Happy New Year

ooo what a crazy week we've had with all the visiting people and drinking the contents of their fridges, and now we are in Devon with friends. The kids are playing beautifully, and as the pubs in this village are closed, we've decided to stay in and get merry. I've started early with my new year celebrations- I'm supping a lager shandy as I type (I like to party in style). Christmas was just as wonderful as we had hoped, with my first attempt at cooking goose being a major success, what with a bit of help from 'Blanc Christmas' and the December issue of Good Food Magazine. My 75 year old mother in law said it was the best meal she had eaten in her life and she's not even completely lost her marbles yet!
Sadie got so many presents it is disgusting. We are even plannning to move house to fit everything in. She turns 5 in a month and we are contemplating sending money to children's charities instead of getting her any more toys and trinkets. It would seem a bit mean in a way, but we shall see. A friend of hers at school has just moved over here from Korea and they had to give away all her toys when they moved, so maybe we'll sort some out to hand onto her. I'm sure Sadie could part with more than one of her now huge collection of eleven Barbie dolls. She has one in every nationality- there is even a blue one that looks like an alien to cater for extra terrestrial PC-ness.
Have a good one- I'm off to pour myself another glass of something fizzy and cold.

Soundtrack: I'm working on it..... it's difficult to hear what song is in my head when youi're sitting next to four children playing pool whilst listening to the demo on the very loud keyboard in the corner. For now my soundtrack appears to be a panpipe version of 'How Deep is Your Love' with the clattering of snooker balls as an accompaniment. I am going to escape before I have a migraine.

11:42pm: chosen soundtrack: Shannon-Let the Music Play

My favourite day of the year is here!!

If there is anyone out there weird enough to be reading this now- happy Christmas!! Hope you all have a good one. We are just about to go for a stroll along the bleary seafront and then I'm heading back here to get the goose in the oven before we head to the pub for one or three aperitifs! (now you are getting why I like this day so much- I get to drink in the middle of the day and it's not frowned upon...)
We were woken at 3.30am this morning by Sadie wanting to open her presents. When I persuaded her that it would be a much better idea to do it when mummy wasn't furious and was actually able to open her eyes and smile she soon settled down. Ten minutes later however, when she'd obviously been lying awake trying to dissect the plausibility of Father Christmas having actually been in the flat, along came the questions about how he got down the chimney when ours is blocked, how come the glass that had Santa's sherry in had now been washed up (she went to check) and why the wrapping paper poking out of the top of her stocking was the same as the presents that daddy had wrapped mine in. So there I was at around 4am today telling lie after lie to my daughter. I have to say, it didn't feel right, and I was tempted to blurt out that really Santa didn't exist, but I resisted and have kept the dream going. Another year, another giant fib. But what the hell- my parents lied to me for about 8 years about Santa and it hasn't screwed me up too much. (she says- having just signed up for another 6 months of psychotherapy)
I've just been listening to Classic FMs Christmas choices and I found myself blubbing to 'Once in Royal David's City', and I've just come in the bedroom to find Andy, on Christmas day, deeply engrossed in a copy of Richard Dawkins' 'The God Delusion'. How could he? Now I'm not a religious woman, but I have been in the past, and although I don't officially believe in any of that brainwashing, I like to pretend, like with Santa to Sadie, that perhaps there really was an amazing baby called Jesus and that there is nice cuddly man with a beard looking down on us and taking care of things. I only do this about once a year, or if someone I know is ill or has been involved in a serious accident, but it kind of works for me, as this is what Christmas meant when I was a nipper, being from a religious family and that. I took Andy and the mother in law to Christmas Eve mass yesterday and we kept giggling when they mentioned 'unmarried woman' and 'pregnant' and 'how can that be?'. It was a bit of a bells and smells church, the priest sang too loud and out of time, half of the carols were medieval, and the Santa they brought on for the kids at the end was rubbish- he looked anorexic and kept asking all the newborn babies what they wanted for Christmas. But no matter how naff and stupid and out of date it all is, I like to retreat back to my childhood on the 25th dec and believe in the unbelievable.

Soundtrack: Pipettes- A Winter's Sky

Christmas Pudding Run!

We did it!! Rebs and I ran 5 miles yesterday morning, in the freezing cold wearing nothing but our running gear and our santa hats. We ran up slippery muddy hills and through sludgy fields but we loved it!! Oh how we laughed. We were amongst the last half of people through the finishing line (Rebs' new running friend became a man of about 90 who kept wheezing- she had to mentally run through her vague knowledge of first aid just to stop herself from panicking) but we don't care- we ran all that way and we survived!! It was actually rather hilarious, as we took so long to do the run compared to some of the professional tri-athletes and runners that when we were approaching the end, some cars were driving past us, already on their way home having finished half an hour ago! When I arrived at the line it was blocked with people milling about discussing which pub to go to for a ploughmans. I assume they thought "why is that ginger woman running towards us- the race finished ages ago". The marshalls had to lead me to the finishing post- I couldn't even see it through the crowds of people packing away. Ironically Andy and Sadie also weren't there to cheer me through one of my finest moments, as just at the crucial time of completion Sadie needed a number two. Bloody kids! So there was me, running around trying to actually find the finishing line with no one clapping for me! How tragic, but I feel smug and self-righteous now anyway. Plus I got half a glass of mulled wine (Rebs and I had to share as they had nearly run out, having quenched the thirst of the sprinters aeons ago) and a christmas pudding to take home. Ace. We shall definitely be signing up next year.

Soundtrack: Queen-Don't Stop Me Now /Survivor-Eye of the tiger (can't decide which I prefer but they both serve as cheesy background tunes to my day of glory)

Posh nosh

I am going doolally with all the socialising this christmas. There are still 5 days to go and I'm already looking forward to the bit afterwards where I don't have to do anything apart from work out where we are going to put all Sadie's new toys and how to get the goose fat off the roasting pan (to keep for gold dust roasted potatoes of course). Been up to London over the last 24 hours for dinner at Andy's brother's. We ate snails and foie gras and drank expensive red wine. I love going up to visit them despite travelling on a train with a hyperactive four year old. It's like going to a very exclusive French restaurant, only we don't have to pay and we get hugs from the hosts. It's Andy's birthday today and I took him for a delicious meal at Graze, on Western Road in Hove. I had celery, apple and chestnut soup followed by pork belly, black pudding and cassoulet. Andy can't remember what he had but he says it was good, and asks why am I writing all this down anyway- who is interested in what we had for lunch? Anyway Graze is bloody great and they do a lunchtime deal which means we ate in style for almost nowt. I'm off to bed early as I need to replenish my body before my big run on Saturday. Rebs has assured me that she runs like she's walking (as opposed to me who runs, walks a bit, runs, walks a bit, etc) so I think we will have a right laugh at ourselves and our uncoordinated techniques, and then feel very smug afterwards that we gave it all a go.

Today was bloody freezing but I was catapulted back to a time when I was very hot. An Indian woman from the school invited Sadie and I over to her house this afternoon for samosas and pakora. She treated me like a goddess, serving me chi and yummy food. It was heaven, and reminded me of our trip to India last winter when we befriended a Goan family who invited us over for a meal. They made us a feast and didn't eat themselves- finding pleasure in watching us enjoy their food. Elveena is a lovely woman, and has invited us back one day for more gorging and interesting chat. I was reminded how friendly and welcoming Indian people are. It's very refreshing when you're used to stiff englishness and awkwardness. They have only been here a few months, having moved from Delhi, and I wondered if I was her first english guest. I was glad to have been to her birth land and be able to understand her culture a little. Even though I found Delhi actually a bit of a nightmare when we travelled India (we were with a four year old with delhi-belly after all), I could now appreciate having been to such a different place.

It's my party and I'll dance to Europe if I want to

Well the party is over and I can tell it was a good one as after 48 hours my hands are still shaking, and the evidence of the fun had is shown in the last CD in the CD player being the Daily Mail's '80s Rock Classics'. I do recall, as my "little" brother (Ok so he's a 6ft accountant but he's still my younger) was escorted home by one of my saucy single mum friends from the school at 5am, 'Final Countdown' playing and me, in my Sexy Santa costume (someone said I looked like an Ann Summers window display- well if you can't dress like a slut at your own party when can you?), dancing about with a glass of flat champagne in my hand.
My black eye caused great controversy at the social gathering, with many dirty looks being directed at poor Andy. One of my friends was so sympathetic that she subconsciously caused herself to get a replica shiner on the same eye, when playing mini golf with her son yesterday. At the school gates this morning we resembled the Kray twins. (see photo of us in the wars)
Just received my favourite Christmas greeting EVER from the lovely Caroline and her brood- see http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1386057184... it's hilarious!

Christmas is dangerous

God I am such a perfectionist at Christmas- it's a bit sad and very scary. I've finished my present buying, wrapped them and put them under the tree, I've re-filmed my child's nativity play and it's faultless, the decorations are all up, I've made tomato chilli chutney for all my family, I've sent EVERYONE I know cards, I've prepped all the food for making canapes at my party on Saturday, I've menu planned for Christmas day, and booked all the pantos and carol services any small child would need to get their deserved amount of festive joy ("enough already" you all cry. See- told you I was mad about this time of year). But now Christmas has bitten back to make me stop being such a sad arse. There I was, pottering and faffing about making everything "just so" on the mantelpeice, ready for Saturday's "crowd" of party goers, when the heaviest and spikiest decoration (apart from our 9ft tree) fell on my face. It really, really hurt and now I have a corker of a black eye. Oh how I cried and then laughed hysterically at myself. So now I've stopped my flapping and am supping some nice red wine to wind me down. And yey- The Street is on tonight!
P.S. If anyone's interested and following my academic career- I did manage to complete my first assignment last week despite all the sleeping and bleeding it was causing me...

