Exhibit A:
Steve and I have planned to watch Clash of the Titans for like, ever. The thing is that everyone and their dog seems to have already seen it, and it is driving me bonkers to hear them all talking about it. This has been worrying me more than I realised.
So I was in bed yesterday morning, half asleep, and through my snooze-induced haze I hear someone on the radio talking about Clash of the Titans and I think that we're already there, to the world where Steve and I are the only ones on the planet who haven't seen the movie and I'm dodging spoilers at every turn, and I genuinely freak out and go, "Wait, I haven't seen it yet! Stop talking, stop talking! Noooooooo . . . . "
Exhibit B:
I watched America's Next Top Model last night and the girls are striding the runway in their 5-inch heels, and when I get up from the sofa I stand on my toes, honestly thinking I'm in 5-inch heels too. I am genuinely surprised to look down and see flats.
GONE.
Tuesday 27 April 2010
Friday 23 April 2010
There is a reason they are friends
The story I am about to tell you, made me nearly pee my pants. I wish, for story telling purposes, that it was Steve who did this but no, it was his best friend Mike. It was Mike's birthday on Wednesday so sweetie, consider this new found fame a present. Old man.
A few weeks ago, Steve, myself, Mike and Helen went to Leeds to visit another friend, we stayed at the lovely Novotel in the city centre. We headed out in the evening, consumed many, many beverages and ended up buying a 2am full English breakfast for £1. Yep. It was one of those nights.
Retiring to our rooms we said our goodnights and agreed to meet the next day for lunch. Worse for wear, Steve and I stumbled to our room and promptly passed out (me still fully clothed, in full make up and a hairband).
It was the next day, when unenjoying lunch at McDonalds that we were told what happened when they returned to their room.
Mike, buoyant from the night's events, decided that £1.50 was a reasonable price to pay for a Mars bar from the minibar. He climbed into bed and munched away. After a minute he decided he was full and that he would save the rest for the morning, he wrapped it up and put it safely on the bedside table.
Ten minutes later he decided (in very typical Mike fashion I might add) that sleeping on the right side of the bed felt wrong and insisted to Helen that they switch, to shut him up she agreed and they settle down.
Fast forward a couple of hours and Helen's slumber is disturbed by something pushing her side, sitting up she blinks into the darkness, hearing the sound of rustling. Confused, she flicks the light switch on.
Mike is sat up in bed, finishing his Mars Bar, having leaned over Helen to reach it.
His exact words to her:
"I woke up and was hungry for Mars Bar."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the best man at our wedding.
A few weeks ago, Steve, myself, Mike and Helen went to Leeds to visit another friend, we stayed at the lovely Novotel in the city centre. We headed out in the evening, consumed many, many beverages and ended up buying a 2am full English breakfast for £1. Yep. It was one of those nights.
Retiring to our rooms we said our goodnights and agreed to meet the next day for lunch. Worse for wear, Steve and I stumbled to our room and promptly passed out (me still fully clothed, in full make up and a hairband).
It was the next day, when unenjoying lunch at McDonalds that we were told what happened when they returned to their room.
Mike, buoyant from the night's events, decided that £1.50 was a reasonable price to pay for a Mars bar from the minibar. He climbed into bed and munched away. After a minute he decided he was full and that he would save the rest for the morning, he wrapped it up and put it safely on the bedside table.
Ten minutes later he decided (in very typical Mike fashion I might add) that sleeping on the right side of the bed felt wrong and insisted to Helen that they switch, to shut him up she agreed and they settle down.Fast forward a couple of hours and Helen's slumber is disturbed by something pushing her side, sitting up she blinks into the darkness, hearing the sound of rustling. Confused, she flicks the light switch on.
Mike is sat up in bed, finishing his Mars Bar, having leaned over Helen to reach it.
His exact words to her:
"I woke up and was hungry for Mars Bar."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the best man at our wedding.
Wednesday 21 April 2010
Incidently...
While searching for an image for that last post, I innocently typed 'Cookie Monster' into Goole Images. It produced this:
Equally amusing but not quite what I had in mind.
I'm going to see if I can recreate anything similar when I get home.
Equally amusing but not quite what I had in mind.
I'm going to see if I can recreate anything similar when I get home.
The frustrations of a chef
The first year after Steve and I moved in, I had some seriously good luck with cookies. Cakes, I never have an issue with, perfect every time, same with pancakes but cookies? I've met my match.
