Tuesday 27 May 2014

Rubbish Tuesday

I missed Rubbish Tuesday with Roan last week, time just got away with me and before I knew it, it was the weekend.

I've spent some time at the farm in the last few days and there are plenty of things to photograph and keep me happy.

Hanging on the barn door is a chain with a hook and a ring attached to it, it's purpose long since forgotten.

I often mean to take a photo of it and the other day I noticed a single dandelion clock had become attached to it.

I love the juxtaposition of the very old and rusted with the tiny new and potential life:

Bordering the paddock is a fence a section of which was recently broken when a cow leaned a little too hard on it.  The old wood is soon to be replaced with new  but before that happens I wanted to capture the grey/blueness of the old wood against the green of the grass and plants.

Friday 23 May 2014

What If One Day YOU Accidentally Morphed Into Me?

Linking up with Maxabella for the Weekend Rewind.

I KNOW, it's scary though and obviously not something you'd do on purpose but it COULD happen couldn't it?

It's one of the many things I worry about so I was thinking, just in case I should probably give you some kind of survival guide, a kind of list of do's and don't.

Clearly if you DO morph into me you will lose this list or draw on it or eat it or something so read it now it could be your only hope!

Firstly, if like me last Friday you decide to combine a little sunbathing with a bit of fence painting these are the things you need to bear in mind.

1. Check bikini status BEFORE turning around when you hear a noise and confront your neighbour semis naked when they open a top floor window.

2. Make the effort to dig the step ladder out of the back of the shed rather than balancing precariously on a dining chair which you have straddled over a couple of fencing posts left over from other gardening projects and which sit under the bit of wood that runs from the front legs to the back to give the chair strength otherwise it will wobble every time you move and results in you doing a weird kind of painty pole dancing thing as you cling on to the washing line.

3. Be prepared!  To this end I suggest looking under the kitchen sink for an old toothbrush for when you paint over snails.  Snails don't seem to object to being painted and they also seem to enjoy a little one on one action with a toothbrush and a hose if you DO accidentally paint them (to be honest, it's a little hard to determine what a snail either object to or enjoys but I'm going to run with this anyway).  Of course you might like the effect of painted snails on your fence in which case leave to dry for the gastropod pebble dash effect.

4.  Maintain a blase WTF do you THINK I'm doing when your neighbour who recently saw you semi naked spots you cleaning snails wonders WTF you are doing with a row of dark brown snails, a toothbrush and a hose pipe.  Do NOT try to explain - your neighbour is already traumatised and may find this difficult to process.

4. Also, try to avoid painting spiders, bugs, ants and cats as I've discovered that none of these stay still long enough for the paint to dry and give a pleasing effect.

Secondly - surviving in the wild .

I am something like a Girl Guide crossed with Bear Grylls really and I've got LOADS of useful tips on surviving in the wild (more commonly known as the English Countryside).  By the way, did you know that Taunton has been voted the third happiest place to live in the UK?  I KNOW, obviously I'm claiming SOME credit for that -well  who wouldn't be happy having me as a neighbour???

Anyway, when I'm not in town I can often be found in the wild and I've picked up one or two useful tips along the way.

1. That stuff that looks like mud?  DON'T TRUST IT!!  (seriously tempted to leave it like that because it makes perfect sense on it's own don't you think?).  But, in the interests of your survival while you are me I shall expand:

Cow shit forms a CRUST - now this crust is indeterminable from mud.  You cant rely on smell because EVERYTHING in the country smells of cow shit.


 However, if like me you are overcome by shiny stuff and set off across a field to take the perfect photo then FFS take the long way around the edge of the field and especially avoid areas where cows are fed.

 One second you may be walking across what seems like a perfectly solid piece of ground and the next you break through the crust and sink into 12" of cow shit!

If this DOES happen to you then remember this simple rule that could save your life:

Stand very still and SCREAM LIKE A GIRL until someone rescues you.

As an aside - I'm also adding tractor driver to my CV along with sheep wrangler, goat whisperer and bull baiter because I am now a FULLY FLEDGED tractor driver (I drove across an open field for a full 3 minutes and didn't hit ANYTHING which as far as I'm concerned qualifies me!).

2. Don't trust cows (just trust ME on that one - I know what I'm talking about).

3. Don't ride goats or sheep even accidentally ( but in some circumstances it may be permissible to ride cows as long as they don't object).