Soundtrack: Kate Nash-Dickhead

All I want for Christmas.... is a decent video of my child in her first nativity

Just been to Sadie's first Nativity Play. Poor little love. She was right down there in the role of a "townsperson", sat at the side, her costume was brown winter clothing and daddy arrived late for the show so had to stand right at the back meaning the video we have of her first school play is shite and shows the back of a dad's head (one who arrived on time as he has a seat at the front), topped off with Sadie's woolly hat poking out somewhere in the background. Occasionally you can see her nose. I sat at the side and saw her singing beautifully. Luckily it's on again tomorrow so I've bought another ticket to get a proper recording. She took not being Mary, an angel or a star very well I thought, and despite usually having an aversion to anything but the colour pink, was happy to wear muddy tones. I am very proud of her. At least next year she can't feel disappointed in whatever role they give her. "Townsperson" is about as bad as it gets- even sheep or donkey is better.

Annie revelations and aching lungs

I have only just realised why I wasn't allowed to watch the musical 'Annie' when I was a nipper.... we watched it yesterday with Sadie and it all made sense. On the one hand, my parents are strict Catholics and 'Annie' is in fact a rather saucy production which I'm sure my mother wouldn't approve of. I can't tell you how many female gussets were flashed but there were plenty. On the other hand, we were always allowed to watch 'Carry On' films and Benny Hill, so I think my second theory is correct: they were probably being sensitive, as I am a cheeky ginger lass who's mum adopted me at birth, and Annie is a cheeky ginger lass whose parents abandoned her at birth, ends up living in a stinking orphanage and then later discovers her real parents are dead. Yes- it all makes perfect sense now as to why I was never exposed to this film. Glad I have now watched it as it's a classic- Sadie has been singing 'Tomorrow' ever since. And luckily, I have since found out that my birth mother is alive and well. In fact we're going to visit her this Christmas, for the third year running.As for my natural dad; he might be alive, but if he is he's well into his 70s by now and is married with at least three children in their early fifties, and might not appreciate me turning up out of the blue, resembling the one night stand he had back in 1976.
So, like Annie, my story had a happy ending too, although I wasn't lucky enough to have a big party with fireworks spelling out my name in the sky.
Just been for a mile run along seafront and nearly died. First time I've run since I had head cold and I am so out of practice- only 2 weeks until I've got to do 5 miles!!! Jesus. It's now an hour since I got back from run and I'm still bright purple.

Soundtrack: Elastica-Annie

Explosion over breakfast

Warning: do not violently sneeze whilst eating shredded wheat.

Chocolate Brownies and The Street

See title for two of my favourite things, and two things I enjoyed simultaneosly this evening. Thank god for the chocolate comfort as, as ever, The Street left me in tears. What an amazing series. Very Mike Leigh in fact, although with more of a sprinkle of optimism thrown in at the end. See recipe below for my fave brownie recipe by the way, and The Street can be found on BBC1 every Thursday night at 9pm.
We now have a Christmas tree!! And it's 9ft tall!! Not as mad as you may think as our ceilings (as they are a la Regency stylee) are about 12ft high. We went on a lovely trip yesterday to Wilderness Wood near Haywards Heath and it's one of the best places I've ever been to in East Sussex. Great for kids too and their trees are beautiful and bargainous so get yours from there if you live near me. See www.wildernesswood.co.uk for details...

Chocolate Brownies
100g butter
50g cocoa powder
2 eggs
225g caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence
50g self raising flour
50g small walnut pieces

Preheat oven to 180oC. Line small baking tin with baking sheet. Melt butter and add cocoa. Mix until no lumps. Beat eggs and add sugar. Mix until smooth. Stir in cocoa mix and vanilla essence. Add flour bit by bit, until combined. Mix in walnut pieces. Pur mixture into tin and bake for about 30mins.

Soundtrack: two Great Xmas singles from bands I know- both are great sparkly festive tunes-
Pocketbooks-Christmas In Your Sights
Priscillas-One Christmas Wish (listen to http://www.myspace.com/thepriscillas)

I am a drinker with a writing problem

As I mentioned earlier in my blogging, since being a stay-at-home mum (makes it sound easy but I've actually spent 5 years running around as though my arse was on fire) for half a decade, my brain has turned to mush(well- the academic side at any rate-some parts connected to irrational fears about paedophiles and anxiety about the correct fit of Clarks shoes have developed beyond their necessity). For example, as you will know if you are a regular reader, I was so enthralled by studying again that the first time I sat down to do my course, I fell into a very deep sleep. The course is now ticking by, and I'm completing my first proper assignment this week. I thought it would be a good idea to go to the library to escape the pressures of housewifery (as an aspiring novelist, the piles of ironing and washing up get bigger but it's the price you pay-and I'd rather have a messy flat and be creative, than live in an ultra tidy flat with nothing happening- if you ever come round to my flat and it's spotless tell me to get on with my writing as I'm obviously not doing enough). It all started off good- I sat down and was just enjoyably (I know- scary) absorbed in indents and en-dashes when red spots started to appear on the page. I was having a f+@"ing nose bleed! My brain was now, unable to nod off, going into overdrive and was so confused by the signals to learn about editing as opposed to the words to 'Little Donkey' it had decided to blow a vessel!
Oh the embarrassment. It's like it's trying to tell me something. I'm off to do the ironing. That will calm my mind. (my neurons: "Ah good- she is doing something mundane again- relax girls. Let's hope she doesn't try any of that wordy learning malarkey again or we might just explode from the shock")

Head Cold

Looking after my friends' kids today which is great in that Sadie is entertained but the place is so noisy! I have retreated to the office for some peace. It's just stopped raining outside- the first time for 24 hours and now I feel a bit cheerier. Dark skies and head colds bring with them much melancholy. Yesterday when it was pissing it down, we had to cancel our first outing to the Rottingdean Smuggler's Night- suddenly wandering around the streets looking at craft stalls in the dark, cold and damp was the last thing we felt like doing, so we got in the car and drove around the rough suburbs, hunting for the best Chrismassy house. It's early days but there are some corkers out there already. I love having a kid for many reasons, but being able to show them the glittering wonderland of council estates is one of my favourite things to do as a parent. Forget disneyland- when you have people who make that much effort making their homes into sparkling tack fests - you have a ready made dreamland on your doorstep, or up the road past the detention centre at any rate....
Children have found me in my cave. Can't think. Must go.

Soundtrack: Billy Holiday-What a difference a day makes

Tinsel Town

Been very creative today, first with the kids at home making mini Christmas trees from bits of tumbleweed from the late Derek Jarman's Dungeness garden, painted silver and hung with mini baubles and tinsel. I know it's not even December yet but it will be in a couple of days and we have to be prepared for it. We're putting our fairy lights and tree up next week. Making the trees brought back memories of our trip to Dungeness a couple of years ago, and I just found a poem I wrote when I got back about our day trip there:

Dungeness
Bleak dreary day
Driving to Dungeness
Where a man laid to rest
And grew a garden full of life
To carry on his memory
Living in Dungeness
How bleak a landscape
How flat and murky
Nuclear power station
Through the fog
Beer and fish and chips
Cowboys in porter cabin pub
Like a technicolor Texan truck stop
In a desert landscape
Flying kite with excited children
Smoked cheese and kippers
Wild rabbit skinned
From a lumberjack with a beard
Black and yellow painted cottage
Prospect place
Next door’s children matching
Black and yellow wendy house
Looking through the windows
A dark and pokey place
A bed with sheets still on it
Where a dying man rested
Tumbleweed as souvenir
Will spruce it up at Christmas
Paint it silver to commemorate
And we will tell everyone
It came from Derek Jarman’s beautiful garden
In wonderfully dreary Dungeness

Not an especially great poem but it sums up our day there.

Been doing some writing today for another project of mine, that is running alongside The Book. It's another book about how to get your kids to eat healthy food, but it's not so much about recipes, although there are many in there, but about tricks and games you can play with your kids to make eating more fun. It's also about the psychology of food and play, and how we can encourage kids to have a more positive impression of meal time. It's called 'Sneaky Goodness'. Am off to do some more now in fact.

Soundtrack: New Order- True Faith

Seeing the bright side

ooo- I was in a negative frame of mind yesterday was I not... but anyway, the results of the poll have come through and votes as to whether I make Alison's boss aware of her lack of personal skills are as follows:
3 people reckon I should forward her unprofessional responses to her boss and get her in do-do (ouch-we are a vengeful bunch)
1 person thinks I should be very annoyed but doesn't know whether I should send or not and thinks it's up to me to decide her fate
2 people(see comment) reckon I was right to feel annoyed but shouldn't take it any further (one thinks I should go as far as travel to Newcastle to give her a hug)
2 people think I over-reacted, thought Alison's original email was "trying to be nice" and so definitely shouldn't carry on with this malarkey.

So, and I had decided this anyway after the venom had been expelled and subsided, I'm not going to do the evil deed, and I will rise above this miscommunication bollocks....

