make like Scott of the Antartic..... "I'm going outside.... I may be sometime."

3. There seems to be an emerging black market for sledges. I am not totally sure about this, but I have sensed an underlying 'sledge envy' going on. Especially from those who didn't anticipate the snow-dump and remain sledgeless. I have not been taking any chances, and have ensured that my blue, ankle high, plastic-moulded snow chariot remains firmly ensconsed under my bed whilst I sleep.

Anyway, before I pop off, here are some pictures of the village in day two of the 'big freeze' (Canadians are probably pitying this weedy dump!):

Pic.No.1. The fields behind my house. This is my arty shot. It deteriorates from this point onwards

Pic.No.2. The sun sets on Polecat Lane, Forest Hill

Pic.No.3. Naughty George disappears down Polecat Lane (the black speck under the bush at the end)

Pic.No.4. The White Horse Inn photographed from the front of my house...actually, this photograph is most uncomplimentary

P.S. News just out....... the local radio has just broadcast a bulletin saying that all schools and public institutions remain closed for at least tomorrow...... Boyakashaaa! More holidays!

Snow? I've never seen anything like it

Blimey! You could have knocked me down with Sarah Palin's brainpower when I got up this morning. After my derisory remarks about 'a light dusting of snow bringing the UK to halt', I opened the curtains to find the most enormous dump I have seen in years........ literally since I was around 14........ in the days when the national anthem began; "God save our gracious King."

8 inches of snow had fallen overnight, and looking at the roads, it soon became pretty obvious that no one in the village was going anywhere fast (Forest Hill is - unsurprisingly - on the top of a tall hill, accessed by only narrow, steep country lanes).

Amongst the marooned was little Izzy, who took the news that she was not going to school pretty well; "BWILLIANT! Can I build a snowman? Can I go sledging? Can I open my mouth and eat the snow that is coming down? Can I bury Naughty George? What does the word disaster mean?"

It was only 9am and it looked like any hope of me getting any work done was futile. At the exact same moment, the realisation must have also hit my friend Amanda, who lives three doors down. The phone started trilling, Riiiinnnnnng riiiiiinnnnng.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hi, it's me Amanda. Just wandering if you wanted to come sledging with a load of chaps from the village? We are leaving at 11am"

"Sounds like a plan, see you then." I replied.

Vid.No.1 Walking through the village to get to the snowy sledging hill

Nearly the whole village had colluded to go sledging (apparently it is a regular occurrence when it snows - you wouldn't get that in London), and everyone slipped and slided to the top of the hill that gave the village its name.

Vid.No.2. Me sledging with Izzy

And did I go sledging? You betcha. I went so fast that I crashed. That is proper veteran sledging that is. No flies on me.......... but you can see where they've been.

In the end, I managed a good one and a half hours worth of sledging before my feet got really cold, that kind of cold where they start throbbing and you feel like you are never going to feel warm again. And then you get convinced that you are going to be emptying your toes out of your wellies when you take them off.

Vid.No.3 Walking back from sledging

So what's a girl to do? Luckily, I had anticipted my impending discomfort and a lunch date had been arranged with some chaps from the village called Guy and Jo (the parents of Izzy's best friend). Bring on The White Horse, I say! And make sure the fire is lit, because I am bally cold!

Pic.No.1. From left - Jo, Laura and Tania

Pic.No.2. Izzy with her best friend and fellow conspirator, May

After a leisurely lunch, with everyone extolling the virtues of village life in the face of adversity (ie. the whole village congregates in the pub in order to cope), we all headed home at 4pm, with a date in the diary to meet and build an igloo tomorrow.

I tell you dude, Forest Hill is gnarly.............. oh, and before I forget, the weather people are predicting that it will stay like this for up to ten days. Great stuff! bring it on!

Adonis, work and snow................

Yuck, it's the first day back at work, and the realisation hit me (like a coconut dropping from a tree and landing square between my eyes - ouch, that bloody hurt), that I am far more suited to be a lady of leisure. Oh yes, I should be lying on a steamer in a warm clime, being hand-fed grapes by an Adonis-type person in a loincloth.

But in the absence of aforementioned Adonis and grapes, I just had to try and motivate myself, and bodyswerve my many work-avoidance techniques (e.g. the dog needs a bath, my fridge needs a 'best before date' audit, and I need to find a recipe that uses the last 25mg of my black-eye 'soak overnight' beans).

And I think I did pretty well except for one minor diversion..... I just [ever so quickly - honest] jumped onto the BBC News website to have a squiz at the headlines.

One story stood out more than any other, quite simply because I couldn't understand it....... A few days ago, a suspected terrorist tried to board a plane with explosives in their shoe. The subsequent furore has lead to Obama admonishing his intelligence staff, and Gordon Brown demanding an enquiry into how this situation could have happened.

Is it me? The terrorist was nabbed before he could commit mass murder...... surely that means that Intelligence were actually doing their job pretty well? I tell you now, if I was a double-agent, I would be feeling really hard-done by. But I'm not, so I will remain indignant on their behalf by eating a courgette risotto.

So what now? Well, after listening to the radio, it seems that Oxford had been issued a 'severe weather warning' for tomorrow. Excellent....... apparently we are going to have a huge dump of snow, bringing chaos and mayhem to the entire county. I had a quick look outside and captured this...........

Vid.No.1. A light dusting of snow

Pic.No.1 The road outside of my house

It seems like the snow action will mainly happen whilst I am asleep, so I will let you know what it is like in the morning.

To add a quick addendum to the snow theme; a friend stopped by briefly for a coffee and announced that they had just been to the supermarket only to find that everyone in Oxfordshire had been panic-buying, and all the fresh vegetables and bread were completely sold out........get a grip chaps, we only live within a 10 minute drive of a major metropolis...........!

I shall await the latest weather developments with anticipation and keep you updated accordingly.

Bye Bye Christmas

'On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love said to me........." Actually, I am not quite sure what the true love said.... something to do with chickens and banana trees I think.

According to tradition, you are supposed to leave your Christmas decorations up for twelve days. Sounds great, except for one thing. I wasn't actually sure when the twelve days was supposed to have started.Which meant that I was faced with an abitrary decision about when to take my decorations down. And so the deliberation commenceth.......

Against: (1) For some reason taking decorations down completely covers your house in crap - my floor generally remains swathed in a glittery film for a good two months. Plus on top of that, it is almost as tiresome as; (2) hoovering the stairs; (3) the fact that Domino's Pizza don't deliver to my village; and (4) Naughty George's woofing.

For: (1) It gets it over and done with; (2) do I really want to start work on a Monday looking at a Christmas tree?; and (3) I will be able to get into my living room without edging in sideways once the tree is gone.

And so the 'fors' had it, and with a begrudging sigh, I dragged all the Christmas boxes out of the cellar and commenced disadornment (is that a word?) with Izzy "helping" (awwww.. bless her).

FOUR hours later, after much hoovering, swearing, clearing up of broken baubles and humping decorations into a cellar with treacherous stairs, I had finally returned my house to normality (of course I use that term loosely). Is it me though, or does your house look really bare once the Christmas decorations are gone?

Pic.No.1 My fireplace devoid of sparkly Christmas decorations

Pic.No.2 Ummmmm.... fireplace back to normal

Pic.No.3 Taking the Christmas tree down.... and it wasn't going down without a fight

Pic.No.4 Huzzar! I can get in my living room again

After all the stress of disadorning my house, I decided that I needed something to cheer me up. But what's a girl to do? Ummmmmm....... choices, choices......... and the winner was..........take Izzy out for lunch.

