Tea and cakes and things I like

Nope, not a real one, a virtual one.
I’m moving site.
You can now find me at www.teaandcakes.net
There’s a good bit of work to be done over at the new place, but I hope to have it all sorted soon enough, and it’s just aesthetics really, the content is all there and it’s where I will be posting from now on.
Sorry for the inconvenience.

An almost finished piece! The straps still need to be sewed in place, but I don’t feel like doing that right now.

The bag half way through. Not very pretty. Sort of a big shapeless sack on circular needles.

Then, however, I finished it. Here is is, strap and all, ready for felting. It looks quite nice here - the yarn is really lovely - Rowan Yorkshire Tweed Aran - really strong colours and good stitch definition. However, as it was destined for felting the stitches were a little loose.

I washed the bag and strap on a 60 degree wash twice - the second time didn’t make any difference really. I was hoping it would shrink down a wee bit more, but I’m happy with it anyway.

The picture’s a bit out of focus, sorry about that, but you get the general idea.

What with job changes, college assignments in, and agenerally busy work schedule, I’ve been neglecting my knitting.
I only have one work in progress, and it’s this hat, which is an important one and I want to get it finished, just haven’t had much knitting time recently. I’m hoping posting it up will make me carry on with it.

So, at the moment I’m studying Brain and Behaviour, with the Open university. It’s great, and very interesting and all, but I am one for leaving my assignments until the last minute.
As I was looking up the effect that opiates have on the mesolimbic dopamine neurons, I came across this sentence in relation to cocaine:

“Spider monkeys with a history of intravenous self-administration…”

Yeah, spider monkeys: the advertising sales reps of the animal kingdom. Lying around in their flash suits, talking nonsense all day.

Good thing those scientists found them, that’s all I can say.

I don’t usually write serious type posts, I am, quite literally, more about the tea and cakes and knitting and the like.
A few things have disturbed me recently though, and I want to get my thoughts out. I’m not massively coherent at the moment. I don’t necessarily present good arguments. Mainly because some stuff I’m so incredulous of that I’m just incapable of it. Anyway, read, don’t read, I don’t mind. I just wanted it out of my head.
(more…)

I occasionally have to go through the toll booth on the M50. Like tonight, for example.
On the journey out I was fine - I went through a cashier lane, handed over the money, and drove on. All was good.
The journey back was a slightly different story.
I decided to go through the lane where you throw your fee into a bucket thingy.
I’m not very good at throwing. I throw like a girl. I know that I am a girl, so that’s going to be the case, but I mean that I really throw like a girl. Now, I’ve been stuck behind people who have missed the bucket throwing their coins over, and they’ve had to face the shame of getting out of the car and picking up the money while everyone behind is beeping at them.
I don’t ever want to be that person.
Approaching the booth I swerve to the right, to get the car as close as possible to the bucket, without actually scraping the car.
So far, so good.
I put the window down as far as I can go.
Everything’s going to plan.
I start with my arm held high, coins gripped loosely (so I don’t drop them, but so they don’t stick to my hand).
I bring my arm downwards rapidly, releasing the coins as I go.
I hit my hand on the basket.
It hurts.
I drive off, pretending everything is fine.

It’s quite clear that I never won any tennis tournaments not because I’m just not that good, don’t really like running, and prefer the whole ‘tea and cucumber sandwiches’ (or pimms and strawberries) element of the game to actually playing it, but because my mum never drugged the other competitors. Just think, I could have been a star.

This is the breakfast of a girl who has just got herself a new job.
A nice big cup of hot tea, a very chocolaty chocolate croissant, and an innocent smoothie (strawberry and banana) because I ate very, very badly yesterday, and feel I should have some fruit.
Mmmmmm.

Oh my, what a day Saturday was. Somehow the Dublin Riots passed me by, despite being in the city centre relaxing over lunch with a friend while cars were being torched 5 minutes walk away on Nassau Street.

We had tickets for the cinema that night, and the plan was to stay in town until then, but there was a bit of an edge to the place, and a banger being set off just in front of us on Grafton Street put the wind up me a bit (yes, I am a coward). So, we headed to a local safe house for tea and knitting and a bit of rugby before heading back into the city centre to the cinema.

Anyway, we went to see The Proposition as part of the Jameson International Film Festival, and it was excellent. I highly, highly recommend the film. It’s sort of an australian revenge western. The director, John Hillcote, and John Hurt were there for questions afterwards, which was pretty fucking cool, I have to say.

Anyway, I’d been too full at lunch to have any cake, so I decided to make up for it with an ice cream at the cinema (Cineworld, up on Parnell St). This was an interesting ice cream. The Caramel Crisp is caramel ice cream wrapped in a caramel coating (sort of hard, like choc-ice coating texture, but caramel). So far, so good. Deliciously cool, creamy and sweet.

Unfortunately, in their wisdom, the good people at Haagen-Dazs decided to add wafer to the top and bottom of the caramel coating.
Now, this may sound ok, but the wafer breaks differently to the caramel coating. This means that sometimes you get some wafter in your mouth, sometimes it just falls off and lands in your lap. That’s just the way it goes, I guess.

I was treating myself to a bagel from Itsa Bagel for lunch (The Gormet Veggie, will review this next time), and decided to double the treat and have some carrot cake for dessert.

This cake was so close to being good. To describe it properly I will need to break it down into two parts: The Cake and The Icing

The Cake
The cake part was tasty. I like to taste the cinnamon, and there was plenty of it there. The cake was sweet and spongy, rather that carroty and wholesome, but I can live with that. There’s space for both types of carrot cake in my life. Unfortunately the cake part was too crumbly - breaking off bits with my fingers proved unsuccessful - it just caused the sponge to disintegrate and crumbs to explode all over the floor. Once I’d cleaned up the worst of the crumbs I tried again - the only way to eat it was to pick it up in the cling film and cram it in my mouth. No, really, it was the only way to eat it.

The Icing
I love the cream cheese icing that comes with carrot cake. I was really impressed by the cake:icing ratio here. However. This was not cream cheese icing. This was cream cheese with a hint of lemon. Somebody forgot the icing sugar. Icing on carrot cake should be really, really sweet, to complement the carroty wholesomeness of the cake. This was not the case. I left most of the icing. Scraped it off the top. This is unheard of and something I was not happy about doing. In fact, I think I’m still recovering from having to do it.

Overall this was a let down. The addition of bags of icing sugar would have made it delicious, but it was not to be. I will not be buying it again.

A little while ago some friends and I had a rather long (looking back on it now) conversation about how things might be in a biscuit based society. You can find a summary of the conversation here and I recommend having a read. Any comments on which of the views you feel most likely appreciated (especially if you agree with mine)

(For general buiscuit related news I of course suggest you visit a nice cup of tea and a sit down.)

Last FM is a sort of online radio station I was directed towards by a wise person. You have to register and stuff, but it’s free. Then you enter in music that you feel like listening to, and it plays you music like that - some from the bands and some from others that it feels you might like. You can skip songs you don’t like, ban songs totally, or say that you love a song, all of which helps it work out what you want to listen to.

Here’s what I entered:
Belle and Sebastian
Isobel Campbell
The Cardigans
A Camp
The Kings of Convenience
Beth Orton
Jim Noir
The Boy Least Likely To

So far it’s played me a selection from the above (good choices too - the Cardigans track was from Emmerdale, their first album and my favourite), plus:
Everything but the girl, which I banned as I don’t like them.
Air
The Shins
Architecture in Helsinki
Erlend Oye (the O should have a vertical line through it)
The Cranberries (skipped that one)
Databoy78

I hadn’t heard any A Camp before - it’s Nina from the Cardigans solo project, but the one track I heard was excellent and I shall be buying the album from amazon as soon as my credit card says I can.
The boy least likely to and Jim Noir I haven’t heard either, but they’ve been recommended by a friend with excellent taste in music who always steers me right.

Today I’ve been feeling better, plus I was on a day off work (owed from a saturday worked a few weeks ago) and this is what I’ve done:

1. Gone to the library. More on libraries in another post.

2. Studied. For several hours. I’ve been learning about the brain. It’s been fun, I enjoyed the neuroscience stuff I did in a basic module at college, this was a sort of revision of that as preparation for learning about addiction and ageing. I should have done this part of the course before now, but the DVD it’s on only arrived last week, so it’s not my fault.

3. Made hummus. Mmmmmmmm.

4. Felted (or fulled, if you’re an american, or shrunk on a hot wash on purpose, if you just want the common sense explanation) a knitted bag and strap. Pictures to follow soon.

5. Cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms. My hands need a lot of moisturising now.

It’s been a productive day, I’m happy.

I’d forgotten that I’d read this before, which was good, because although I sort of remembered it, I didn’t totally, so still enjoyed it.

Hadn’t read this one before. It was good. Jane Austen, you know, they’re all kinda similar.

Been having headaches, and nausea quite a lot recently. Kinda like a hangover, all of the time, without drinking any alcohol to cause it. I spent last weekend in bed, asleep mainly. I don’t want to do the same again this weekend.
So, I shall update the books a little, but that is all, I want to limit screen time.
(and yes, I’ll be drinking loads of water and I promise to go to a doctor if it continues, I think I’m just a bit run down.)

I never used to like breakfast - I just couldn’t eat in the mornings. Recently I’ve come around to the most important meal of the day, and am quite fond of it.

I have a sweet tooth. I have been known to eat leftover dessert for breakfast (apple crumble is a particular favourite of mine). The fun of that lies in the fact that it’s not for every day. It’s an occasionaly treat, to be balanced out with weetabix or muesli and toast most days.

Above is a picture of the cereal on special offer in my local supermarket at the moment. Yep, you read it correctly: Chocolate(y) chip cookie cereal. I saw it quite a few people’s shopping trollies. There were quite afew kids heading towards obesity in the supermarket too. Hmmm, any connection I wonder?

Only in Japan of course, but a company has been selling cakes that look like burgers so that people who are embarrassed to be seen eating a cake in the street can do so, and fool everyone into thinking that they are eating fast food instead.
This is all wrong. It is not shameful to eat cake. In public, in private, with your friends, alone: there is no time when it is not acceptable to eat cake. (actually, I can probably think of a few, but you get my point).
I’d be more embarrassed to be seen eating a burger in public than a cake.
They do look quite clever though.