So- no more negativity and back to being fluffy and positive me thinks (see pic of Sadie wearing Planet Boo top to make you smile). Today I was thinking that I can tell I'm broody as for some reason, when what my body really wants me to do is have another bubba, I get really into doggy-woggies (and I'm talking about the small, cute animals, not some sexual position for conception) and feel a warm glow in my heart when I see them scurrying about at the park having a game of fetch. And I don't know if it's just a Brighton thing, but dogs are even cuter at this time of year as their owners see it as a necessity to adorn their canine companions in winter clothing. Some even wear cagoules when it's raining, and if it's a particularly chilly day have a polo neck underneath! It's so funny, and Molly the Lurcher up in Tongue beware- you shall have a little fashionable present under the tree for Christmas this year- I can't resist!
By the way- the accident I came across yesterday on North Street had a happy ending- the Argus reported today that the young man involved is fine, despite walking in front of a double decker bus and hitting his head on the road. These Brighton and Hove buses are very bouncy it seems (as must the roads be)- Sadie survived a double decker bumping into her when she was three THANK GOD. But I do think the council should get onto making it more obvious that the main road that runs through Brighton city centre is now two-way traffic. No wonder people are getting squashed.
Hark at me all jolly and helping in the community- I have evidently been reading Rebs Tully's 'Happy In Twenty Days...' ebook (available from ebay for 99p!)...it's ace and obviously does the trick! Incidentally Rebs has signed up to be my running partner for the 5 mile Christmas Pudding Dash on 22nd Dec so it's 100% happening-eek!! she recently completed a 10 mile run, and me- well the furthest I've done is 3 miles and that was in August. Let the training commence...

Soundtrack: Killers-Mr Brightside

Just finished watching 'Boy A'- a brilliant channel 4 drama about a 24 year old young man, just out of prison after 14 years, after being put away for murdering a young girl, and how he copes readjusting to living in society with a new identity. It was very connected to the Jamie Bulger case. Very unnerving, but compelling and very upsetting. Being a sensitive soul, I had to switch onto Michael McIntyre Live at the Apollo afterwards to counteract the sadness I felt at the end of the programme, as well as the effects of something I saw earlier on in the day that disturbed me somewhat. There had been an accident on North Street in Brighton today and I was unfortunate enough to have to walk past the scene and saw something I wish I hadn't. Luckily, Sadie remained oblivious. So thanks to Michael McIntyre I have ended my rather dark day with a few belly laughs. I don't like to go to bed feeling glum.

It's War!

Oh my god. I am having an email slagging match with a complete stranger and all because I applied for a writing job. She seems as though, and I know emailing can misconstrue things a bit, she's a total cow and shouldn't have a job whereby she has to deal with people. Here are the interactions below- see for yourself. I'm tempted to cut and paste them and send them onto her boss- I have all her details. What do you think readers?

Hi Alison
I hear you are in need of a child-friendly freelance writer for your
project for Ouseburn Valley Children's Heritage Guide and I am very interested in helping you out. I am a freelance writer for magazines and also write children's stories, as well as having a child of my own to bring up, so let me know the details of what you are looking for and I'm sure I can provide you with exactly what you want. I look forward to hearing from you. Let me know if you need a C.V or
want to see my portfolio of writing work.
Thanks for your time
Cathy Swaby
Freelance Writer

Her response:
I'm sending you details, but to be honest, to our great deilight we've a lot
of great locally based applicants have come out of the woodwork and
we'll probably be choosing one of them - more practical for all concerned.
alison

Back to blog: Now is it just me (and I am someone who, as a writer, has had her fair share of work rejections- it's a big part of the territory) or is that slightly rude a response to a job application? Even broadsheet newspaper editors have had the time to respond more politely. I've worked in various personnel departments where I've dealt with job applicants, and I would never be so short with someone- I would at least thank them for getting in touch and say sorry but there isn't likely to be work available, I'll keep their details on file, etc etc. So I responded thus, and then the war began.....

>Thanks for letting me know but you could have been more polite about
it. I'm glad you're delighted you've found someone else but I'm not. I won't be
applying for the position as you have made it sound like it would be a
waste of my time. I suggest that next time someone is looking for work with you,
you appreciate the time they have taken to contact you and the fact that
they are looking for work and might be disappointed to learn that someone else
'got the job'. You may have not meant your email to be so abrupt but it
certainly came across that way.
> Cathy

So she said:

hi cathy, dear me, how grumpy -if you've 50 enquiries to answer in
half an hour when you were expecting 5 the temptation is to delete them all.
sounds like that would have suited you better. i was actually trying to save
you the trouble of applying by writing to you, so think of it that way.. right,
that's enough of a waste of time for us both.
alison

Back to blog: Bloody bitch!! Now do I forward this correspondence to her boss? Lines are open now so get voting....

To flash or not to flash......

There are two types of people in this world: Those who love to strut around the house naked, with the curtains open, and those, like me, who don't, and even in semi-nakedness, feel the need to run quickly past windows due to believing that someone somewhere will see their bare flesh and that would be a terrible thing. In our bedroom at the back of our flat for example, we have a view of a brick wall (oh the joys of urban living), albeit a pretty, ivy-covered one, and yet I still feel the need to draw the blinds when I'm getting dressed or am having a bit of nookie. It's as though somewhere deep down I believe that Spiderman really exists, and as well as his alter-ego Peter Parker, also has a third persona as a peeping tom. That's the only person who is likely to see me as they would have to be able to climb walls and would also have to have the body of a superhero to be able to bend right back to get a good look at my nudeyness, but I continue to be paranoid about it happening.

Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder-Higher Ground

Fresh lungs and how to survive being ginger

As someone who used to regularly enjoy chain smoking benson and hedges in the pub over a pint or three, I can't believe I am actually going to say this, but I am SO happy that pubs are now non-smoking. I went to my favourite public house in Brighton today (the 'Hand In Hand' in Kemptown by the way; see http://www.beerintheevening.com/pubs/s/23/2390/Hand_In_Hand/Brighton) with Andy and for the first time (we haven't been there since the ban- we don't get out that often...) I could actually SEE the bar when I walked in and BREATHE. I am now going home after a visit to the local with my senses still intact (well apart from my sense of reality, having had a few, but that's why I like a drink) and no need to wash my clothes the next day. BUT the best thing about the smoking ban is that now we can get a seat in the pub, no matter what time and what day of the week it is. There must be a whole load of smoking dens in people's houses now, as more than half of Brighton no longer comes out to play, especially now it's got so blimin' chilly. A bit sad but it's always nice to get a good seat innit.
Speaking of pubs, and actually now you are going to think I am a liar and in fact DO get out more than I say I do, we met up with the lovely Joy and Geoff last night for a drinkie or two in the Lanes. Geoff is such a funny man. My face didn't just ache from laughing at his banter, it actually felt like it was going to fall off. They are very creative and inspiring those two as well, and what with their publishing know-how, are urging us on to make a coffee table book displaying Andy's crisp packet collection (see pic). He has the largest collection of packets in the world and they are just rotting in the shed of our garden in Camden. If people bought 'Boring Postcards' all those years ago (I did) then surely a book of comical ('Craps' anyone?), kitsch and colourful snack jackets will please the book-mad public.
Do you know I saw two books next to each other in the gift section at Borders the other day- one entitled 'How to spot that your other half is an utter twat' and the other 'How to survive being ginger' (I was tempted by both but let's say no more). If this bollocks is selling then we're onto a winner.

Twitter Ye Not

Did anyone ever watch gooey tear jerker film Bambi when they were small? If so- do you remember when it was twitterpating season and all the animals started getting friendly with each other and then made some baby Disney-animated animals together? Well I'm a bit scared to go back out my front door this morning, as that seems to be what's going on in Brighton this today- everyone's twitterpated. Even the checkout boy at Tesco was flirting with the french lady who had just come in to buy her bog roll, and seemed to be about to ask her out. As I walked past Starf+@%ers on the corner of my street there was a couple snogging in the window. Then, on my morning run (or rather fast walk as Miss Glazier and I were feeling weary), the cute guy from the video shop jogged past us and winked at me. The highlight was the man decorating our hallway who, seeing me coming back laden with food packed LEOPARD PRINT LAUNDRY BAGS (do you like the way I let you know oh-so-subtly that I don't use carrier bags) from Tesco, asked me, as if we were 'intimate', 'What are we having for dinner tonight darling?'. What's going on? The cats are now leaving us alone, but now I seemed to have been teleported into Lurve Land. I keep expecting Austin Powers to jump out in front of me snorting 'Yeah baby!'.
It beats yesterday, when, due to pissing rain, everybody was ratty and seemed to hate everyone they laid eyes on. Bring on the lust I say. But please Mr Painter and Decorator- stop looking at my arse.

The connection between sausages and god

Talk about comfort eating. Yesterday I had a mild hangover, I was freezing cold no matter how many clothes I put on, and I had the last remnants of MT (without the P). So I did what I always did when I feel slightly ill, cold and down: I cooked a HUGE sausage casserole...(recipe below by the way). Andy was still in London so I cooked a feast for Sadie and myself. I put in twelve chipolata sausages and cooked the tomatoey, salty stew with buttery mashed potatoes and actually felt very high whilst eating it for my lunch. I thought I'd leave what was left, after Sadie and I had eaten half, but I spent the rest of the day, like an under-nourished trout swimming to the worms, gorging on it. I ended up finishing the lot. If I deduct the two sausages eaten by Sadie, I can deduce that I ate NINE sausages yesterday. That is DISGUSTING. I am quite ashamed... (but they were organic). And today I look pregnant.
Just been on the phone to my lovely Aunty Anne. She's such an amazing woman and I've always been close to her, but tonight I had a realisation as I spoke to her about how many times I say the word 'god' when waffling. She's a very religious woman you see and with every comment I made to her, I would mutter, completely without thinking, 'for god's sake', 'oh my god', 'god almighty', 'god no!', 'god really?', and other such blasphemous tittle. I became aware of how much I was doing it, so started trying to use 'goodness', 'gosh' and 'flippin' heck' in 'god''s place. It was a real shame as I haven't spoken to her in a long time and she's very liberal really, and probably wouldn't have minded, but I was so pre-occupied with my use of the lord's name in vain that I didn't really listen to her properly. Damnation!!

