Happy New Year

I was in the middle of writing a short(ish) review of my year when Jacob decided to weep, wail, cough and eventually throw up all his dinner.

Which has put me back somewhat in my plans to do a bit of preparation for tomorrow's party. So, instead of pontificating on what 2006 has meant for me, I'll just bid a Happy New Year to anyone who might read this and get back to the tidying and baking.

Oh, and I might have a small Baileys to see in the New Year. Because I'm not going to drink in 2007, oh no, really. Honest.

Car crash

We've just witnessed a car crash. In fact, you might say, we were the very near neighbours of this car crash as it happened right next to us in the opposite lane on the A59.

Doug reported it to the police, as they were pretty much blocking the road to traffic and given our names as witnesses, but I'm not sure whether they'll need to talk to us.

I don't know how these things work, whether it depends on whether the two car drivers agree that it was a no-fault RTA - if that was the case, I'd imagine the police would be happy to let it go and not get involved.

I'm just grateful we didn't get involved in the crash - if Doug had decided not to wait and drive round the mini-roundabout as was his right to, we'd have been the ones crashed into and probably me and Jacob in hospital having been blindsided at about 35 miles an hour by a v powerful car. If the car it had collided with instead had been going faster and been more powerful, it might well have pushed the other car right into us, this time with Doug and Sam in the firing line.

All in all, a salutory lesson about how NOT to drive round mini-roundabouts.

Saddam

I've just been watching the tv images of Saddam's last moments and its really rather disturbing. He was an evil man, no argument about that, and if anyone deserved to die it was him, but I'm still shocked by it all.

It all seems incredibly pointless - I mean, the Iraqis have gone beyond Saddam in their in-fighting; its mostly shia v sunni now, so I can't see that it achieves anything by executing him. Surely they'd have been better off 'accidentally' shooting him when they found him, or leaving him in Fort Buttphuck, Idaho, in the custody of the merkins for the rest of his natural life.

The other thing that disturbed me was the fact that the executioners all wore balaclavas - I appreciate that in Iraq at the moment, you wouldn't want to be recognised as one of the hangmen, but it gave it the whole thing the appearance of some kangaroo-court, hardly the official behaviour of a national goverment.

And lastly, the most disturbing thing of all was watching Saddam, watching the face of a man as he goes to his death. Very very chilling.

Eat My Dust

The way I usually learn from my driving lessons is to take on the points raised in the previous lesson and try to do them correctly the next time we're out. Last time, Mick mentioned that we needed to get to grips with Dual Carriageways and driving at much higher speeds; once we've done that, I'll be put in for my test.

Its been quite interesting today - I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bit slow getting away from junctions, but once I'm in third, I do put my foot down, move up the gears and drive to whatever the speed limit is. What's interesting is other people's reactions to being behind a learner - despite the fact that you're in a brand new 1.8 turbo diesel Ford Focus, they assume you'll pootle along at 30, even on a dual carriageway. This is particularly true of men in small cars with hardly more than a litre engine.

I quite liked watching the expression on their faces today as they tried to overtake me, only to realise that a) I'd got quite a bit more ooomph under the bonnet than them and b) was really putting my foot down. Well, as much of their expression as I could see before they fell back behind me and tucked back into the left-hand lane :-)

My general driving is fine, I think - its just the manoeuvres that I was struggling with today. Although some days it can be the totally the other way round. I very much doubt I'll pass at first go, but hopefully it'll be sooner rather than later.....

It doesn't take much

to make me happy.

Today, my cup overfloweth on discovering that the good people of York Council have authorised grey bin collections as well as recycling throughout the christmas period. The sudden realisation that my house is going to be clear of ripped wrapping paper, turkey carcasses and dirty nappies is making me giddy.

There are so many full bin liners in the garage that I feel I should sculpt them into something. Maybe a scale model of Devil's Mountain a la Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters.

Back to Normal

I've just about gotten over my massive case of the grumps, despite the fact that I'm looking at a house that appears to have had the Belvoir Hunt view-halloo-ing through it.

All the guests have left and we're about to head off to B&Q to buy some stackable storage boxes to stick all the toys in.

We're also going to buy some noodles and make some thai turkey noodle soup with the last of our christmas turkey. Doug made a fantastic turkey pilau last night, so there's hardly any meat left on our 15 lb bird. The ham still needs finishing off, mind....