There is a lot of personal preference with cookies, there is the very big crunchy v chewy debate. Personally I am firmly in the chewy camp, the chewier and doughier the better. That first year of our cohabiting, there was something special in the cookie air, and every one I baked turned out just perfectly. We'd have a large covered container of perfect cookies on the side for days at a time, and Steve and I and our guests feasted on soft, chewy perfection in every flavour you could imagine.
Good times.
Anyway, I'm still not sure what it was about that first year that made the cookies so great. I've come up with a few hypotheses; maybe it was the snazzy new oven in our flat, maybe I'd finally stumbled upon the perfect ratio of oven-temp-to-bake-time, maybe I was infusing each batch with gushing, bubbling loved up euphoria... who knows?
I don't, because once the second summer hit, we moved on from cookies as our preferred snackage and became obsessed with cupcakes. Thus it was another six months before I made cookies again, and by then I'd forgotten the secrets. If there ever were any secrets. This was very sad and actually put a stop to Cookie Bookie Week 2009.
I guess the Cookie God can be temperamental...
There is a lot of personal preference with cookies, there is the very big crunchy v chewy debate. Personally I am firmly in the chewy camp, the chewier and doughier the better. That first year of our cohabiting, there was something special in the cookie air, and every one I baked turned out just perfectly. We'd have a large covered container of perfect cookies on the side for days at a time, and Steve and I and our guests feasted on soft, chewy perfection in every flavour you could imagine.
Good times.
Anyway, I'm still not sure what it was about that first year that made the cookies so great. I've come up with a few hypotheses; maybe it was the snazzy new oven in our flat, maybe I'd finally stumbled upon the perfect ratio of oven-temp-to-bake-time, maybe I was infusing each batch with gushing, bubbling loved up euphoria... who knows?
I don't, because once the second summer hit, we moved on from cookies as our preferred snackage and became obsessed with cupcakes. Thus it was another six months before I made cookies again, and by then I'd forgotten the secrets. If there ever were any secrets. This was very sad and actually put a stop to Cookie Bookie Week 2009.
I've tried lots of times since then, and never been able to recreate the perfection of those first cookies.
Until last night.
They are immense, perfectly chewy with the chocolate chips and caramel pieces just slightly melted.
A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.
And yet, I did nothing different.
Friday 16 April 2010
And I studied linguistics
My friend Ben, taught me a Portuguese word once - the only one I know - safado. He said it meant 'lazy'.
Yesterday, while Facebook-chatting with a guy who just got back from Brazil, I endeavored to impress him with my knowledge of his second language. He cracked up (LOLed, if you will) a lot more than I would have expected from someone hearing the word 'lazy' in Portuguese . . . and then he informed me that, actually, it means 'man-whore'.
So I finally get why my friend John-the-Marine's Brazilian girlfriend didn't warm to me much (at all, really) when I met her. It's probably not wise to call yourself a man-whore in your first encounter with somebody. Particularly if you are not, in fact, a man-whore, but rather a betrothed woman who used to go out with her boyfriend.
Also, Ben? YOU ARE ON MY LIST.
Yesterday, while Facebook-chatting with a guy who just got back from Brazil, I endeavored to impress him with my knowledge of his second language. He cracked up (LOLed, if you will) a lot more than I would have expected from someone hearing the word 'lazy' in Portuguese . . . and then he informed me that, actually, it means 'man-whore'.
So I finally get why my friend John-the-Marine's Brazilian girlfriend didn't warm to me much (at all, really) when I met her. It's probably not wise to call yourself a man-whore in your first encounter with somebody. Particularly if you are not, in fact, a man-whore, but rather a betrothed woman who used to go out with her boyfriend.
Also, Ben? YOU ARE ON MY LIST.
Thursday 15 April 2010
Running Commentary
Today I am mainly:
Loving the whole political debate ruling the country at the moment. Plus it gives me the chance to wear my 'Vote Barbie' t-shirt that I had made during the 2001 election.
Adoring Britney for releasing unairbrushed photos of herself along with the 'official' ones to exemplify the pressure on women to look good. Although it makes me sad that she doesn't actually look like that as it means that no-one does. And I still want to! Does that make me insane?
Laughing at the fact that butchers in Sainsburys have been told that are no longer allowed to use knives in case they cut themselves.
Loving the fact that Charlotte from my favourite wedding site Rock My Wedding commented on my blog! Seriously, I screached like a small child. Check out their totally amazing site: http://www.rockmywedding.co.uk/
Being outraged at the Daily Mail in general - propoganda much?
Fantasising about my tea as my cereal for breakfast and lunch diet has gotten dull very quickly.