Another fantastic gig. She has an amazing voice, and is just, well, really sweet and down to earth. Add to that excellent company and a great venue (I do like Vicar St, it’s intimate but not squished up), and it was a wonderful night.

I do however have a few messages for the good people in the audience.

1. To the people who insisted on clapping along to everything:
Some songs just aren’t suited to clapping - the quiet, melodic ones for example. Please shut up. Also, if you do insist on bashing your hands together to make noise over the performance, do you think that possibly, maybe, next time you could try to do it in time with the music? Maybe if you practise really, really hard before she comes to play again.

2. To the lady who sat next to me:
You smelled. I suspect this was down to your bulk. I recommend purfume, or a better deodorant. Also, if I happen to be sat next to you again, please keep your fat ass on your seat, not mine. I appreciate I’m not the largest person in the world so may not have been using the whole space, but really, it’s just not polite.

3. To the audience members who felt that they were having an open conversation with Beth Orton, and could tell the punchline to her jokes, heckle her, and generally behave like arses whenever she stopped to re-tune her guitar:
Seriously, show some respect. There’s a bit of banter between the performer and the audience, and then there’s just acting like pricks. You were the latter. You’re not funny. I don’t want to hear you.

4. To the woman sat behind me, singing:
I did not pay to hear you sing. You aren’t that good. Yes, I recognise that you know all the words - so do I, it’s not that hard. I don’t want to hear you sing. If I want to hear badly sung Beth Orton I can create my own performance in the comfort of my own home. If you have such a burning desire to perform, get a fucking record deal. Oh, sorry, what’s that you say? You can’t? Because you’re shit? Yes, that’s what I suspected.

Anyway, those are my messages. Just little things really, I had a fantastic night overall.

One finished knitted bag. I just need to finish the strap, and then felt it, so it’ll end up looking completely different to how it does here, which is a good thing, as I probably wouldn’t use it looking like it does right now.

Now, I was always going to enjoy this gig. There was no way they would disappoint me, I just knew it. And, white jeans aside, they did not.

I used to go to loads of gigs, mainly when I was a student living in Sheffield, where there were lots and lots of bands playing. I enjoyed most of them a great deal. One or two were a little disappointing, but that’s what comes of seeing bands play live, and I really shouldn’t have been suprised that Evan Dando was totally wasted and couldn’t remember the words to his songs.

Anyway, most gigs I’ve loved. Some bands/performers are good: it’s nice to see them live - there’s a great buzz about it. Some people (Bowie for example) have this awesome stage presence and energy. I’ve been to three gigs where the performers have sounded simply amazing: Lamb, Beth Orton, and now Belle and Sebastian. I generally figure that bands have the noise they make tidied up in the studio so it sounds all pretty for the cd - these guys sounded better live.

Everyone last night was just, well, nice. The band are so talented - everyone seemed to play a selection of instruments and 12 musicians all paying at once could have gone horribly wrong but didn’t, it sounded beautiful. I could have listened to them all night. They have a really broad repertoire, but even the slower songs sound cheerful on the surface, and even the faster, more disco like songs sound fucked up when you listen to the lyrics.

Anyway, go see them if you get the chance.

Ahhh, stories of posh English people in days now sadly passed. Just think, I could have been a debutante…..

I finished my wristwarmers! There are 2 of them, only the left hand one pictured.
Knitted on 5mm double pointed needles in a 1x1 rib, using Debbie Bliss Maya. The yarn is different thicknesses throughout, which affects how the stitches look together - I like it for these - wristwarmers like this are never going to look smart, so why try to make them that way?
What I really love about them is that they’re made just for me, so they fit perfectly around my tiny childish weak wrists. They’re an adaptation of Voodoo from Knitty, except the yarn is different, the measurements are different, and I used a different rib. So, I changed most of it really, but the end result is kinda similar - mine aren’t so neat and tidy, but I like them that way, they’ll go well with my battered old jeans.

Yummy. I prefer regular kitkats, but the chunky ones are good too - more of a chocolaty hit than a gradual meltyness.

Horrid, nasty, burnt coffee. That is all I could drink of it, and all I have to say on the matter.
I don’t even care that the picture is facing the wrong way. It doesn’t deserve to be corrected.

Is there any finer snack? Really? They just go so well: the crispness of the wafers, the sweet meltyness of the chocolate, the solid, comforting, safe warmth of the tea.

This actually happened by accident - I didn’t have change for the bus, so went to buy a ticket from a newsagent - I didn’t think that the one I went to sold bus tickets, so bought a kitkat to get change. Then I saw that they did sell bus tickets, but I was already holding the kitkat, so it would have been rude not to buy it, no? Later on, I was settling down to a nice cup of tea while watching CSI on dvd, and decided to have my kitkat. Well, I’d forgotten how great a combination this was. I shall be returning to it again sometime. Possibly very soon, as I only ate 3/4 of the pieces, and the other one is right here with me as I type. Mmmmm.

Went for a walk here yesterday. It was a beautiful day, and the walk is nice and gentle (and long, 7.5km). The sun was shining, it was cold but not windy, and the bag of crisps and an apple I ate after the walk made for the perfect snack.

Curly Scarf, made from Debbie Bliss Maya, 100% wool, on 6mm needles.

I like it, but it could be better, it’s a learning experience one.

I think this scarf style would be good on a fine mohair using yarn over increases rather than knitting into the back and front of one stitch.

I’ve read this many times before, it’s interesting and I like re-reading it. It’s the true story of the person that Arthur Golden based Memoirs of a Geisha on - so this has less of the exaggerated nonsensica stuff in it, but is admittedly biased from the other side, making everything out to be about beauty and art and focusing less on the high class escort side of things.
Anyway, it’s pretty interesting, and after going to see the movie of Memoirs of a Geisha last night (boring), I would recommend giving the film a miss, and sitting down with a nice cup of tea to read this instead.

A classic thriller.
The first few chapters seemed strangely familiar. Could I have read this before? It was possible, but I didn’t think so. I continued to read. More memories presented themselves, but not quite true to the book. Discussion with D helped me figure out what was going on. I’d fallen asleep watching the film version, at a friends house. (I do that a lot, fall asleep mid-film, and if I happen to be at a mates house at the time, so be it). Anyway, the good thing was I must have been dead to the world snoring my little heart out dreaming of assam tea and carrot cake served on fine white china, because I had no recollection of the ending. So, I enjoyed the book.

(I can’t remember the name ok, and the book’s in the other room, and I can’t be bothered to move, and I can’t find it on amazon)

Anyway, it was a nice little collection of short stories. I especially liked the Nick Hornby one and the Neil Gaiman one, but I’m not going to write about them, because that might spoil it for anyone who manages to decipher this and figure out what the hell I’m gibbering on about anyway.

*Update, book found thanks to Arsela Undress. You can find it here.

I finished this a week or so ago now, but have’t got around to writing it up. This was great. She wrote it between 1950 and 1965, so whenever she talks about “how things are now”, it’s really how things were 50 years ago, and she’s geerally comparing things in that present to when she grew up round the turn of the last century. So yes, it’s about growing up fairly well off in Victorian England - and how when money was short they just rented their house out and spent the summer on the continent, which was cheaper. I was really born 78 years too late.
Anyway, as well as talking about that, she also goes into detail about how she became a writer, and how she writes, where she gets her stories from, and how to go about getting stuff published. She also worked in a hospital pharmacy during the war. Oh, and was into archaeology, helping her husband dig important sites in Iraq, unearthing treasures that have no doubt been destroyed over the last couple of years.

So, quite an interesting life, and an interesting book. Oh, I loved that she knew that what she wrote was popular fiction - she didn’t try to dress it up as anything more worthy - it was what it was. So unpretentious.

My addi turbo circular needles arrived today, along with some debbie bliss maya in lovely warm colours. They arrived really quickly, and they sent me a lollipop and a pen too, making getknitted.com my official favourite online retailer.

Above is a picture of my bag. Inside my bag are needles and yarn, waiting to become wristwarmers. I’m in a cafe. By myself. And I’m embarrassed to get them out and start knitting. It’s what I’d like to be doing. I have other things to occupy my time, that’s never a problem, but I’d rather be knitting. Why is it that I’m totally comfortable taking photos of my cups of tea, but not knitting in public. I’m strange, that’s the only explanation.

This is my tea and panini at IMMA, the Irish Museum of Modern Art. It was disappointing, and my expectations were low to begin with.

Tea
The teapot held barely 1 cup. The mug didn’t belong on a saucer. If you’re going to give me a saucer, I want a cup. The milk was in a tiny little plastic glass. Why? Why not a little jug?

The Panini
Wow, this was a let down. I wanted soup, but they’d run out, so I settled for the mozzarella, tomato and basil panini, except they’d evidently run out of basil too. I declined the salads as they all looked tired and nasty.
A trend has developed in Dublin for microwaving tomato mozzarella paninis before toasting them. This is not a good trend. The bread goes doughy, the mozzarella goes stringy, and the tomatoes go mushy. A panini should be crispy. I’ve ordered toasted, flattened bread, and what I get is a microwaved roll that’s been squished by a ridged iron for a second.
IMMA would appear to be following this trend, and it’s nasty.

I find IMMA a shame. It’s a beautiful building in lovely grounds, and it should be busier. Part of this I put down to their choice of exhibitions, and general lack of things to look at. (I can appreciate space, but sometimes there can be too much space, and I’m not a fan of dvd installations and modern art that sets out to be shocking with no artisitic merit). They do seem to have a good educational programme, so that’s a start.

I do think the café needs to bear the brunt of the shame though. It’s kinda grubby, for a start. Someone also decided to put it in the basement, which is simply criminal when there’s a large, under-used courtyard just crying out for some tables and chairs. Most of the people there on Sunday were middle class parents with young children. These are people with money to spend on posh tea and cakes. There’s just no excuse.

Every time I go I think that I should really go back in the summer, with a picnic. Then I forget.

This is what I thought was green tea, in the Library Bar at the central hotel. When I drank it, it turned out to be peppermint tea. It was nice though, and I was feeling a touch queasy, so it was quite a fortuntate error (peppermint tea helps with nausea).

I was there meeting other people who knit, which was really lovely, and not nearly as scary as I was expecting. I’ll be going again. It’s a shame they only meet monthly, and on a weekend. There are two other groups in Dublin, but I can’t make it to either of them unfortunately, which is a little frustrating.