Once we've got ourselves back to normal, I'm going to start having a think about the future. Christmas/New Year is such an obstacle, but a watershed at the same time. Jacob starts playgroup on Jan 4th, so I need to decide how I'm going to play it and what I'm going to do with Sam when its just the pair of us.

I also need to have a couple of goals or objectives for the New Year - apart from the usual drink less/lose weight resolutions that fall by the wayside come mid-Jan - something of my own that I can look upon as an achievement when its finished. I might start drawing again, or even knitting & tapestry again, if my CTS will allow it. Or I might have a pop at writing.

So, onwards. Objectives, goals, resolution. And a tidy house. And maybe a smaller bottom.

The Injustice of Being a Parent at Christmas

Just a quick post before I go to bed and call time on yet another Christmas Day. Yet another Christmas Day when I have completely failed to summon up any festive spirit whatsoever, which bothers me somewhat.

I'm not saying I haven't had a nice time, I have - but my lovely memories of childhood are all about the traditions and the routine of the festivities, and I think that's what I'm trying to achieve for my own children. I'll be the first to admit that I'm on the anal side about how things should be done, and today I felt that it was all a bit of a mess.

Not the dinner - that was one thing over which I had complete control - but the fact that by early evening I'd only managed to open one present for myself. And we were so knackered at this point, not having got our second wind, that we started opening our presents just to get them out of the way. "Oh, thanks, perfume, how nice", "Nice jumper" - as if all the effort into buying the stuff counted for nothing, not even the thought counting.

And that brings me to my main point. At some point in the past seven years, the presents I received from family became presents for me and Doug - couply presents, nothing to do with me as an individual. And once I had kids, they've become even more perfunctory as all the thought and money has gone into buying the presents for the children. And that wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that they've got so many bloody presents we're going to have to build a third conservatory to house them all - there's still bag loads of them unwrapped for gods sake.

Its probably because I'm tired that I'm sounding so whingey and selfish, but I think its the realisation that the loss of sense of self is more or less complete thats making me so bloody grumpy. Once you've had one kid, even more so with two and you decide to stay at home and look after them, your life ceases to be your own and has, by necessity, to revolve around the kids. It would be nice, just for Christmas, to get some of that back, even if its just the fact that people have thought about what they're buying you instead of choosing an easy option like smellies or chocolates.

Anyway, I've got that off my chest (sort of), so I'll wish you all a Merry Christmas and head off to bed. Boxing Day tomorrow, my resolution being not to pick an argument with my mother-in-law about whether Morecambe and Wise are funny*.

Ho ho ho.

* they are comedy gods and anyone who doesn't think the Andre Previn sketch isn't a work of comedic genius needs their funny bone replacing.

Merry Christmas One and All

So far today, I have braved the throngs in Tesco to get all the christmas grocery shopping in (we are now £300 the poorer, but it would have been much less if I hadn't been stupid enough to leave Doug alone in the beer and spirits section) and now I'm cooking.

I've done the lemon and pancetta stuffing rolls, boiled the ham prior to glazing and cooking, am making the turkey stock and stuffing, and am planning to make a start on the bread sauce. All the while, I have been listening to Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College Cambridge on the radio and quaffing more mulled wine than is good for me.

I was planning to go to York Minster this arvo and attend their carol service, but Jacob, unfortunately, is unwell - he's got a nasty cough which is making him throw up. I was up for an hour at 3am-ish getting him back to sleep with a medley of christmas songs. Consequently, I'm feeling less than sparkling at the moment, and not really up to braving the cold weather again today. Although if I had gone, Jacob would have thrown up on someone else.

Now thats what I call christmas, turkey, stuffing, mulled wine and vomit all down your front.

Merry Christmas one and all !!!!

A Rosy Hue Settles All Around

So, I have been baking and icing in equal measure this evening. All the while listening to Magic FM through our digibox, singing along to some truly atrocious songs and enjoying myself immensely. I hadn't realised that I know all the words to When A Child Is Born - including the spoken bit in the middle.

I made the royal icing and then left it for an hour, just to make sure it was as rock solid as it should be - I didn't want to ice the cake and then find that next morning all the icing had slid off the cake, sitting like a big dollop of Preparation H round a giant haemorrhoid.