I had heard that there was a superb eaterie and pub, The Old Fisherman, in a village called Shabbington and I quickly decided; (1) I was going to go there; and (2) I was going to invite my friend Steve, who had rung me after also suffering the misfortunes that accompany the taking down of decorations.

Pic.No.5 The Old Fisherman pub is on the banks of a river

Pic.No.6 The garden of The Old Fisherman floods everytime there is rainfall...... a bit like 80% of Oxfordshire it seems

The food was lovely, the service was great (it always seems to be the case if the staff are dressed entirely in black for some reason), and I felt ready to take Izzy into the children's sub-zero play area once dinner was over.

Pic.No.7 Izzy on swing and Steve staring at a plastic treehouse

Two minutes after experiencing the freezing conditions, I decided that I didn't want to make like Scott of the Antartic and begged for a lift home...... back to my freshly restored house, and to an exciting 2010!

Frosty winters morning

Woo hoo! I have finally figured out how to post to my blog remotely using my scrumptious new iPhone. You will also be pleased to know that you are now witnessing my first attempt. Don't you just luuurrrvvve gadgets?

Pic. No. 1 A Picture of my frosty garden (to test if I can also post picture)

Sent from my iPhone

New Years Eve - Happy 2010 everyone!

"So," I hear you cry, "you've gone a bit quiet since you learnt about Geeps, did you wimp out for New Year?"

Now then, now then....... me wimp out of an opportunity for a night out? That's like a tiger turning veggie, or meeting a trustworthy cow, or seeing a zebra with no stripes (that'll probably be a horse then).

It had been arranged that six of us would go for a meal in Witney (a market town 18 miles north of Oxford) and then onto a music club afterwards. Sounded like a plan to me!

We all met up at a pizzeria called Ask, where everyone promptly stuffed their faces. I would say that we stuffed our faces to build up our energy reserves for the impending dancing, but that would be a fib. We just stuffed our faces because we could.

Pic.No.1 Anna and Mark. He was eating so quick, his face was a blur

Pic.No.2 Tim comdey speed-eating by cutting out the middle man (i.e. the knife and fork). Theresa eating so quick that she is also a blur (nothing to do with my photography skills then)

Once the meal was over, we had a long, arduous twelve minute trek through Witney town centre ["maybe we should set up base camp here and continue in the morning" I suggested fruitlessly], until we reached Fat Lils, a music and comedy club.

Being more of a nice restaurant kind of gal, I was a little apprenhensive about going to a nightclub [haven't been to one for years, surely it would be frequented by fearsome pimply teenagers wearing hoodies and packing a piece], but it quickly became apparent that my fears were unfounded.

Pic.No.3. A bloke playing in a very good band when we arrived at the club

The venue was small enough to get close to the band (and the bar), but big enough to have a great atmosphere, and was also personal enough that the barstaff still added up your drinks order using a calculator...... I know....... how retro is that? Either that, or they weren't the best at mental arithmetic.....tskk tskk ..... educational standards today. 

Vid.No.1. One of the two bands playing

Anyway, in a fit of excitement, I decided that I needed to capture the atmosphere and share it with you. And you know what....... I bloody did. Even in the heat of the moment, I remembered how to use the video function on my camera....RESULT! Except that when I came to play it back, the band was so loud that the whole audio distorted, so I was only left with a soundless, feeble, visual-only offering. I'm sorry.... and I intend to self-flagellate for the whole of tomorrow as punishment.

Things hotted up as the night grew on, and the second band came on and picked up the pace even further. Dave picked up my camera and shouted, "right, let me get a video of you being a party animal."

"How do I do that?" I asked perplexedly.

"Improvise," he yelled back.

Vid.No.2. Me improvising being a party animal

Ok, the results didn't exactly make me look like P Diddy, but I tried .....somehow missing the quintessential swagger that comes with being a party animal.

"You looked a bit mentally ill," exclaimed Dave after reviewing the footage and deleting the sound because it had distorted again.

"I think I was a bit out of my depth," I replied, a little disappointed that I hadn't managed to carry it off, and vowing to practice being a party animal in front of the mirror when I got home [actually thinking about it, maybe I shouldn't be admitting these things in public].

And then the band stopped playing and shouted...."Hey folks..... the countdown has begun........one minute until the NEW YEAR!"

The crowd cheered enthusiastically, and jumped up and down, getting even more frenzied as the bells of Big Ben starting echoing around the room...... and then the twelfth bell chimed, and the celebrations properly commenced....and guess what? I managed to get some of it on video.... especially for you........

Vid.No.3. New Year 2010

The good news is that even though the audio is a bit distorted because of the noise, you can still hear the chimes and celebrations.......... HAPPY NEW YEAR 2010! And wishing a happy and healthy new year to everyone............

Back to Oxford and an introduction to Geeps

After a week of bingo, quizzes, working men's clubs and a lovely Christmas and boxing day, it was with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the North and headed back to Oxford.

But then I remembered...... Hey! down South is cool.... we have canapes instead of sausages on sticks, Starbucks instead of McDonalds, Pizza Express instead of Kebab shops ... oh, and far fewer sheep (little woolly demons).

Speaking of woolly demons, after spending the day on Haworth Moors, I have become quite preoccupied lately about the fact that sheep don't seem to feel the cold.  I posed the question to Sarah, who pointed out that they have wool to keep them warm.

"AAAAHHH, wool they might have on their bodies, but they have spindly legs with hardly any hair..... don't their feet get cold?" Sarah was unable to answer the question, so I leave it open for debate. 

Pic.No.1. Sheep must have cold legs [this picture was obtained from an article about a sheep that did 'it' with a goat and gave birth to a Geep].

Sorry, I digress. Once I had perked myself up with thoughts of the impending South, I hit the M621 motorway with a metaphorical spring in my step...... and then came to an abrupt halt because of roadworks.

Pic.No.2 The journey from Leeds to Oxford (the thick blue line)

Oh yeh, the Sat Nav was saying 'journey time 2hrs 58mins' (in a comedy Michael Caine voice) but I soon realised that a further two hours was going to be heaped on top.......... then my radio packed up......... leaving me with two 15 minute podcasts on my iPhone to keep me entertained for the duration of the journey.

Total. Bummer.

Things weren't going well, and they didn't get any better when I arrived home 4 hours and 38 minutes later to find that I had turned off my central heating when I left for Leeds (yeh, yeh I know.... it's my own fault).....and so had to encounter 'extreme conditions' in my own kitchen.

You will be happy to know that I dealt with the adversity by turning on the oven (with the door open) and plugging in a hairdryer (on full blast) to create a warm focal point. So I am now sitting on the kitchen rug, cocoa in hand, ten layers of clothes on, sighing contendedly as the ice melts from the inside of the windows....... Bring on the New Year!

A trip to Haworth Moors with an arty type

After all the excitement of Christmas, Sarah announced that she would like to go on a day trip to take some photographs for an exhibition she was planning on entering.

"Yeh, cool. I'd be up for that," I agreed, "what do you want to take photographs of?"

"Dunno really........ " she replied.

"Oi Northerner, you gotta help me out a little bit, I'm an engineer not an artist ........ can you narrow it down to something..... I dunno...... portraits, action shots, scenery........?" I suggested.

"Errrmmmmm, yes actually I do like taking pictures of scenery," she replied conclusively.