Hopefully writing the menu isn’t part of the role. (or should that be roll?)
It’s mean of me to posrt this, I know, making fun of someone’s poor spelling is cruel. However, they underlined the bit that’s wrong, as if to draw attention to it, so it’s just tough.

Whiney fucker, isn’t he?

a. When an hour after getting off the bus, you’re still feeling travel sick.
b. When you go downstairs to make yourself a cup of coffee, and come up the stairs with a cup of tea, without even realising what you’d made.

One of the penguin 70 years series of very short books, which are great for a taster or reading on the bus.
This was interesting enough - a mixture of the author’s history with shopping and useful tips.

The seventh in the excellent Sandman series.
Fabulous, of course.

This is a bag I’m knitting. I’m posting it now as it looks pretty ugly at the moment, but will be beautiful when it’s finished, and I want a record of the transformation.

Ahhh, childrens books you read as a kid: there’s just something cosy about them. And a litte bit wierd, you realise when you look back.

Spoliers ahead, but really, I don’t see the need to hide the rest of the post.

What Katy Did: Katy Carr, whose mum is dead and, along with her younger brothers and sisters is looked after by her aunt (her father is around, but he’s a man, so can’t look after them). Anyway, Katy falls off a swing and becomes laid up in bed. Then her aunt dies. Luckily, she has an invalid cousin, who tells her all about “The school of pain” where god teaches patience. She becomes a nice person and then is able to walk again. The end.

What Katy Did at School: Katy is too serious so she and her sister Clover are sent off to boarding school. They have japes. Katy, despite having founded a society against flirting and unladylike behviour, is accused of giving a note to a boy. Thanks to her hard work, sensible attitude and general responsibility, by the end of the school year the teachers decide that she probably didn’t do it. The end.

What Katy Did Next: Katy goes to Europe to help a widowed mother look after her young child. They run into Katy’s nasty cousin who is trying to catch the widow’s brother as a husband. The child almost dies. The brother realises the cousin is frivolous and selfish and falls in love with Katy. The end. (no wedding or anything) (they’re not even in the same country at the end of the book) (I mean, really, that’s supposed to be it?)

OK, so I want to keep a record of all the books I’ve read. As established previously, I’m crap at reviews, so they’ll be short or maybe even non-existent.
I enjoyed this. It was an interesting idea and very nicely done.

Christmas and New Year were great, which for me means quiet and relaxing.

I worked on Christmas eve and day, which meant I just got to do the fun things like open presents, eat delicious food and listen to carols being sung while missing the clearing up parts, which seemed like pretty clever planning to me.

Then we went back to that England to the civilised Sussex village my parents call home, where I mainly spent time sitting by the open fire, knitting or reading, slowly getting covered in dog hair. I also visited my grandma, who’s a pretty opinionated 89 year old, who spent the time giving out about her cleaning lady who does too much chatting and not enough cleaning. “She keeps telling me about her mother in law and I couldn’t give a toss.”

For new year we went to Bournemouth, which was terribly exciting. I was witness to the ‘binge drinking’, and saw lots of people wearing not enough clothes for the freezing weather. They’ll all have nasty colds now, I’ll bet. Warm coats, hats, scarves and gloves, that’s what they should have been wearing.

Anyway, my new year’s eve went as follows. Didn’t fancy eating anything served in our hotel, so went to “Coffee and more” for yummy beans on toast and tea.