Cathy's Sausage Stew
(serves four on a good day; one and a half on a bad day)
12 organic pork chipolata sausages / 8 normal fat sausages
2 celery sticks, chopped
2 large, ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 can chickpeas
fresh basil and parsley, chopped
2 jars of Dolmio tomato and bacon pasta sauce (or 1 jar of Lloyd Grossman Smoky Bacon pasta sauce if you can find anywhere that sells it)

Heat a large frying pan and cook sausages until browned. Cut into bite-sized chunks, then add celery and chick peas. Stir for about 5 mins until celery a bit softer, and then add tomatoes, pasta sauce + 250ml water. Bring to boil and simmer for 10 mins. Take off heat and stir in chopped herbs. Serve with mash or new potatoes, depending on time of year and comfort needed (mash being ultimate comfort food after sausages).

Soundtrack: Madonna- Beautiful Stranger

Buy Nothing Day

Next Saturday is Buy Nothing Day- a day for people to attempt not to be consumers for 24 hours. This will be easy for us as we NEVER shop on Saturdays due to avoiding the Chav Zombies who invade town to buy anything and everything in order to fill their empty lives. I particularly avoid Primark for the vicious, bargain-smock-grabbing vultures. Please go to www.buynothingday.co.uk to join the force!
This Christmas I will be attempting to purchase as many presents as possible from charity shops, will be making jars of home made chutney, and will also be buying family members the odd cow or allotment in a third world country, as I do every year, but it's impossible to not be tempted by the shop windows and glistening newness of things. (Cue advert: For those of who want to buy new and groovy gifts for your friends and kids go to www.planetboo.co.uk for some marvellous nick nacks and attire. I will also profit from this, so will be able to buy more charity shop goods and goats from Oxfam, so you will be doing a good deed in a roundabout way. But remember to wait until after next Saturday).
I can't believe I've just used Buy Nothing Day as a way of getting you to give me some money. How sick am I?

Please Don't Magazine

If you want to listen to a load of old w@*k then please log onto http://www.dontmagazine.com/#/5/david-langley/ and listen to an artist talk shit. Stick to the rather nice collages love and keep your mouth shut- you are really really dull and ramble even more than me.

Throw it on the fire and take the car down town

Oh my god- what a hilarious morning I had. I have offered to help out a Sadie's school every couple of weeks, and usually us parents are sensibly designated to the dummy jobs like cutting realistic leaf shapes out of card or tidying the crumbs up from the snack corner....., but today, as the only one stupid enough to volunteer to help for 'Maths Week' (I am such a creep), I was basically enrolled as a maths teacher (luckily this is reception year so I just about had the know-how). There was me thinking that spying on my daughter in class was going to be a swizz.
My job was to play maths games FOR TWO HOURS with a group of four and five year olds. It was like trying to deal with a group of extremely pissed people who didn't give a flying f**k what I said and just wanted to skid around on the floor or pinch each other. The funniest part was when I took them into the playground to count our footsteps and, like a firework exploding, the moment our feet hit the concrete, the six little excitable munchkins splayed off in all directions. I couldn't gather them all back into a group for about ten minutes. I think all they learnt about maths was 'How many minutes does it take for that silly woman with the red hair to come and find us all?'. Oh how I laughed. And oh how my slight incline towards becoming a primary school teacher just faded right there and then. But at the end of the class when they all sweetly said in unison "Thank you for helping us today Cathy" I nearly wept. Ah- kids are ace. Maybe there is hope yet.....

Soundtrack: David Bowie-Kooks

Christmas Pudding Dash

For the first time in 400 years, thanks to song called 'Valerie' sung by a big-haired drug addict from Camden (and yes I know it's a cover- but with that bouffant and that voice she's always going to be remembered for it more than the Zutons), ginger hair is fashionable again. And you know what- I had a horrible recollection last night of being chatted up by Miss Winehouse's perverting husband Blake Fearnley-Whittingstall about ten years ago in a nightclub after he had sold me some crack (it was for my friend). This freaked me out a bit as he must have been about 15 years old. I'm sure it was him.
Back to the fluffy world I live in nowadays, I've just signed up to do a Christmas Pudding Dash in Battle, near Hastings, on Saturday 22nd December. I'll be running five miles (well there is a glass of mulled wine at the end- I have been known to run further if there is a drink awaiting me) around the beautiful grounds of some posh house, and if you sponsor me the money will go to the Martha Trust, which is a charity for severely disabled people. Will put details on here tomorrow of how you can sponsor me. And if anyone wants to run alongside me let me know (it's worth it just to laugh at my purple face).

Tits Up

I hate arguments. As much as they are necessary I feel as flat as a Keane record after venting my PMT annoyances. Couldn't get out of bed this morning as still recovering from yesterday's slanging match with my lovely other half. He had very sensibly scarpered for 24 hours to have a break from hormone-nightmare ME, so this morning I was left to deal with the early morning wake up call from Sadie Spec. In order to ensure that I was able to stay firmly under my comforting bedding until at least midday I conjured up an igloo with my king size white duvet and Sadie and I were Eskimos for the next few hours, lolloping about (well- I was laid flat most of the time, pretending to be a very scary polar bear) and playing make believe. Kids are very pliable sometimes if you use a bit of imagination.
I have done nothing this month to avoid the usual moodiness. When will I ever learn eh? I'm off to eat some more comfort food and then sob into my pillow until I pass out. Not really. Well- I will be eating some chocolate but there will be no tears. Yesterday's rant seems to have vented some frustrations it seems. I will sleep like a baby having been burped successfully.

I am officially SAD and no I'm not depressed

Due to the fact that I bit through my bottom lip the other night (NB: cuddling hyperactive children can be dangerous) and decided, as it was HEROES night last night, to polish off a bottle of red wine ('oh really? How unusual!' I hear you cry) with Andy, I woke up this morning with red wine stains imbedded in the holes in my lip. I looked like I'd drunk a BARREL of wine rather than half a bottle. Much top-lip-over-bottom-lip mumblings went on today I can tell you...and that was only to myself!
Onto an entirely different subject, I realised my old personality is definitely coming back lately as I am becoming more selfish about Christmas. Although I still revel in the enjoyment to be had in buying my little girl Christmas presents, my mind is somewhat preoccupied with what I have to add to my ever-expanding list of wants. My selfish, greedy, nature is returning full swing it seems.
Speaking of Christmas, and you will not believe this, I have just placed my Christmas food order with Ocado. How organised am I??!? And how posh to be shopping at Waitrose online???!? I have even booked for us to go to panto, bought an advent calendar and started looking into what carol services are on in our area. I am a girl OBSESSED. I just can't get enough of the fairy-lit season of frolics. And it's not even started..
I should perhaps chuck away the mouldy pumpkin head before I start thinking about buying the tree....

Herdy Gurdy Mushroom Man

I woke up this morning to find that the Oedipus Complex had taken over my daughter's development- she suddenly only wanted daddy to pour her shreddies and to get her dressed. This, by the way, as you can tell by the bags under my eyes, has NEVER happened. It's around this age that little girls, according to Freud, go through a phase of wanting only their fathers and tend to then reject the mothers, and if this is a sign of things to come (as much as I will revel in the fact HE has to do more) I'm not a happy bunny mummy. What if I am no longer the apple of her eye?- more the dried prune wilting in the corner, seeped of most of its life and goodness? All the years I've put in giving her my undivided and unconditional doses of love/attention/organic vegetables, and she might turn around and want the man who's spent most of the last five years hidden behind a copy of the Friday Ads. Nah- I'm exaggerating slightly, but it hurt. I shall attempt to wallow in my new found freedom and it is ace that she and Andy are closer.
We went to a brilliant exhibition today called 'Sonic Body' at the Blank gallery in Portslade. The installation basically invited you to stand inside a human body created from felt and foam: a throbbing, intestinous, red tinted vessel, with an orchestral soundtrack, created by how we moved and touched the various body parts inside; whistling veins, squelches, gassiness (is that a word? she says- the would-be copy editor...according to spell check- no) and high pitched squeaks...I felt like Raquel Welch in Fantastic Voyage, only with more accessibility to prodding and poking the bodily bits. And also not as hot, obviously. It's only on for another couple of days so if you are from Brighton GO AND SEE IT; see www.sonicbody.co.uk
I also got a lovely pressie from my mate Luce today- a badge of a sheep called Herdy-very cute. Thanks Luce!

Soundtrack- Britney Spears vs B52s- Toxic Love Shack

Later: Oh my god, Malcolm McDowell, with his strawberry nose, is Mr Linderman in Heroes!

Lets get ready to ramble....

So last night I spent a very enjoyable evening (except for getting acid reflux- ah the joys of bodily dysfunction after childbirth) with a gang of great mums and kids, watching the fireworks from a window which overlooked Hove cricket ground. We were a mixed bunch; some single mums, some working mums, some stay at home mums- but we all had only children which made a refreshing change, as lately I seem to be surrounded by people having more and more offspring and it makes my head fuzzy.
So there we were, supping our wine and eating our sausages, and we ooohhhed and we aaahhhed at the technicolour explosions before us, from the comfort of her warm living room. As we chatted about what we did outside of being mums, it got me thinking about being a parent and how each one of us has to work around our kids and work out our priorities. I've been lucky in that I haven't had to go back to work in order to make sure we had food on the table. Some extra money would have helped but I had the choice, and I chose to stay at home whilst occasionally taking on the odd part time job. This is all very well and good, and now that Sadie has started school I am so glad I was able to spend so much time bringing her up, but my brain has, quite frankly, turned to houmous. The part time jobs I have had over the years have varied in their ability for me to use my brain (I've been known to go from being a PA to a saleswoman in less than 24 hours), but as an example of my gooey brain I will tell you about my job working in a maternity shop;
A simple occupation you may think, yet my brain could not even deal with this level of a challenge. On numerous occasions I would forget to turn on the burglar alarm (I was the only one working there), close windows, take items to the post office before leaving them inside the shop and posting the key through the door, and, on more than one occasion, would forget to charge someone in pounds rather than pence for a pair of rather exclusive designer maternity jeans. Oh the shame.
I think there should actually be a course specifically designed for us women (or men), who've stayed alone at home for 4 years with a small person (save for the odd playgroup where you are just surrounded by equally mushy minded adults and more small people)to help get our brains retrained into the adult world. Ask me how to draw a skilfully-drawn stick person, or make alphabet brownies, or play 'What's the time Mr Wolf?' and I'm your girl, but ask me to do a simple task like go to a post office before it shuts, and I'm lost. And also probably out of a job and back at home making rockets out of pritt stick and fairy liquid bottles.....