Well, I'm tired now but obviously I haven't covered EVERYTHING in this post so I suggest you just stick to fence painting and forays into the wild for now if you do suddenly find yourself being me.  Anything else you do at your own risk and I'm afraid I can accept no liability for injury sustained, neighbours traumatised or legal action taken against you.

If you do have any questions or concerns then please let me know, I have an answer for most things ;-).

Monday 19 May 2014

Halcyon Days

I have two posts in my head - obviously none ACTUALLY on paper yet and I've been debating which to tackle first.

Clearly it SHOULD be the first one which is 'Things I know and have learned' over the course of Friday and Saturday morning but I think I'll go with the second one first which is:

Halcyon Days

It's been the most glorious weekend.

After a busy Saturday morning (more of that in the next post) SD and I headed for the coast and the promise of fish and chips on the seafront - a reward for all my hard work.

We pitched up at Lyme Regis on the Dorset coast and headed straight for the harbour wall known as the Cobb.  The walkway around the harbour offers some beautiful views - I took these standing on top of the harbour wall:

Then we wandered down to the seafront where we saw these:

Morris men dancing

Lyme Regis forms part of the Jurassic coast and fossils are found all around here including here:

Lyme is probably one of my favourite nearby places to go if I'm not looking to getting away from it all and fancy a rhubarb crumble ice cream - I KNOW!!!  Rhubarb crumble ice cream!!!  Can you think of anything more ....  ummm, moreish?

I got my well earned fish and chips and SD and I sat on the sea wall with a brass band playing in the background and seagulls flying overhead and it was pretty much perfect!

After a lazy start on Sunday and a huge full English breakfast we gathered up Miss Mac and her friend and set off for Clevedon.

I've never really given Clevedon any consideration before and the only reason we went was because Miss Mac and friend are going to see One Direction at Wembley next month and 1D shot their latest video on the pier at Clevedon and the girls wanted to shoot their own video at the same place.

I hadn't realised that there was more to the place than the annual balloon festival and the downs set high above it but it really is the most lovely place.

The seafront has ornamental gardens and a Victorian bandstand (with yet another brass band playing for us) and Salthouse field, a large area of green with a light railway running around it, a huge bouncy castle and donkey rides for the children.

Clevedon has a genteel air about it much like another of my favourite places, Budleigh Salterton.  The attractions are low tech and old fashioned.

The pier was opened in 1869 and is one of the earliest Victorian piers still in existence.  It was fairly quiet when we got there and we took the long walk to the end to the pagoda tearooms (coffee and cake a must of course ;-)

I think I'd earned my cake by the time we got there!

Sitting on the end of the pier in the sunshine is possibly only a 3 day a year event as most of the time it would be too cold or windy but we were basking in the sunshine and it was just perfect!

After a delicious home made cupcake (no photo - ate it too fast!) we strolled along the promenade to the marine lake.

The marine lake was opened in 1929.  It's a little shabby these day but there are plans for restoration.

To me it's just perfect as it is.

The lake is fed by the tide so the water is changes twice daily and it's huge!  When the tide is out you can walk along the wall containing it;

And from a distance it looks like you are walking on water.

The affect is of an infinity pool and it's just stunning!

It may have been my first visit to Clevedon but I'm very sure it wont be my last.

Hoping you all had a halcyon weekend too :-)

Wednesday 14 May 2014

Rubbish Tuesday

Linking with Roan for Rubbish Tuesday

I'm a day late with this but this morning was the perfect morning for a stroll by the canal and the river with Gus my Border Collie and while I was there I took a few photos.

The canal runs alongside the railway as most do and, at a part called Firepool there is a long disused building, the water tower.

The water tower was built in 1842 and is a grade II listed building.  Sadly its water tank has been removed and the writing, which used to read, 'British Railways, Taunton Freight, Concentration Depot' is barely legible these days.

It's in an area of regeneration and canal side apartments have sprung up around it in recent years.  there has been much talk of restoration but as yet it's only occupants are a multitude of pigeons.

apologies for the slightly wonky photo!

The photo is taken from the opposite side of canal by Firepool lock.  Next to the lock is this:

A disused winch - again, not the greatest of photos but I'd left my camera at home so these are taken on my phone.