The tea was good, I like having my own pot, and it was a generous portion - I got a good 2 mugs worth out of it. No picture of the beans on toast, but they were great. 2 slices of toast, with real butter on them, and exactly the right amount of beans. It was so good I had exactly the same thing again as my first breakfast of 2006.

~~~

After breakfast we headed to Studland Beach for a nice healthy bracing walk. By healthy and bracing, I mean, freezing and very, very wet. It wasn’t at first, but the weather hit quickly and we were drenched. It was great though, can’t beat a walk on the beach in the rain. My only complaint was that I had been promised the sight of some nudists, and I was let down.

They must have all been hiding in the dunes.

Anyway, there’s nothing better after a brisk walk in the rain than visiting a warm country pub (or in this case, The Manor House Hotel) for a cup of tea and some cheese and pickle sandwiches.

The tea was Twinings Assam, and it came with an extra pot of hot water, which I approve of wholeheartedly. The whole experience could only have been improved by a milk jug, instead of those horrid little cartons. Anyway, the company was great and I warmed up considerably, so I was very happy.

I did write this explanation before, but blogsome crashed and it got lost, which annoyed me greatly, especially as the post was a minor rant about blogsome in the first place.

When I post pictures from flickr, or blog from my phone, blogsome adds a \ before each ” which messes with the code, breaks the link, and makes it look like I can’t type for shit.

I’ve known about this for a while, so any pictures you’ve seen up here I’ve gone in and corrected the code manually. For the time being, there will be a delay between my posting a pic from my phone and being able to get to the internets to sort it out.

The problem appears to be the blogsome is using an old version of Wordpress. There have been a couple of wordpress updates since, which have rectified this, but the guys who run blogsome don’t seem to be upgrading. Or, for that matter, explaining to all the people in the forums if and when they intend on upgrading. This is fair enough I suppose, given that the hosting is free, but there are lots of other free blogging sites around, and Wordpress have started their own now.

Soon, I shall be moving to a new home all of my very own, so I’m going to stick with blogsome until then. In the mean time, you’ll just have to be patient with the links.

I’ve learned how to knit in the round, which means in a circle, all in one go, so you can make socks and the like. I’m great, me. (Thanks to mum for showing me how and d for calming me down when i lost my temper with it). Now i’m going to to unravel this and start on a bag instead.

Served with warm apple juice. Delicious, spicy and very tasty. Warming and festive, a great alternative to hot port for the winter months. Plus the alcohol makes being home that little bit easier.

Mmmm, spicy tomato wheat crunchies

Testing blogging from my new camera phone. Here are some baubles that have fallen off the tree.

I missed the last train tonight, so had to get the bus home, which is ok as there’s less of a walk the other end, but takes longer, so I was home about half an hour later for the sake of the 5 minutes extra I was stuck in the office that made me miss the train, but anyway, that’s off the point.

I was sitting on the top deck, left hand side, about half way down the bus.
The guy on the seat in front of me was eating an apple.
As we were driving along the quays, he finished the apple, and threw the core out of the window.

Now, I’m all for disposing of apple cores somewhere they can break down naturally. I’ve been known to throw them in bushes, leave them in flowerbeds and throw them out of car windows into fields. However. From the top deck of the bus? Dropped on to the road? What about cyclists? I’d be pretty pissed off if an apple core dropped on my head as I was cycling home. (not that I do actually cycle anywhere you understand, but I could if I wanted to).

We went to see King Kong last night and it was fantastic. Peter Jackson really knows how to make a good movie. I loved how everything was of its time – he didn’t modernise it in any way.

Anyway, it was rated 12A, which means that kids under 12 should have an adult with them, but it’s recommended for people 12 and older.

To me, a film about a woman and her love for a large monkey screams ‘adult content’ and it’s not something I’d take a young child along to. Narnia was on in the screen next door, which has the same rating but is made by Disney, and therefore contains little scariness and no blood (see Elimare for more details). Much more suitable for a young child. Basically, King Kong features an emotional storyline that’s waaay too boring for kids, and scary monsters, like giant insects and killer worms with teeth. So, when the person sat behind us with her 6 year old, or the guy a few seats back with 3 kids that cannot have been older than 5, went to buy their tickets, would it not have been prudent for the ticket seller so say to them: “Actually, you know sir/madam, this movie isn’t really suitable for such young children. Instead, I could recommend …., now showing in screen 4”

I get so tired of going to see films and seeing tiny kids there, either dumped by their parents or brought along with them. Not only is in not fair on the kids (I know that at least one child must have woken up screaming last night at 1am having dreamed they were being eaten by bugs), but it’s not fair on me, the adult cinema goer. Kids get scared, they get tired, they get bored, and they need to go out to pee. The 6 year old behind us was terrified, so his mother had to keep making light of everything with a cheery voice giving commentary. “There now, it’s just like Halloween, isn’t it.” etc. That got really, really annoying.

I think parents need to cop the fuck on about what they’re taking their kids to, but I also think that cinemas need to take some responsibility for the business they run. It’s not like there aren’t enough kids films out there to keep the small ones amused. Plus I’m sure kids eat more sweet crap when they’re not scared shitless.

/rant.

It’s very exciting. I didn’t used to like Christmas, for various reasons that I’m not going to go into. I kind of do now most of the time. I don’t this afternoon, but that’s mainly for similar reasons to not liking it before, so I’m not getting into those either.

Anyway, we have our tree, and I’m delighted with it.

This is the fairy on the top. I think she’s great. She was a Christmas present.

These are the pom poms I randomly decided to make from embroidery thread the other day. I’m not sure why, I just had a sudden craving to make pom poms, and some thread handy. I wasn’t sure what to do with them so I’ve made them into decorations. I’ve been humoured for them, and laughed at for them, but I like them.

Tea, from Harrods. Because I’m posh really.

I wanted to write a review of this, as it was fantastic, but I’m hopeless at reviewing books. I like reading them too much. I used to get in trouble at school for that - we had these books where we were supposed to read a story then answer questions about it, and I never answered the questions, just read the stories. I seem to remember my mum being called in over that one, but it might have been part of my general attitude problems that year. I was told off for reading the Trebizon books as they were apparantly too old and not suitable for a 9-10 year old. Im not quite sure what’s not suitable about tea and crumpets but I think there may have been boys in these too. Instead I was supposed to read Danny the Champion of the World. Don’t get me wrong, that’s an excellent book. However, at that point I’d read it many, many times and could practically recite it from memory. I was just a precocious reader I guess, and boarding school books offered valuable escapism.

Anyway, I digress. I was thinking about reviewing books on here, as I read a lot, and I’d like to keep track of what I’ve read. However, as I’m not good at actual useful proper reviews, I think I shall write very short, uninformative reviews, just stating what I thought of the book for the record.

This book: Excellent, engaging, interesting, well written, great characters. My only complaint is that the damn thing was so heavy. It hurt my (weak, girly) wrists to read it for too long, especially in the bath when I had to hold it out of the water.

Been busy, working, housework (not that you’d notice, just that with all the working it’s been a bit neglected), knitting, and watching CSI. I think I’m becoming addicted to CSI and knitting. I’m a very slow knitter though. I want to get some double pointed needles and learn how to knit in the round. I want to make myself some leg warmers and wrist warmers (strictly for wearing around the house of course). I’m not fast enough to tackle a big project like a jumper yet.

Anyway, yet another aplogy for the lack of posting. Must try harder.
Sigh.

Situated on the quays, a short walk from bus and rail stations, and, importantly, the office, Dooleys is now officially my favourite work related hotel.

It was lovely. The staff were unbelievably polite and friendly, in a genuine way too, not a fake, “It’s company policy that I smile at you” sort of way.

The room was big, with a desk and a side table and chairs, there was tea and coffee there (not an option in one of the hotels I stay at). The bed was big and comfy, and there was a nice thick blanket too so I was warm. There was a bath in the bathroom, not just a shower, and there was plenty of hot water. It was all big and clean.

I needed to do some work in my room, and it was really lovely to work in - there was proper lighting, so I could see everything, there were plugs by the desk, and there was wireless internet if I’d needed that. You had to pay for that though, would have been nice if it was free.

My only tiny complaint was about the breakfast. The food was ok, the tea came in a good sized silver teapot, which was lovely. However, I had to listen to the person in charge of breakfasts giving out to the poor waitress, which is never nice to hear (and seems to happen in a lot of hotels). My biggest complaint thuogh, was the music. Why, over breakfast, should I have to listen to “mambo number 5″, “the macarena” and what sounded like the 1996 Maltese eurovision entry? I gave up on my tea and book, and went back to my room.

In other news I currently dislike my job immensley and want to leave. I don’t care if someone from work reads this. It’s making me miserable.

Well, that’s perhaps a little strong. However, I passed this year study wise. I’m very proud of myself, and very happy, especially as I didn’t think the work I handed in was as good as it should have been.

If I wanted to stop right now I would have a postgraduate diploma in the social sciences. I’m not stopping though, so I have 1 more year to go to get my Msc Pschology. 2/3 of the way through.
Yay for me. I rock.

Tonight I referred to a PDA as a ‘yoke’.

‘Grand’ I picked up fairly quickly.
I’m not sure what I used to say instead of ‘yer man’.
I occasionally go ‘asleep’ instead of ‘to sleep’.
I have been known to utter ‘amn’t I’, not ‘aren’t I’, but I’m not happy about it.

This is one step too far.

The new series of ER started last night. I was disappointed. I should have stopped watching a few years ago, but just haven’t, and, well, it’s just not as good as it used to be. I just don’t care about any of the characters any more. Neela made a new person cry yesterday and I was glad. Then she felt bad, and I was glad about that too. Glad and annoyed.

I was never really that into ER, I didn’t get what all the fuss was about, but when I moved back to the UK from New Zealand I was unemployed and depressed, and Channel 4 was showing 2 episodes of the seasons 1&2 each morning starting at about 11am. I’d wake up, make a cup of tea, go back to bed and watch that (in between the frequent bouts of crying and general self-pitying that went on at that point). I got quite into it.

Anyway, that time thankfully didn’t last too long; I pulled myself together and left the country again, which made me a great deal happier. The damage was done though: I was hooked on ER.

Somehow over the last few seasons they’ve managed to get rid of all the decent characters. Or the stuff that made them interesting.
Luka was all tortured and tormented and a bit of a bastard and therefore attractive. Now he just moons over Sam and wants babies.
Sam was interesting at first. I wanted her to sort stuff out. Now I’m tired of her constant whining and self-pitying.
Abbey has kicked the drink, her nuts mum & brother are out of the picture and she’s just getting on with things. I don’t mind that too much, she’s the only character that I’ve even slightly bought in to.
Susan Lewis is now dull - where’s her sister when you need her to liven things up a bit?
Neela is just annoying and I want to slap the telly whenever she appears.
Ray is boring. There’s only so long you can wait for him to decide he wants to be a rock star and not a doctor. I’m getting tired of it. Make a decision man!
Pratt is all responsible and just getting on with it. No longer the talented one who just won’t play by the rules. Yawn.
Morris hasn’t had his come uppance yet. I’m getting tired of waiting.
Darlene from Roseanne is playing Darlene from Roseanne just with less of the attitude that made her a good character.

And that’s it. That’s all we have left. I don’t care about any of them.

So. The big question is this: WHY CAN’T I STOP WATCHING IT? For the love of god, why? I want my Sunday nights back.

Good point made in comment in post below.

Chocolate chip cookie recipe. Adapted slightly from one I was given by a friend who makes very delicious things. Recipe given is my slight adaptation (for squidgyness), I will provide ref for original if anyone would like it.

Ingredients
2 eggs
225g / 8oz soft brown sugar
100g / 4oz granulated sugar
225g / 8oz softened butter.
500g / 1¼ lb self raising flour
½ tsp salt
2 tsp vanilla essence
3 tsp cocoa powder (optional)
250-450g /8oz-1lb solid chocolate, roughly chopped

Oven
Preheat oven to 190C/375F/GM5.

Instructions
Beat together eggs, sugar, and butter.
Fold in the flour, salt, baking powder, vanilla and cocoa (if using).
Add chocolate chips.
Make into walnut sized balls and flatten slightly
Place on greased baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes.

Your secret santa instructions are in the post.

You are each buying 2 gifts, so you will each receive 2 gifts. Cost approx £10-15 on each person.

I like tea.

(and other hot beverages)

I seem to have misplaced a couple of books.

If I lent anyone my textbook on Abnormal Psychology, or my Introduction to Psychology textbook, could you let me know, I could do with them back.

Cheers

T&C

On my way to work today I decided to start my pre-christmas shopping - window shopping to get an idea of what I might buy people.
I went into Fat Face.
I fell in love with lots of things. All for me, not for other people. It’s 2 days before payday, I have a rather large credit card bill, and I’m only allowed to buy Christmas presents for other people in December.
I left Fat Face.
*sigh*

Then I spent €30 on tofu. It didn’t make me feel much better.

Feijoa Vodka and cranberry juice in my favourite martini glass.

Tangy, slightly sweet but not too much – slightly sharp too. You can taste the booze: a good quality in any drink, I always feel.

Drunk while slouched in front of the tv, knitting, while wearing my comfy, in the house only clothes. I know the drink deserves better, but this is what makes me feel good.

Today I have relaxed. I’ve done lots of washing. I’ve watched telly. I’ve knitted. I’ve drunk tea. I haven’t left the house. I haven’t done any work. I haven’t been stressed. It’s been fab. (I haven’t started drinking during the day either, delicious though this would have been for breakfast. It’s an evening thing)

Another work trip. As I’ve been relieved of the car I was looking after, my train journeys will become even more frequent. This time I was returning from Drogheda, a trip that my local train station attendant had refused to sell me ticket for, as “I don’t know how much it costs”. I’ve seen this guy lose his temper before, screaming blue murder at a mother and her young daughter one morning, for trying to buy two tickets, so I wasn’t going to push it. The nice girl at Connolly sorted it out for me though. (Note to self: must write that complaint/thanks letter).

Anyway, back to the tale.

They got on at Balbriggan. Three of them, two girls and a boy. I wasn’t quite sure, but I think that he was the brother of one girl and the boyfriend of the other. Maybe they were all just very close. Cousins perhaps. It would certainly explain things. The blank, featureless faces of the simpletons they were. Some genes went wrong somewhere along the line.

One of the girls didn’t want to sit by me. I know this because the other girl (we’ll call her “Diamante”) and the boy sat opposite me, and the first girl (we’ll call her Glossal) looked at me, took in my unfashionable warm clothing (trousers, practical shoes, thick coat and scarf), the fact I was reading a book and wore no make up, and declared “I don’t want to sit here, lets go somewhere else”. Which was just dandy by me.

Off they went down the train, which was obviously filling up by now as they returned after a few minutes, and sat down with me again.
(more…)

So, I’ve quit nano. It got to Saturday night, after work: I was exhausted, and realised that I could either spend the next two days (my weekend) writing like a maniac to try and catch up the 27,500 words I was behind, or I could spend them relaxing and doing the other things I needed to do. Quitting won. Here’s my justification.

a) 27,500 words behind schedule. 41,500 to write.
b) Before November is out I will have worked 3 more late nights and had one overnight trip out of town, that I wouldn’t be able to write on.
c) I really, really needed to get some washing and cleaning done.
d) I want to spend time knitting.
e) I was super stressed anyway, it was making me sick, so taking away the stress that could be taken away seemed like a good plan.
f) I didn’t like my story that much. It wasn’t any good. I know I have a tendency to think that about stuff I write, but I just didn’t like where this was going. It was all too predictable and Maeve Bincheyish. I may go back to it sometime.