Soundtrack: David Bowie- Oh You Pretty Things

Mommies Who Drink

Yesterday's Observer Woman magazine (well I always manage to read the colour supplements, the tv guide...) had extracts from Brett Paesel's new book 'Mommies Who Drink'- it sounds fantastic and I'll certainly be getting a copy. Brett's honest account of bringing up kids (the boringness of it, the need for wine involvement, her experience of post partum depression just seeming a sensible reaction to having to look after a person 24/7 who screams all the time) is right up my street. I shall also be buying it for all my "mommy" friends this Christmas!
see article: http://observer.guardian.co.uk/woman/story/0,,2202294,00.html

Ban the Bratz!!

Just been on the phone to Joni at Planet Boo HQ and we've been ranting about the hideousness that is the Bratz. Joni has two daughters, aged 8 and 6, and has never allowed the mini-skirted tart toys through her front door. That was until a relative bought her youngest one a doll and now she feels they are invading her household without her control. These whore figurines have only recently entered my parental stratosphere in the last few months and I am horrified. Sadie actually got bought a baby bratz doll last christmas but I didn't even know what it was and it's so small I never worried about it. But now, after witnessing their DVD recently, with its emphasis on vanity, boys and shopping, they are officially banned from our humble abode. Sadie will probably hate me for this, but I will just explain my reasons and hope she gets into the Care Bears instead. Hopefully, by the time she is 8 the f*****g money grabbing men who design these stupid toys will be out of a job.
This subject sprung to mind after I went out last night and saw the worst dressed young girls I have ever seen. There they were, queueing up for a bar in the centre of Brighton wearing nothing more (yes I know I am starting to disturb myself by my motherly ways) than suspenders, thongs and a waistcoat!! We walked down the road behind them as their little (what looked like) pre-pubescent buttocks were just THERE for all to see- and there were plenty of people looking. Judging by their faces these girls were no older than 16!! I nearly cried. I wanted to wrap them up in my big fluffy cardigan and take them home and tell them a few home truths about men and what they want when they see that much flesh, and how little they would get respect, and how they are beautiful and probably lovely girls who should be giggling with their friends, not walking around like prostitutes. But I didn't. I just left them to the lions.
I wondered if they were Bratz fans when they were little, or whether they regularly watched MTV music videos. They had obviously been brainwashed into thinking that walking around at night in your underwear was a normal and sensible idea.
Christ, when I was 16 (in my day) I used to think Chrissie Hynde was an icon, and the skimpiest thing I would be seen wearing was a tight Elastica tshirt.

Soundtrack: Spice Girls- Say You'll Be There

Quietness and Rubble and Bollocks

Day to myself today- it's very unusual for me to be on my own for 24 hours and it's rather nice, although I wouldn't want to do it too often- I am a social creature...
So after enjoying a lie-in and then being able to read and bake and dance about to loud music, I was craving some human life.
Had to visit Taj stores to buy tamari sauce for my dinner, which wasn't really necessary for tonight's cooking- the soy sauce in the cupboard would have done the trick- but I needed PEOPLE. I thankfully bumped into a girl I'd met when I used to go to the Buddhist centre in the days when I was trying to find a meaning (I never did- I just relaxed into the nonsense) and chatted away to her about bollocks (not literally of course;that wouldn't be very zen of me) for about five minutes while her boyfriend looked fed up. That got some of waffle out of my system.
I've also had the neighbour's builder over to inspect the damage they are doing to our ceiling by converting the flat upstairs. He looks like a younger Peter Cook so I went a bit faint and invited him in for a chat (or rather I talked bollocks again) and to inspect my ceilings.. Well- I needed the company. He's given me his number in case it gets worse...I do hope I don't end up under a pile of rubble. He might have to rescue me. (God poor Andy- he's only been away since yesterday and already I'm flirting with gawky looking handy men- I must be hormonal again).
Probably meeting Nat this evening for cocktails and catch up for some more human interaction. She's been on the pier today releasing balloons to advertise Brighton Visitor.Com. Would have gone to have a look had I had my bike...the BASTARDS!!!!
Did some studying but kept getting gravel falling on my notes so only did a couple of hours.
Off to giggle at Peep Show and have a cheeky beer...

Soundtrack: Kooks- Naive

Andy is 17 years older than me- which you wouldn't know to look at us- me ageing rapidly from motherhood and alcoholism, and him having some crafty gene that keeps him looking 35 forever. The age gap has its advantages and, of course, like any relationship, its crap sides. I have always been partial to the older man; I always found it refreshing to hang around with males who've lived a little and have their years of wisdom to share with me.
Older men are also a lot more likely to hang around longer as they've probably done the one night stand fling thing and are looking to settle down a bit. So lucky me got what I wanted and bagged myself an older man 7 years ago, with his interesting stories and his want for a serious relationship (he sure got it- I was pregnant a year later), but unfortunately I also got someone who seriously verges on the patronising when I don't know every ounce of information he has stored away in his 17 extra years of brain matter. I know I'm not the brightest master mind in the building, and there are plenty of gaps in my knowledge of the world, but, as Sophie Ellis Bexter once sang when she was singer with The Audience 'I know enough'. And I really can't stand being patronised. That's my dig at my other half over.....
The lovely Nathalie Gomez de Vera and her son Joe (great lad) joined us last night for another twist of pumpkin delights (we had a Celia Brooks Brown recipe of butternut squash roasted with garlic cloves and sage, and then baked with cubes of gruyere cheese- see her fab website for yummy vegetarian stuff at celiabrooksbrown.com/real.php)and chit chat. Nat has just moved to Woodingdean, near Brighton, and is one of Andy's old clubbing crowd. She's a great lady and I hope to be joining her for a few drinks this weekend at the Koba. She also works for new Brighton mag 'brighton visitor.com'- it's a guide to this wondrous city - have a look at www.brightonvisitor.com or pick a copy up when you get off the train at Brighton on your way to visit me!
Off to do some coursework and try not to fall asleep this time.
Rachael- I know you are reading this... spotted any grammatical errors yet? Thanks for the night time jog btw x

Titleless prattle

Hurrah- Sadie has befriended a lovely little girl at school called Lottie who has invited her over for tea with me on fireworks night to watch the cricket ground display from their lounge window (best and warmest seats in the house!). What is extra great about this is that her mum is ace and we seem to get on like old mates, which is such a relief, after all the awkward moments at the school making small talk with blank faces. It's funny how as much as you want your kiddie to make lots of friends you have to think of your own friendships too, and some of the parents you are forced to smile and be polite with, you'd rather never have to see again. I will be turning up on the 5th with a bottle, as Lottie's mum Fiona seems like my kinda gal.

Soundtrack: The Cribs- Men's Needs

Halloween freaks

Happy Halloween!
I feel it appropriate now to comment on how Brighton really is full of Nut-nuts. Yesterday when I was going to my shrink, I walked past a man in Saltdean (and bear in mind this is on the edge of Brighton, in an area full of posh white haired people) who was singing 'Here Comes the Sun' at the top of his lungs as he walked towards the cliffs. As we passed each other I couldn't help but smile, as the sound of singing such a song at 8.30am cheered me up somewhat, which caused him to pause mid song... 'Here Comes the- Hi there- Sun'........
Then today on my way for an early morning jog, a man across the road shouted 'Happy Birthday' to me. I ignored him (well- it's not my birthday you see) and he then shouted 'HOW OLD ARE YOU TODAY LOVE?'.... I carried on walking... 'I SAID HOW OLD ARE YOU TODAY???'.... at this point I took advantage of my jogging attire and just ran off.
Best go and do some proper writing now....