Something I greatly regretted when a little further on in the river which runs along the other side of the canal Gus and I spotted this:

A grey Heron watching for fish.  By the time I'd zoomed in and cropped this photo you lose a lot of definition.  A reminder to me not to leave home without the camera in future!

Tuesday 13 May 2014

I Used To Be Funny (part 4)

Linking up with Kylie at A Study in Contradictions who is guest hosting The Lounge this week.

I AM the party queen YO!

On Saturday night I was like one of those social butterflies of yore ...  lets pause for a moment here while we consider the word yore - yet another one of those great but much underused words ...

I managed to attend not one, not even two but THREE parties all in one night!

I flitted from one to t'other like one of the Hollywood greats or Coco Chanel or Princess Grace of Monaco or something leaving my social seal of approval  and hair in the food (I shed a little ok?).

Actually,  I may have found a cure for that.

Enamel paint!

Last Thursday was one of those 'Sarah helps SD' days.

Really, SD is so VERY lucky to have me!

Anyway, with the promise that it was going to be a beautiful day and I could spend the day in the country in shorts and a tee shirt topping up my non existent tan I agreed to help SD with a few jobs over at the farm.

It was NOT a beautiful day - I wore orange overalls and I did not get a tan!

Something strange happens to me when SD makes me don those overalls.  I swagger about with my hands in my pockets like Compo from Last of the Summer Wine fighting the urge to kick the heads of dandelions and set fire to things with a magnifying glass shouting 'Eh Oop SD, thas got a mighty fine goat theeere - lets dress her oop and ride her through the village'.

Hmmm, moving swiftly on ...

I may not have got a tan but I did manage to enamel the ends of my hair whilst hanging upside down painting the floor pan of the beach buggy.

It's an interesting look and not one I'd necessarily recommend - it appears to be impervious to washing or brushing and I may yet resort to cutting out the last few bits.

I'm getting very excited about the buggy now.  It's insured and MOT'd and ready to roll well,  other than the fact that the seats are out, the steering wheels off and the gear lever's been removed ...

But apart from that, y'know, you COULD go for a spin in it!

Second coat of paint went on yesterday afternoon and despite following instructions and wearing a hat this time I STILL managed to get more paint in my hair

Anyway, back to Saturday night.

The first port of call was at a friends 40th Birthday party - When J sent out the invite he said it was going to be catered by 'Tasteful Tapas' I've had their food before at a party a couple of months ago and it's great but I'm not really sold on that name.  I asked what SD thought of it and he said 'Anything with ass in it's name gets my vote' (all of which you would already know if you liked Fudges FB page which I keep forgetting to promote BUT I AM NOW - just look for People Don't etc ...  ;).

Anyhow, TT's had somehow been double booked so J decided to cook great vats of curry for the hoards instead and it smelt fantastic but I couldn't partake as I was off to Party Two!

The lovely L's (and my soon to be daughter in law) hen night.

I'm sorry, but there is something seriously wrong with me being Mother of the Groom.

I'm just not nearly grown up enough yet - they might make me where a fascinator or peep toe shoes or a shawl or something!

SD's mum asked me what I was going to wear the other day and then went on to describe the outfit that a MotG had worn to a wedding she'd been to - spaghetti straps showing her shoulders and half her chest and several inches above the knee - totally unsuitable, she looked like a TART!

SD sniggered, 'you've just described most of Sarah's dresses Mum' - 'Yes, but SHE looked like a TART'' - 'That's the kind of thing Sarah wears ...' 'Yes but she worn it to her sons wedding and she looked like a TART!' - 'Sounds like the sort of dresses Sarah's been looking at ....'

Oh God ...  Maybe I'll just wear the overalls ....

And I just know I'm going to say something wildly inappropriate to the father of the bride - at one of my best friends weddings I confidentially told her brand new Father in Law about how she and her new husband met when they were both completely rat arsed at a night club and trollop that she was she went home with him and then had to stay the whole weekend because she didn't have any spare knickers with her and ... well anyway - the point is - I just KNOW I'm going to do or say SOMETHING that will brand me forever as that slightly mad woman that poor L is going to be stuck with for the rest of her life :(.  Either that or I'll spill food down my front or fall over or belch really loudly during the speeches ....)

Anyhow, enough, I have to remember that this is not all about me ....