g) Hell, I’m just a quitter. I could have told you all that from the beginning.

So, I feel pretty crap about giving in. Really crap in fact. Like you do when you’ve accidentally eaten a whole carrot cake in the middle of a diet just because it was there. I don’t feel good about myself for it.

Anyway. I’ve written another couple of posts so that this will get buried. If you need to comment on anything, comment on those, don’t feed my self pity or give me sympathy: I really don’t deserve it, there’s only one person to blame for this and I know who she is. She has a penchant for gin, vodka, tea and cakes.

Blatantly stealing the idea from Elimare
There has been a big lack of posting recently for various reasons. This is what’s going on.

1. I’m working like a maniac. It will be worth it next year, but I’m not looking forward to the next few months, and I’m going to have to be very clear with the powers that be about how much of this I can keep on doing.

2. I have failed miserably to keep in touch with any of my friends. Sorry.

3. My neice’s birthday present is still at home, not in the post where it should be. Too late now, but I shall try to post it tomorrow.

4. I’m only at 8500 words on nano. About 20,000 behind target. I’m not giving in. I’m taking Monday off. Hopefully tomorrow afternoon too, but I tried that last Friday and worked 12 hours instead.

5. I haven’t been knitting nearly enough. Knitting makes me calm. I should knit more.

6. I have failed miserably at categorising my beverages this last while. I intend to rectify this. Just not yet.

7. I’m trying (and failing miserably at this too) to stop eating cake. Writing about the cake I’ve eaten would just make it real. If I don’t write about it, I didn’t really eat it. Then I can try and kid myself I ate something healthy instead. Like blueberries (muffin) and carrots (cake) yesterday, and healthy healthy, erm, chocolate (cake) today. No redeeming features there I’m afraid. I did have a proper dinner tonight though too. Mmmm, Tesco microwave meals. Euchk. I can still taste it.

Some kind spammer has decided to wind up middle class sussex with a chain email.

It promises a £60 voucher (yes, that is pounds, not euros) to anyone who sends the email to ten other people, copying the email to j.sainsbury @customerservices.com.

The first time I received it I ignored it.
The second time I replied to my mother explaining that it was spam.
The fifth time I replied to my brother (who works in IT and should know better) explaining again that it was spam, and that he should know better.
Today I received it twenty times. Yes, you read that right. Twenty.

These emails are coming from my mother’s friends. People I need to be nice to. People who may read this, who knows? People who use email to forward each other amusing things.

I’d had enough. Politely, but firmly (in hindsight perhaps a little too firmly, but these people need to learn), I explained that this was junk mail, that Sainsburys are unlikely to give away free money in this manner, and that the email address that it was supposed to be copied to does not in any way relate to Sainsburys, ending as it does in customerservices.com

I also pointed out that as I do not live in a country that has Sainsburys, the whole thing was wasted on my anyway.

I didn’t get into the fact that I’m not particularly happy about my email address being forwarded around and copied to junk mail websites, as in fairness, that’s pretty much all my hotmail address is good for anyway. Now, I’m regretting that, I think it could have been a valuable opportunity to educate them in privacy and internet good manners.

*sigh*

The shops are filled with Christmas decorations.
The tv is filled with ads for mum jazz and cd box sets.

But now, the final straw - Fairytale of New York was just played on the radio. It’s surely only a matter of days before Slade’s Merry Christmas rears it’s ugly head.

3872 words, running behind target.
A migraine and work set me back.
Fingers crossed for weekend productivity.

Pics from Provence here, in completely random order at the moment.

Ok, I’m calm now about work. Everything’s ok really, I just needed to vent. Venting is good.

Tomorrow I’m off to France, to relax, drink hot chocolate and wine and eat croissants and cheese, not all together naturally. I shall also be knitting, as I’m finding myself addicted to it, and hopefully writing as part of nanowrimo. Trouble is, I’m without a plot at the moment. I have a few ideas kicking around, but nothing’s jumping out at me right at the moment. I suspect that when I relax a bit more things’ll start moving again.

Oh, one more thing: I am now referenced on the interestingly named arseburgers website. Excellent. Delicious, delicious crisp sandwiches.

Bye for now, T&C

The carriage was quiet at first. Just me, my cappuccino and my book.
Then the old ladies came. Some alone but most in pairs, they shuffled along the aisle, halting every few steps to regain their balance, dragging their bags on wheels behind them. There was a chill in the air: the train heating is only on during the summer months, and the frail bodies of the elderly ladies did little to alleviate the cold. If one person is supposed to give out the warmth of a heater, these were malfunctioning single bar electric ones.

(more…)

I just bought 28 pairs of knitting needles for €10 inc. postage.
12 are coloured plastic which I will probably re-sell.
16 are vintage coloured aluminium, which are the ones I wanted. There are a few duplicate sizes, I may re-sell a few of these.

I’m very excited. I hope this doesn’t become a habit.

When I was living in New Zealand I drank quite a lot of a yummy local vodka called 42 Below. (delicious with a dash of lime and some soda water).
I also developed a taste for a yummy fruit called a Feijoa, a South American native that’s pretty hard to describe I’m afraid - I’ve tried before, and failed. Suffice to say that it’s delicious and I’ve found them in this hemisphere once (at a farmers market).
Imagine my joy today when I found that The Celtic Whiskey Shop stocks 42 Below vodka, and they’ve brought out a feijoa flavour. It’s very feijoa-ey. The glass you see above has a mixture of vodka and fizzy water. It’s delicious. Nice and strong.
Mmmmm. Booooze.

So I finally got my hot port. (at 9.30pm rather than 10.30am, a much more respectable time of day to be drinking).
It was warming and spicy (thanks to the cloves) and not too sweet (no sugar added). It’s the perfect drink for a winter’s evening and I expect to be drinking it a lot more.

Shot of port
Slice of lemon with 4-6 cloves stuck into it
Hot water
Brown sugar / honey to taste

Mmmmmm.
I’ve been craving one since 10.30am. Is that wrong?

A new invention that I can see many, many possibilities for.
Mainly involving hot beverages.
A kettle that you can switch on by text message.

Imagine - you wake up in the morning, text the kettle, and by the time you make it into the kitchen you’re halfway towards the morning cuppa. Brilliant.

I do, however, see a few problems with it:
Firstly - a little part of me can’t help but think that this is a similar idea to the teasmade, a wonderful thought but one that doesn’t actually get used.
Secondly - what if someone had been at the kettle before you texted it and had used all the water?
Thirdly - I fear that it would result in a massive increase in my phone bill.

Maybe I don’t really want one.

I finished it!
OK, I started it last winter. (well, spring really, to be fair to myself). However, I made it all with my own fair hands and I deserve to be proud.
Next it’s a dishcloth or some socks, not sure which yet. Depends on finding the right yarn, there are no good wool shops in Dublin.
(hmmm, note to self, maybe Dublin needs a good wool shop)

Delicious apple spice tea. Not too sweet, was a tea, not a “fruit infusion”. Nice glass too, although the saucer was unneccessary.
Theatre was excellent.
Bewleys is a great location for that sort of thing too - intimate, with a sort of french cafe type feel to it (that might just be the type of chair), and any theatre that serves me tea I can drink during the performance is fine by me.

Recovering bulimic?
Miss the bittersweet taste of stomach acid?

When I was at primary school we were taken on many school trips to Amberley Chalk Pits, now called Amberley Working Museum. I only vaguely remember it, so decided it would be a great place to go and visit on the last trip home.

It was great. In an eccentric English way. Completely nuts in other words.

The printing room had loads of old (and working) printing machines and typesetting stuff.
There was a telephone exchange where you could ring a phone the other side of the room and watch the machinery connect you.
There was a wood turner.
The radio and communications display had a guy sat in a booth with a ham radio, listening to another guy talking in Conneticut. He was very pleased about this. Amazed in fact. I feigned interest (hi Lucy) but I think he saw through me, and if I could have heard his inner thoughts I’m sure he would have been muttering something to himslf about young people and the internet and no respect.
There’s a big collection of old buses at Amberley, and a working train line.
The walking stick maker was off that day, but the clay pipe maker was in, making his clay pipes and telling us all about them.
The elecricity display was cool - they had a medical section with home ECT machines.

The kinda sad thing about it was that it’s staffed by volunteers, who are all about 80 now and, well, a little bit odd. I’m not sure what will happen when they start dropping off.

The main draw for me is that part of A View To A Kill was filmed there. It plays the Zorin Enterprises mine. I remember being very impressed by that as a child, although it did make the suspention of disbelief a bit tricky when I watched the film. The thing is, in any other struggling museum that had been used as a film set, you’d see the whole area dedicated to it, with a life sized Roger Moore manequinn and all. At Amberley, they put the railway tracks back to where they should be, let everything grow over so it looks nothing like it any more, and try to forget about the whole thing. Well, that’s not strictly true: There was a poster display about it. Literally. A poster made up of a couple of press cuttings glued on to a large piece of cardboard. It was quite sweet really.

Anyway, all in all it was a lovely place to spend an afternoon. The only thing that let it down was the cafe. I had high hopes for a good pot of tea and some homemade cake. The photo of the best they could do is below. It speaks for itself. I’ll bring a real picnic next time.

From my weekend at home.
I promised.
They were really good.
Light and crispy and held the gravy in.
Not that I had gravy, but if I’d chosen to start eating meat products, damn, they would have held that gravy well.

ok, that’s the bed and board covered.

So, I’m at the parental home at the moment, and I’m cleaning out yet more crap from my bedroom. This is the reason I’m currently wearing a home made tiara, but that’s a bit of an aside. Primarily it’s involved throwing away cassettes - Smash Hits ‘89, Kylie (By Kylie), Jason Donovan’s Ten Good Reasons (2 copies for some reason) etc etc. There’s also a few rare photos of me from the fat phase of my teenage years. I’m thinking of bringing at least one of the pictures back home with me as an incentive to keep off the pies.

Anyway, in amongst all the stuff I found my old brownie badges. There was a frog, for swimming; a cagelike thing, which I think was fire safety; a zebra crossing, for road safety; a red cross, for first aid (I cheated on the test and made the girl I was putting into the recovery position get there herself, don’t suffer a medical emergency around me, I’m no good) and then a saucepan, a broom, and a cup and saucer - it would appear that home-making was very much the focus of the brownies in the ’80’s. I have no idea what the current brownie badges involve, but I hope things have moved on somewhat.

I’ve kept the cup of tea one, it’s the only one I can quite safely say I am still deserving of.

So, I’m at home at the moment, which means that the Saturday Telegraph is there to be looked at. A catalogue came free with it - one of those innovations type ones - Easylife lifestyle solutions.
Here’s a selection of the products.

Dog bark control collar - to control your dog’s barking in just 3 weeks.
Briquette maker - recycle old newspapers into free heat
Super mini ear - micro sized hearing amplifier
Knee relief - support and relief for the weak-kneed
Nordic slippers - warm feet for everyone!
Bath grab bar - get in and out of the bath with ease
Bunion corrector - correct bunions while you sleep

Now, mixed in with these, so you wouldn’t notice them, not in a seperate section for the over 40’s only, are:
Natura-viga - enhance sexual performance, vigour and vitality
Vigel - Girls, enhance your sexual experience!
Sex for the over 40’s videos - can making love get better with age? - It’s true!
Breast lifts (8 pairs) - Perky bustline you had when you were young
Vacum pump - Stronger/larger erections

I’m disturbed. It’s going to take me a while to get over this.

..and it’s not me for once.

She sits down next to me. With her headphones on.
I’m sat there, ignoring her.

Crazy lady: “Have you ever seen a cheatah?”
Teaandcakes: “no, have you?” (Damn, shouldn’t have asked back, stupid work habits)
CL: “yes”

A few seconds pass. I look out of the window.

CL: “Fastest animal in the world, they say”
T: “Hmm, so I’ve heard. What do you think?” (Dammit! Shut up shut up shut up)
CL: “Oh, I wouldn’t know, I’m not one”

A few more seconds pass. I look down at my bag.
Perhaps I should have got my book out, but it was only
a short journey.

CL: “I wouldn’t like to be a cheatah.”
T: “No, neither would I” (I’m learning at this point, I stopped myself from asking why not)
CL: “I like being a human”
T: “Me too.”

Crazy lady gets off bus.
Teaandcakes wonders about the world.

I’ve a lot more to see..

create your own visited countries map

Shiver me timbers ye lily-livered scallywags, I’ll be making ye walk the plank.
“Pieces of eight”
Shut up polly.
Yarrr!

Oh thank jebus I’ve finished this course, my final assigment is in, I just need to sit back and wait for the results in December.
I’m so tired it hasn’t hit me that I have my life back until I start the next one in february. And assuming I pass, in a year’s time I’ll have an Msc. Go me! I rock!
Sorry, came over all American there for a sec. Excuse me.

From tomorrow I shall be back into the real world and important things like reviewing cups of tea.
(Todays was a cup of red fruit tea in the Dublin writers museum cafe while I was waiting for a meeting to start. It was a lovely mug - kid of like a giant white cup and saucer that was pleasingly shaped and held just the right amount of said hot beverage.)

In the mean time I shall return to reading. I haven’t read a book in over a week, damn essay hanging over my head. I’ve done plenty of sudoku puzzles, but that’s just my current study-avoidance strategy (sadly the obsessive cleaning one of my college days has gone).
Oh, and knitting some more. Maybe baking too. I’ve been receiving shortbread demands from the office.
Right now though, it’s a nice hot bath with a book. I was up until 3am finishing said essay and up again this morning for work at 7.15, so I’m very tired and not full of interesting, witty and clever observances tonight.

Arrrr me hearties, there be buckles in need of swashing. Right now I’ve another 600 words of my essay to write, so I’ll be battening down the hatches and getting back to it.

In the mean time here’s a quiz to help you find your pirate name.

Farewell for now land-lubbers,

Dirty Grace Rackham
Arrr!

1. So when I throw tea over myself when I’m driving in the morning, it doesn’t show up.

I’m not much of a drinker. Actually, that’s not true, I love booze, from a fruity pimms on a summer evening, to a long cool gin and tonic, to a hot whisky in winter, to a nice strong martini after work. What I should say, is that I don’t drink very often, because I get horrific hangovers. Awful ones. I can’t do anything. I tried to get up and do things on Saturday, but it just wasn’t happening. I spent the day sleeping on the sofa, occasionally waking to see if I could eat or drink anything, discovering that I couldn’t and going back to sleep. I made it to the pub in the evening for drinks with friends though. I had a cup of tea.

So, with Saturday gone I was left with one day of my weekend. Today we viisted a friend and had delicious buttery crumbly scones with butter and home made damson jam. They were wonderful. That was followed by a walk in the park, then home for some frantic house cleaning, then tea with other friends.

It’s been nice.

I’m not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow though. Spending one day of the precious, precious weekend sick means that Monday feels like it’s come along all too quickly.

I haven’t had chocolate all week.
I’m eating a Cadbury’s whole nut.

Fuck me it’s good.

Scene: Tuesday morning, telephone conversation.
Players: Teaandcakes (T), a mild mannered tea lover. Co-worker (C), see rant below for description.

C: “So, can you come up to the office to show me how to do my job?”
T: “Yes, ok, when?”
C: “Would Friday be ok?”
T: Checks diary. “Yes, ok, I’ll check the train times and email you”

T checks train times and sends email to confirm - “See you Friday at 11am at the train station.”

Wednesday
T spends whole day correcting mistakes in C’s work.

Thursday
T spends whole day correcting mistakes in C’s work, while also arranging training for Friday and organising the training she’s giving in another office on Saturday. Discovers that she can borrow a car, but will have to go into the office in the morning to collect it and finalise insurance details.

Scene: Friday morning, telephone conversation.
Background: T has rushed around all morning, buying essential stationery for C as she knows that C has ignored previous requests to do this herself, and organising the car.
T: “Hi C, just ringing to say I’ve borrowed a car, so you don’t need to meet me at the station, I’m leaving right now, should be with you at 11.”
C: Long pause. “Today?”
T: “Yes, today”.
C: “But I can’t today, I have someone with me until 2, I thought you were coming up next Friday.”
T: Silence.

