Why don’t they invent a dishwasher, whereby, you just empty a whole bottle of detergent into it and it then doses it out for each wash. I am fed up of trying to break into the child proof dishwasher detergent and prize it open for each wash. Please Mr Bosch, Mrs Whirlpool, Mrs Hoover….
For your information, dishwashers struggle to cope with cleaning sand pit toys. I do not recommend putting your childs collection of such toys into the dishwasher as a shortcut because a) the sand clogs up the drain and b) the sand moulds bend in the steam c) the dishes in the next wash come out covered in sand.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
Pork Fillet in Cinzano and One Pan Mess
I am becoming a little slap dash in the kitchen. I never have an exact plan of what exactly I am going to cook, the equation for what ingredients I use is partly based on what my hand finds first in the veg box, what sort of mood I am in and what meat I have to work with. Yesterday, decided that pan fried pork fillet in white wine was going to be the offering, I discovered [to my absolute shock and horror] that there was no white wine in the house. Even worse was to follow. We only had my beloved Cinzano. Let me explain my relationship with Cinzano, just so you understand what a huge sacrifice I am staring at, having to throw it into a pan of sizzling pork.
Cinzano [or at least the mere thought of it] is what gets me through the hours of doom and gloom [normally 4 - 6 pm in our house], during these hours I normally have one child on my hip needing consoling as their dinner is not yet ready, and the other either whining for attention or wrecking the house. During such times, I don’t bother with deep breaths or counting to ten. I think about which glass I am going to pour my Cinzano into, wether or not I am going to add lemon or lime, sip it neat, or add lemonade [yes, its not very classy, I know!].
So, importance of Cinzano established, you will understand why I almost had to wipe away a tear as it glugged into the pork filled pot.
I consoled myself with the fact that Cinzano contains herbs, so did not need to slop out to the garden to cut any.
Today I surpassed myself with my ingenuity in the kitchen. I had exactly 22 mins to whip up a meal which would feed us all and I only had one pan. Decided that the lamb fillet needed browning, then threw in all the veggies into the same pot, added some herbs and spices, hot water and threw in the rice. Went to collect the boy from the nursery, expecting to come back and find an inedible lump of goo, but it was actually quite tasty.
Cinzano [or at least the mere thought of it] is what gets me through the hours of doom and gloom [normally 4 - 6 pm in our house], during these hours I normally have one child on my hip needing consoling as their dinner is not yet ready, and the other either whining for attention or wrecking the house. During such times, I don’t bother with deep breaths or counting to ten. I think about which glass I am going to pour my Cinzano into, wether or not I am going to add lemon or lime, sip it neat, or add lemonade [yes, its not very classy, I know!].
So, importance of Cinzano established, you will understand why I almost had to wipe away a tear as it glugged into the pork filled pot.
I consoled myself with the fact that Cinzano contains herbs, so did not need to slop out to the garden to cut any.
Today I surpassed myself with my ingenuity in the kitchen. I had exactly 22 mins to whip up a meal which would feed us all and I only had one pan. Decided that the lamb fillet needed browning, then threw in all the veggies into the same pot, added some herbs and spices, hot water and threw in the rice. Went to collect the boy from the nursery, expecting to come back and find an inedible lump of goo, but it was actually quite tasty.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
A book and its cover
Lets talk books. Lets talk book covers. I never actually noticed quite how prejudiced I was until the other day, when I had 5 mins to choose some books via the internet. I had to choose a book merely based on the cover, as I only had one functioning contact lens.. Having thought seriously about what I look for in a book cover, I can firmly state that the following “guidelines” will all result in me not even taking a second glance at the book:
- Any large splashes of pink colour.
- Any book that the title proclaims it will instantly change your life – “Chicken Soup for the Soul”, “Let me make you thin” [are you kidding me have you seen my ample prosterior?!]
- Anything with insanely happy people flashing their teeth.
- Most child rearing books
- Any books which proudly advertise that they are on “regionally hillybilly times bestseller” lists,
- Autobiographies of anyone aged anyone less than 30.
- Any likening of this book to another book, film or play by some obscure person. E.g. “this is the War and Peace of the 90’s”
I have also invented a new game. Its called “Barbara’s alternate ending”. If lets say, I am bored of the book, then the following game ensues.
