Pre-Christmas lunching

Yesterday, Danda and I decided we would have fancy lunch as a kind of pre-Christmas lunchy thing. It was amazing, obviously. I was also trying out the dress I had bought for Christmas day, to see if it was possibly too outrageous as it has bright pink on it. The weather was quite grubby but we had a nice view of the river….

…and the Festive Lunch menu promised to be fantastic…

I chose the other option to Danda on each course so we had one of everything. A sore throat threatened to ruin the occasion so I got a fresh mint tea, which helped things.

It was also very pretty to look at, so I was happy.

Before starting, we were brought some freshly baked bread and butter and a small thingy in a glass that was parmesan custard, butternut mousse and pine nut sprinkles….

My starter was the mackerel tartare and fresh mackerel with cucumber and apple which was surprisingly light. Mackerel is usually quite a strong flavour, I guess because it is often smoked. But this was quite mild and didn’t drown out the other tastes at all.

Danda’s starter was a chestnut soup with a warm duck’s egg and glazed wild mushrooms. The duck’s egg had a lovely rich flavour, far stronger than a hen’s egg.

My main was a risotto with parmesan mousse, mushrooms and garlic crisps which, by the way, were amazing. The whole thing had hints of sweetness throughout, which surprised me, as I’m not big on sweet tastes in a savoury meal but this was lovely.

Danda’s main was pheasant with mashed potato, baby carrots and a crostini with pig’s trotter. The crostini was so tasty, despite its rather unattractive description.

By the time we got to dessert, I was on the wrong side of stuffed but soldiered through, ordering the trifle with vanilla biscuits…

….while Danda ordered the warm eccles cake with cheese, walnuts and chicory on the side

Post-lunch, we had espressos…

…and were brought a dish of sweeties…

The macaroon was vanilla and mince pie flavour! It was fabulous. All in all, it was a lovely getting-ready-for-Christmas lunch. It was also my last day off until Christmas Day so it was nice to dress up and pretend to be a laaaaady for a while.

Later in the evening, a neighbour had invited everyone over for mulled wine and mince pies so I ended the evening nibbling my way through the offerings and discussing whether the world would end the following day. Which, by the way, is today. I hope I live to write another post!

Hair

Yesterday I did some stuff for Christmas. You know, all the obligatory stuff, getting a new dress, beautifying etc. Of course I didn’t pre-book anything, I just walked into a few hairdressers and said, “Can I get my hair done? Like, now?” Obviously most places didn’t have any appointments but I found one eventually.

The woman doing my hair was called Katy. She seemed nice enough but a few things were going on yesterday to prevent me becoming best friends with her:

1. I had quite a sore throat.
2. I had just hurriedly purchased a Christmas dress which had the potential to be totally the wrong thing for me, given that I imagine myself to be a tall stylish supermodel when I am actually small, non-descript and possessing rather large thighs.
3. I’m very aware of the forced nature of conversations in hairdressers and thus, find them quite uncomfortable. It’s like chaining a bear up and making it dance.
4. Becoming best friends takes time, something I did not have on my side.

And so, because of all these things, the conversation with Katy The Hairdresser went like this:

Katy: Hiya, I’m Katy. I’ll be doing your hair today. What type of thing are you looking for?
Me: It just needs a trim really, to get all the dry ends off.
Katy: O yeh, I can see the split ends. When did you last get your hair done?
Me: Ummm. Don’t remember.
Katy: So do you want me to put the layers on after I’ve cut it?
Me: I don’t mind. It’s just hair, isn’t it? Do what you think will look nice.
Katy: Ok. Shall I…?
Me: Just do whatever you think is best. I trust you.
Katy: What about if I…?
Me: Anything. Whatever you’d like.

*we walk to the sinks and she starts washing my hair*

Katy: Is the water warm enough?
Me: Yeh thanks.

*silence*

Katy: So are you local to the area?
Me: Yeh, I just work up the road.

*she finishes and we walk to a chair, where I sit*

Katy: What are you up to today? Christmas shopping?
Me: Just getting a dress for Christmas day.

*silence*

Katy: Shall I put some layers in around the front?
Me: Yeh, go for it.

*silence*

Katy: Ok, are you happy with that?
Me: It’s great. Thanks so much.