Rice Cakes and Late Night Giggles

I know my health guilt has started to kick in again when I hungrily nip into Holland and Barratt on my way to picking up Sadie from school to grab a bag of lightly salted rice cakes; dried items that would fail to satisfy even the immature tastebuds of a toddler. I know it's even more serious when I accept the shop assistant's offer of purchasing a copy of H&B's 'Hypochondriacs Monthly' publication 'Healthy' Magazine. Do you know I was once stupid enough to pitch an article idea to them about hypochondria itself? Of course, they ignored my idea for a piece on a serious anxiety disorder, as the condition is what sells their waffle in the first place.
Onto more serious issues, my bike got nicked over half term while we were away. This has pissed me off severely. What kind of prick steals a bike that has a child's seat on the back? Ok- so Andy originally found the bike abandoned outside Brighton Station two years ago, but having phoned the police and found out the bike hadn't been reported stolen- we kept it. Perhaps the rightful owner spotted it after all this time and sawed my lock off. It was a bugger not having it as it meant that when I took Sadie to her weekly swimming session today we had to walk to the pool, which is only 1/4 mile away, but took an hour there and an hour back (with bedraggled wet locks). I have a big problem with my patience when it comes to dawdling four year olds. It is not a pretty sight, especially when I combine my crossness with the soggy drowned rat look.
Went to a stand up comedy night tonight in Hove at The Forager, with Joy and Geoff- our old mate Steve Saul was there and his refreshing quirkiness shone like a beacon in the mist of mundane joke-telling wannabes. Also- Zoe Lyons was absolutely ace- why is it that lesbian comedians are so funny? Can anyone enlighten me? The last night we went to the only women who made me laugh were gay- what's that about?
next night is last tues of Nov; visit www.myspace.com/peoplevstandupcomedy

Recycled Jessica Rabbits and Pumpkin Revelations

So this weekend we cut the jaggardy face from our £2.50 pumpkin, placed a scented candle in it and our Halloween celebrations began. We told innocent spooky jokes (the favourite being 'Why was 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 8 9....') to amuse Sadie and Minoo, her sleepover buddy, and then when they'd gone off, we devoured my cheesy sweet potato shepherd's pie with roasted pumpkin pieces and seeds. It was yum. (Below are two of my Autumn recipes, including this one, if you are interested....)
Jamie Oliver recently pointed out on his comforting latest effort 'Jamie At Home' something rather informative, yet obvious, about pumpkins: When you cook them you can remove the seeds but then keep them to cook and eat. I have been cooking pumpkin around this time of year (and out of season too- especially butternut squashes) for most of my adult life, and I have NEVER thought to do this. I actually take myself to the supermarket and buy bags of pumpkin seeds, having discarded the pips of the pumpkin flesh when making soup or whatever, stupidly condemning them to the bin. Since seeing this programme I have mentioned this idea to many other pumpkin fans and they had never thought of it either- even the ones who had studied catering. So it's not just me being thick then. For those who've never got into pumpkin seeds they are very good for your sex drive, and are also nice sprinkled on salads and roasted veg.

Just been on the phone to Rachael who caught me off guard and made me splutter my peppermint tea when she started talking about recycled dildos. And imagine- these days you can even get vegan condoms! Oh my lord. Full of interesting facts that one. Oh how the eco sexual puns kept on coming. Hope I haven't ruined your appetite...

Autumn Orange Soup
1 tbsp olive oil
1 small onion
1 crushed garlic clove
1 cm square ginger, peeled and grated
1 small butternut squash, diced and de-seeded (hang on to your seeds!)- skin can be kept on as it softens (another Oliver wonderfact)
1 large sweet potato, peeled and diced
50g red lentils, washed
1/2 litre vegetable bouillion stock
salt and pepper

Saute onions, garlic and ginger in oil. Add diced veg and mix into onions for 2 mins. Add stock and lentils, bring to boil and simmer for 10-15 mins. When everything soft. put soup in blender or mash with potato masher. Meanwhile heat a small frying pan, and when hot add pumpkin seeds and cook until darkened and crisp. When soup ready sprinkle seeds on top and add salt and pepper. Voila!
(Also can put watercress leaves on top of soup at end if you're a health nazi)

Cheesy Sweet Potato Shepherd's Pie with Roasted Pumpkin
2 onions, chopped
500g beef mince
1/2 punnet cherry tomotoes, chopped
1 tablespoon chopped parsley and fresh basil
2 tablespoons veg oil
250ml vegetable stock
1 tsp marmite (thanks to Annabel Karmel for this tip)
salt and pepper
Topping:
3 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped
1 knob butter
2 tbsp milk
100g cheddar cheese
Side:
Contents of Halloween head, chopped (keep the seeds)
3 tbsp Olive oil
Salt

Fry onion and tomatoes in oil until soft. Add mince and cook until brown. Then add stock. Stir in marmite, herbs and seasoning, and cook gently for 20 mins. Meanwhile, place pumpkin pieces and seeds in a roasting tin. Coat in oil and plenty of salt and place in hot oven.
For topping, boil potatoes until soft, and then stir in butter, milk and 30g of cheese, and mash. When mince mixture ready pour in casserole dish, put mash on top and then grate remaining cheese over.Cook in oven for 10 mins. When ready serve with roasted pumpkin.

Soundtrack: Suede- Metal Mickey

And on today's menu....

We're back from our Yorkshire adventure! We missed little Sadie lots -having said that, she's wimpering for me now when she should be dozing off and I'm going "ARGH! Please sleep!"- but she seemed to have a fab time in Sleepy Sleaford with her Narnie and Dad Dad. She's come back having learnt to rap- my dad really is quite a dude.
This week, Andy and I enjoyed luxurious BnBs (aside from the Royston Vasey-esque toothy woman we encountered in our first port of call 'Bottom House Farm' near Robin Hoods Bay), walking on the -spookily reminiscent of American Werewolf in London -misty moors towards our oasis of a cosy pub, eating pie in Heartbeat's Aidensfield Arms (we were very disappointed Gina wasn't working that night- only a couple of nice young Hungarian chaps who kept saying "WHAT?" to everything I said), sweating buckets in semi-nakedness at the mixed night at the Turkish Baths in Harrogate, charity-shop shopping for warm fluffy clothing in Pickering (see above pic of Andy sporting his choice of what looks like a dead rabbit on his head), spying on all the creepy goths who were hovering around the graveyard at Whitby Abbey in preparation for their Halloween celebrations, and discussing the life-preserving qualities of whisky (my 90 year old grandma swears by it) with two 87 year old Yorkshire men in Thirsk.

At our last BnB in Sinnington, run by Jane Otter, who practically became our cuddly great aunt while we were staying there, we sat up one night, like the pair of wannabe pensioners that we seem to be these days, with our long walks and early nights with a good book, reading Jane's collection of 'Christmas Crackers' - an assortment of anecdotes compiled by John Julius Norwich- whoever he is. He quoted some hilarious menu translations and here's the one that made me wet myself laughing:
(from a Polish menu): 'Salad a firm's own make; limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger; roasted duck let loose; beef rashers beaten up in the country people's fashion.'
Brilliant.

Yorkshire Stripper

We are in Harrogate in a pub with limited wireless connection. It's very hot in here, despite being cold outside, so Andy has his top off. Will write soon with tales of Yorkshire .... keep reading.
p.s. hot tip: Alisdair Sawday's B+Bs are always a hit. check out http://www.sawdays.co.uk/

Ladies Only

Oh- yesterday turned out to be PMT by the way. God, since rapidly approaching, and then turning, 30 I've been feeling absolutely shit around this time of the month- anyone got any tips? I've been taking Agnus Castus every day for 2 months but still feel like I'm about to start the menopause for about 5 days before... hot flushes, exhaustion, mood swings, flu-like symptoms and paranoia ('plague of the pussies'? Cats are not that scary)... Small apology to any men reading this, but when a quarter of your life is taken over by this curse, it needs a mention. Incidentally, I have had to go over this last paragraph more than once to correct grammatical mistakes- the monthlies turn me clumsy and bad at spelling.
My antidote to this wretched day was to spend it drinking white wine and eating fish pie with 89 year old Dick (yes- Dick- my spelling is correct this time), Tamzin's mother in law. What a great woman. She told me all about her children's home that she and her husband ran many years ago overlooking Lake Windermere. She looked after 12 children, three of which were her own, who were between the ages of 7 days and 15 years. Puts me to shame even mentioning a gruelling day with my one kiddiwinkle, which I can be known to do, especially once a month.
I'm also going to see another amazing lady this weekend- we're off to my nan's (or Narnie Em as we call her) 90th!! - 90?!?- and there's me complaining about the physical symptoms of my third decade of life as a woman.. I'll shut up.

Soundtrack: Franz Ferdinand- What You Meant

Urgh

Oh shitey shite I'm fighting a coldy nauseous thing just before I go away on my Yorkshire holiday. Sod's Law will mean I'll spend the whole time in bed snivelling and not feeling like a tipple or even any nookie. What a waste. I suppose with Sadie at my mum's I can at least sleep uninterrupted, unless Andy insists on doing his usual and dragging me out of bed each day at some ungodly hour to do some "couple yoga" or a coastal hike ("Well- we've got to make the most of it while we haven't got Sadie...").
Bugger. Am off for a lie down. Ooops no- got far too much to do... best be off.

Plague of the Pussies

A few weeks ago now we woke up around 3am to the sound of a cat miaowing outside the door of our first floor flat. We've lived here for over two years and no one in our block owns a cat. We opened the door and a cute little cat ran around a bit and I threw it out the front door onto the streets, in the hope it would never want to come back. I love animals but someone out there wouldn't want their beloved Ginger becoming fond of me, plus Sadie was getting ideas about it becoming a member of the household. It kept coming back though. I often find it sitting outside our door, looking up at me with it's giant watery eyes, like Puss In Boots in Shrek, and it likes to strut around our flat in it's glittery collar (it's obviously very loved) for no apparent reason. I never stroke it, I never feed it. What it wants from us is a mystery.
Then tonight, whilst watching the Phil Spector documentary, I thought I heard the tinkling of a cat collar. I put it down to paranoia and also realised it might be a sound from the telly as the Ronettes would often use jingly bells in their background music. Then I heard it again. I opened our flat door and in ran another feline, of the black and white variety. I hissed it out, as it tried to scratch me every time I went to pick it up. What the bleeding hell is going on? I have never in two and a half years had a cat come up to my flat and now there have been two in a month! Something fishy's going on. Maybe it's my penchant for stuffing my face with Omega 3 rich oily finned things these days in the hope of growing some brain cells. Maybe the faint aroma of Poisson to these cats is like a kebab shop vent to a pissed bloke. They can't resist the draw of the odour of my tuna steaks and salmon parcels. At least I'm guessing that's the reason.
And how they get into the building is completely baffling us. All very weird and very halloweeny.