I write a list of three alternative endings, I allow one mediocre and mellow ending, in keeping with the story. On the other two, my imagination runs wild and free. Had I followed the above rules on “Friday Night Knitting Club” [it had too much pink], then there would have been no need to dream up alternative endings. It’s a bit like the games you used to sneakily play during classes at school. One person draws a head, passes it on, next person draws a body, so on and so forth, until the last participant, who has drawn the legs ceremoniously unfolds the Tim Burtonesque creation.
I am reading 3 books at the moment. American Gods – don’t think that I will need to play the alternative ending game with that one. Life – a user’a manual [not some self help book but a wonderful piece of fiction from the late 70’s I think.], Foucaults Pendulum – only three pages in.
Remembering characters names is proving to be difficult at the moment, so, I rechristen them. I wonder what the author would think to Smurfs and Bluetooth’s in Life a user’s manual?
- Any large splashes of pink colour.
- Any book that the title proclaims it will instantly change your life – “Chicken Soup for the Soul”, “Let me make you thin” [are you kidding me have you seen my ample prosterior?!]
- Anything with insanely happy people flashing their teeth.
- Most child rearing books
- Any books which proudly advertise that they are on “regionally hillybilly times bestseller” lists,
- Autobiographies of anyone aged anyone less than 30.
- Any likening of this book to another book, film or play by some obscure person. E.g. “this is the War and Peace of the 90’s”
I have also invented a new game. Its called “Barbara’s alternate ending”. If lets say, I am bored of the book, then the following game ensues.
I write a list of three alternative endings, I allow one mediocre and mellow ending, in keeping with the story. On the other two, my imagination runs wild and free. Had I followed the above rules on “Friday Night Knitting Club” [it had too much pink], then there would have been no need to dream up alternative endings. It’s a bit like the games you used to sneakily play during classes at school. One person draws a head, passes it on, next person draws a body, so on and so forth, until the last participant, who has drawn the legs ceremoniously unfolds the Tim Burtonesque creation.
I am reading 3 books at the moment. American Gods – don’t think that I will need to play the alternative ending game with that one. Life – a user’a manual [not some self help book but a wonderful piece of fiction from the late 70’s I think.], Foucaults Pendulum – only three pages in.
Remembering characters names is proving to be difficult at the moment, so, I rechristen them. I wonder what the author would think to Smurfs and Bluetooth’s in Life a user’s manual?
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Top Gear Team Challenge
2 April 2008
Dear Top Gear Team
I have a deliciously different challenge for you three motor musketeers.
I challenge you to actually take two bantam weight kiddies, a supermarket trolley and actually get buy some meaningful shopping in one of the major supermarkets, without blowing a gasket!
Having tried unsuccessfully to get two small kids into a supermarket trolley at a major (orange coloured) supermarket, I can tell you its no walk in a lily scented park.
You could undertake the perils of the dreaded understeer (great for toning abs!) as the wayward trolley hurtles randomly out of control. The experience of pivoting on one leg, the other extended outwards as you lunge into your trolley to desperately retrieve a pack of small raisins (that you just cannot reach!), whilst bored shoppers mutter for you to hurry up is certainly not to be missed. The piste de resistance will definitely be your role equivalent to a UN peacemaker, when the small child starts pulling the hair of the larger child, due to the seating positions. Things escalate and French sticks are used as batons, fromage frais as a weapon of mass destruction. By the time you reach the cashier you realise that you don’t actually have any produce in tact.
The supermarket invariably gets its own back. Their CCTV cameras are probably all trained onto the carpark, revelling in the fact that kiddie trollies have no brakes, the carpark is on a slope and you have to make a snap decision on what you save, the children, the car (from being smashed into by the trolley) or the trolleyfull of mushed food.
Given the fact that you can tell us how many bags of shopping a beige people carrier can hold, I thought it would be a different angle for you three to explore.
In actual fact, if you come down to my local orange supermarket, then I would not only lend you the kids but would teach my son to say “Clarkson for Prime Minister”.