Because this conversation was all that filled the hour it took to get my hair done, I had plenty of time to think. To think about my hair. Every so often I pay attention to my hair but I mainly just kind of let it get on with its own thing. Yesterday’s thought process went something like this:

Maybe I should cut all my long hair off next year? Who has long hair anymore? You can’t do anything with it. Look at all these people getting their hair done, it’s all short and funky. Mine’s just long and boring. Yeh, I’ll definitely get it cut all off next year. I remember when I got it cut really really short. That was fun. Maybe I’ll do that? Have a boy cut? Maybe I’ll get a colour? My hair’s not brown or blonde. It’s just inbetweeny. Boring. O wait, there’s a girl with long hair which looks really lovely. Maybe I’ll keep my long hair then? Yeh, I’ve got to think about how I’ll tie it up for work if it’s really short. But colour. That woman’s hair over there is a nice dark brown. Or perhaps something outrageous like bright red? Omygodomygod, there’s soooo much to think about!

And so my hair, which has previously just been ‘that stuff on top of my head,’ dominated most of my thoughts yesterday! I still haven’t decided what I will do about it.

In other news, look what arrived in the post!

Getting festive

Yesterday, my childhood friend and I decided to go to Westfield shopping centre. If this name doesn’t mean anything to you, imagine the hugest most enormous building in the world, full of shops and restaurants. I think it’s the biggest one in Europe or something. We made a plan to go there and sort out a few Christmas presents. I also kind of thought I’d keep an eye out for a nice outfit for Christmas day and maybe some new shoes as a few pairs are starting to look a bit scrappy.

Remember this: I was looking for a Christmas day outfit, shoes and some presents.

My friend’s agenda was something like this: new warm winter coat, smart clothes for work-related placement, Christmas presents for family.

We entered the foray and started our shopping expedition. We went into shop after shop, looking for warm coats. I kept an eye out for a nice dress for Christmas Day. There’s just one problem though…. I am a different person in my head than I am in real life, when it comes to clothes.

In my head, I’m edgy and cool, my style is very All Saints and when I pass people in the street, they wonder how they will ever be as cool and fashionable as me. I’d describe my look as ‘off-duty supermodel’ if asked. I’ve got beach-babe tousled hair and ooze effortlessness and cool, while being au naturel and fabulous.

….In real life, however…. I’m more non-descript. I wear neutral clothes for work – jeans and t-shirts mostly. So even when I have a day off, out come the jeans and t-shirts anyway. I think I own make-up, god knows where it might be though. There are also some high heels somewhere in a cupboard, I think. I’m quite flat-footed though, so don’t really wear them for long before I’m dying to take them off. I live in my Crocs whilst at work, which no supermodel, not even an off duty one, would ever wear. My hair could be described as tousled-beach-babe but if I’m honest, it’s more unbrushed-and-trying-to-turn-into-dreads. And in desperate need of a cut, which I’m too lazy to go and get. I wear dresses quite often but they’re the casual stretchy summery dresses that you team up with leggings and boots, not the elegant ladylike dresses that, in my head, I look so great in….

Hence, there is an issue when shopping. The me in my head looks fab in floor-length bejewelled gowns are beautiful and head-turning. The me in real life looks like a little squat dwarf in them as I’m FAR too short and look totally lost inside such long dresses. So as I wandered around oohing and aahing at the lovely dresses, I didn’t find anything I could actually wear, just what I thought I might be able wear when my moment of ‘cool’ kicks in. I’ve been waiting 27 years for it to happen so it’s bound to be any minute now.

I loved the plum-coloured fitted dress which looked like it would really compliment my body, if it weren’t for the 10inch lumpy tummy scar from my operation that shows through tight tops.

I loved the knee high brown leather boots that looked like they belonged on a horse farm, if it weren’t for the fact that I couldn’t pull them further than my chunky little mid calves.

And so it went on, for hours – me spotting things that would perfectly compliment the imagined me, but which didn’t suit or fit the real me. Things that would suit the real me were boring so I didn’t look at them.

We stopped for a food break halfway round and discussed a game plan. We remembered that I was looking for shoes, a dress and presents. She was looking for a coat, smart clothes and presents.