I adopted a 'serious pondering pose' [the one where you rest your forehead on a closed fist] and thought about the different options I could put to the aforementioned 'arty type'.

"Bingo! I got just the place," I shouted jubilantly.

"Where's that then?" asked Sarah hesitantly.

"Haworth Moors. It's got everything; bleak landscape, sheep, snow and it's remote...... let's go."

An hour later, and we were stood on the brow of a hill in the bleak, windy and frozen Haworth Moors. And it soon became apparent that Sarah was not one to suffer for her art. After scaling a snow drift and being outside for ten minutes, I heard her shouting to me as I sat in the car with the heating on, "bloody hell, it's freezing out here, I am not sure how much more I can take."

And so the photography session continued in this vein for a further thirty minutes until Sarah declared, "I can't stand it any longer, I need a coffee."

We proceeded back to the town of Haworth (famous because the Bronte sisters grew up there), and walked down the main street until we finally find a nice looking cafe.

Pic.No.1 Me in nice-looking cafe

Pic.No.2 Sarah in nice-looking cafe recovering from frostbite

Despite the cold, and the whining northerner, it was a great day out and I thought you might like a sneaky peek at some of the pictures we took (her's were obviously better than mine because she is an arty swot).


SARAH AND ANNE'S PICTURE GUIDE TO THE HAWORTH MOORS AND HAWORTH TOWN

Vid.No.1. Sarah sneakily videoed me whilst pretending to take a picture of the Christmas tree in Haworth

Pic.No.3. The bleak Haworth Moors

Pic.No.4 Remote road on Haworth Moor

Pic.No.5. Lake on Haworth Moor

Pic.No.6. Looks like this picture was taken in black and white, but it wasn't

Pic.No.7 Everywhere I go, I encounter sheep

Pic.No.8 Everywhere I go, I also have to encounter a sheep attack

Pic.No.9. Sarah in action, not suffering for her art

Pic.No.10 Main street in Haworth

Pic.No.11 Me trying to find Sarah a coffee shop because she was whining

Pic.No.12 Bronte Parsonage where the Bronte's lived

Pic.No.13. Church tower next to Bronte's house

Pic.No.14 Church yard with arty bench

Pic.No.15. Haworth graveyard, prompting the joke; 'this the dead centre of Haworth', and 'people are dying to get in here.'

Pic.No.16. I can't belive that some treehugger actually took the time to write this book. What a load of pap, and if you look closely you can see a picture of a guinea pig on the front which makes it even sadder. Who would want to crystal heal a bloody guinea pig?

Anyway, today is the day after boxing day (despite the late posting) and tomorrow I am back off to the civilised south. I hope you have enjoyed your jaunt up north as much as I have.

I've gone AWOL.... it is the iPhone's fault

Sorry. I have just realised that recently, I have totally forgotten about my blog.

Having spent the last two days finishing off my Christmas shopping, a blog-void (a bit like a black hole but without swallowing up spaceships whole) has occurred.

The situation wasn't helped at all by my new guilty secret.......... sssssshhhhhh, don't tell anyone, but I treated myself to a Christmas present (only because my last Nokia 8800 Arte mobile phone got nicked of course) ........

Pic.No.1. My new 32GB iPhone with 3G connectivity

Pic.No.2. Just look at it........ it's lush

I am trying to restrain myself....... oh crap I can't.......... mega-gush coming......... my iPhone is my new raison d'etre ....... filling my life with exciting new features and apps on an hourly basis. I just can't believe how I previously managed to survive  without being able to check my email at traffic lights....... or change my facebook status at the supermarket checkout.

It is a gadget extraordinaire. I mean you can talk to it and it responds..... which probably prompted Sarah's comment; "you've bin a reet boring cow since you got that phone."

Not only that, but it looks luvvverrrly. Sleek, smooth white back, light up Apple symbol...... Oh yeh, the designers got it right on every level. Except one. The battery life doesn't appear too great. But that is probably because I can't put the thing down. I have woken up the last two nights with it in my bed, stuck to my leg.

Buy one. Buy one now. You won't regret it. I have never been surer of anything in my life........ iPhone rules. And I don't even get commission.

P.S. Will try to get back to normal blog soon.

It's Christmas Day!

In true British style, I completely expected to wake up on Christmas morning to find that the snow had melted and been replaced by grey sludge and rain.

So imagine my delight when I opened the curtains to find........ my first white Christmas since I can remember! It was proper Christmassy, and if Naughty George hadn't turned most of the snow yellow in Sarah's garden, I would've even contemplated making a snowman.

After a cup or two of Earl Grey (I told you Sarah was arty), she announced, "Come on it's time to go for lunch."

Go for lunch? .......... Result! That means I wouldn't have to go within 200 yards of a potato peeler or have a face-off with a turkey.

After picking up Sarah's sister and mother en-route, we finally arrived at the Cornmill Lodge Hotel on the outskirts of Leeds (next to a frozen duck pond, with ducks walking around perplexedly on the ice).

Pic.No.1. Cornmill Lodge Hotel, and if you look closely you can see the snow

I have to say that eating out on Christmas day was an inspired move on Sarah's behalf. Someone else does the cooking, someone else washes the dirty dishes, and all we had to do was make ourselves look daft by donning those ridulous party hats that hail from crackers.

Pic.No.2. The Christmas buffet at the hotel

 

Pic.No.3. Me and Louise donning party hats

Actually, I exaggerate. I also had to read the Groucho Marx-esque jokes that come in the crackers; 'what do you get if you cross a fridge with a radio? ........ cool music.' I mean, is that really the best they can do? 

Pic.No.4. My Christmas pudding with a dead garnish on top (either that or it was star-fruit)

Once lunch had finished, we jumped into the car and drove to Sarah's mother's house to exchange gifts. When we arrived, I pretty quickly concluded that they go to town at Christmas, especially when I had trouble getting into the living room because of the drifts of presents. 

Pic.No.5. Sarah and Louise surrounded by a 100 million presents

Yippee, it was great fun opening the presents. Once Sarah and Louise knew I was coming for Christmas, they had embarked on a shopping spree of highly relevant (and therefore thoughtful gifts). Awwwwww...... and they were all presented in their own particular way........

Pic.No.6. A necklace from Louise because she knows I have got a jewellery fetish

Pic.No.7. A spaghetti jar because last time Sarah came to stay with me, a packet of spaghetti split all over my kitchen floor

Pic.No.8. A sheep mug. Because apparently there is a rumour going round that I am obsessed by sheep. I also got a cow mug because everyone knows that I know that cows are evil.

.

Pic.No.9. A bottle of Coco by Chanel because I had made a comment to Sarah; 'You know when you have been single too long, because you have to buy your own perfume.' She wrapped it in a tampax box so that I wouldn't guess what it was. Ingenius.

Once all the marvellous presents were opened, we entertained ourselves by doing a family quiz with 100 questions. Needless to say, complete and utter humiliation ensued when I came last with a measley score of 64, compared to Louise's winning score of 86. Is it me? I just don't seem to know any stuff.

Actually, that could be my new year's resolution - try and be more observant about life and learn more stuff. Perfect, that's me sorted.

Finally, after a fabulous day, Sarah and I drove back to her house and we decided to spend the night watching the television set.

Pic.No.10 Sarah's Christmassy living room

She picked a television programme called 'Strictly Come Dancing', where famous people engage in dance-offs in order to win a prize. It was most entertaining .......... legs and arms everywhere, and famous people being berated by evil judges.

