Pass me some earplugs . . .

The author would like to know WHY people think it is socially acceptable to sit at their desk and hawk up great gobs of phlegm from the back of their throat? I mean, really! It has to be one of the most repulsive habits there is.

I sit at my desk, day after day, listening to Señor Phlegm building up to his moment of glory.

First will be a couple of gentle coughs, testing the water so to speak. A few sniffs perhaps, to place said mucous in primary hawking position.

And then . . . . . urgh. A prolonged noise, like the sound of a blocked plughole trying to drain, which can last anything up to about 3 seconds. Doesn't sound much, but try counting it in your head and applying said sound effects to 3 seconds of time. It's an ETERNITY!

It's beginning to make me feel nauseous.

Oh God . . . here we go again . . .

Sparkly things

Lucy is getting married. Next year.

It was a secret for a little while but now it is all out in the open.

She wasn't going to have an engagement ring originally, but her fiancé has convinced her to get one, so for the last few evenings, everything has all been a bit . . . . sparkly. Trying to decide what to go for.

White gold, yellow gold, rose gold, platinum, titanium . . . .

Claw set, bevel set, rubover, tension set, trilogy, solitaire, cabachon, princess cut, baguette cut, brilliant cut, emerald cut, pear cut, heart cut, marquise cut . . . .

Diamonds, pink sapphires, amethyst, amber, aquamarine, pearl, champagne diamonds, peridot . . .

Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian, Art Deco, Art Nouveau, Contemporary, Classic, Unusual . . . .

The good thing is that from looking at all these rings, even though Lucy is still completely undecided, I now know what sort of engagement ring I want! Shame there isn't anyone around to give me one at the moment.

By the way, it's tanzanite and diamond set in white gold.

Something like this.

If you insist.

PS. Before you start thinking that I am a bit premature, I am a Libran. It is practically in the job description to go completely gaga over anything twinkly.

Chocolate Ecstasy

In the post-Easter, chocolate haze that most of us find ourselves in, I am thinking about the effects of chocolate. We all hear about it lowering blood pressure, reducing depression and being anti-carcinogenic.

But much more interestingly, apparently eating chocolate stimulates the same pleasure centres in the brain that an orgasm does.

And I can believe it. I eat chocolate in a way that some people find revolting, but I know I am not the only one.

1. The chocolate (preferably creamy milk chocolate - Galaxy for everyday, Belgian or Swiss for special occasions) must have been in the fridge. For reasons highlighted in a moment.


2. The chocolate must be eaten with a hot cup of tea. The differences in temperature, between the hot sting of tea and the cool hardness of the refridgerated chocolate provide a nice contrast. Aided by (and this is the bit that people find it hard to forgive) . . .


3. Dunking your chocolate in your tea. I only do this with Galaxy, as even to me it seems a little sacreligious to do this with expensive chocolate. There is something decadent about sucking the melted warm chocolate off whatever piece you are "dunking" and still finding cold chocolate underneath. Rarely done in public. But always with a feeling of guilty pleasure.


4. Dark chocolate is different - the higher the cocoa solids the better, and must be eaten straight from the fridge, but without dunking. It should then be left to melt slowly on my tongue. Hot tea has a different purpose here - to warm your mouth up to facilitate easy melting.

Recently, due to my aforementioned "healthy diet" (read, no chocolate, sweets, crisps, blah blah blah), I had my first serious chocolate "hit" in six weeks with Lucy's birthday cake - a chocolate cake from Thorntons, decorated with thick milk chocolate, filled with chocolate ganache and topped with whole Continental chocolates. Never having abstained from chocolate for that long, the pleasure hit was immense.

If chocolate affected me that way after not having had it for a while and it uses the same pleasure centres of the brain (I presume on a slightly smaller scale, but it probably depends on the man?!), I'm going to pass out with pleasure by the time I have sex again . . .

Of course, combining the two things together is the best way. Where's my paintbrush?

Nice Buns!

Just wanted to show off my first attempt at baking Hot Cross Buns - yes, I know they are meant to be eaten on Good Friday, but I decided to make them today!

Fresh out of the oven and with glazy bits on

Can't you just smell their cinnamony goodness?!

The crosses on them are a bit wonky - my first attempt at piping as well, but all things considered, I think they look quite yummy! I did cheat a little bit and used my beloved Panasonic Breadmaker to make the dough. I recommend breadmakers to everyone - I am eating quite a healthy diet at the moment and don't eat a lot of bread, but one of my weekly treats is a fresh French Loaf, timed to be baked by 08:30 on a Saturday morning. Mmmmmm . . .

Warm, buttered and ready to be scoffed

History of the Hot Cross Bun courtesy of Wikipedia

In many historically Christian countries, the buns are traditionally eaten on Good Friday, with the cross standing as a symbol of the crucifixion. Their ingredients mean that people who are following lent are able to eat them as they traditionally contain no eggs or dairy products. They are believed by some to pre-date Christianity, though there is no original evidence for a pagan origin, and the first recorded use of the name Hot Cross Bun is not until 1733. According to food historian Elizabeth David, the buns were seen by Protestant English monarchs as a dangerous hold over of Catholic belief in England, being baked from the consecrated dough used in making the communion wafer. Protestant England attempted to ban the sale of the buns by bakers but they were too popular, and instead Elizabeth I passed a law permitting bakeries to sell them, but only at Easter and Christmas.