Yours truly
Dear Top Gear Team
I have a deliciously different challenge for you three motor musketeers.
I challenge you to actually take two bantam weight kiddies, a supermarket trolley and actually get buy some meaningful shopping in one of the major supermarkets, without blowing a gasket!
Having tried unsuccessfully to get two small kids into a supermarket trolley at a major (orange coloured) supermarket, I can tell you its no walk in a lily scented park.
You could undertake the perils of the dreaded understeer (great for toning abs!) as the wayward trolley hurtles randomly out of control. The experience of pivoting on one leg, the other extended outwards as you lunge into your trolley to desperately retrieve a pack of small raisins (that you just cannot reach!), whilst bored shoppers mutter for you to hurry up is certainly not to be missed. The piste de resistance will definitely be your role equivalent to a UN peacemaker, when the small child starts pulling the hair of the larger child, due to the seating positions. Things escalate and French sticks are used as batons, fromage frais as a weapon of mass destruction. By the time you reach the cashier you realise that you don’t actually have any produce in tact.
The supermarket invariably gets its own back. Their CCTV cameras are probably all trained onto the carpark, revelling in the fact that kiddie trollies have no brakes, the carpark is on a slope and you have to make a snap decision on what you save, the children, the car (from being smashed into by the trolley) or the trolleyfull of mushed food.
Given the fact that you can tell us how many bags of shopping a beige people carrier can hold, I thought it would be a different angle for you three to explore.
In actual fact, if you come down to my local orange supermarket, then I would not only lend you the kids but would teach my son to say “Clarkson for Prime Minister”.
Yours truly
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Room on the Broom
Am spectacularly impressed with a new in our household. Its called Room on the Broom. Even if you don’t have kids, buy it, its just such a good mood book. I normally read a bit of Yes Minister, if I am in need of a lift, but Room on the Broom is fast taking over. Beg, steal or borrow a copy of it. Book club ladies, am seriously thinking it maybe my choice for the next book…….
TV Shows
You should know that we don’t watch a lot of television. I detest it and so does the boy. Hubby only watches the odd game of footie. Which is why it came as such a surprise that he has applied to go onto “Who wants to be a millionaire”. His words “babe, we need to make some serious money”…. I flatly refused to have anything to do with it as I would have to punch Chris Tarrant if he was to try and kiss me after each successful question.
Unbeknown to Stuart, I will apply to do Grand Designs Abroad. See what he says when Kevin McCloud starts throwing phrases like “environmental integrity” and “contextualise the build” into the pot.
In all seriousness, I spent a sleepless night re-organising our “house” (when you see the word house, think mud shack, donkey stable and no electric or water!!!) in Zala. The problem is that the house is actually built around the largest winepress I have ever seen. Its an antique and I will probably burn in hell for suggesting that it be chopped up so that we can remove it.
Unbeknown to Stuart, I will apply to do Grand Designs Abroad. See what he says when Kevin McCloud starts throwing phrases like “environmental integrity” and “contextualise the build” into the pot.
In all seriousness, I spent a sleepless night re-organising our “house” (when you see the word house, think mud shack, donkey stable and no electric or water!!!) in Zala. The problem is that the house is actually built around the largest winepress I have ever seen. Its an antique and I will probably burn in hell for suggesting that it be chopped up so that we can remove it.
A pashmina and boot meet…..
I managed a spectacular injury this morning, which I think any rugby player would be proud of. Unfortunately it damm well asphyxiated me. Only I could manage something so random!!!
Whilst zipping up my boot I managed to get some strands of my pashmina caught in the zip. At the same time, Lottie started screaming, which caused me to look up and thus start the process of asphyxiation. To further compound my misery, my free foot gave way and I ended up on the floor, arms and free leg flailing. The good news is Lottie found it highly entertaining and started giggling. Perhaps I should become a children’s entertainer.
Whilst zipping up my boot I managed to get some strands of my pashmina caught in the zip. At the same time, Lottie started screaming, which caused me to look up and thus start the process of asphyxiation. To further compound my misery, my free foot gave way and I ended up on the floor, arms and free leg flailing. The good news is Lottie found it highly entertaining and started giggling. Perhaps I should become a children’s entertainer.
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