Blondie Explosion

I like to bake and make and all kinds of different things but baking is something that soothes my soul.

Anyway I make blondies, courtesy of The Hummingbird recipe book

Ingredients

150g white chocolate, roughly chopped

125g unsalted butter

150g caster sugar

2 eggs

1 (1/2) teaspoons of vanilla extract

a pinch of salt ( i think this is optional and personally don't bother, never had any complaints either)

120g shelled pecan nuts, chopped

33*23*5cm baking tray, lined with grease proof paper

Method

1.Pre-heat the oven to 170 dg C (325 dg F) Gas 3

2.Put the chocolate and butter into a bowl and sit over a pan of simmering water. DO NOT let the bowl and the water connect. It will be ruined and you might as well give up now and start again! Leave until melted and smooth.

3. Remove from heat

4. Add the sugar and stir until well incorporated

5. Add the eggs and vanilla extract, stirring briskly if the mixture looks like its starting to split. (Personally I always get a hand blender involved at this stage. I have never been able to avoid the splitting but when you do make sure that you wear an apron melted butter will splat everywhere!)

6. Add the flour, salt and pecan nuts and stir until well incorporated.

7. Add the magic- this is where I add my own ingredients to make it my own, dried, sweetened cranberries (200g) are delicious and the specs of red look pretty good too. Other dried fruit will probably go quite well with white chocolate I've yet to try blueberries but there are on my list of experiments to try!

8. Spoon the mixture into the prepared baking tray and bake in the preheated oven for about 35-40 minutes, or until golden brown and the centre is soft.

9. Leave to cool completely. Instruct your family to leave the home for the next couple of hours, grab a bottle of nice wine and a movie and most importantly

10. ENJOY

Husband likes them too and has commissioned me on occasion to make them for his team. On this particular occasion however I was busy playing catch up with work and providing support on a consultancy basis. 

Husband and I differ in our approach. I am, I believe, a much tidier baker than he is.

You'll notice that the pecan nuts need to be chopped in the recipe above. Husband came through with his nuts in a bag. I should probably explain that his approach to baking is very much that a recipe is for guideline purposes where as I like to stick to the recipe to get the best result.

Clearly he is more creative than I am when it comes to baking and cooking.

I could tell where he was going with this. By smashing the bag off of our cheap Ikea coffee table he was hoping that this would be a quick and effective route to the chopping exercise. 

I let him hit the table once, hard. As he raised the bag to strike it a second time I opened my mouth to warm him that it probably wasn't a good idea when this happened:

Leaving us with a living room that looked like this:

While I find baking therapeutic Husband finds it frustrating, especially after showering both of us in Pecans. 

When I asked if he was going to clean the mess up. He quickly said "No- have too much to do" and went back into the kitchen leaving me to clean it up.

I think he hopes that in making a huge mess and leaving me to clean it up that I will do less consultancy and be more hands on. 

I can only laugh. 

In fact I nearly cried when re-reading it to Husband.

Fractures

Have you ever lost something and known that it is just gone?

Fundamentally you will never have it back, a unique piece of you gone. It is irreplaceable. And it is no longer in your possession.

Recently my heart has sustained two of the tiniest hair line fractures. 2. So small and so tiny that you'd hardly notice if you were to look at them on an x-ray.

They hurt the most.

There is no way to describe them.

They are truly unique.

It has prompted me to re-think some things.

Maybe my too little unique fractures will help with that.

These tiny fractures are mirrored identically on Husbands heart too. 

Introducing your lobster sir

I might have mentioned this once or twice but I like food.

A lot.

You might remember reading such incidents as the skirt splitting discussion: motivator

It has resulted in some drastic steps:
keep-on-running

legs-bums-tums

i-bet-madonna-gets-to-punch-hers

and other various running related incidents, I'll let you plunder your way through this little blog space of mine for them if you can be bothered.

Anyway this love for food I have has introduced us to some delicious restaurants. One in particular is in the fabulous West Coast village in Scotland called Oban. It's sea food based, a fantastically simple set up and highly, highly recommended.

The owner has a small boat and a smokery. He catches and smokes all his own catch and serves it very simply and deliciously.

We dove in feet first and went for the seafood platter, which started with an introduction.

I should probably do a better job of setting the scene. The restaurant is small, very small, taking 2 sittings on a Friday and Saturday night only during the week. Each sitting takes 12 covers.

As I said it's small but perfectly formed with an unassuming front and glass back overlooking the coast and islands.

You can see and hear the chefs and the solitary waitress can just about turn around the tables serving without interrupting your meal.

So when the introduction to our first ever lobster happened I was fractionally more ready for it than either the lobster, which was blatantly trying to look inconspicuous on an unforgiving very reflective silver platter by trying to hide behind his bound claws, or Husband.

Whose first sight of it was eye ball to eye ball as it tried to desperately curl its legs under it and crawl away to the far corner of the platter.

He got half way through a loud exclamation that would have had mothers covering their small children's ears and certainly got the waitress to step backwards as the two assessed each other (the lobster and the Husband that is).