When we were on the move again, we made real efforts to find things. We walked. And we walked. And we walked. For about three and a half hours in total.

The result? My friend bought a jumper and some warm leggings. I bought a Christmas jumper and a leather jacket, because I’ve never owned one and it was more than 50% off the original price, bringing into my financial sights.

I’m not quite sure whether I’d consider this trip a success….. But I do LOVE my jumper.

Kiwis, curries and rats with style

It’s that time again. Time to see what Chat has to offer this week. Once again, I am blown away by their fabulous witticisms, sprinkled throughout. For example, I open the magazine and the first thing which greets me is a photo of a pig in a picnic basket, with the caption ‘designer ham bag?’

Brilliant. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why the massive photo of the pig is there, just a little sentence about how the pig looks so comfy, “there’s no way we could ‘rasher’ to go anywhere.”

And on we go, to the photos page and there are a few good ones this week. The first is a here-are-some-cupcakes-I-made photo. The second is a here’s-me-with-a-huge-plastic-ape picture. And no, I’m not kidding. Someone really thought that the world would be interested in a picture of her with a huge plastic ape. Check it out.

There are some others of dogs and cows, which aren’t even worth mentioning in any greater detail.

So onward we go, past a story about a girl who had a maggot living in her back and a story of scandal with a 9.9 shock factor (!), to the Blimey, That’s Clever page.

And what have we here today? I think my favourite might be the kiwi fruit tip. Put it in an egg cup, we’re told. And that’s it. That’s the tip. Eat a kiwi out of an egg cup. £25 they got for that.  

Maybe I’ll make up some top tips and try to get £25 from Chat. Watch this space. I’ll think some up for tomorrow.

Another of the top tips is to use toothpaste to clean your mugs if they have tea stains. While I can’t see anything initially wrong with this, it just sounds a bit dodgy, cleaning a mug with toothpaste. You’re bound to have toothpaste-tasting tea for the next few days, I reckon.

Another tip seems to be, my granddaughter chewed the straw bit off her favourite beaker, so I put a new straw in. I don’t know whether that really warrants a place on the Blimey, That’s Clever page, do you? It’s not as though, previously, people have been throwing away their children’s beakers every day with no clue how to fix it and then they open Chat, see this tip and go ‘Wow! I’ll just stick a new straw down the hole where the old straw was. That’s genius.’

Next we have some more scandal, a murder, some letters, some weight loss stories and then the baby photos page. Ahhhh, the baby photos page. Photos of babies. Doing nothing at all. Just being babies. A whole page. One is a baby on a slide, one is a baby swimming, another is a baby and a cat, one is two children smiling a bit. A whole page.

To the side of this page, we have the recipe section. Now previously, I have seen some amazing gourmet recipes that opened my eyes to a whole new world. The week they had a recipe for mushrooms on toast was a week that changed my life. This week’s recipe? Onion and potato curry.

Mmmm. Doesn’t that sound great? Onion and potatoes. In a curry. Like when you look in the fridge and you don’t have anything in so you bung together some nonsense and fill up on ice cream afterward. Mmm. Nothing-in-the-fridge curry. The ingredients? Olive oil, 4 potatoes, 2 onions, spices and mustard seeds. And the attraction in making this meal? It’s only 54p per head.

Now it doesn’t take a genius to work out that it’s not 54p because Chat are so great at providing good meals on a budget. It’s because there’s NOTHING IN IT.

If you want great meals on a budget, I can give you far better, go-to ingredients – squid is really cheap, people. Fry it with fennel. Re-use old bread by chopping tomatoes, adding red wine vinegar and basil and ripping your old bread up and mixing it in for a panzanella salad. If you want a curry, spend your money on some chicken and chuck it in a pan with tomatoes (tinned or fresh) and add whatever combination of spices you find in the cupboard, depending on what country’s cuisine you are chanelling.

See? All those will probably be about £1 per person but don’t resemble student food or invoke severe depression in the person who is eating it.

Anyway, back to Chat, the finale is the ‘Ratwalk models’ story on page 46. Yes, RATwalk models. You know what’s coming. It’s a story about a lady who designs and makes clothes for rats. Yes. Rats. It started with making ‘couture creations’ for her pet chihuahua, inspired by a dress worn by Penelope Cruz to the Oscars.