Lets get back to ME :)))

Once the meal was over (and very nice it was too) and I almost managed not to to say anything too embarrassing (well, other than recounting the story about my time on the dating website where I got asked out by a yoof younger than my cat but that was ok because one of the other guests told everyone to shout PENIS while she took a photo and someone at the end of the table retorted  'No, it's not long enough - lets all go with BLOW JOB which left me with a bit of a dilemma having been brought up never to talk with my mouth full).

I declined the kind invitation to continue the party at the lovely L's house as I'd arranged to meet SD and a group of friends in the pub for party no 3.

SD was inordinately pleased to see me and greeted me with an almighty curry fuelled burp RIGHT IN MY FACE!!!

He was completely off his face and being stalked by a woman with straggly hair and bad make up and held me in front of him like some kind of human shield to ward her off.

Id forgotten that I was still wearing my flashing hen party badge and when someone asked me who was getting married SD shouted WE ARE - Sarah's upgrading herself to Mrs SD - I have to say that the prospect of being shackled to him at that precise moment  wasn't really floating my boat!

Somehow I survived the rest of the evening sedately sipping my lime and soda - oh yes, I was staying sober for this one, it was SD's turn to be the 'date from hell' - I'm a sharing kind of person :)

I dragged him home, attempted of get him to drink a couple of pints of water which he refused AND, peering owlishly at me, he said (in a voice which I THINK he thought was seductive) 'Play your cards right and you might get a good seeing to tonight'.

Monday 12 May 2014

Maybe She's Born With It

Miss Mac and I share many of the same traits.  I guess it's something to do with sharing the same gene pool.  Ok, technically she shares mine but I'm a great believer in nurture over nature and I think many of her characteristics may have rubbed off on me.

I'm sure she does share some traits with her father ....  wind perhaps ....  But overall she is very much my girl.

On Friday she came home from school, things have calmed down a bit now the Mocks are over for her GCSE's next year and she's taken English and French a year early so hopefully the results will be good which takes a little of the pressure off.

In English they have been studying various authors and on Friday they had been discussing the book Chaos Walking the author of which is called Patrick Ness.

'Geddit Mum, Patrick Ness - Mr P Ness!!!

We both laugh hysterically at this until tears pour down our faces (I mean, SERIOUSLY??) while SD looks on apparently singularly unimpressed.

Eventually we compose ourselves apart from the odd snort and then SD says, 'well, at last they didn't call him Lock'.

Miss Mac and I look at each other blankly and then look at SD.

'What's funny about being called P Lock  ...?'

We both shake our heads confused.

Oh, he meant Loch Ness ...  Sorry SD but you can't join our club with that one ;-).

It reminded me of a post I wrote way back when (yes, when I used to be funny!) about peoples names and how some parents clearly don't think before they land their offspring with names that will haunt them forever.

I mean honestly, who in their right minds calls their child Christopher when their surname is Peacock?  It's always going to be shortened to Chris isn't it? (and yes, Ex Lax did indeed work with a Mr Chris Peacock).

I worked with a girl called Carrie a few years ago.  When she suddenly announced she was double barrelling her first name with her middle name Ann. We were all a little confused until it transpired that she was getting married and her husband to be's surname was Hiscock (personally it would have been a deal breaker for me but I guess she loved the guy).

Some people go completely the other way though.  When Ex Lax's ex got married she decided to double barrel her surname as people sometimes do and she went from being Diane White to Mrs Diane White-Cummings - I have NO words ...  nope, none at all ...

I Used To Be Funny (part three)

It's time for the Weekend Rewind with Maxabella, Sonia and Kelly again.

In my last 'I used to be funny' post I mentioned poor Figgy the undead hamster who came very close to being buried alive in his wheel.

I think I may possibly not have made it clear that eventually Figgy stopped messing with me and did indeed pop his clogs and go off to hamster heaven as several people enquired after his well being.

Ummm, well, after a long (in hamster terms) and happy life poor old Figgy passed away and, in our usual Mad Mac way we gave him a send off to be remembered (and, just in case we forgot I wrote it down ;-) ).

Alas Poor Figgy

There's nothing worse than thinking the hamster's dead and then discovering that the hamster is indeed dead ...

Now I've been here once or twice before so when Miss Mac made the sad pronouncement I was ever so slightly sceptical.

I went upstairs and together we contemplated that fat little hamster for a while.

"Poke him Mum, see if he moves"

"No, YOU poke him, he's your hamster".

"You poke him"

"I'm not poking him!"