Pic.No.11 Sarah's Christmas Tree

Well folks, the night is closing in. I hope that you all had a fantastic day like I did, and I wish you a very merry Christmas, or happy holidays if Christmas ain't your thang.

A night out on Christmas Eve

'There's nowt so queer as folk', as the saying goes. But I would like to distill this further by saying, there's nowt so queer as Northerners.

Not only do they like eating funny stuff (pigeon, black pudding, chips and gravy, and pie sandwiches), but they also have funny pastimes (whippet racing, pigeon fancying - when they are not eating them - and ferret breeding), to name but a few.

So when Sarah said that she had organised for us to go out with her sister, Louise on Christmas eve, I approached the event with a certain trepidation.

"Will I need weapons?" I asked Sarah as I was getting ready.

"No, course not," she answered. Well that's a good start in my book.

We ventured out into the snow and walked the short distance to the venue. I stopped outside and looked aghast at Sarah. We were standing outside a 'working men's club', a concept peculiar to the UK, and the North in particular. Basically these clubs were formed during the industrial period to give the workers somewhere to go when they had finished working 'down pits'. Gastro-pub it was not...... nothing to see here!

"Blimey Sarah," I said, "are you sure that women are allowed in here?"

"Yeh, course I am, stop being a wuss," she replied, "you'll like it in here, the drinks are really cheap." Normally I wouldn't factor the price of the drinks into my rating of a venue, but right now I happily clung onto this virtue. 

And so commenceth my thoroughly Northern night out.

Pic.No.1 Inside the working men's club

"So Sarah," I asked after buying a staggeringly cheap round of drinks, "what do Northerners do for entertainment in places like these?"

"Well, the quiz starts in about ten minutes, then after that, bingo and when that is finished, there will be a disco."

"Bingo!" I exclaimed in horror, "are you trying to annihilate my street cred?"

"Don't be daft," she replied, "you'll enjoy it.

Pic.No.2 The compere reads out the quiz questions

Needless to say, that with me on the team, we did not win the quiz, exacerbated by the fact that most of the questions related to the 1940s and 50s, which seemed to please the rest of the clientele. 

Pic.No.3 Bingo cards, quiz sheets and cheap drinks

Pic.No.4 Louise posing with her bingo cards..... she was quite a whizz at the quiz too

"Right bingo time!" exlaimed Louise, "how many cards do you want?"

"How many are you having?" I asked her.

"Six," she replied, and then after assessing my bingo competence, added "I'll get you three."

Pic.No.5. Louise amuses herself by taking this picture and giving it to me

Pic.No.6 Me playing bingo like a proper Northerner

And so the bingo began. Two games in, I turned to Louise with disgruntlement, "I am not coming close to winning anything."

Louise looked at my card, "I think I know why."

"Why?" I asked.

"You've missed crossing off quite a few numbers," she answered matter-of-factly.

Blimey, things were going from bad to worse. I had exposed my own ineptitude in the bingo arena. I hung my head in shame whilst the Northerners pointed at me and laughed. Hmmmmph, I put my poor performance down to the cheap wine.......... surely I couldn't be beaten by bingo?

Christmas is tomorrow, and here's hoping we have a snowy, bingo-free, day........

Christmas Eve in Leeds

After the trauma of my drive up to Sarah's house in Leeds, we decided to have a chilled Christmas Eve. But then we got bored and decided to go out for lunch instead, and have a look round the shops.

Pic.No.1 Sarah clearly finds it amusing that I view myself as a bit of a clothes horse

After a turkey ciabatta and cappuccino, we browsed the various stores in Leeds, Sarah looking for a new digital telephone, and I needed a Peppa Pig spaceship. I was under strict instructions from Izzy that the Peppa Pig must be removable from the spaceship itself. Finding a phone was no problem, but Peppa Pig and his spaceship were proving more illusive. Everywhere we went it was sold out........ obviously the kid's smart money is on Peppa Pig this season.

After three hours, we eventually located the surreptitious bovine in a store on the outskirts of Leeds. Mission accomplished.

"Fancy going back and taking George for a walk in the park?" asked Sarah.

"Sounds like a plan to me," I replied, "and you could get some photographs of the snow." [Sarah is a bit of an arty type in that she is into photography].

Video. No. 1 Naughty George in the park being naughty

Things didn't start too well, with Naughty George trying to mount (if you know what I mean) another dog as soon as we entered the park. I hadn't noticed because I was taking a video of the snow, but I managed to capture Sarah shouting; "Anne, you need to get control of your dog, he is getting amorous with another mutt!"

Pic.No.2. Sarah being all arty in the snowy park 

 

Pic.No.3. Me jumping into all Sarah's photographs

 

Pic.No.4. The parks as the sun goes down

Finally, as the light faded, we made our way back to Sarah's house to get ready for an evening on the tiles..... hope you like my snowy scenes - fingers crossed, if it stays like this, we will have our first white Christmas for years.... it's so exciting!

Choo Choo! All aboard the Santa Express

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess what I did on Sunday? Izzy, Steve and I went on the Santa Express, organised by the Chinnor and Princes Risborough Railway.

"What the blazes is a Santa Express?" I hear you cry. Well...... it is a steam train with Father Christmas on it. Sure, the entertainment possibilities associated with this particular pairing did seem somewhat limited, but I was willing to give it a go.

We duly plugged the postcode into the Sat Nav and set off. Forty minutes later, the comedy Michael Caine voice announced. "you have reached your destination." We were on a housing estate with no steam train to be seen.

Yep, we had accidentally put the postcode of the ticketing office into the Sat Nav instead of the train station. It  was quarter to two and we had been told categorically that we had to be at the station for 2pm. What a muppet. I needed to act and fast - I found the correct postcode and the journey time was 13 minutes - we could just make it. A mad dash through the Oxfordshire countryside ensued (but I didn't break the speed limit of course) and we finally arrived at 1.59pm. Phew! That was close.

Pic.No.1 Izzy at the train station

So imagine my disgruntlement to discover that the steam train hadn't even arrived at the station. A further fifteen minutes later, the thing eventually chuffed into sight, and I almost missed it because I didn't get my camera out in time. Not being much of a steam train enthusiast, I can only describe it as a Thomas the Tank engine without the face or the heroics.

Pic.No.2 The steam train

We found our carriage and proceeded to board, when a guard appeared and declared that we all had to wait on the platform whilst they cleaned the inside of the train............ which took a further 20 minutes and by which time, everyone was getting cold and tired of standing on a crowded platform.

Finally, we were allowed to board the train, by which time Izzy wasn't looking too amused by the proceedings.

Pic.No.3. Me and 'I am not amused' Izzy

Once seated, the train staff started walked down the carriages handing out mince pies and hot drinks.

"Excuse me," I asked after taking a sip of the insipid liquid, "is this tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," frowned the pensioner in the elf outfit.

Thirty minutes later, after the coffee, mince pies and impromptu Christmas carols were long gone, the steam train was still stationary and the passengers were starting to get restless. Just at the moment I thought a mutiny was going to take place, the engine stirred to life at we finally chugged out of the station at walking pace.

"Can you feel the adrenalin?" I shouted at Steve.

"No, but I think I am pulling serious G," he replied, just at the moment that a bell sounded, signifying the arrival of Santa. Finally, Izzy's moment had come.

Pic.No.4 Izzy meets Santa

"Ho, Ho, Ho!" said Santa. "Have you been a good girl?"

