Friday, 31 January 2014

The 113 year old hot cross bun

I was honoured to receive it, although a little apprehensive, when the invite beeped on my mobile phone.
My best friend was getting married. The invitation was sent via text, with the very important question, would I be a witness at the ceremony?
Of course I was honoured to be asked but this was BT (before Tommy), and the wedding kind of clashed with my due date. How could I graciously accept and promise to be there, knowing I could possibly be at hospital, erm, otherwise engaged?
I accepted, with a get out clause of 'unless I am in labour'!
I wasn't in labour. Because the hospital allowed me to proceed seventeen days over my due date, I was able to attend. Looking very, very fat.

With this ring I thee wed.


The happy couple.


The wedding party. Not a flattering one of yours truly, but I guess it would be nice to show Tommy one day and say, "Look, this was when you were in mummy's tummy."


The reception was held at a 15th century coaching inn, with an award winning restaurant. Every year a hot cross bun is hung from the beams. A tradition which began in 1901. The 113 year old bun is minging.


I had lamb to start.


Corn fed chicken for main.


Mark ordered the succlent Sea bass.


The delicious food was washed down with a glass of Champagne. Cheers!


Then it was back to the bride and groom's house for dancing. It was a very special day and night.

Thursday, 30 January 2014

Reflecting January

Exploring new low fat recipes.


Bye bye 0-3 months clothes, hello 3-6 months clothes.


Afternon tea for Mark's cousin's daughter's 21st birthday.


Celebrating a friend's 40th at local Indian restaurant.


Celebrating another friend's 40th at a rather cool bar in London, where I kicked off my leopard print heels and went a bit mental to One Direction.


See you in February!

Friday, 24 January 2014

Big Brother is watching you

Think about your worst habit.
Thought of it?
Don't worry, I won't embarrass you by asking to reveal it to me.
Now think about your weak points.
Unhappy admitting these to yourself?
Let me explain, it is not my intention to stress or depress you with this post. I wanted you to consider your faults, let's face it we all have them, and then question whether you would like them plastered over national television and the tabloids?
No, me either.
Which is why I can't understand any sane person, celebrity or civilian, wanting to appear on the UK television show, Big Brother.
Every year it astounds me. And still they keep on coming! Wannabe's with their fifteen minutes of fame and shaming themselves in the process. Z listers trying to resurrect their career but often placing the final nail in the coffin marked 'flagging career'.
Because, by clever editing on BB, no one is placed in a particularly pleasant light. Unfortunately nasty wins over nice in the television ratings war.
And in the Big Brother house there is nowhere to hide due to goodness knows how many cameras, all for our pure entertainment.
Contestants are also plied with alcohol and entered into cheeky tasks, guaranteed to cause controversy between the housemates.
Yet still I watch it. I can't help it. Especially the celebrity version, whilst cringing on my sofa with every episode.
This year is no exception. Our dinner is cooked and eaten, Tommy is fed, and hubby and I are on the sofa awaiting for the credits to roll. And we shake our heads in disbelief at the accusations and actions from celebs couped up in the BB house.
In the current series, there is a pop singer from the 70's who has moaned and argued her way through the day, and suffered from paranoia regarding her late husband and the comedian from the 80's. Through her paranoia us viewers are now aware that her late husband stole money from another comedian. Something I am sure she would rather remain private.
And the 80's comedian has admitted he is a sexist. A word which is frowned upon in today's society, and not something for him to be proudly associated with.
I could go on, but I won't. I'm sure you understand the general jist from my descriptions above.
So why do I watch such a programme? You may well ask.
Well, people fascinate me. I'm a nosey so and so. (A reason why I like blogging!)
I love people watching, and listening to stories, and sussing out what makes people tick. Us human beings are a lovely and strange lot.
Plus some of the tasks are hilarious.
Although I would have to be paid a million pounds to enter the house myself.
As much as I find other people interesting, their different experiences and characteristics, I crave my own space. lt would wear me down having nowhere to escape for solitude, except perhaps the toilet. And it could be considered unhealthy to spend too much time in the toilet alone.
I am also uncomfortable with confrontation. I would avoid this at all cost, the consequence probably being told I am a walk over, or other such derogratory terms. Which in themselves would make me insecure about my personality and want to avoid all other housemates and accusations by running to the toilet to be alone. Which, I said before, could be considered unhealthy to spend too much time in the lavatory. People might think I was weird, or have an embarrassing problem. Arg! See what I mean, I would much rather watch from the safety of my sofa.
Anyway, I shall leave you to ponder whether sharing a house with 12 strangers, and the whole country, is something you would ever be tempted with.
I must go, the latest episode of Big Brother is about to start.