"Well, I'M not poking him"

"I'm a kid, you can't make a kid poke a dead hamster ..."

Bugger it, she had a point.

I poked him ...  He didn't move ...

I still wasn't convinced.  If I'd buried that bloody hamster EVERY time he was dead ...

"Let's just leave him for a bit and see what happens".

"Mum, Figgy is dead, all that's going to happen is he is going to carry on lying there being deader!"

In exasperation she picked him up and turned him over.


Poor Figgy remained curled up in a stiff little ball of fluff, his little hamster teeth grinning at me as though to say, "I told you I was dead". This time it seemed he wasn't messin' with me.

It was time for another hamster funeral ...

Unfortunately I'd broken my spade whilst ...  well, you don't really need to know how I broke it. Anyway, I had a quiet word with SD who promised to bring one round later and even offered dig the hole for me (although that may have been more in the interests of keeping his spade intact).

We chose a spot in the garden under a bush and SD being careful not to dig up road kill (dead bird - another story ...) set to work whilst Miss Mac and I pondered on the best material for a hamster coffin.

I like to be a little inventive with such things so Rascal, (Miss Macs first dead hamster who was a ginger colour) is buried in an orange mobile phone box (geddit?? ).  Sir Frederick Fluff Balls was buried in an (empty) coco pops box (coco pops look a lot like hamster shit) and so on.

We rifled the recycling to see what we could use.  SD having finished digging the hole came to 'help'.  What about this he asked pulling out the cardboard inner from an kitchen roll.

"SD, I am not burying the hamster in that, it'll look like a bloody Christmas cracker!!!"

Added to which Figgy was slightly larger than the cardboard tube and Im buggered if Im going to try to shove a stiff hamster up a hole that's too small (say NOTHING ok, this is a VERY serious matter!!).

Eventually we fashioned a box from part of a cardboard box with lots of sellotape, filled it with sawdust, laid poor Figgy in it and taped it up.  We sat for a moment, each thinking out different thoughts when that fucker Bear (our cat of little brain) jumped onto the table, skidded and sent poor Figgys coffin flying!  Lots of shouting scared the crap out of that bloody cat and he shot outside whilst I reverently picked Figgy up and put him gently back on the table.

"Mum. have you got him the right way up???"

Ummm, well actually I didn't have a clue, we may well have buried Figgy upside down but I assured Miss Mac that I did indeed have him the right way up and off we went to the garden to finally lay Figgy to rest.

You know what I said about the shouting scaring the crap out of Bear ...?

Well it seems hadn't. Well, not quite ALL of it anyway.

That bastard cat was busy excavating his bowels very loudly and very pungently in poor Figgys newly dug grave!

I will never forgive SD for not appreciating the solemnity of the occasion and laughing until he cried.

Miss Mac will never forgive either of us for not appreciating the solemnity of the occasion and laughing until we cried.

Figgy hopefully doest give a stuff that the three of us did not appreciate the solemnity of the occasion and laughed until we cried.

And Bear, well, I have decided that I shall have him cremated when his time comes and (in an act previously only reserved for ex lax) scatter his ashes in a cat litter tray so that he may be crapped on by a multitude of cats!

Friday 9 May 2014

I Used To Be Funny - 2nd Edition

I offered to do some washing for SD the other day.

You know, just chuck a few things in with a load I was doing, not a full on 'bring me your unwashed grundies and I'll sit on the river bank pounding them on a stone to show how much I love you kind of thing'.

He looked at me as though I'd gone totally mad - in fact, he may have actually said ' Sarah, have you gone totally MAD???'

Have I ever mentioned that SD can be a little anal particular about his clothes?  Seriously.  To look at you wouldn't necessarily spot it at first glance.  He tends to dress like he's just rocked up from some sunny beach in California with his shorts and long blond hair but, while he's not a labels person he IS very much a vintage person and he takes great care of his clothes.

He thinks that A. I think my washing machine only has one setting - not true, I KNOW it has loads but the 40 degree express wash does me just fine THANKYOUVERYMUCH!

And B. that I don't know what an iron is for (or where it is) - ALSO not true - the iron was put to very good use sometime ago when Miss Macs homework got crumpled and it is .... Ummm, well I had it the other week when I mistook it for the electric whisk (bit hungover at the time to be honest ...) and tried to insert the beaters into it and now its ....  Well, it's SOMEWHERE ok and I COULD find it if I wanted to - which I don't!