Soundtrack: Squeeze-Cool for Cats

Erratum slip already

Started my home study course today. It's the first time I've studied in ten years, unless you count the 9 months I practically did a PhD in pregnancy and childbirth through the amount of books I read. I grabbed a moment to read through the introductory notes, while Sadie was in her art corner being an imaginary teacher to her teddies. I sat down and read a couple of pages, and the next thing I woke up 20 minutes later wondering where I was. Obviously I was still on the sofa with my course notes on my lap. Rivetting stuff. Oh well- I hadn't had a cat nap for a while. Must have needed it after such a wild weekend. Plus the central heating was whacked up. Sorry Rachael. And as for copy editing and it's core credentials... don't ask me.

Soundtrack: Melanie Safka-Brand New Key (Andy's favourite tune)

Books and snuggles and Amy Winehouse

Gosh I appear to have been having a life and not been writing my blog for a few days. Must update you on my exciting daily habits forthwith:
Took Sadie to Brighton Jubilee Library on Friday afternoon to relax on the sofas and read her endless books. It was really lovely to snuggle her for a long time. At home it's easy to be with her but not really be with her. And she loves books my girl. And snuggles.
Friday pm I went to the Robin Hood pub (fab pub with board games and indie music) with the gorgeous Sarka and met up with the RADIANT Rachael and her crowd of merry male journos. Was very proud of myself as I went home at 11pm having had only 2 pints. I must be seriously under the influence of Alex James.
Saturday afternoon Andy, Sadie and I took the bikes to Shoreham to find a secluded beach in the surprisingly sunny October weather. We sat against the rocks watching the waves crash. Andy did a spot of exploring, while Sadie and I focussed on the smaller delights to be had on the East Sussex coastline and hunted for pretty shells. I then realised that there were only men on the beach, who were either strolling along or standing behind pillars and posts. Dotted along the back of the beach were closed wind shelters with the odd man going to visit them. We quickly realised we were in a gay cruising area and carried on collecting shells. Well, this is Brighton after all.
Sadie spent the night having a sleepover with her little mate Natasha, so Andy and I went to Lewes for a romantic stroll down the high street, a couple of glasses of red wine in the Harveys Brewery pub, and an Italian feast in Lazzati's (I opted for the spaghetti with chilli, olive oil and garlic, while Andy had the steak in mushroom sauce- both were delicious). We were in bed by 10.30pm, having discussed the possibility and hilarity of us getting married. We both fell asleep scowling, uncertain of what the evening's conversation topic meant to the two of us.
Sunday, today, is Joy's birthday celebrations and we've just been on the beach with her and a few pals enjoying the sun, a portion of chips and a pint. Geoff had a Bloody Mary before lunch which is outrageous. Dirty bugger.

Soundtrack: Amy Winehouse- You Know I'm No Good

Save the cheerleader save the world

My, Heroes is a great tv show is it not? Watched it last night and can never quite believe how good it is...
I am off to try and save a few lives- well, maybe one or two accidents. This morning on my way to taking Sadie to school I witnessed the second accident on the "crossing" on the main road at the end of our street. A little boy (about 8 yrs old) ran across and was hit by a bicycle- obviously not the most serious accident in the world, but two years ago Sadie was hit by a double decker bus on the same spot. She was miraculously unharmed, except for a scratched hand and a small bruise on her head, and the boy today was just in shock, but these incidents have spurred me on to call the council and request for a proper zebra crossing to be put there.
Also- I don't know what's happening to this area- it used to be quite sophisto, but last night, when I popped out, a drunken, middle aged couple staggered towards me and the man asked if I'd like to come home with them for a threesome! And all I'd done is gone out for 5 minutes to drop the Mr Bean DVD at the video shop! Christ. We shall have to move, especially if they don't sort out that crossing.

Good Golly Miss Molly

My latest magazine pitch I've sent off is about breastfeeding ('oh god here she goes the hippy twat' I can hear you all muttering). I can't seem to get away from this mothering malarkey. It's now deeply imbedded in my womanly veins and I seem to have a lot to say on the matter so why not write about the subject? After all, it's a topic that most of the world is fascinated by at some point in their lives. I suppose I wish that I could multi-task better; be a supermum by day making brownies and reciting Charlie and Lola off by heart, and by night be a hotshot food writer, book reviewer or music critic, instead of just writing about childrearing. I guess the outside world will reach me gradually, as it's started to.
It's only in the last year that I feel I can see again. My world for over three years was focussed intently on one little person. There I was, head down, getting stuck in and trying my best to do everything right. I think I've done well in my job as full time mum; Sadie seems to have turned out happy and healthy so far. And now I lift my head up and there's a whole world out there, still spinning around with zillions of wonderful, exciting, colourful, interesting people to meet, places to see and things to do.
Having kids, and then coming out of the first few years of it still smiling, is like being given a second chance at life. Whereas in the early days every ounce of free time was like gold dust, now those spare moments are in adundance (Miss Spector's over at her best friends' for dinner right now) and I intend to enjoy myself.
Now I find I can actually finish reading a book in a week, I have time to listen to music or commentary on the radio, I actually finish reading the Sunday paper, I can take my time cooking a magnificent meal for two, I can write and I can take a deep breath and enjoy my time instead of hurriedly cramming in things to do when free and actually getting nothing productive done at all.
Andy and I are making the most of this liberating period to have a little holiday in the October half term. Sadie is off to my mums for 4 days and we're going to Yorkshire to explore the moors, visit the Turkish baths, and, more importantly, have a few rather overdue lie-ins. We can't wait.
Incidentally, despite all this lust for me-time, I spent an hour today cuddling, feeding and burping (yes she did puke all over me) five month old cutie-pie, ginger top Molly, my friend Tamzin's second sproglet, and, as much as my life is back, I still felt a huge pang in my womb for another little life-zapper. Isn't nature a powerful thing?


Soundtrack: Definition of Sound-Wear your love like heaven

My arse is rested

Today was a right shitty, rainy one, but enjoyable nevertheless. Spent the morning chatting away to my pschotherapist (I really don't need to see her any more but it gives me a great excuse to spend an hour sitting on my arse). Did my usual burble and blub and then, after picking Sadie up from school, went down on the pebbly beach to rendez-vous with one Rebs Tully- an old bookseller colleague from way back (haven't seen her since I announced in a pub to a few friends I was pregnant- well, I had to explain- they were stunned as I ordered an orange juice).
We dined on nettle soup in the delicious Due South (http://www.duesouth.co.uk/), having managed to get a window seat with a view of the crashing waves- I thought the girl from Hackney might appreciate a bit of scenery. Was ace to see her, and it seems, what with our shared interests in running and writing and boys, we now have a lot in common. I hope to catch up with her again very soon over a self-help book (written by her) and a bottle of wine.
Sadie and I then slobbed out to a Mr Bean DVD and ate popcorn. We closed the curtains and turned out the lights to pretend the lounge was a cinema. I love having a kid- it gives you the perfect excuse to behave like one. Plus I got to spend another hour of the day sitting on my arse. Off to work on The Book.

Soundtrack: Blur-Coffee and tv

Sunday Sunday

I love Sundays. They turn me all twee and vaguely middle aged, but once a week I just about get away with it. I love the slow mornings, listening to classic fm whilst planning our day's trip to the countryside. Today, after my sunny run along the seafront, we drove to Wakehurst Place (as we're- eek - National Trust members so twas free)- the Kew of West Sussex- for a picnic and a walk around the beautiful muliticoloured tree gardens. We supped tea and nibbled flapjacks outside the manor house, whilst little Sadie pushed her dolly around in her buggy collecting fallen leaves and woodlice. Home now and cooking roast beef to Radio 4, whilst supping a rather cork flavoured glass of wine. Don't come too quick Monday Monday.
Exciting week as both Sadie and I have been asked to be bridesmaids for two separate lovely friends of mine- hers for Joy and Geoff next June, and mine for Caroline and Ewan in 2009. Ah- always the bridesmaid and all that. But congrats to these ladies and gents!! And I have to say both couples are both two of the most suited couples I've ever met so about time too you lot!!
Joke of the week: I've just started going to the gym and I used a machine for an hour and then felt really sick. It was a great machine though- it did Kit Kats, Snickers, crisps........

Not drowning but running

Over the last few months I've found something that I can get as much of a buzz out of as the old liquor. The buzz is in fact better as it makes me feel alive and the feeling stays that way, whereas with my old buddy the bottle, it makes me feel euphoric and then very gloomy, sometimes even half dead, especially if I have too much.
I have started running along the seafront- I try to go every other day, and now that my mornings are free and the sun is shining it's the perfect time to get a fix of those endolphins (sic), some vitamin D and lower my risk of heart disease at the same time. The only downside is I have to show off my camel's hoof in my tight running leggings and end up looking like Phil Mitchell I'm so beetroot red.
Have just got back from a 20 minute run in the autumnal sunshine and sea breeze. The men who are working in my street digging up the sewers, who for some reason always say "Hello babe" when I go past (I've always attracted the classy type), always ignore me when I'm on my way back from a jog, hair scraped back and my face all shiny. It's yet another bonus to this exercise malarkey- scare off the leary roadworkers.
The wonderous Lucy Bullen and I are planning on doing a half marathon next year- watch this space...

Thank you for leaving us gizzly

We've just discovered that Sadie's grandad, the late Prof Wally Spector, shared a mistress with Fidel Castro! How mad is that? Wally died 20 years+ ago .. Shame Sadie won't ever meet her pathologist grandad - he sounded like quite a character and was apparantely a very gentle and funny man. His legacy to us is the word 'gizzly' which we use at home to describe the jelly-like substance found on slightly under-cooked eggs...