"No, I got told off at school for putting toys down the toilet," Izzy replied sincerely, whilst I groaned in dismay.

Santa looked a little thrown by her answer and began straw clutching, "but you have been a good girl since then?"

"No, I spat out my spaghetti and Naughty George ate it," she answered. I needed to intervene, and quickly.

"Actually, apart from those two fairly minor incidences, she has been pretty good," I stammered. Santa saw his chance and took it.

"Well, all good girls get presents," he said, motioning for 'pensioner elf' to give her a present from his sack, and then beating a hasty retreat.

Pic.No.5 Izzy mood changes once a present was on the table

Finally, after a short (twenty five minute) journey we were back at the station where the next victims passengers, were patiently lined up for the Santa Express experience. 

"Right, shall we go and get something to eat?" I suggested.

"Yep, let's go," Steve replied and we jumped into the car, putting the heating on full blast. As we pulled out of the train station, I spotted a car with a numberplate that I would simply die for dahlink.

Pic.No.6. A Range Rover with the number-plate 'L3DY M'

We located a pleasant looking gastro-pub called the Cherry Tree in a village near the station and had a rather tasty meal before I drove home.

Pic.No.7. The Cherry Tree Inn

So would I recommend the Santa Express? Well it had its own rural, haphazard charm, and did make me feel Christmassy in a way that heaving shopping centres and tacky festive TV programmes fail to achieve.

So it is now Christmas Eve, and I am hoping that you are all excitedly waiting for Christmas to arrive.......see you tomorrow!

Christmas mayhem

Jingle bloody bells.

I thought that Christmas was a time of celebration and reflection. Well, I can report that the last two days have been mayhem squared, compounded with a lack of organisation to the power 3.

Oh yeh, I've been busy and it's all my own fault. I left everything to the last minute and suffered the consequences; 30 minute queues for all the supermarket checkouts, 25 minute queues for the petrol pumps and a 27 minute queue to leave the retail park. 

Once my booty was finally ensconced at home, I had to make sure that the house was properly clean and tidy because I am going north for Christmas and can't abide coming back to a mess.

And then what? A three hour journey to Leeds took FIVE hours because of a light dusting of snow.

I can't talk much because I am still traumatised..... but safe to say, I am at Sarah's house in Leeds now, and I have a glass of wine....... things are starting to look up! Hurray!

Saturday night fever - a ball in Battersea Park

After all the hullaballoo surrounding my balldress and shoes, I finally set off on Saturday afternoon for the drive to Battersea. The ball was to be held in a big marquee, right in Battersea Park.

As you would expect, after arriving at the hotel it wasn't long before I encountered my first disaster. The lovely shoes that Sam bought me, didn't fit....... they were too berluddy big. And then I remembered that when I first tried them on, I was wearing socks. What was I thinking about, making such a fundamental schoolboy error? Of even greater consequence, what was I going to do?

A quick text to a friend solved the problem, and ten minutes later I was stuffing the toes with toilet paper [ssssh don't tell anyone....... you will spoil my air of sophistication]. Result! I was ready to go.

After a short taxi ride down the embankment, I finally arrived at an impressing-looking venue which was decked out on a Studio 54 theme. I didn't know what Studio 54 was either, but when I wiki'd it, it said that it was a popular nightclub in the 70's and early 80's. 

Pic.No.1 The inside of the marquee

After mingling and margheritas (salty of course dahlink), we were all invited to take our places at the dinner table, and I was seated beside three entertaining dining companions; Dave, Vanessa and Andy.

"My husband is a nightmare when it comes to buying me presents," Vanessa said to me.

"He can't be that bad if you have only been married a year," I replied.

"Oh he is," she replied. "He didn't get anything for our first anniversary last week, even though he remembered. Even worse than that, for Christmas last year, he got me an umbrella, a hairbrush and one of those things for scraping ice off your windscreen."

"Crikey yeh, that is actually quite bad," I tutted whilst her husband nodded with satisfaction.

Pic.No.2. Me looking blurry and interesting

Our food duly arrived, and for mass catering it was actually quite good, well, until we got to the main course which was chicken stuffed with mushrooms and apricots. A chap sitting on the other side of Vanessa was looking worried and was hailing a waitress.

"I'm sorry, I can't eat this," he stammered to her.

"Oh I am sorry, sir, are you a vegetarian?" she asked politely.

"No. I am scared of mushrooms," he replied.

Yeh you read right. It wasn't that the guy just didn't like mushrooms, he was scared of them. What the bloody hell is that all about? Ok, some people have phobias, but for the life of me, I can't see what a mushroom could possibly do to terrify someone.

Pic.No.3 All the dining tables had bloody great flamingoes on them

 

Pic.No. 4. Vanessa and Dave........ "See that bloke over there..........."

Pic.No. 5 "Well he's scared of mushrooms................"

Once dinner had finished, some fine performers had been lined up for entertainment. In summary, there was a woman who dangled off a sheet hanging from the ceiling, and she turned upside and did the splits, and a bloke who could spin bowls on the end of sticks..... until finally the dancing commenced.

Pic.No.6 A bloke spinning bowls on the end of sticks

Pic.No.7 Let the dancing commence

"So," I hear you cry, "were you up there strutting your stuff?"

Was I heck. I hate dancing, and happen to be very bad at it, so Vanessa and I decided to try and put the false eyelashes on me which had been left as a gift for the guests on the dining table (amongst other things reminiscent of the 70s).

Pic.No.8. Vanessa and me....... You sure you want to wear these eyelashes? Damn sure corporal! Proceed immediately

Pic.No.9 Vanessa tries to work out the false eyelashes

Suffice to say, twenty minutes later, I was not wearing any false eyelashes, and glue that was supposed to attach them, was making it difficult for me to fully open my eyes.

Which probably explains what happened next. Yep, not just mine, but both our mobile phones were stolen from the table, from right under our noses. Oh yes, the beautiful relationship between me and my titanium Nokia Arte 8800 came to an abrupt end....... oh Nokia, Nokia, where for art thou?

To be fair, I got over it pretty quickly with the realisation that this was freedom from the impasse, and that a shiney new Apple iPhone was now mine for the taking. Ok, I may be construed as shallow, but there is no point dwelling on the past.

Interestingly, when Vanessa telephoned T-Mobile to report her mobile stolen, the lady on the end of the phone said that hers was the 32nd phone to be reported stolen at that venue. That's just for T-Mobile, I wander how many phones were nicked when you factor in all the other networks? Hmmmmmmm, we were surrounded by some seriously crafty thieves.

Needless to say, we recovered from our loss pretty quickly and had a marvellous time at the ball, partying until 1am. I know, I know, I am a bit of lightweight, but age catches up on you sometimes.

Pic.No.10 Yours truly ....... stripped of all forms of communication

 

Pic.No.11. My lovely shoes....... donated by Sam .........lasted the whole night long

Thank you very much. I had a brilliant time!

My shoes didn't cut the mustard

As you know, this week I had a serious shoe dilemma. I am going to a ball on Saturday after a six hour shopping marathon, ended up panic-buying a pair of black shoes, which didn't quite go with the be-jewelled pea-green dress.

Not only that, there were a couple of complaints that I hadn't been adventurous as I could have been [you know who you are!], and actually I was inclined to agree, although not to the extent where I was prepared to buy hooker shoes.

But what's a girl to do? I couldn't face another shopping spree, so I was just going to 'make do'. That is until I heard someone knocking at my door this morning. I opened it to see Sam standing there.