Anyway, I wasn't offering to IRON his blood clothes WAS I so that was a completely pointless thing to point out anyway!

So I don't want to do his washing now which serves him right!

But it reminded me of a post I wrote a while ago which I think possibly serves to prove how anal particular he is regarding clothes in a totally (IMO) anal over the top way and so I'm re-posting it as the second edition of:

I Used To Be Funny.

Confessions of a Sock Slut

My Name Is Sarah And I Am A Sock Slut ....

How long does it take to buy a pair of socks?

I reckon .........   about 4 minutes?

Pop into Primark, pick up 7 pairs of black cotton rich socks for 2 quid and it's a done deal.

I'm a 'buy it in bulk, buy it in black' kinda girl.

I've hinted before that as far as I'm concerned socks are communal property, I will happily steal your socks and claim them as my own if you are foolish enough to leave them lying around.

Let's face it, pairing up socks is on a par with ...  I don't know ... ironing tea towels maybe??

Why would you? *

Cheap is also the way to go as far as I'm concerned. **

Anyone that's seen Master Mac prehensile toenails will understand where I'm coming from.

Seriously, that boy has full on CLAWS !!  He goes through socks like (for some reason I want to say 'a nun with the trots' ...  must be the latent poet in me ;)

Anyway, 3 weeks ago (please note that I mention the fact that it was 3 weeks ago for VERY good reasons which will become apparent)  Surfer Dude and I were partaking of a grande latte in Neros and I noticed this gentleman sitting opposite us with the longest feet I've ever been privileged enough to come across.  They were seriously like canoes!

Of course I whipped out my phone to take a photo to show you but Surfer Dude wrestled it off me muttering things like 'invasion of privacy', 'inapropriate' and, rather oddly I though, 'copywrite'.

A very ungentlemanly struggled enchewed as I bleated, 'but what about my readers, think of my readers dammit' (I may have even bitten him at one point).

Sadly, being male and (only just!) the stronger of the two, he won so no pic I'm afraid :(

After I'd been consoled with a super expensive slab of fair trade tiffin (oh yes, I CAN be bought;) the conversation moved to socks and it transpired that Surfer Dude was in need.

I've mentioned that he works in a school.  Well, he mostly teaches PE to kids from disadvantaged backgrounds and ones who struggle to fit into mainstream school (not all fit into both categories btw).  So, given that it seems finding the right socks is very important (it's the PE bit here that's significant in case you were wondering).

In fact, it's almost bloody impossible!!!

Do you know, he wouldn't even go into Primark!!!

I may be a sock slut but he's even worse, he's a


We have trawled shops in four counties over the past three weeks, perusing, examining thread count, rubbing soles and toes between our fingers, looking at each other knowledgeably before saying, 'hmmmm' and discarding***.

We have considered and cogitated, discussed and dismissed.

The only thing we haven't done is sprinkled the bloody things with salt and pepper and eaten them with a knife and fork!!!

I shit you NOT.

Did you for instance know that you can get sock with silver technology?

F*ck knows what that means but you can.

You can get atmospherically sensitive socks, socks with aloe vera to soothe those tired feet, super absorbent socks (that is kind of ewww don't you think?), socks with gel inserts, easy grip cuffs, socks that tell the time and even ones that nibble away at those prehensile toenails as you walk ****

So, tonight when we popped into Sainsburys to buy some peppermint tea and I caught Surfer Dude once again soulfully stroking the sock collection something in me snapped, this red mist descended and I marched up to him, grabbed the socks out of his hand and strode towards the till with him bleating in my wake 'but ... but ...'.

I stopped and turned and, -  bringing my face very close to his, I said in an apparently VERY loud and carrying voice an authoritative voice:

'Sufer Dude, you are buying these fucking socks ok now do NOT make me bite you again'.

We bought the socks.

(I am please to say that I am now the proud owner of 5 new pairs of socks .... :)

* Please note, that is a rhetorical question!

** cheap cotton rich  - NOT cheap nylon, I do have some standards ...

*** I truthfully didn't give a shit and would have bought any or all of them.

**** I may have made the last couple up ....

Wednesday 7 May 2014

I Used To Be Funny (part one)

Linking up with Maxabella for the Weekend Rewind.