~~~~~~~~

So I’m in my office instead today. Which actually works out better, I only lose 2 days this week to her stuff rather than 3.
I’m just glad I was able to get the car. Otherwise I’d have arrived at the station at 11 am after and hour and a half travelling with nobody to meet me and no work to do.

Built with this Comic Strip Generator

We have curtains!
They’re fab.
Now it’ll be really obvious when I’m spying on the neighbours.

Oh dear.
Now, I wasn’t expecting a work of cinematic genius. I’d read some reviews. I knew it wasn’t going to be bad, but in reality it was really, really awful.
Apparantly the Macedonians all had Irish accents. One can only presume that Colin Farrell wasn’t up to a neutral accent so evryone else had to fit around him. I kept expecting Brendan Gleeson to pop up. The accents made it hard to suspend disbelief, which would have been a useful skill for accepting Angelina Jolie (age 29) as Colin Farrell’s (age 28) mother. I like Angelina usually, but she wasn’t right for the job.
The movie didn’t shy away from the gay thing, which could have been a redeeming feature, except that they were so self conscious about it it was cringeworthy. Like an uncle trying to be down with the kids. I wouldn’t have been suprised if Aristotle had turned to face the camera to speak to the audience: “Yes, I’m talking about the man love you know.” I almost wish I’d been in the cinema to see how it played with Irish teenage audiences. Still, at least that part was historically accurate. Better than Troy’s “He’s my cousin. We’re cousins. Yes, I love him, it’s because he’s my cousin. Cousin.”
The storyline was all over the place, it kept jumping forwards and backwards in time, the length of Colin’s ridiculous hair the only guide to whre you were. Oh, and a note that I presume only relates to the directors cut: My weekend would have been just dandy without the shot of Colin’s testicles.
My final comments on the film: My, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and Jared Leto are pretty. If only I was a gay man. Or their cousin…

1. Popeye. It’s all in the voice. Especially the laugh.
2. Jimmy Saville. Voice again. Especially the “now then, now then” stuff.
3. Peter Mandelson’s hands. They just do.
4. Benny Hill. I don’t need to explain this one, do I?

Delicious whittards tea, served black, in the Arabia cup and saucer I bought in Finland.
A lovely way to start the day, along with a Sudoku puzzle to get my brain warmed up.

So it’s public and there can be no claims that I’ve never said this:

Box up all the crap in my bedroom and put it in the loft. I will go through it when I am home. There is plenty of space in the loft, and contrary to what you think, there is only a box or two of my stuff up there at the moment. If you think there is more, then please find them, put them together and I will throw most of it out.

So, the cure for my extreme annoyance would appear to be doing the part of my job I like best.
I don’t want to write about what I do on here, but anyone reading this knows what it is and yesterday was heaps and heaps of fun.

Sometimes my anger does scare me a bit though. I got it under control at university (I used to really flip out), but it does come out now and then (Twice in the last year I think) - mainly out of frustration with other people. What’s kinda worrying is that I really felt the need to lash out and hurt the other day - emotionally, not physically, but hell, the difference is that I can probably hurt more effectively emotionally. Thing is, I know who I get this trait from. And that I really don’t like.

OK, from tomorrow I’m going back to chirpier posts about plants and gardening and nice things to drink and eat.

I’m getting another free toni & guy haircut next week. Not for an exam or anything, just for practice. The guy got my name of the other person. This is fab.

Following those two, anyone got any ideas on how to calm down? Rescue remedy didn’t work, and it’s too late and I can’t be bothered to go do exercise.

See, tomorrow is the day the a level results are out in the uk. One of my half brothers will be getting his results, and finding out where he gets to go to college. It’s not going to be a big suprise, he’s going to have done really well, he’s super intelligent. The thing is, I’m not in touch with them. I’m happy about that, I don’t want to be around them and see the positive reaction to his results and compare that to how things are with me. But I’ve no problem with him, I’d like to be able to congratulate him. I know I will, in a month or so, when he’s off at college and I won’t cause ructions by being in touch.
It just got me thinking that it’s a bit sad really. But even the thought of going back into that part of my family makes me tense and stressed out. I didn’t think it would at this point. I’m guessing it’ll get easier.
Really, I think my hormones are just playing up and making me think too much about things I shouldn’t worry about.

OK, so I’ll admit it in writing: I like watching big brother. I like watching people, always have, so watching a load of attention seeking people locked up in a fishbowl togetherbeing made to perform a series of tasks for the amusement of the braying public much like performing monkeys, is, well, something that appeals to me.
I’m not going to go into any sort of description of the programme etc, save this - I wanted Eugene to win and I didn’t believe Anthony when he said he wouldn’t have taken the money.
For those not familar with this years contestants, read what Charlie Brooker had to say about them. He’s much better than me.

Anyway, I was flicking through the tellybox earlier, before giving in and having a bath instead, and I caught some of a “What they’ve been doing since they were evicted show”. I don’t think we’ll be hearing from any of them soon. My reasoning:
Mary: Would like to be an actress. When her publicity person asked her what experience she had she stated that she’s met Neil Jordan. Said publicity person then set her up a meeting with an agent, who said of himself “We never turn any possibility down”. The discerning agent then. He sees Mary as “The next mystic meg”. From the look on her face I think she was hoping for the next kate winslet.
Sam: Her goal is to set up a female lads mag, with pictures of semi naked blokes in it. Cosmopolitan, Company et al must have passed her by. And the whole “ladette” culture explosion. Wish I knew how she missed it, would have been a useful talent. She also claims to have been a feminist all her life. One who spends most of her time in high heels and a bikini and had a boob job. Right.
Lesley: Lesley wants to be a singer. We watched her cut a demo. My word, that was one talented sound engineer. I predit a brief chart sucess with the single, then it’s on to the cruise boats and off the telly.
Maxwell and Saskia: We didn’t see either of these guys with a publicist - I’m guessing that neither of them has any talents to attract the attentions of a publicist. Well, apart from Saskia’s obvious ones, but Maxwell didn’t like the idea of her getting them out, and it’s not clear if she’s told him that she already did. Anyway, we saw Maxwell meeting Saskia’s family for the first time in the local pub. He walks in, shouting “What, no round of applause”, to deathly silence. It’s all covered up and everyone’s soon drunk and happy, Maxwell and Saskia (who looked like she’s been punched in both eyes with turquoise eyeshadow) singing along on the kareoke machine to Kylie and Jason’s duet. Lets just hope they break up before they breed.