Those pesky Easter bunnies must have thieving from my kitchen again

Thought for your Fellow Man?

Today, I saw an example of true compassion for your fellow man, and yes, I am being sarcastic.

Being a beautiful sunny day, I decided to wander down to Camden. The bus-stop isn't a bus-stop per se - just one of those stick-your-arm out jobs. It stops outside a group of council houses.

I sat down on the low wall whilst I waited, and there was one other person - a lady probably in her mid-70's.

All of a sudden, this dreadfully stroppy woman comes marching up with her kid in a pushchair, and starts ranting on about us being awfully rude sitting on "her" wall and how it was a wall and not a bench. I stood up immediately, just to avoid confrontation. And then stood there aghast as she raged at this elderly lady, that she was being rude and disrespectful (is this the favourite word of the chav classes?) by sitting on "her" wall, it was part of "her" property and she knew what her legal rights were. I think she even mentioned the police at one point. She carried on ranting, even as this by now completely bewildered elderly lady struggled to her feet. Luckily the bus came at this point, as I was slowly starting to simmer and about to butt in. As we got on the bus, the lady said to me very sadly "In 50 years of living here, no-one has ever spoken to me like that."

Then on the bus, I had to listen to the usual group of teens playing music out loud on their dreadful tinny mobiles. This put me into a boiling rage - it's bad enough everyone has to listen to it but the music they play is always complete CRAP! One of these days I am going to borrow some opera or classical music off someone and download it to my mobile, which plays music significantly louder and with better quality than theirs. A bit of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, with the cannon guns going off would be quite effective I think? Mind you, I still have the soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera on my laptop. The gorgeous Gerard Butler singing "Music of the Night" maybe.

Speaking of Mr Butler, I didn't realise till yesterday that it was him playing King Leonidas in 300, and bouncing around wearing nothing but boots, a loincloth and a cloak. And looking incredibly buff!


He's got a seriously dodgy beard in it, but I still would . . .

To a Friend

"A friend is the person who knows all about you and still loves you."

Elbert Hubbert

Today it is Lucy's birthday.

There is nothing that makes life so livable as having a friend who knows you better sometimes than you know yourself.

Someone to lean on.
Someone to lean on you.
Someone you can be stupid with, and know that they "get you".
Someone who sees the worst and the best of you, but loves you all the same.
Someone with whom you can share your deepest secrets. And never worry about them being spilled.
Someone who you can be mutually stroppy with. But it will blow over in a second.
Someone you can have a really cathartic bitch with.
Someone to share those moments of uncontrollable, unstoppable laughter.
Someone to equally share the moments of uncontrollable, unstoppable tears.
Someone with whom you can just . . . . be.

Happy Birthday babe.

And thank you.

"My friend, if I could give you one thing, I would give you the ability to see yourself as others see you. . . then you would realize what a truly special person you are"

Barbara A. Billings

Miracle Worker?

I have been given a Miraculous Medal.

Ostensibly, to help me find a husband. Apparently, as I am now 30, I am beyond hope and need all the help I can get.

My friends mother, a darling 82 year old Irish lady, is a staunch Catholic, attending mass most days. The medal was passed to me with words along the lines of "I gave one to X last year - she's getting married now, and she's MAD, so she is!".

Thanks - I think.

But you never know.

For those of you unfamiliar with Catholicism, the Miraculous Medal came about when the Virgin Mary appeared to St Catherine Labouré in 1830 and told her to design a medal. Mary said "Those who wear it will receive great graces".

Does a husband count as a great grace? The way some friends complain about their other halves, the great grace would be if they disappeared in a puff of smoke. But I guess the grass is always greener . . .

Lucy (flat / bestest mate) has leapt on this idea with glee. I walked into the kitchen, only to be met with "It won't help you find a husband if you leave it on the kitchen table. THE KITCHEN TABLE DOESN'T WANT TO GET MARRIED!!!" bellowed down my ear.

And if I happen, as a result of wearing the Medal (yes, it is on a chain round my neck) to meet the love of my life, I will certainly let you know.

The shag of my life would be a step in the right direction . . .

Hello & Welcome!

Hi! And welcome to my diary!

I am not a new blogger - I keep one where people know who I am and what I do. It's a nice blog (if I do say so myself) and I get lots of lovely visitors.

But I need somewhere to put my innermost thoughts. To complain about things if I feel necessary. To let my imagination run riot when I want it to, and to be able to write whatever I want without fear of recrimination or humiliation. To write about those little things in life that are important to me, in other words.

For those of you that may ask "What is this blog going to be about?", it is just going to . . . . be.

So here it is.

I am not sure yet how this will go. I might be an incredibly boring person and find I have nothing to write, outside that which I already write about in my other one. On the other hand, you never know, I might even shock myself with what my occasionally warped, with an oddish sense of humour, mind can come up with.

Enjoy.