Anyway, with that marvellous visual image firmly implanted in your minds, let me then say that I went on to make my mince pies. I'd made the mincemeat about a month ago, so it was just a case of making the pastry. Doug has eaten one and told me they're very good. Personally, I prefer shop-bought, but there you go :-)

Whilst the pies were in the oven, I iced the cake. Now, its not going to win any prizes for being pretty, but its big, white and its got snowmen on the top. So has Ben Nevis, I hear you cry, but Ben Nevis isn't made of a pound or two of brandy soaked fruit, two pounds of ground almonds and a shed load of icing sugar and eggs. So the cake wins, sorry Ben.

The other night, as I was taking it out of its wrappings to put the marzipan, a chunk fell off (yes, really) so I had a little taste and thought it tasted a bit bitter. So then I started wondering if I hadn't added the sugar and worrying somewhat. But then I realised that between the marzipan and the royal icing, there is 1.5kg of icing sugar in it.....

I doubt I'll get a chance to stick the photos of it up before Christmas, as the in-laws are due tomorrow and I've got a lot of tidying up to do. I might even save a piece for Adrian, if he asks very nicely.

One little thought before I finally head off to bed for a few paltry hours of sleep before the little demons wake me up: I don't actually like Christmas Cake!

Premium Bonds

I have had my first win on the Premium Bonds - the princely sum of £50. I may retire :-)

J'accuse....

Me!!

I didn't ice my cake due to one small teeny tiny omission on my part - I didn't buy the five eggs (yes FIVE, count them) it takes to make marzipan and royal icing.

So sue me, I did the ironing instead.

I shall do the cake tomorrow night instead, when I fully anticipate it will look something like this:-



(actually, if it looks like this I'll be amazed, as it will have grown another three tiers over night)

Christmas Cake

Its been sitting in its airtight box for about six weeks now, wrapped up in greaseproof paper, occasionally receiving a drink of cognac (if its been a good cake, as a bit of a treat, you understand).

And now its time to ice it. We've just bought James Martin's Winter Cookbook which advocates making your own icing and marzipan, and Doug has talked me into doing this instead of getting shop bought. I've been encouraged by the picture of Mr Martin patching up the marzipan where it's split.

I'm taking Antonia's advice and icing it all over, rather than just the top, and I've bought some rather splendidly cheesy snowman decorations to finish it off.

I will try and post a photo of it when its finished. Obviously if it looks crap then I will nick an image off the internet and try to pass it off as my own work. If it looks really crap then I'll be buying one from M&S and passing it off as my own work .....

One Week to Go

When I was a nipper, a week left to Christmas Day felt like an eternity, full of breathless excitement about the big day and what sort of presents Father Christmas would deliver.

As an adult, it seems far too short a time, and I'm walking round the house going "I really should re-hang these curtains before the in-laws arrive" and "it would be much better if I could get the woodwork in the living room sanded and primed, if not actually finished" by Friday evening.

However, I shall be realistic and concentrate on having a) the house tidy, b) presents wrapped c) christmas cake finished and mince pies made and d) getting enough food in to sink the Bismarck.

Achieving some of those will be a minor miracle, so to hell with hanging curtains ;-)

The Ashes

Australia have regained the Ashes. I told Doug they would, but he didn't believe me.

I am no cricket expert, but I can sum up for you why we lost - we were crap.

Waiter, there are butterflies in my couscous!

Jacob wasn't well yesterday, and I suspected him of being feverish when he started complaining about butterflies in the couscous he was having for lunch.

Anyway, he had some for his tea today and complained of the same thing, but I've worked out that he's actually talking about the sultanas - apparently, they look like butterflies' bodies.

I sense a childhood of similarly imaginative excuses for not eating various foods looming.

One Last Thought

for tonight, at least.

Has anyone else noticed that one of the victims of the serial killer in Suffolk shares a surname with one of Jack the Ripper's victims? Nicholls.

It means nothing, but it did spring to mind when I was reading the paper earlier. However, if one of the dailies picks up on it, remember that YOU READ IT HERE FIRST!

Carol Singers

We had two lots of carol singers round within 10 minutes of each other tonight. The first didn't really hang around - Jacob decided to come and see who was at the door and was naked from the waist down (courtesy of potty training). As they were all young girls, they dissolved giggling and left before they'd even completed a full verse of Away in a Manger.

The second lot were much better - they sang the first verse of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, but to be fair, Jacob didn't come and flash them.

Vietnamese Pork and Lemongrass

Is the best thing in the world at this precise moment in time. I would post the recipe, but that would involve me fishing out Madhur Jaffrey's Curry Bible and typing it up. Buy the book, its fantastic. We're on our second version of it, the first having got gummed up by putting it on the same bit of kitchen surface as the sink - a bit like sticking a car in St George's Field during a rainy week ie not conducive to you ever using it again.