Erm, sorry about that, been busy. It’s ok though, I realised that it doesn’t actually matter, my motivation for this isn’t to have lots of readers, I don’t really like attention.

This blog is number 15 in a google search for “feminine freshness”.
Brilliant.

So, yesterday my hair was cut short. I really like it. It was cut by a trainee for her final exam, so she spent ages on it, longer then anyone has before. Then she put loads of goop in it and made it look all big, but now I like it. Best of all, it was all free! If I’d have realised there were people out there willing to cut my hair for free I would have been getting it cut more often. I may have t if I stay with the very short look.

Anyway, next week is the exam presentation, so I have to get all dressed up in a posh dress and someone’s going to do my make up and stuff.
I asked if I needed to bring anything with me.
Her: “Any high heeled strappy sandals”
Me: “Erm…… I don’t own any heels at all, sorry”
Her: “That’s ok, just bring along any costumer jewellery you have”
Me: “Erm…. I don’t own any, I have some nice chunky silver stuff but that’s all”
Her: “Don’t worry about it, just bring your foundation with you and we’ll be fine”
Me: “Erm…. ”

I think she might be regretting her choice of model.

Some of the photos from Helsinki are up here.
Just a few. Tallin, Aland Islands and Turku will follow soonish.

I was walking down the street on Tuesday, feeling very relaxed and happy - still relaxed from the holiday, full of a delicious veggie powercrepe plus pancake that was my dinner, on way to the pub, I was accosted by a person who opened the conversation by apologising for stopping me, and explaining that she worked for Toni and Guy. Ah yes, I say, you’re about to try to sell me some sort of loyalty card deal that only pays off if I get my hair cut and coloured there every week. No, says she, I’m a student, and my exam is coming up, I was wondering if you would model for me?

So there we have it, my modelling career is resuming, with a free haircut from the place I go to anyway.

“But I didn’t know you were a model?” I hear you cry. Yes, well, in my younger years I strode the catwalks*, but the publicity hungry, coke fuelled, bitter world of modelling just wasn’t for me, so I retreated into a world of books and Haagen Das.

*Catwalks = the local community hall when I was 5 and a local bridal show at 13.

I believe my readership is temporarily increasing.
Hi. Wish I could be there. Especially as it’s raining here.
Travel stuff and links to photos will follow, hopefully this week, things have been busy since we got home.
Oh, and I’ve disabled commenting. I hope. I tried to anyway.

No words of wisdom, too much to do to be wasting my time on the internet.
In Tallin at the moment, seems lovely. Helsinki beautiful and wonderful, weather fantastic, having great time.

So, what was it that helped me calm down from my stress freak out earlier today.
Was it:
1. The flowers in the rescue remedy
2. The alcohol in the rescue remedy
3. Placebo effect
4. The cup of tea and chocolate biscuit that a colleague brought me

Not a trick question, I’m really wondering. Answers on a postcard or comments…

I baked cookies last night, obviously essential pre-holiday preparation. A big pile of them. I took a photo but that’ll have to be posted later. They’re chocolate chip, with dark, milk and white chocolate chips. Crunchy on the outside but gooey in the middle. Warm, out of the oven, they were delicious, all hot and crumbly and melted chocolatey. Mmmmmmmm……..

Now, this is how a pot of tea for one should look.

This was a couple of weeks ago on my trip to Galway, I’ve got a bit behind on the tea reviews.

Setting: Cafe du Journal, Quay St, Galway. Lovely little cafe, a bit dark but ok, I wasn’t the only person alone and they didn’t seem to find it strange that I was. My panini was delicious - full of fresh roasted veggies and dripping with homemade rocket pesto.

Cup: My only complaint would have to be the cup here - it was a bit too thick for my tastes, and I don’t like the colour yellow. Not sure why, just don’t.

Pot: Now, the pot was excellent, just the right size for one person, it had a good couple of cups of tea in it, and poured without spilling.

Beverage: The tea was nice, could have had a touch more flavour to it, but was smooth and not bitter.

Overall a good experience. I did feel a bit strange taking the photo this time - I’m happy being alone in cafes, but alone and photographing your pot of tea does make you look, well, a little eccentric shall we say.

I didn’t have any cake, my panini was enough and I had to get back to work, but a few people around me were tucking in and it looked good - generous portion sizes, good amounts of cream, and cake and desserts that looked home made and messy.

I would have liked to have been able to sit around for an hour or so, reading my book and savouring the tea with something nice and sweet. One time I’ll go to Galway again for fun instead of work and get to do just that.

Playing scrabble online just now, and I got to thinking. I’m realising as I write this that perhaps what I should have been questioning was why was I playing scrabble over the internet with someone I’ve never met when I could have been doing something cool instead (why don’t you?) [sorry, british child of the 80’s reference - originally switching off the tv and less boring rather than less cool, but my point stands]

Anyway, I digress.
I was wondering about online-scrabble-with-strangers etiquette as far as rude words goes. Just the minor giggly ones, it’s a fairly safe bet that c**t should only be used in scrabble amongst good friends. (apologies for asterix use, those who know me know I have no problem with the word in question and quite enjoy people’s reactions when I say it, but I’m considering doubling my readership by telling my mum about the blog)

I digress again, I spent all day training people and kept getting off topic (we were discussing tea at one point, definitely not relevant to the topic of the day). Focus, dammit, focus.

Yes, online scrabble. My opponent opened with “pee”, which made me giggle, and later used “ride” which also made me giggle, but I think they were american so didn’t see it that way. I could have got a pretty good score at one point by using whore over a double word score box, but here’s the thing - I didn’t. I was winning anyway (admittedly against someone who opened with “pee”) so it didn’t really matter, but it got me thinking about why I didn’t want to do that - I’m never going to meet this person, it’s not like I plan on spending a huge amount of time playing scrabble online, so why do I care?

Scrabble becomes a lot more fun when you can use mildly rude words you see, so it would be nice. That’s if you have a peurile sense of humour and find rude words funny, which I do. Very funny. I snicker away to myself frequently when the 2fm news comes on. (presenter: Avril Hoare). I’m such a child.

Anyway, I need to somehow find out what’s considered acceptable to use in scrabble among strangers. Where is the line drawn?

So, I’m done, finally, and a bit late, but not so late I’ll be penalised.

Another essay that I think will pass but I am yet again unhappy with the quality of, not because I’m worried about it, but because I know I can do better, I just don’t seem to be able to apply myself to studying at the moment. I worry on occasion that maybe I can’t do better, maybe this is just how my work looks now, slapdash and shoddy. I mean, if someone was to collect together my assignments for this course, that’s what they’d think of my work. The fact that I know I can do much better, have done much better in the past, is really irrelevant. The fact of the matter is, my undergraduate essays were of a much higher quality that my postgraduate ones.

It’s possibly because for this course the opinions I express have to match those of the faculty - I don’t remember my undergraduate lecturers being so insecure - sure, they knew they were right, but we could come down either way in our work as long as we’d backed it up with enough evidence. For this course we’re provided with all the reading, and discouraged from looking elsewhere for research that might provide an interesting perspective. In fact, my tutor’s made it pretty clear that going outside of the readings is unnacceptable and we won’t be credited for it in our work. (Fair enough really, she has a full time busy job as well as doing this). The readings we’re given are so biased though, and for this assignment I needed to be able to criticise them. My preferred method of criticising things is to find alternative evidence or explanations, but as the course is so focussed on the faculty’s view being the only one, they don’t give any alternatives, except rubbish ones they’ve already surpassed. Criticism in academic essays needs to be backed up with evidence, but we’re not given any.

Anyway, the essay is done, a huge weight is off my mind. I don’t seem to be able to focus on anything else when I need to get something done at the moment. I’m usually a master of avoiding working: tidying, cleaning, anything that can be justified. I’ve done some washing, the fridge is full, and the flat’s a good bit cleaner than it was on Friday, but, well, it’s not exactly great yet. No, I’ve just been useless the past couple of days. Last night I fell asleep on the sofa for 2 hours watching big brother. Woke up with lines imprinted on my face (cord sofa) - very attractive.

Anyway, now I’m just gibbering. 2 hours of very restricted writing and it all just comes out now: I need to learn to write essays like a stream of consciousness.

I always do my assignments at the last minute, I just can’t seem to focus until I really have to. Thing is, that worked fine when I was able to pull all nighters, work until 4 or 5am to get it finished, a quick proof read in the morning after a couple of hours sleep and I was done. Look at me now though, not even 1am and I’m giving in, too tired to think logically and criticise people (well, the ones I’m supposed to be criticising, I could rant all night about the course, and this is one I’m enjoying). It’s supposed to be posted tomorrow, but at the back of my mind I know I can get away with posting it on Tuesday, so that’s probably what’ll happen. Only 700 words to go anyway. If only I could include this post. Or write this easily in the essay. Sigh.

The first thing I realised this morning as I walked to the bus stop was that it is cold today. Cold, grey, windy and although it’s not raining right now, it has been. The only concession to summer was the slight scent of cut grass on the wind. That’s it. Pretty paltry in my opinion.
The second thing I observed this morning is that some people really annoy me. Now, that’s not exactly news, but the specific annoyance this morning was the man sat next to me on the bus. Although I’m partial to cake and chocolate, I’m not an especially large person, I think I take up a fair amount of the seat on a bus, certainly no more than my part of it. The man next to me seemed to want to take up the whole seat, and most of the space in between our seat and the next one. The thing was, he wasn’t a big guy, just someone who feels that they have the right to spread out, legs wide open, elbowing me and leaning against my right arm. I dealt with this like a true Englishwoman – I sighed loudly and made a big deal about moving further across the seat so I was pressed against the wall. Made no difference. Completely oblivious he was.
Anyway, the bus experience and the cold led me to feel that I deserved s a treat for breakfast, which is why I’ve just polished off a chocolate chip scone and I have a cappuccino next to me too.

What a joke of a result.
I feel for any child scared to tell about the abuse they’re going through, this can only reinforce that when it comes down to it, there’s a very strong change they won’t be believed.

Now, I don’t intend to post amusing things etc here, but this was in a magazine in my b&b in Galway (lovely b&b, by the way, Petra House).
It’s for feminine freshness products. I love the idea that you should be shiny fresh and clean and antiseptic there. Who buys this shit? And who designed the ad?