"Hiya, fancy a cup of tea?" I asked (oh so British).

"Yes please, and I've brought you something," she replied handing me a bag.

I opened it, expecting a fake dog poo or something, but instead, to my delight, I found a beautiful pair of shoes which perfectly matched the gold and pink detailing on my dress.

Pic.No. 1. My new shoes!

As us northerners say, I was 'chuffed to bits' (which could probably be construed as an insult elsewhere in the world).

They look purple in the picture, but in reality they are more pinky, and they have got fabulous gold heels dahlink. It didn't end there though, because (being a thoughtful type), she has also got me a pink pashmina which matched the shoes.

What a pair of simply stupendous gifts! So, what do you think? Has the girl done good?

Let it snow! And then everyone panic.......

This morning, I opened the blinds and instead of drizzly grey clouds, I was greeted with this............

Pic.No.1 Oh yeh! Snow!

I know, I know......... there wasn't much snow, but rest assured there was easily enough of it to completely gridlock the UK, and cause widespread panic and chaos. You think I am joking?

Pic. No. 2 Snow outside my front door

The way that the UK deals with snow is, to be frank, piteous. There wasn't enough snow today to make a snowball, and yet the official guidance on the news after this dismal dump was: (1) avoid all journies unless absolutely necessary; (2) if venturing forth is not avoidable, be sure to take a spade, thermos flash, high energy food (such as chocolate), mobile phone, torch, a high visibility jacket, plenty of blankets and have a full tank of fuel (not sure why that helps, but that's what they say).

Pic. No. 3 Snowy back door and my crispy plants

I mean, why on earth would I need a spade in these conditions? To beat off the hordes of people trying to nick my chocolate when I stop at traffic lights?

What is it with the British and the mass hysteria that follows every dusting of snow? I mean look at places like Canada, where they have several feet of snow and the temperature has dropped as low as 58c (yes I meant celsius - ouch) - they don't have motorways strewn with car-crashes and widespread closure of schools and businesses.

We are a nation of wimps, that we we are and we need to shake off that image and show the world that 'YES! we can function normally when it snows!' So next time you drive to work or do the school run, rebel by not taking a thermos flask. That'll show 'em.

Night out anyone?

Ok. I had survived a traumatic day shopping, and I must admit that I was pretty pleased with myself. On top of that, I remembered that it was my friend, Claire's birthday.

What's a girl to do? Celebrate with an evening out of course.

"You fancy coming out for your birthday?" I asked Claire.

"Yeh, just keep it low-key though," she replied.

"Will do, see you in the White Horse later," I said, and then dialled Sam's mobile.

"Night out me dear?" I asked when Sam answered.

"Yeh, great. I'll be at yours for 8pm," she responded and hung up.

Sam duly arrived, and I forced her to admire the booty from my shopping trip before we strolled to the White Horse Inn.

"Blimey, it's busy in here," I said to Ali, the landlady.

"It's quiz night," she replied, "why don't you join in?"

I turned to Sam, "Fancy it?" 

"Yeh, go on then," she answered, and so commenceth our ritual humiliation.

Pic.No.1 Sam doing the quiz

We were truly appalling, managing at best, wild stabs at the answers, and our humiliation was capped by the fact that we had to swap our paper with another team for marking; meaning we couldn't even keep our woeful performance a secret.

Claire arrived just at the moment it was confirmed that our butts were well and truly whipped by a team of pimply teenagers sitting behind us. Unfortunately, her birthday wasn't as low-key as she hoped, and the entire pub spontaneously burst into "Happy birthday to you!" as she came through the door. That's what it's like living in villages. Everyone knows what's going on. You would never get that in London. People think you are insane if you say hello.

Pic. No. 2 Claire and Sam

Claire reddened and hissed to me, "you weren't supposed to tell anyone."

"I didn't," I replied, but realised it looked like I was fibbing because I am an awful truth teller.

Pic.No.3 Complementary Thai Snacks

After a fun evening with Claire and Sam, and complementary Thai snacks provided by Anwar, the landlord, I finally headed off home, in preparation for another busy day tomorrow.

Shoe Dilemmas.........

So, I am off to a ball in Battersea, South London, on Saturday night, and not being the most organised of people, I had been receiving frantic Skype messages from my friend Clare. She is an organiser extraordinaire and one of those people who always manages to find the flaw in even my most finely-honed plans.

"Have you got a dress?" she typed.

"Yeh, course I have, stop worrying."

"Ummmm, have you got shoes?" came the reply.

At which point, my metaphorical car screeched to an abrupt halt. "Errrrm, no actually." I responded sheepishly.

"You are bloody useless, go and and get them now....... you're not leaving it until the last minute," came the reply.

So, without a by-your-leave I was thrown to the mercy of the Oxford Christmas-shopping throngs. It was 1pm, and I quickly decided that I couldn't face venturing into the city centre, and so selected a more sedate retail park, in a suburb called Cowley.

Three large clothes-stores later, things were not looking good.  For some reason, all the stores had decided to stock shoes more suited to a Madame's boudoir than a ball in Battersea.

Pic.No. 1 Oh dear, things were deteriorating on the shoe front

'No worries,' I thought to myself, a trip to 'Next' in a retail park not too far away, was sure to fix my shoe woes.

Pic. No. 2 The Next store in Cowley

Sure enough, after perusing the dazzling array of shoes, I finally found a pair I liked - black sling-backs with a small rose on the toe.

"Sorry, we don't have them in a size 5," an unconcerned looking assistant said after I asked to try them on.

Sacre bleu! Things were going from bad to worse, I had run out of options, and it was now 3.30pm.

In desperation, I texted a friend; "Help me! I need shoes.... where are they?"

A text beeped on my phone; "Go to Bicester Village, loads of designer shops." Inspired!

As I pulled out the carpark, I noticed the car in front, with a slogan across the back bumper; 'Mazda specialist call 01865 8***** for an experienced mechanic'

Pic.No. 3 There's nothing like proudly advertising your workmanship

Thirty minutes later, I pulled into Bicester Village (a designer outlet park), and it finally appeared that my woes were at an end.Yummy, lots of lovely designer clothes and shoes.

Pic. No. 4 Designer shop in Bicester Village

Ok, ok, I admit it. Two hours after arriving, I had got a bit carried away, and I was the proud owner of a new balldress........ but still no shoes...... and it was getting on for 6.30pm.

'Concentrate, you can do this....' I muttered in an attempt to keep myself motivated in the face of adversity.

I came up with a strategy - don't even go into clothes shops, stick with shoe shops. Brilliant! But bit by bit I eliminated every style of shoe; too high, too clunky, too pointy, too many straps, wrong colour.........and my options were starting to look limited.

I NEED SHOES! HOW HARD CAN IT BE? The shops were all starting to make preparations for closing, so I needed to make a decision fast, and I did make a decision fast - a pair of black strappy sandals. Not the perfect choice for a green dress, but still quite nice............ and so my mission came to an end, six hours after I tenuously threw myself at the mercy of the shops.

So, do you want to see what I bought? Looky here .............

Pic.No. 5 The holy grail - ball shoes

Pic.No. 6 Green silk ball dress

Pic.No. 7 Dress detailing

So what do you think, did I do well for an emotionally backward shopper?!