A few years later, business was booming, she went full time into her pet clothing designing and her friend asked her to help “raise the profile of her annual rat convention.”

Honestly, this is not a joke. It’s all true. Her friend runs a yearly rat convention.

So she designed and made the dresses. There was a fashion show with 12 of the ‘models’. Post-show, fame and fortune came her way, she got calls from everyone, even David Letterman.

The article finishes with the touching line, “After all, every single pet should feel like a star.”

That’s something we should all remember as we go on with our days today.

I hope you have learned something here.

The pesto incident

At work, we do a sandwich which has pesto on it, instead of mayonnaise. Well, actually, it’s pesto mixed with mayonnaise. We only use it on one sandwich, a chicken and avocado combo which is quite popular. If, for whatever reason, we don’t do any of the chicken avocado sandwiches, the pesto mayo doesn’t get used.

I think that is what must have happened the day before The Pesto Incident. The pesto mayo had, I think, developed a little skin on it’s surface inside the bottle.

I was starting work at 11am that day. I wandered in, all casual from my long lie in and the lovely weather. I was wearing a white summery dress, embracing the sunshine. As soon as I entered, though, I could feel there was a bit of a rush on. The person in the kitchen was evidently having a rubbish time of it and they asked me to take over.

I grabbed an apron and got stuck in. The first sandwich was something fairly straight forward, a pastrami and mustard, or something like that. Next up, the chicken avocado number. Great, I love making this sandwich.

Chicken in pan to warm. Grab bread. On chopping board. Put pesto mayo on bread… I squeezed the bottle but no blob of pesto mayo came out. What was wrong? (Remember that little skin it has got from not being used the day before?) I shook it slightly and squeezed again. It felt like there was something hard pushing back against me. I’d show that pesto mayo. Squeeeeeeeeze! Nothing. What is WRONG with it? Both hands this time. Squeeeeee….

PESTO EXPLOSION!

I looked up in shock, still holding the pesto bomb in my hands.

It. Was. Everywhere. It had hit both walls either side of the kitchen and found it’s way, miraculously, into the toaster. The bread on the chopping board was barely visible underneath the pesto mountain which covered it. It had gone on the underside of the shelves which held the crockery and even over to the sink (a fair distance away) and on the wall and taps and drying rack over there.

Then I looked down. It was covering the top half of my apron, my lovely white summer dress and my hair. I had gone for a girly down-do that day, a long plait which had been hanging forward over my shoulder at the time of the explosion. It was now covered in pesto mayo. From the elbows up, my dress was covered with large splats.

Ever the pragmatist, I ignored it all and finished up the sandwich. As I put it on a plate and turned around to take it out, my manager walked into the kitchen and looked at me in shock. Then laughed. Then told me to go home and change.

My hair still smelled like pesto all day.

An inconvenient birthday

About three years ago, I was in my final year at uni and my dissertation was due three days after my birthday. I was planning to let my birthday go by and then celebrate when my dissertation was finished.

I’d had a bit of a bust up with my flatmate, which consisted of her telling me that the flat was too messy and me agreeing but saying I couldn’t do anything about it at the time as my dissertation was due. I was therefore holed up in the library the majority of the time, trying to avoid more confrontation.

I had been to America the previous month, doing research for my dissertation, so it was really important to me that I did well. I hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days. Or changed my clothes. I just needed to get it done.

In the midst of all this, a friend said to me, “O, let’s go out for dinner for your birthday.”

I was like, how oblivious can you be? I’m clearly way too busy right now. Just hold off until the weekend and then I’ll be free.

In the nicest possible way, I kind of said, “I’d prefer not to.”

But he was insistent. “Yeh, let’s go for dinner for your birthday.” Another friend was there, looking at me expectantly.

I then kind of tried to say in a nice way, “Ok, but it needs to be really close by so that I can come straight back to the library.”

But no! He wanted to half way across London to Paddington. What. On. Earth! This is ridiculous. And really annoying. Why would you go all across London when there’s plenty of places for dinner near uni and you know I’m busy.

“It’s a great little place which does Lebanese food.”