Oh and pretending to work.
Loving the whole political debate ruling the country at the moment. Plus it gives me the chance to wear my 'Vote Barbie' t-shirt that I had made during the 2001 election.
Adoring Britney for releasing unairbrushed photos of herself along with the 'official' ones to exemplify the pressure on women to look good. Although it makes me sad that she doesn't actually look like that as it means that no-one does. And I still want to! Does that make me insane?
Laughing at the fact that butchers in Sainsburys have been told that are no longer allowed to use knives in case they cut themselves.
Loving the fact that Charlotte from my favourite wedding site Rock My Wedding commented on my blog! Seriously, I screached like a small child. Check out their totally amazing site: http://www.rockmywedding.co.uk/
Being outraged at the Daily Mail in general - propoganda much?
Fantasising about my tea as my cereal for breakfast and lunch diet has gotten dull very quickly.
Oh and pretending to work.
Wednesday 14 April 2010
Help wanted
I am not a big shopper (except when it comes to shoes, two wedding pairs and counting), this is mainly to do with becoming completely frustrated at things not fitting right. Ever.
Anyway, recently I ignored my fears and embarked on a long overdue shopping expedition. And I was shocked at what I found.
Body suits? Leotards? Seriously?
When did the 80s come back in? Why would anyone ever want to wear a body suit? They aren’t flattering and it takes you a year to go to the loo as you have to unpop the bastards! WHY???
Disillusioned I came home, convinced that I would be able to revamp my wardrobe with a good sort and possible some ribbons. Unfortunately it turns out that this is not possible due to my wardrobe being sparse and me sucking at sewing.
So this is where I ask for help. Jeans are much needed. My favourite pair are starting to wear thin and my second favourite pair have a pocket ripped off due to jumping out of windows (we do not talk about the third favourite pair, they are in tiptop condition but are a size 6. And I will not throw them out…).
Anyone care to give me some advice? I need something quality (since I don't buy jeans all that often) and that isn't too stretchy. I'm not into skinny jeans, since I most likely can't actually GET into skinny jeans.
Oh, and on that note, if your thighs don't touch in the middle at all, your advice is not needed.
Tuesday 13 April 2010
Oh to be happy
Now, in order to explain why I love this so much, I must reveal a slightly embarrassing fact:
I am obsessed with names.
There, I've said it. I always have been, I can tell you the meaning of the majority of names used in the UK as well as where they rated in the popularity stakes in the last year. I even have a special chart that I order from the UK Office of Statistics each May. Yep. Seriously.
Anyway, the paper cutest tot contest allows me to read some of the BEST names ever (around 1386 to be precise). And believe me, there are some spectacular ones! There was the year of the twins, Tia Maria and Jack Daniel, there was the year of Beaurigard-Harriet McKinley-Warrington and this year, only three pages in, I have found Summer Bangs, LaToya Coggins, Alexander Ander and Kennedie Butter.
Please don't misunderstand me; I am not judging these babies or their (perhaps misguided) parents. They love their children very much I am sure. It is just fantastic to be able to see the imagination and genius that goes into naming.
But seriously, I would love to be called Kennedie Butter! It's BRILLIANT!
Monday 5 April 2010
A few days off just provided another excuse for him...
That's right, to analyse more adverts.
Comments recently have included:
While watching the Halifax advert,
"I hate these idiot ads! I don't care if they are real employees - they are shit. Employ a cocking actor! There are enough of them about!"
In reaction to the Ryvita 'They're not good, they're GOOD!' advert,
And, my personal favourite, his thoughts on the Betty Crockett's Devil Chocolate Cake advert,
"I want that cake, it looks amazing."
The little boy on the screen looks up and says,
"I 'specially like to lick the spatula"
Steve mists slightly and then, with major enthusiasm,
Comments recently have included:
While watching the Halifax advert,
"I hate these idiot ads! I don't care if they are real employees - they are shit. Employ a cocking actor! There are enough of them about!"
In reaction to the Ryvita 'They're not good, they're GOOD!' advert,
"IT IS THE SAME WORD! You can have 'They are not bad, they're good' or 'They're not good, they are great'. That is all! Stupid cardboard food."
And, my personal favourite, his thoughts on the Betty Crockett's Devil Chocolate Cake advert,
"I want that cake, it looks amazing."
The little boy on the screen looks up and says,
"I 'specially like to lick the spatula"
Steve mists slightly and then, with major enthusiasm,
"Me too!"
And the picture? Well that is just my Easter gift to you! Loves! x
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