Darwin awards - my favourite so far

I confess to having a bit of a prediliction for news articles that support the theory of natural selection. Today, I read an article in The Telegraph that actually made me laugh out loud at the comical stupidity of the perpertrators. It would be rude not to share it, so enjoy:

'Dumb' American criminals attempt robbery with ‘permanent marker pen disguises’

 Two Hapless robbers in America, Matthew McNelly and Joey Miller, have been arrested with the "worst disguises ever" after trying to hide their faces with permanent marker pen.

McNelly, 23, and Miller, 20 were arrested by armed police in Carroll, Iowa, last Friday after witnesses reported seeing two men trying to break into an apartment with fake beards and "masks" scrawled on their faces.

Police responding to a call about the attempted burglary later pulled over a car matching the alleged suspects' vehicle.

When they stopped their 1994 Buick Roadmaster, bewildered police discovered the hapless pair – nicknamed “dumb and dumber” – complete with makeshift disguises.

Police issued mughots of the pair showing the black ink scribbles on their faces, in what some commentators described as “the worst disguise ever”.

"We're very skilled investigators and the black faces gave them right away,” local police chief Jeff Cayler told CNN.

"I have to assume the officers were kind of laughing at the time.

“I've never heard of colouring your face with a permanent marker."

He added: "They probably were just not thinking straight and figured we'll go out and scare the guy or whatever.

“[They were] being dumb and combine that with alcohol and it was the perfect storm.

"I've been chief here almost 25 years, been with the department 28½ years and I've seen a lot of things that make me laugh and weird things but this was probably the best combination of the two - strangely weird and hilariously funny all at the same time.”

He had earlier told Radio Iowa: “It's a little weird.

"I've been here long enough that I've seen a lot of things, but this one's a little different compared to most ... I mean, just the face thing is what sets it apart."

Mysteries of the Universe. Part 2

Today's 'Mysteries of the Universe' relates to people living in colder climes, so if you live somewhere warm, e.g. Florida [grrrrrrrr], you aren't invited, so it's probably best that you go and frolic in the sun [grrrrrrrr].

Here we go. I have noticed a very strange phenomena over the last few, and very cold, weeks.

Let's set the scene first; I live in a very old, and very drafty house. Plus I am too tight to turn the central heating on during the day. The result? I always dress with an intemperate clime in mind; that is, two pairs of socks, a t-shirt, two jumpers and a bodywarmer [oh yeh, I look goooooood].

Then, during the day, the last of the central heating fades, the late afternoon frost kicks in, and I get colder and colder until eventually, the shivers hit me and I am unable to tipe any blag postesz.

"So where is the mystery in that?" I hear you cry.

Well done, you have spotted the crux of the problem. Oh yeh, once you have reached goose-bump cold, all you need to do is go and change your clothes; put on pyjamas and a dressing gown instead of aforementioned ten layers, and voila! you instantly get warm again.

So how the bloody hell does that work? You are wearing less layers, you are in the same environment, and yet you are now warm! It is a proper mystery. And it has been bugging me for ages..... please say that you have experienced the same phenomena.

Next up is Mystery of the Universe Part B; Why do you have to dry-clean raincoats?

I shall leave you ruminating, and will mark your answers out of ten.

Hamsters, Dinner, Nativity plays, and Flowers - it all happens here

Blimey, I feel like a hamster in a wheel and it's only Tuesday. Talking of hamsters on wheels, did you know that you can actually buy an electronic hamster running in a wheel which is powered by your USB port? How cool is that? Give me five, I need to order one as a matter of urgency..........

 

Pic.No.1 An electronic hamster powered by USB. You know you want one

I'm back, and I have a USB hamster arriving within five working days with a full money back guarantee if I am not completely satisfied.

"So why do you feel like a hamster on a wheel?" I hear you cry.

Well it is quite simply that I have been busy, busy, busy, and I haven't even started my Christmas shopping. So without a by your leave, I am going to simply dash this post off, and just number the events as they occur.

1. It started last night when I had a friend over for dinner, and a very pleasurable evening it was indeed. I had cooked a spicey sausage and bean casserole in readiness, but apparently I used the wrong sausages. I was subsequently advised to procure some flavoured ones from Waitrose rather than use bog standard pork sausages from Asda.Certainly sir, I do apologise (touching brim of cap).

2. Today was busy in an exciting way because I was going to see my first ever Nativity Play starring Izzy. I use the word 'starring' loosely - I don't think she would ever end up as a stage school kid, because she was cast as a sheep. 

But you know what, I loved it. It was called the 'Oighty Toighty Angel', and it was the best entertainment I have had in ages (a credit to the school staff). The performances from the children were faultless and very cute. You can imagine my pride when Izzy crawled onto the stage on all fours, with a sheep's head on, spotted me and started waving frantically, seemingly unaware of the ongoing production around her. [unfortunately, I can't post any photographs of the performance. Not sure why, but the school said.]

3. After the nativity play, I had to drive Izzy to Kidlington to get some passport pictures taken. It sounds pretty mundane, but there is a bizarre reason why.

When I took Izzy to America this year, I was basically accused of kidnapping her by every border agent I encountered, because she has a different surname (but they still let me through though by asking her 'is this your mommy?' - how iffy is that?). So as a result, I have to change her legal name by deed poll and reapply for passports, birth certificates and the like. Just when she has learned to spell her current name. Darn.

Once Izzy's photographs were all sorted, I drove home (with Izzy repeatedly asking, 'why wasn't I allowed to smile in my picture? You always tell me to smile to the camera.' [try explaining that to a four year old]).

4. I had Izzy and another friend over for dinner tonight, and how lucky is this? ........... I had enough spicey sausage and bean casserole left over from last night to make another meal. Add hot, crusty bread and voila........ I am like a skinny Nigella Lawson.

Pic.No.2 Dinner at mine

5. Finally, the icing on the cake. The door knocker sounded, and when I answered it [with Naughty George woofing vacuously behind me whilst I formed a human barrier between him and the courier], I was handed these......

Pic.No.3 A Beautiful bouquet of flowers

Awww..... how lovely? And how much of a smile did they bring to my face? They were a 'thank you' present for dinner last night. Fabulous dahlink, I just lurrrvve being spoiled (which is probably a sin but I don't care).

On that note, I shall leave you to get on with whatever debauchery you fancy, just as long as you blog about it!

The Christmas decorations are finally up!

Well thank you for your advice telling me that I should put my Christmas decorations up sooner rather than later. I heeded your wise words, and spent yesterday afternoon in the garage digging my festive accoutrements out from under leaves which had been blown in by the wind.

I made a neat pile in the corner of my kitchen and decided to wait for Izzy to come home so that she could help put the tree up. In the meantime I kept myself busy cooking a sausage and bean casserole (recipe to come).

Izzy duly arrived, and it became fairly apparent that she wasn't in her usual good mood. It was the tears that gave it away, and the sobbing; "Daddy won't let me kill Barbie."

"Why won't you let her kill Barbie? It's only a bit of innocent fun." I asked.

"She's wanted to chop off her head," he replied, "with a knife."

"Aah," I said nodding knowingly, "even I know that small children shouldn't play with knives. Maybe she could hang her instead?"

"She doesn't want to," he replied, "I think she needs distracting away from the killing the blinking thing altogether." 

I turned to Izzy holding out my hand, "do you want to come and decorate the Christmas tree?"

"No," she howled. Things weren't going well and at this juncture, Naughty George decided to commence his usual piercing, but vacuous volly.