When we next met Larry he was pink and he tasted amazing.

Sorry if this story has upset any vegetarians who have stumbled across this but I cannot apologise because he tasted delicious I am just sorry you might have been upset by it!





(It's called The Seafood Temple)

Couscous Rage

According to Wikipedia Couscous

is a Berber pasta dish of semolina traditionally served with a meat or vegetable stew spooned over it. Couscous is a staple food throughout Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia and west of Libya.

And nutritionally good for you:

 Couscous is among the healthiest grain-based products. It has a glycemic load per gram 25% below that of pasta. It has a superior vitamin profile to pasta, containing twice as much riboflavin, niacin,vitamin B6, and folate, and containing four times as much thiamine and pantothenic acid.^[10][11][12]

In terms of protein, couscous has 3.6 g for every 100 calories, equivalent to pasta, and well above the 2.6 g for every 100 calories of white rice. Furthermore, couscous contains a 1% fat-to-calorie ratio, compared to 3% for white rice, 5% for pasta, and 11.3% for rice pilaf.

To me it is a nice alternative, easy to make and generally pretty inoffensive. And yet how it can create such frustration in one individual is a mystery to me.

We don't have it that often and not because of his attitude to it just because we don't.

This week we had it with grilled fish and steamed garden peas. Yummy.

Husband hoovered up all of his dinner with the except of most of his couscous. 

"it tastes like dust"

"oh. Sorry, it tastes like what?"

"dust."

"Really? and you know this because you have eaten dust?"

"... that is not the point. If dust had to taste of anything it would be of this"

I don't get it- it doesn't have an overly strong flavour of anything, moist enough and goes with anything.

To be honest I didn't really give it much more thought than that. 

Husband clearly had though. 

In the car on the way home tonight he raised it again along the lines of ...

"Please, can we NEVER have dust again!"

We think the reason he hates it so much is its inoffensiveness. . .




ps After reading this to Husband he responded with "you can't trust anything that has the same name twice. I mean its not like you get pastpasta. Its just pasta" Hmmm.... COUS?!!!! 

The differences between Men & Women - baths

I have commented previously about some of the domestic differences me and Husband have. I think this could fundamentally lie in our gender.

How foolish that it has taken me this long to realise it?!

Today, Sunday, we went on a nice long walk. All wrapped up and discussing our plans for the future with the more immediate plans for a hot bath when we got back in. These were made even better because I would have a hot bath first while The Husband prepared our dinner and after a munch of food he's get to have the left over hot water.

We're economical like that!

When it comes to out bathing styles, here is where the first gender difference might lie. I can soak for easily up to an hour on my own. Reading a book, supping a glass of cold white wine or just lieing listening to the sounds of husband cooking dinner.

Husband. Totally different story. I will almost always hear a long drawn out wail of:

" will you come and talk to me???????"

If I didn't come through and talk to him he would be out of that tub pretty much as soon as he considered his entire body wet. I think this could be a man definition of what a bath is: I am horizontal and soaked and not in a swimming pool therefor I have finished with my bath.

The second difference is our exit. Husband regularly finished his bath with a pointed demonstration to me on how it is possible to get out of a bath with minimal drippage. His fundamental complaint about my long luxurious bathing is that afterward the tile floor is "soaked".

In my defence I don't think it is...

                                                                                                                        . . . at all!

Wisdom-less

I had to go to the dentist today.

I am going to be 30 in 9 days, not that I am counting, but I am scared of the dentist and I am technically a grown up.

I remember being a little kid and thankfully never having anything major wrong with my mouth that would prompt a fear of going to the dentist. In fact if anything it was fun because afterwards my Mum would take me to the shop to pick whatever treat I wanted- licorice wheels were my favourite. Of course I wasn't allowed them straight away.

Today I got my wisdom tooth pulled.

Right now I could cry. I really want a licorice wheel.

Husband came with me and sat nervously in the waiting room while I got a bit of me extracted. I think he was really worried for me. But since we've known I have this appointment he's been nothing but cool and nonchalant about the whole thing. He has been very re-assuring and calming.

In the car on the way back telling him about what happened in the room he had one hand over his mouth and the other on the steering wheel.

He then told me how he would take a spade to the head rather than get a tooth pulled under local anaesthetic.

He was so calm for me, knowing that if he suggested that the thought of getting a wisdom tooth pulled turned his stomach then I would be extremely freaked out about getting it pulled myself.

This is why he is my husband.

I could cry again. Going to put that down to the loss of a tooth.

Under strict instructions I am propped up in bed trying not to dribble, writing this and watching episodes of The West Wing (thank you Little B) to keep my mind off what is likely to be an uncomfortable couple of days. My mouth is still numb.

Wish me luck.

[For the record, the tooth was enormous- half the size of my own head (I know I can't believe it either) but it came out really easily and I didn't feel a thing. A decent amount of pressure on my jaw but zero pain]

3 weeks in a month I feel like this. . . .

 

(nearly)

Then 1 week in a month I feel and behave like this. . .