I’m sorry, pardon? Lebanese food? You’ve brought me all the way across London to a random little restaurant, right in the middle of working on my dissertation and not being in a good mood after having a bit of an argument with my flatmate…. For Lebanese food. I mean there’s nothing wrong with Lebanese food, its nice, but it’s not like I’m a well known Lebanese food lover. Italian, yes. French, ok. Thai, I’m there. But never in a million years would I choose a Lebanese restaurant myself.

“Just go into the pub next door for a quick drink while I make sure everything’s ready in there.”

What. On. Earth. I need to eat and leave ASAP. I don’t need to be hanging around ‘having a drink’. I was on the verge of saying, “Thanks for the effort and everything but I’m going to go now. I’m trying not to offend you because I see that you’ve made loads of effort but I have to do my dissertation.”

Anyway, I go into this pub with my other friend, while the organising friend goes to the restaurant. We go in and there’s a bar upstairs that I’m told to go to as it’s quieter.

Up the stairs I go, into the little bar and….

“SURPRISE!” shout a load of my friends. I look into the room, see everyone looking at me and walk off…..

Not the traditional response, I realise. But really now… A party all the way across London, three days before I’m due to hand in my dissertation, my final peice of work for my degree, the culmination of three years of hard work. Really?

I sat in the toilet for about 20 minutes assessing the situation while another friend convinced me it would be fine. Eventually I chilled out a bit and rejoined the party. And it was lovely. Of course it was lovely. It was fabulous to see everyone in the same place. And I had a great time after managing to force myself to forget about the deadline. But I’m not going to lie, it was extremely badly timed.

The same friend who organised it also got me a nice dress (to wear to the party, but when he tried to convince me to wear it, I gave him a look that said I was not pleased). A few weeks later, I decided to wear the dress somewhere. I put it on and it was faaaaar too big. He had bought me a dress two sizes up from what I wear. TWO sizes up! How can you guess a dress size which takes someone from an average size to a definitely quite large size?

You know sometimes when you’re like ‘Are you EVER paying attention when I speak or do anything?’ That was how this incident felt.

How does a person sitting in a library day in day out for about two weeks, three days away from handing in a peice of work which really matters to her, make you think, o I’ll throw a surprise party right before her hand in date?

And that is my one and only experience of surprise parties! No-one else has thrown one for me since. I think I know why…

W is for…

WATERMELON!

When I was on my gap year, I taught at a preschool group in a township. There was a lot of showing pictures and the children all chanting together “This is a….” One of the things for the letter W was a picture of a “watermyelon.”

There was also the letter I, for which the picture was of an “Eendian”. Actually, it was a picture of a girl in a beige dress with tassles and a headdress, who was quite clearly an American Indian, but who was I to nitpick.

It was months before I realised what the teacher meant when she taught the children about “chicken tights.” (Thighs.)

They had some interesting songs too, which I’m sure were made up on the spot. Each one has the same tune.

Building up a temple,
Building up a temple,
Building up a temple for the Lord,
Boys, come and help us!
Girls, come and help us!
Building up a temple for the Lord.

Another one:

Walking to Jesus,
Walking to Jesus,
Walking to Jesus every day,
With my bible in my hand,
Bare feet in the sand,
Walking to Jesus every day.

This next one ended up with me in a bit of a surreal situation:

Telephone to Jesus
Telephone to Jesus
Telephone to Jesus every day…..
(hands in pretend telephone shape next to ear)
“Hellooo?”
Telephone to Jesus,
Telephone to Jesus,
Telephone to Jesus every day.

One day, I’d only been there a week or so, the teacher said to me, “Teacher Laura, I think Jesus is calling you on the phone!” It took me by surprise and I didn’t have time to think about whether I was especially comfortable with the idea so I whipped out my mobile phone in front of about ninety amazed children and said something along the lines of “O hello Jesus! Hi! How are you? That’s nice. So you’ve got a message for the children? O that’s good. What would you like me to tell them? To be nicely behaved and to eat up all their dinner? And to listen at school and do lots of learning? Ok Jesus, I’ll tell them you called and I’ll tell them you love them lots. Ok. Bye bye!”

And that’s still probably the wierdest pretend phone call I’ve ever had.