Instead, I shall watch "A Child at Any Odds" and feel remarkably smug but sympathetic about anyone with fertility issues. I know someone who's having real issues with this at the moment and I'm majorly glad that I got pregnant both times without much trouble.

Dad

My dad has been admitted to hospital - when he was with us on Saturday he was constantly going to the loo and then saying he couldn't manage to pass water. We just put it down to him being a bit nervous about being at someone else's house and having to climb stairs to go to the loo - he's not been so good on his pins since the stroke and he always worries that he won't get there in time.

Anyway, this carried on until the following day and he was so grey and clammy and obviously unwell that mum got him to the local hospital for some tests. They think that its probably an enlarged prostate blocking the urinary tract, but they're running various tests to check. Apparently, they're not expecting him to be in hospital for more than 48 hours and that they'll be able to treat the condition with drugs.

Fingers crossed.

Its only a few months since he was last in hospital, for surgery to remove a cancerous ulcer - ever since his stroke, it seems to be one damn thing after the other with regard to his health. You certainly know when you've reached a certain age, when you're constantly worried about your parents, rather than vice versa.

Rainy Sunday Afternoon

As far as I'm concerned, a wet sunday afternoon has to be the worst of all possible combinations. However, we're currently recovering from having hosted the Akester Family Christmas Party yesterday, so sitting on the sofa reading The Observer, eating Tunnocks Teacakes and keeping less than a weather eye on the children is about all I can manage today, so I'm hoping I won't get an attack of the mean reds by teatime.

Yesterday was excellent if hectic, with six children aged between 10 and 10 months charging round the house fuelled by lemonade and cadburys chocolate fingers. I made a lovely caremelised orange trifle, the recipe for which can be found here and was very amused to find my sister and sister-in-law tucking into it with serving spoons. There's not much left by now, as you can imagine.

So, beef stew in the slow cooker for about six hours, Chelsea v Arsenal on the box in a couple of hours and plenty of tea in the pot, and this afternoon might not be as bad as all that.

(That said, Jacob is getting more miss than hit with his potty training today and I'll have to get the mop out later or the living room will smell something akin to the side of McDonalds in Peckham on a summer Saturday night....)

Remind me

never to invite my entire family to my house at the same time.

Top of the Group

Through in pole position, courtesy of a two-nil win over Levski Sofia, two splendid goals from Sheva and SWP.

Shame the Catalans sneaked through in second place, despite our gifting Werder Bremen three points against us two weeks ago. Blasted hun, can't rely on them for nuffink.

ROFLMAO!!!!

This is a fantastic picture:-



Freyja has to be the most solemn baby in the whole world. Still, if I had a father who was an Arsenal fan, I'd be non too sunny either...... (what am I saying, my dad is a Tottenham fan!!)

3/4s of a bottle of sancerre

how did that happen? *hic*

Potty Training

No posts for a week, as I've been away at my mum's avoiding the decorators doing a sterling job on our hallway and landing. Too many opportunities for little fingers messing up sticky gloss paint on the woodwork :-)

Anyway, I thought I'd take advantage of my mum's experience as both mother and grandmother to get Jacob started on the potty. Mum was pretty confident of success until she encountered the sheer contrary will power of my firstborn. On day 3, we decided that no amount of encouragement and cajoling was going to start him off and that in the morning he'd be back in nappies. So Mum headed off to choir practice (she is a lovely singer, it runs in the family but it by-passed me, unfortunately) and I was getting Jacob ready for bed when he announced he wanted to use the potty. Rather sceptically, I let him get on the potty and sit there for a minute - so imagine my surprise when he stood up, leaving behind him one of each!!

Since then, he's been using it regularly - we have as many hits as misses at this stage, and I'm trying to get him to come and tell me when he wants a wee/poo - that's to pave the way for when we're out and about and he's not in nappies.

Earlier on today he was so transfixed by Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse that he weed where he was standing. He was most upset as I'd promised him a present if he could go on the potty for the rest of the afternoon and had managed pretty well until that moment. Ahh, the power of the House of Mouse over bladder control.

Still, better than him pooing on my lovely new laminate flooring in the dining room which he did earlier. And even that wouldn't have been that bad if Sam hadn't crawled through it before I got a chance to clean it up....