I was re-reading a few old blog posts that I'd put into draft this morning and sniggering to myself (because you know, I used to be funny) so I thought I'd start a ...


It may well go the way of all my previous brilliant ideas ie nowhere and I did ask a friend for inspiration when I was trying to decide which post to choose but he was no help at all (I suspect he can't remember any of them!) so I'm going to start it off with this post entitled:

Exposing Myself To The Neighbours (AGAIN).

There's nothing worse than thinking the hamster's dead and then discovering the hamster is indeed dead!

This morning I discovered Figgy in his wheel.  the wheel is sealed and fits to the rotostack with entry by means of a tube.  How the fuck are you supposed to get a dead hamster out of THAT?

It's pretty hard to tell if a hamster is dead or just sleeping so I span the wheel a bit just to check.  A live hamster probably would have woken up rather than just thudding around (in a solid fat hamster kind of way ...).

The only solution seemed to bury poor Figgy in his wheel which is kind of gross as it's not biodegradable so next year Id probably be accidentally digging up his decomposed remains in a bright yellow plastic coffin.

Anyhow, turns out Figgy isn't dead after all, phew!

This is supposed to be a post about my frankly hilarious (judge for yourselves and then lie and tell me I'm right ;) and completely ignored Twitter tweets (seems there should be a better way of putting that).  I re posted a couple on FB because, well because I require the adulation and gratification which was sadly lacking in Twitter land. For good measure I may throw in a couple of FB status updates that didn't make it as far as Twitter and maybe just one or two random thoughts that ought to really just stay in my head.

So to start you off, here are the tweets that the twits ignored ...

'Hormones may turn me into a complete bitch at times but boy they get the house clean! (and, if I don't want to clean it, I just break it')

'Arse, gloss paint - elbow, emulsion - yes doubters, I KNOW the difference! '

'Without GHD's my hair would probably qualify for it's own postcode! ' (this one had previously appeared on FB but given the state of my hair on that day was worthy of a rerun)

'just looked in the mirror - it gonna be another day of relying heavily on personality and mouthwash - mostly mouthwash to be fair ... '

Tuesday 6 May 2014

Rubbish Tuesday

Linking up with Roan for Rubbish Tuesday.

When you set yourself up as a bit of a baker you have to expect that people are going to call on you when a cake needs making.

Well, that's fine by me because there's nothing I like more than faffing around in the kitchen and creating something delicious for people I love.

I'm not an expert and I have my fair share of disasters and, to be honest, my cakes often taste so much better than they look and as long as people want to eat my cakes then I'll carry on making them :-)

Last week Miss Mac turned 15 and I made her a strawberry and white chocolate cake:

My niece and her husband came to visit for the Bank Holiday weekend and, as it had been his birthday on the Friday I offered to make a cake.  Apparently chocolate mud cake is his absolute favourite.  Not something I'd made before but a quick search on google came up with a recipe and the end result was this:

A cake containing 500g of chocolate!  Practically gives me a heart attack just looking at it!

Anyway, this post isn't really about cake (although cake is often on my mind ....)  it's about rubbish, or, to be more precise:

' The idea is to post a photograph of anything old and/or deteriorating i.e. house, barn, outbuilding, something rusty, antiques, interesting junk, or something in pristine condition, but just plain old.'

While none of make cakes tend to fortunately make it to the 'old' stage I do like a bit of kitchenalia and it's the first thing I look out for if I'm wandering around a car boot sale or charity shop.

A few weeks ago I found these:

A set of Salter kitchen scales - I totally love them, I've no idea how old they are but as all the measurements are imperial I'm guessing that they could be early 70's, still in perfect condition and they scrubbed up pretty well.  I still tend to think in lb and oz anyway, I guess that's as a result of having mostly been taught to cook by my Grandmother so they suit me perfectly.

I also recently found this:

A proper old fashioned hand whisk with a wooden handle which again took me right back to my Grandmothers kitchen.  I'm not really a gadget person, I like my cooking to be hands on and even a bit of hard work, I like to feel like it's me rather than a machine that's created something.

Finally, my last piece of 'junk' was actually dug up in the garden of a friends house:

After rescuing it from the bin I gave it a wash and a little bit of research confirmed that this bit of cast iron (which weighs a ton!) is for making welsh cakes - so I gave it a shot:

And they tasted pretty good - I'm also thinking that they would be great for making American pancakes or drop scones in ...

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