Coffee, Fleas and Nancy Mitford

Here we are again, once more into the darkness my friend (read: it’s a bit bloody wintery in my neck of the woods). But cold outside equals warm inside, which is all well and good when you don’t have to go to work of a morning, but rather intensely pants when it’s Monday morning and work is imminent. As it is, now. Urngh.


Monday mornings. The less said there the better, I think.

The ever expanding waistline. I’ve been saying to myself for weeks ‘I really should do something about this”, and yet, when crunch time comes (when I’m presented with crackers and a tub of red pepper hummus) I fail, time and time again. My downfall was made of hummus, and it was delicious.

I have attempted to give up food that tastes good, and caffeine. Have possibly never regretted anything more in my young life. Side effects are worse than expected, namely my attention span has contracted to a period of about four secon…
I was raised by parents who didn’t do caffeine or alcohol until I was a teenager (go figure) and so I have an inherent crisis when it comes to caffeine as the hippies in my head keep telling me I shouldn’t be addicted to anything. Longevity of caffeine reduction yet to be established.

My house was recently the charming home to a flea infestation. How this managed to occur, I do not know, however it has resulted in my caffeine-deprived mood getting increasingly worse, and I have very itchy ankles all the time. I may or may not have drawn blood in a scratchy rage. Just what the little bastards wanted all along. I admit defeat.


I’m not entirely sure that I’ve revealed the birthday gift to end all birthday gifts! Behold:

Why yes, that is a KitchenAid mixer. Why yes, I have swooned after one for the last ten years. I confess I have been thoroughly spoiled by this gift and it will take me about six years to pay off my karma debt, from having had such ridiculous good fortune to have been given this. I have used it already, and made several batches of below-par bread. I give you:
There is no evidence of the second batch of fruit bread, and so you shall just have to imagine it. In all it’s overly yeasty goodness.
I found a copy of Love From Nancy: The Letters of Nancy Mitford in Oxfam for a deeply purchasable £2.99. Huzzah, the Mitford obsession continues! I am rather a bit too excited to go to bed now, just so I can read it. It’s a tough choice between Nancy and Downton Abbey, but after the recent disappointment in Downton following the shit rape storyline (more on that later), I think Nance is the way to go.
Autumn means cardigans and tights and that clearly means I am able to cease the ritual leg shaving until next year. Huzzah. To be perfectly honest, I’m generally a bit slack in the depilatory department but at least now I don’t have to feel even remotely embarrassed. It’s for heat retaining purposes. As you may know, I am also a huge fan of a regular cardigan, and so commence the knitwear binge!


Smart Like a Fox

Well evidently my return to “daily” blogging has been something of a failure. Or rather a total failure, at that. Ho hum. I might review this decision and amend it to be more of a weekly blogging sort of affair. I trust you won’t mind.

Onwards then!

Last night as I was putting some of the dreaded laundry on, the enormous box of washing powder collapsed (due to sogginess as a result of the non stop torrential rain we’ve been experiencing in Kent), sending a soap based avalanche cascading down my body. Bear in mind that this was at about six pm and therefore it was pitch black in our outside laundry, and secondly that the only thing I hate more than laundry is sweeping. What a bore.

The programme of extreme eating I have undertaken over the last two weeks  has resulted in significant difficulty getting into what were already slightly too small jeans. This is a problem.

I have a lot of work to do and find myself stuck in holiday mode and unable to get the proverbial arse into gear and bloody well do it! I’m irritating myself, let alone the people I have promised this work to. Ugh. On with the procrasti-blogging then…

It is definitely Autumn. I love this season and can even deal with the sudden bouffant-ness that my hair takes on from the rain. To make things even better, I am now the proud owner of three new pairs of socks , two of which have foxes on them. Exhibit A:

What’s not to like? The BF can relax too, as he can now reclaim the socks of his I’ve been keeping hostage for several months now.
There is a cat sleeping right next to me, and a moment ago it was snoring. That’s a bonafide high point of any day that ever was.
I am making sushi tonight with a clueless, but nonetheless enthusiastic boyfriend. It bodes well.
What’s your high and low point?


Krak up in Krakow

Mmm lard on toast. Get it in ya.
You shall all be thrilled to hear I have returned from my travels to the depths of Krakow, Poland, and have many a story to tell. However, before I relay my tales of the far east, I’ve decided to return to regular and daily blogging via a challenge shamelessly stolen from my favourite blog, Belgian Waffle.
By way of introduction, each post for the next month will be a summary of my (positively thrilling) thoughts through the medium of Down/Up. So, without further ado, mesdames et monsieurs, I present: Krakow.
I cannot speak a word of Polish. Nay I tell a lie, I can say dziekuje which I am told means ‘thank you’. My only means for remembering this over the period of my four day stay was to give myself a semi permanent tattoo of ballpoint ink on my arm spelling the damn word out phonetically. I still got it wrong.
I appear to have gained about eleventy kilos and am reaping the rewards of the traditionally heavy Polish food. That is to say, there is no need to fear my getting remotely cold this winter, as I have many layers to protect my vital organs, and more to the point even the non vital organs are rather cosy following my carb binge.
Auschwitz and the Ghetto. Not much to add to this conversation already, except for holy hell they were bad times for humanity. I loves me the vintage times, and as we are all aware I am rather fond of pretending to be a cabaret singer but I have absolutely no regrets about living in the twentieth century.
It is now possible and wholly appropriate to inform you that I have done karaoke in Krakow. Say that out ten times quickly, it’s the best. Not only that but I have embodied both Dolly Parton and Stevie Nicks in Krakow. Say no more.
I now know the joys of my Motherland, which will please the Father no end. I felt a familiar swell of patriotism when visiting Wawel Castle and hearing of how the identity of Poland has remained despite being battered from pillar to post over several hundred years.
I am also now home. Nothing beats going on holiday like coming home and sleeping in your own bed. Heaven.