This was a birthday present from a friend and it was delicious. I’d been craving a good coffee and walnut cake and this was it. The cake was walnut cake, and the icing added the coffee flavouring. Not the traditional method but it worked. The walnut cake was light and fluffy and lovely.
It went especially well with tea after a walk and elephant watching.

Ahh, the crisp sandwich. Next to cake and cucumber sandwiches there is no finer snack.
This one is on wholegrain vienna loaf, with soya cream cheese, and cheese and onion hunky dorys (crinkle cut crisps for anyone not familiar with them).
Soft bread here, making for an interesting contrast in textures as you bite into it. Soft, so it’s gentle on your tongue and the roof of your mouth, then crispy in the middle for some bite.
The cream cheese helps keep the crisps in place where they belong.
Sometimes I add solid cheese, usually cheddar, but this time the crisps were the main event. Very satisfying it was too.

So, we’re out for a walk in Clondalkin - Corkagh Park. Walk out of the gate, look over to the caravans across the way. “Oh look”, I say, “an elephant”. “Yes yes”, my companians say. A few minutes later they look over themselves and believe me.
It was cool - not the elephants as such, more that fact that they were just wandering around a park in Dublin, eating the grass and the oak trees.
Driving past yesterday the circus had the tents up and all, so it wouldn’t have looked so suprising. I didn’t think circuses had animals any more, but sadly I was wrong. Poor things, they looked pretty wrecked.

This was taken in Clondalkin, Dublin this evening. Closer picture later.

For the lack of posts. I have plenty written, just haven’t had internet access to type stuff up.

There has been much tea. And much work unfortunately, which is why there has been little posting.

I’m fond of chocolate.
Minstrels are a good choice (see post below), as are maltesers. Right now I’m in a revels mood.

I go through phases with my chocolate eating. Not in whether I eat it or not, it’s a proven fact that I can’t go without chocolate for longer than a couple of days. When I was younger my brother bet me a fiver that I couldn’t last a week. And bribed the person who owned the shop down the road to tell on me. I tried.

When I’m in a phase of liking, no, craving is perhaps more appropriate, a specific sort of chocolate, I just have to eat that chocolate. So, I’ve been eating a lot of revels lately. Polished off one of the new resealable big bags by myself at the cinema the other night. Felt slightly ill after it. However, it didn’t cure me of my craving. This usually works with maltesers - I eat a few bags in a row until I don’t fancy them any more.

I think the thing about revels is that there are so many different types in the bag. It’s great! One mouthful is coffee cream, the next a malteser, then orange cream. I love them all. Even the coffee ones. When I was a kid we had a rule that if you offered someone a revel and they got a coffee one they could take another to make up for it. I liked that rule, I did well out of it.

I’m not particularly fond of the toffee ones, they’re too hard. Toffee should be softer, like in rolos.

This was from the other night. The mug is one of my favourites - it’s fine bone china, so it’s lovely to drink out of, nice and light and delicate, but it has funky blue spots, so it’s not dull and fusty.
I like spots.
The tea was indian chai from Whittards. Loose tea, which is best, but a pain to clean out of the pot afterwards. Sometimes I like chai tea with milk (sweetened soya) and honey (bunalun organic honey), but other times I like it black and unsweetened. This was one of those times.
Behind the mug is my bag of minstrels. Technically it’s a shared bag, but all chocolate in the house really belongs to me. It’s just better that way. I like minstrels. They’re like the spots on the mug, but made of chocolate.

I have no idea how I set the camera to take this shot.
I’m delighted with it though.

This afternoon we went out to Kildare to the Japanese Garden. Been meaning to for a while, especially since we got back from Japan.
I think our first mistake in appreciating the garden was in having been to Japan. Formal gardens there are exquisite - everything has meaning, so, crucially, not a leaf is out of place and they are immaculate, yet lush and beautiful and passionate but calming too.
Japanese gardens Irish style are a bit different. These were designed by a Japanese father and son, and seem to have been in the hands of Irish people for some time now.
Today was first communion day for a good few kids, so small brides of jesus were running around in bright white dresses just waiting to have ice cream dropped on them. Visitors here fell into two categories: Tourists (mainly American naturally) and Communion Parties.
The garden is small, and feels quite claustrophobic. There’s a guided path around, with lots of signs and numbers corresponding to expanations of the meaning in the guidebook. This is a nice idea, wo help people with the interpretation, but in such a small space meant that everywhere you looked the asthetics were somewhat spoiled by a large plastic sign informing you that you were about to enter the tunnel of ignorance or some other part of life. Being offered the choice between the “Path of Life” and the “Easy Path” did teach me a valuable lesson though.
Actually, it wasn’t all that bad. I’m a snob, so the common people everywhere were bound to upset me, and with the signs removed, the garden tidied, some carp in the carp ponds, and the wires and waste pipes hidden from view, it might have been ok.
Weather was nice though.

This was my afternoon tea at the Japanese Gardens at the Irish National Stud.
Setting
The setting was most pleasant. We found a table on the balcony looking out past a large bamboo plant on to a small lake. Lots of small birds were flittering around picking up crumbs.
Teapot
The teapot was what I expected, that is, unsatisfactory. Although it poured well, it only gave enough tea for one and a half cups, which is not enough. Hot water is free people, why should I be expected to pay an extra euro for a two person pot just to have a decent cuppa?
In summary: Good pourer, let down by size.
The Mug
Ahh, catering cups. Plain white, which is good, but too thick, an unattractive shape, and didn’t fit properly on the saucer. A good match for the teapot. Not worth wasting any more words on.
The Beverage
Cheap black tea which stewed quickly thanks to the previously mentioned stingy pot size. Euch.
The Cake
Now, this is where the experience was redeemed. I didn’t have high hopes for the cake, it looked a bit dry. It was the second last piece of cake on offer, and the only option, my companion having taken the final piece of cheesecake. I haveto admit, I was suprised. Dense and cocoaey, this was chocolate cake made by someone who appreciated chocolate. The portion was just about right, and, while I am partial to gooey butter icing on chocolate cakes, on this occasion the more traditional type worked very nicely indeed.

These are two of my favourite plants at the moment, in one of the window boxes on the patio that does for my garden. We had 5 minutes of sun so I took the opportunity to play with my new camera.
The yellow one looks like Sideshow Bob’s hair, which is why I bought it. Well, that and it was half price.
The red one arrived as if by magic one day almost a year ago, sulked in the pot for a good while looking kinda flat and small and boring, then suddenly sprouted really long stalks which flowered the other week. It’s cool.

I get the same bus each day. It gets me to work roughly on time, which is close enough for me. Today it took an hour and a half to get to my desk though, which is a bit much by anyone’s standards.
Anyway, I get on at the first stop, and I’m usually waiting there when the bus pulls up. I great the driver with a cheery ‘Good morning’, pay my fare, and head up to my usual seat. Top floor, right at the front on the left hand side.
And this is the thing. I was running a bit late this morning, so had to rush for the bus - and there was someone sitting in my seat. The cheek of it!
I was initially annoyed, but as I took another seat further back I realised it was a GOOD THING. See, I’ve been getting a bit worried about this whole usual seat thing. Surely it’s not healthy to always sit in the same place and spurn all the other seats. Now, I know that I could have tested it in a normal way, by sitting somewhere else through choice, but I haven’t been able to do that. Which is what was worrying me. But this morning I had to sit in another seat, and did so without freaking out and waiting for the next bus.

Change. I can do it. I’m one step further away from becoming crazy cat lady.

I’m 27.
I’m not sure I’m happy being 27.
I liked being 26. It was clearly mid-twenties, a little more mature than 25, but close enough to it to not feel old. I don’t feel old, I know 27 isn’t old, but I’m now aware of the ageing process, put it that way.
I think I’d always set myself rough aims of where I wanted to be when I was 28, and although I think setting stuff like that is stupid and it’s not something I live by or worry about, maybe that’s what’s got me worried.
Maybe my biological clock has just started ticking.
Hell.

Now I really don’t feel like writing the whole post again.

I was writing about my general lack of commitment to anything - how I get these big ideas, and start things, but never really follow through.

I’d written about my gardening, and knitting, and the half finished projects left sat around the house, and about how I hadn’t posted anything much here, and maybe this was going to be another one of those projects, but the post was long, and witty, and interesting, and I was considering letting actual people know about the site, but now I’m not so sure. I might just keep it secret for a little bit longer.

note: this time I’m going to copy the post so that when it logs me out I can just paste it again and post right away. stupid computer thinking it can get the better of me.

About time.
I set up a blog, worry I may not have things to say, stuff happens, I want to blog it, and where’s my blog? Down, that’s where.
Anyway, all is well with the world again, I shall continue to play, and will investigate moving said blog elsewhere.

My first picture post using Flickr.
Although this looks like the album cover of Coldplay’s Parachutes, it’s the Weather Exhibition that was on in the Turbine hall at the Tate Modern a while ago.
It was really cool, there was this whole atmosphere created in there - moisture in the air created clouds on the ceiling, so there was a sort of mist around the whole room.

I like this theme, kind of. What I’m not so keep on is the plain bic biro at the top of the page. It’s not exactly a montblanc is it? Not even a nice rollerball.

Pens are important to me. A good pen can be a pleasure, someone wandering off with a good pen can be a traumatic experience. Now, I’ve nothing against biros in general, in fact, a current everyday pen for me at the moment is a promotional biro. I’m just not keen on bic biros - they always end up chewed and broken at the end. Then I can’t help but snap bits of them off, and the whole sorry affair usually ends up with the pen being too short to use, and I have to leave it somewhere in the vain hope that someone will walk of with it instead of my nice promotional biro. Actually, now I think of it, two of my current favourite are promotional biros. And I’d always considered myself something of a pen snob.

Right, here’s somewhere I can finally put down my ramblings about tea and cakes and the joy of crockery and lovely things, and rant about people when they piss me off. My friends will be delighted to know that they no longer need to hear my continual gibbering, it’s much easier to ignore somone online.

Once I’ve figured out adding in images etc through flickr I can review my favourite and not so favoured crockery. At work I have to drink out of mugs that are quite unsatisfactory, and when I can post pictures you can share my pain.

I can also update you on my garden prowess, I’m quite green fingered. At least, I haven’t killed a plant yet this year, which is very good going.

OK, more playing to do for now, don’t want to get caught blogging until I know I have something to say.