Booze Glorious Booze

I love the stuff but I'd like not to love it so much. It must be in my genes. I recently finished Alex James' autobiography and he was a right pisshead in his twenties, but when he hit his thirties he became a tee-totaller. How the flip did he manage it? I know he was a terrible drunk, which you see- I'm not, I'm a rather charming one. Monsieur James reckons once he did give up the bottle he got so much more done which is the main reason I want to quit the dopamine fixes. I turned 30 two months ago and have drunk more since then than I had planned. Of course the plan was to quit completely, like I suddenly did after 10 years of inhaling dirty Benson and Hedges, but I can't seem to do it. They do say mothers are the worst. Alcohol is the complete antidote to a day with children. Sadie goes to bed- I crack open the Cabernet Sauvignon. Sadie goes to bed - I crack open the Shiraz. Sadie goes to bed - I crack open the Merlot. And so it goes. Trouble is my man isn't even much of a drinker so I end up necking about 7/8ths of the bottle. Sad really. I suppose I'm what health experts refer to as a ' female binge drinker'. If I was going out every night I probably wouldn't notice it, but as we're now parents and we're staying in it seems a lot more tragic somehow. Especially if you combine the heavy wine drinking with late night tv. It leaves one feeling rather empty and depressed.
I'm now sitting here at 9.30am necking cup after cup of nettle tea to ease the catholic guilt.

10.40am: I really shouldn't laugh but I can't believe a pot of burning chillies caused a terror alert. And the Thai man who runs the restaurant is quoted as saying "I'm confused". Poor bloke.

Soundtrack: Maximo Park - Our Velocity

My god she's growing up

I can't believe it. I'm sitting here tapping away, doing what I like, twiddling about and taking my time, and my little Sadie is playing on her own in her room. After four and a half years it's happened- I am getting my life back bit by bit as she's needing me less and less. Scary but wonderful at the same time.
So what am I going to do with all this regained freedom? It's like being born again I tell you! Well, apart from starting a blog, I have just signed up to a copy editing course to help eventually contribute more financially to my little nest of three. I'm also planning on getting some more articles published (probably in parenting mags as that seems to be my most broad area of knowledge now- and to think there was a time I wrote for More! magazine about blow jobs....). I'm also scarily broody as hell, but can't 100% decide whether to have another sprog. It would be lovely and beautiful and everything, but they are SUCH f@*+ing hard work (no that's not an email but the computer thinks it is). We shall see. I also need to work on The Book.
ONe of my latest article ideas is connected to this decision making and is related to Post Natal Depression (i'm not going to tell you the whole idea- someone might steal it!), which I am scared of happening to me a second time. I now know that I had it but my GP failed to notice, despite me liturally falling apart both physically and mentally in front infront of her very ignorant eyes. The plan is to go and see a midwife to have a chat.
Best go and finish making hungarian goulash a la Annabel Karmel. She's the best.

Soundtrack: Kylie- Love at First Sight

Be My God

My hero Stephen Fry is everywhere at the moment and it's heavenly, to steal a word that Nigella uses to descibe chocolate fondue . He's turning 50 the old gem and it seems he really is a national treasure these days. Our evenings have been taken up with various 'best of Stephen' moments.
I'm half way through his book'The Ode Less Travelled' (and have been since Christmas) but I feel compelled to complete his 'How to' guide to poetry forthwith as it really is a wonderful guide to writing ditties. This man has been a comedian, a writer, and actor, a director, a presenter- he is a genius of everything, except perhaps competing as an Olympic athlete. When I was 15 I had a homage to him on the back of issue 3 of Beaumont Fee, my self-obsessed fanzine. It had a picture of him photocopied from The Liar with the words 'Be My God' written underneath (words taken from a very early -circa Justine and Brett era- and very amateur Suede single)....and to this day, 15 years on, he still is an iconic figure in my life. There aren't many chaps like Mr Fry about, but then again if there were he wouldn't be such an enigma. What I love is that he's so unpatronising in his intelligence. I know a lot of people who are far cleverer than me (not a difficult trait to find) but use it to humiliate and toy with "lesser beings" (not my term, it's just something I feel patronising people must see others as), but Stephen Fry is generous with his knowledge and language and makes it accessible. There was a fantastic quote on tv the other night, I think it was from Phil Jupitus, that what Stephen Fry does is make you want to learn more, to read more and to be more like him.
I'll sign off now to do some reading of 'The Ode.....'
x
Soundtrack: McAlmont and Butler - Yes
Other heroes include: Peter Cook, Kenneth Williams, Derek Jarman, David Bowie, Rick Stein, Eddie Izzard, Morrissey, John Hegley, Martin Parr, Mike Leigh, Simon Pegg
Heroines: Dusty Springfield, Nancy Sinatra, Jane Grigson, Francoise Hardy, Linda Smith, Polly Harvey, Jane Tomlinson, Audrey Hepburn,

I'll pass on the fizz thank you

Hectic day of making too many meals and not enough sustinence. Spent morning cycling along seafront buying locally caught fish to make a pie with, and then popped to a supermarket to get the extra posh nosh to go with like dill leaves and dijon mustard. Had an argument with the man in the fishmongers about how to make fish pie. Message to fish man: I make it very nicely thank you (as Anna will vouch today as she joined me for lunch) despite your views on how to poach cod. Fner.
Having got little Sadie to bed this evening with her best mate Minoo who is having a sleepover, I've been browsing the Pocketbooks website. My lovely friend Em is their singer and they are great- very Belle and Sebastian-esque. See http://www.pocketbooks.org.uk/ to have a listen. I'm very proud of my Em. Many years ago we shared a flat in Shoreditch and would chat for many hours over a pint and a fag in the Rosemary Branch (http://www.rosemarybranch.co.uk/) about our dreams and aspirations. Hers was to be a singer and she's doing it. Mine was to be a writer and I'm doing it. Hurrah.
Andy's completeed on the house which is great news- only problem is I'm too jaded this evening to join him in a glass or two of fizz. We will have to celebrate another night...
The weekend is here. I just want to sleep.....
Oh but before I do- I can't believe I dind't mention in my rambling yesterday about how much I love Brighton so many other things, but mainly the goddamn sea being at the end of my road. Autumn brings with it a wonderful mixture of wind and sunshine which makes the sea it's most beautiful.
Soundtrack: Pocketbooks - Cross the Line

Brighton and Hove we love you

Went past a supermarket on the Lewes Road in Brighton today. I have a very clear reminder when I go past here of what it is I love about no longer living in London. In my first week in Brighton (nearly 4 years ago) I went to this bland, giant shop to purchase bland products, and at the checkout was taken aback by a young man asking my how my day had been. I could not believe it. I realised I had previously spent 9 years of my life surrounded by mute checkout people, bus drivers, shop assistants..you get it. Moving to Brighton reintroduced me to communication with strangers (something I was very familiar with growing up in the Midlands).
However, with all this Madeleine McCann business I have become ultra paranoid mum, and felt it appropriate, a few months back, when all mums everywhere were feeling sick at the thought of being inside Kate McCann's head and heart, to do the "don't talk to strangers" chat with my four year old daughter. Since then she no longer says thank you to bus drivers and sometimes ignores her uncles if she hasn't seen them for a long time. Very sad.
God being a parent is hard. And as Philip Larkin rightly said 'they f**k you up your mum and dad'.
Spent today near the Lewes Road, as mentioned, as we are doing up a house in the student area to rent out. I got very dusty and patronised by all the porky electricians and carpet men, as I swept and scrubbed the last remaining grub away. As much as I hate their stereotypical comments about women being the best cleaners and giving the place "that feminine touch", I have to say I agree. It was only when I laid a finger on the place did it begin to resemble a home. Andy is very good at making it look all flashy and stylish but I feel I give it some warmth.
Anyway. hark at me- I think I've had a few too many glasses of merlot this evening.
Best go and write some of The Book before That Mitchell and Webb Look. I hope they do the 'Dun dundlyun dun dudlyun de de de de deedla dedla de de duuuuuur' sketch with the pissheads. It always reminds me of my lovely french friend Celine who's just moved to Bath. She is not a habitual drinker unlike me, it has just become our clumsy stumbling soundtrack. We stumble a lot you see..

On the up

Is it the changing seasons? Or is it the fact that my little poppet Sadie Spector has just started school in the mornings? Yes- my one and only has just done 2 weeks in reception and although it's allowing me time to prattle about doing pointless things like starting a blog, I rather miss her and am sad that she's growing up so fast.
And this is my first blog, which considering I'm a writer may seem rather odd. I used to be far less worried about exposing myself to others, so to speak. I've always thought things like this just cater for nosey parkers, but what the hell. Here I am. Her Indoors.
My background in ranting about myself goes back a long way. 15 years ago Beaumont Fee started as a shameless, irreverent self-expression of my teenage life. It was a photocopied, flimsy thing called a fanzine- a tale of teenage debauchery in an egotistical world of hormones, LSD, loud guitars and an obsession with Brett Anderson. If I ever get the hang of this blog malarkey, I'll put some of the archive issues up on here.
Now I'm allegedly a proper grown up. I've turned 30 and I have a daughter. Hello? When did all this happen? Gone are the days of thumping loudly on my blue typewriter, locked in my bedroom in Sleaford, downing dad's whisky and dreaming of a better life. Now I'm supposedly living that better life, in Brighton, tapping on my computer keyboard and looking forward to a glass of merlot this evening. Not much has changed.
My musical background to the original BF was a mixture of Suede, Blur, Bowie and Abba. Now all I hear is silence and my conscience telling me I should be doing something more productive like write That Book that's on the back burner. Next BF blog I'll have a soundtrack.
Been trying to write the first chapter of The Book this morning. Did 600 words last night (pathetic) and then went off to watch that social experiment on babies programme last night 'Bringing Up Baby'. That awful witchy woman who wouldn't let the parents cuddle their baby made me sick. In fact the whole format made me cringe. I had to switch off the tv. I should have stuck to rambling in my book.
Speaking of wasting quality creative time I'll be off....