Tuesday, 14 January 2014

The most amazing chocolate factory in the world

I've run out of excuses.
Yep, my list of excuses is no longer relevant or sensible. I now must loose weight and increase my fitness levels.
I have to say goodbye to daytime telly, eaten with a packet of chocolate biscuits. Well, maybe I'm allowed just the odd chocolate biscuit here and there, whilst watching Escape to the country, life is for living after all.
I promised myself, and those who cared to listen, "After caesarean scar heals and Christmas is out the way, and when we borrow the exercise bike from father-in-law, and once it stops raining so I can go for walks with the pram, and when we've cleared all the chocolate from the house, I'll exercise and loose weight."
My scar is healing nicely thank you, Christmas is over, the exercise bike is in the bedroom, I've eaten all the naughties, and it's finally stopped raining.
Bugger.
Actually, after reluctantly removing myself from the sofa and realising I can just about walk down the stairs these days, and the only thing I've run for a while is a bath, it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. So far.
Dare I say it, it's been rather pleasant, with some beneficial finds along the way.
Before my first fitness walk, I wrapped Tommy in his teddy bear outfit, covered him with his aeroplane blanket, popped him in his pram, and off we strolled for a much needed walk around the village. And this time we did not walk across the cricket green to the village shop, to buy chocolate supplies.
I set off the opposite way to sugar temptation, past the neighbouring cottages and the duck pond, and this was when I made my discovery.
Tucked away, but walking distance from my home, was a beauty salon and hairdressers. I was a little bit excited about my find, for it would soon be time for a trim and colour, and a spray tan for friend's wedding looks promising.
The young lady in the hairdressers must have seen my surprised and happy face, then noted the pram, as she kindly opened the door for me, with price list in hand.
After checking the prices were not out of my reach, I planned to call my mum with the good news, as soon as I returned to the sofa. I then continued walking around the village, wondering if I could justify a manicure, and if I walked a little faster I could loose the calories from the previous night's glass of wine.
My first I-must-stop-being-lazy-and-over-eating walk was a success! It wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be, and I was chuffed with my new knowledge for hair and beauty.
Two days later I found myself on the exercise bike, whilst Tommy was propped up with pillows on my bed, looking at his hands and his toy orange fish. I managed seventeen minutes before he became restless and after my thighs started to ache.
And today was walk number two and another fantastic find.
This time, when I closed the front door to daytime television, Tommy and I turned right and walked past the garden centre, down the road with the enormous houses, and I realised that after living in the village for nine months, I had never anticipated there being a park behind the garden centre. A park which could also be reached from our back gate, if we turned left and walked past the school.
I literally gasped when I saw the green grass and children's play area. Thoughts and ideas whirled around my head as I smiled at the swings and benches. Oh what fun we could have here! Walks in winter, picnics in the spring, playground adventures in the summer with Tommy, and so on.
Wow, this being motivated and getting fit lark has opened a whole new world.
I'm debating what I'll discover next? More hidden shops or public areas? That would be nice.
And imagine, although I suspect I could be pushing my luck somewhat, a chocolate factory. But not just any ordinary chocolate factory. Oh no, this one made biscuits and cakes which tasted yummy but once swallowed allowed your body to loose weight and become fitter. Served by a serenading George Michael, in his tracksuit.
Okay, so I'm getting carried away with the last request.
Sigh, but we can all dream. Can't we.




Sunday, 5 January 2014

Underneath my bed









I'm slightly embarrassed to admit what's underneath my bed.
Or rather, why it's underneath my bed, and how long it's sat underneath my bed.
It's actually sat below my bed for so long, that it's lived in 3 different houses. (The same bed but 3 different bedrooms.)
I have looked at it several times, sighed, and thought I really must use you one day. Then I've forgotten all about it. Until the next time I've spied it, or my mother has reminded me about it, in a fairly frustrated tone of voice.
The stark reality is, I don't know how to use it, and my pet hate is reading instructions. So I've stashed it underneath my bed, in the hope one day someone would show me how to use it.
But there comes a time in everyone's life when you think, enough is enough, this needs to be resolved now!
This, dear readers, is exactly what has happened to me. I've decided to conclude my under the bed issue.
At last, I have found an easy solution, I've asked Mark to read the instructions.
I'm not sure why I did not think about this years ago, or ask someone else to kindly oblige. But finally, I have a clear vision of the future.
Mark is going to show me how to use my colour printer. The one which has sat in a box underneath my bed for approximately 6 years.
And the reason why this decision has been made? My friend bought me a photo album, titled 'My First Christmas'. I've excitedly taken photographs of Tommy, over the festive period, and I want to display them in this fun photo album.
Hence, I want to finally use my printer.
I do hope it actually works after being discarded for all these years.

Oh and happy new year to you!