"Shut up George!" I shouted, jabbing at him with my toe to no avail, just as the beeper started sounding on the cooker, letting me know that my casserole was ready. As I ran into the kitchen to turn the oven off, the phone rang, barely audible above the beeping, barking and bawling.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, sprinting from the cooker to the phone.

I just picked up the handset in time, "What?" I hollered, only to discover it was a relly who wanted to chat about the happenings of the last ten years. 

"Sorry, can't talk," I shouted over the hullaballoo, cancelling the call. I was definitely cut out of that Will.

I finally cracked: "RIGHT. EVERYONE BE QUIET!" and was stunned to observe almost immediate silence, and the subsequent shocked looks on Izzy's face and Naughty George's muzzle.

"Right, you Naughty George - in your basket. And Izzy, you are going to help me put up the Christmas decorations and you are going to enjoy it. That's an order."

Would you believe it? Everything then went swimmingly, well except for the fact that the tree barely fit in the room. Oh, and one other thing, Izzy did get a little bored after putting the first four baubles on the tree, but then kept herself entertained for the next two hours, turning the fairy lights from flash to non-flash mode.

Do I have pictures of the end result? You'd better believe it, I didn't go through that pain not to tell the world about it ......... enjoy.

Pic.No.1 The tree is so big I can only watch the TV from one position

Pic.No.2 I had to bend the top of the tree over so that it would fit in the room

Pic.No.3 An arty but boring picture of a candle on my mantelpiece

Pic.No.4 Izzy "helping" me decorate which involved putting a red bus on the armchair

Pic.No.5 My fireplace with festive Santa stocking

P.S. Thanks for everyone's "helpful" comments on my facebook page about how to solve the problem of my oversized tree which included; 'Buy a bigger house', 'with an inside toilet', 'buy a bonsai', and 'get a bendy one.'

When shall I put my Christmas decorations up?

I need help. I am in a dilemma. I am completely at a loss about whether to put my Christmas tree and decorations up today, or next weekend. My deliberations include:

1. It takes so long to put them up, it is nice to have them there for a while (this is the argument in favour of putting them up today).
2. If I do put them up today, they will probably be there for three weeks, isn't that just a tad too long? (the argument against).

What's a girl to do?

A night out in Jericho

Earlier in the week, I had arranged to go out for something to eat on Friday evening in Oxford.

"You! eat out?" I hear you cry in surprise. Ok, I admit it, me eating out isn't that unusual, especially given the fact that I view my kitchen as my nemesis [who put that there? I always feel obliged to cook.]

"Have you ever been to Jericho?" I was asked as we headed towards Oxford centre.

"No. And until they stop that nasty ruckus over the West Bank, I have no intention of going either," I replied.

"I don't mean Jericho in Palestine, I mean Jericho in Oxford," came the answer.

"No I haven't been there either," I anwered.

Oh how exciting! I was going somewhere new, but not before the usual 1 hour of circling Oxford centre trying to find a parking space. The mission was finally accomplished, and we decided to be bad and go for cocktails before dinner.Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of the place, so I had to nick one from the internet. Thanks to whoever took this picture.

Pic.No.1 Angels Cocktail Bar, Little Clarendon Street, Jericho

After quaffing a couple of Mai Tais (my favourite cocktail - click here to view recipe), we headed out to go and to eat.

"Have you booked anywhere?" I asked

"No." came the reply.

"You numpty," I responded, "we'll be lucky to get something to eat, it's 10pm."

"Nah, we'll find somewhere."

After walking around the streets of Jericho for half an hour (it is a nice trendy little suburb of Oxford), we eventually happened upon a small but cosy Tapas Bar that was a couple of doors down from where we started out (bloody typical eh?).

Pic.No.2 Sign for the Al Andalus Tapas Bar

Luckily, because Spanish people like eating really late (and throwing donkeys off towers), we managed to procure a table, and ordered three dishes each to share. 

Pic.No.3 The Tapas that we ordered. Look, can you see that I am eating lettuce? That's got vitamins in that has

Pic. No.4 The Flamenco Dancer in Al Andalus (the lady in red in the background)

Just as we were halfway through our meal, the music turned up, and imagine my surprise when a Flamenco dancer came running into the restaurant, twisting and turning and banging some wooden things together.

"Blimey, she's supple," I noted after a couple of numbers, "and the food's really nice," I added having not eaten tapas for years.

Once it turned midnight, we decided to head home after a very pleasant meal. Go and eat there, it's good! Hang on a minute, I will take a picture of it on the way out so that you know what to look for.

Pic.No.5 The outside of the Al Andalus Tapas bar

Sorry it isn't the best picture, I think that I had lost my battle with the Mai Tais at this point.

Oh, and I need to apologise to my friend Sam. I was supposed to be going out with her in Oxford on Saturday night but I cancelled because I am a wuss. Sorry! I definitely want to go out some time soon.

Mars and mobile phones.... worlds apart

I just love gadgets. Oh yeh, they give me proper excitement butterflies. In light of this, it is quite shocking that I have put up with this (see below) for so long.......

Pic.No.1 My old telephone

"Bloody hell!" I hear you cry, "is that phone plugged into the wall........ with a wire?"

Oh yes. How times change. Not just ten years ago, nearly all phones were plugged into the wall with wire,  spawning furniture designs like .... [drum roll].... the telephone table.

Pic.No.2 How retro is this? A telephone table

So how come, ten years hence, I (the gadget queen), was still tethered to the wall everytime I answered the phone, punctuating conversations with; "can you turn the volume up at your end, I am struggling to hear you." [it doesn't help that I am slightly deaf - caused by years of riding motorbikes without earplugs... now they tell me.]

It's quite simple really. For a long time now, I have positively sneered at landlines for being the predilection of  technophobes and the elderly. I mean, come on..... everyone has a mobile phone these days...... who on earth would want to use a telephone that involves you being in a specific geographical location in order to take the call?

The answer is simple. Despite the fact that a Mars landing is anticipated within the next 25 years, my mobile phone provider (Orange) can't produce a phone that can pick up a signal through the 500 year-old walls of my house. This means that everytime I walk through my front door, my mobile phone morphs into a very expensive paperweight.

So, like it or not, I am a slave to the landline every minute I spend in my house, prompting an imperative investment in a new gadget (ooh lovely).

May I introduce...... [drum roll number 2] ...... my Wharfedale cordless handset.........

Pic.No.3. My new phone. A cordless Wharfedale handset with blue backlighting (my favourite feature)

It's got polyphonic ring tones, an answerphone (landlines don't have 'voicemail' for some reason), number storage and a speed-dial function. But more importantly, I can actually talk to people on the phone whilst I am at home.

It is all now set up, and I have been sat staring at it for the last two hours willing someone to call me so that I can hear my 'Mozart's Musical Joke' ringtone........ why has everyone gone quiet when you need 'em?

[Update: my fault. I had been so excited with my cordless phone that I had forgotten to plug the base unit into the wall. Please try ringing me again].

Now here's an idea for a wedding.......

Anyone thinking of getting married in the near future? Well, I found this clip especially for you.

"You are so kind, you are verging on saintly," I hear you cry.

"I know. Thinking about other people is my raison d'etre." I reply, dropping my eyes to the floor and tilting my head almost imperceptibly to one side.

"So what you got?" you ask.

"The best humdinging church entrance I have ever seen at a wedding, enjoy," I repond. "And I don't think this wedding will be forgotten in a hurry......" [points remote control towards TV and presses 'play'].

Vid. No. 1 Here comes the  Bride - with a twist