(fairly accurate)

Sorry Husband xx

Manners

I think I am becoming increasingly more intolerant as I get older, I just don't understand why the concept of basic manners is so difficult for people to grasp.

I always try to be considerate of others and would hope that would be reciprocated but more often than not it isn't.  I find myself fighting the urge to give these people a clip around the back of the head and from somewhere within my personal history, genes and through generations of women utter the immortal words of:

"lift your feet when you walk"

or

"it is not "wha?!" it is WH-AT!"

In a way that is so arresting that people pick their feet up when they walk, hold doors open, say "Please" and say "Thank You" and rediscover their manners.

Here are some of the things I wish people would do . . .

• Hold the door open for someone when its clear they are about to go into the same room as you

• Say Please and Thank You

• Don't ignore someone when they are speaking to you

• Pick your feet up when you walk

• Park your car with consideration for other residents

• Pick up after your dog

• Apologise when you bump into someone

Grrr

[technophobe alter- I am still trying to work out how to get images back on my blog via my mac air, in the mean time imagine a picture of a really cross lion, roaring very loudly!!]

YES

Finally worked it out, Thank You Husband (credit where credit is due!)

The power of a Gin & Tonic

Possibly one of my favourite driks.


Next to a warming and strong Rioja *


[Imagine the sound of a Jaguar Purring. Right in your ear. ]


Tonight I got an invitation to a very special party- that would go on for more than one day. More to follow, in July (insert smiley face. BIG smiley face).

This invitation came at the end of the longest day of the longest week.

It was the best point in at least 48 hours - including a Jamirequi concert. . .

It generated the biggest smile on my wee tired corporate face.

Husband came home tonight, not to the party invite (although his is invited) but to a MASSIVELY hormonal wife.

His best course of action= a soothing cuddle and a gin and tonic.

40 minutes later it was my turn to repay the favour. As I type this I can't feel my teeth and my eye balls feel like marbles in their huge sockets.

Thank you Granny for teahing me how ro make a proper West Coast of Scotland  G&T.** . . .

I hold you responsidle, I think!

If you have decided this blog didn't make sense. It's because of the Gin and Tonic. . . v. powerful!!


[I am totally undermining this personal trainer malarkey]


* if that is spelt wrong it because of what is about to follow. Should sound like rio-ka,

** Gin with a smidgeon of tonic

The Deal

I love my Husband and would do anything for him as any loving wife would! However we have our arguments as any normal couple do. . .

We have a current bone of contention which today raised its head under the banner of "can we make a deal?" On hearing this I bit my lip and in the calmest of voices said "sure, what kind of deal do you want to make?"

Him: "Do you think, given that you have a seat to drop your end of day clothes on that you could use it as opposed to the top of the wash basket? That way I can drop my dirty washing straight in there?!" (hint of frustration as he throws his shirt into the newly liberated dirty washing basket)

You would think that this is a fair and reasonable request.

And it is.


However I have tried a range of strategies to deal with Husband living out of our clean clothes washing basket. These strategies have included: asking nicely, repeatedly asking (aka nagging), shouting, pleading, crying, sulking and threatening to throw the contents out of the bedroom window onto the dog shit covered communal ground! Grrrrrr.

So I am now trialling a mimicking approach.

Me: "In the spirit of making deals do you think you could put away the contents of the clean basket that is filled with your nice clean clothes?"

. . .

He has gone out to play football.

. . .

His clean clothes are still in the basket.

Retail Rage

I will be the first to admit that I am not a technical person.

Those around me will also be quick to agree. If they're ever heard the sharp in take of breath and witnessed a blank monitor, as I repeatedly bang my head on the desk, the recommended course of action is to evade. Maybe head out for an impromptu meeting, until the cloud of muttered curses passes.

So when, during the course of this blog evolution, it became apparent that one PC would not suffice our family of two we set about getting me hooked up with my own. It would not need to be powerful- lets face it the content of this blog is hardly highly demanding in terms of its technical requirements*. However it would need to be capable of dealing with a reasonable amount of imagery (for the blog), word style documents (for the blog) and accessing the Internet (for the blog). It would also be ideal if it could be small in size and lightweight (not blog specific, more aspiring writer specific). Regardless, this PC was clearly not going to require a high degree of spec.

Don't worry I am not about to launch into a sales pitch however I do love my new toy.

The process of acquiring said toy was not a straight forward one. It should have been. However it was filled with frustration and boughts of retailer rage. We, husband and I, agreed the spec before the visit to a hig street computer shop.

We went, we looked and we compared. I had my heart set on a pretty little red number with a 13 inch screen. The problems this would present should have been apparent when we looked to see what the available cases were like. There were none. They were either too big or two small, none the right size. This should have acted as a sign of things to come.

Not put off by this I was keen to take possession of this pretty little red number. So we set about trying to track down a sales person. This was not hard to do, we foolishly thought, having been approached at least 3 times in the space of 15 minutes. However when we turned around not one purple shirt could be seen. It was meerkat-esque the way they disappeared, sensing the pressure of having to enter the sale process they vanished into their various burrows. It appeared they were happy to give the suggestion of being attentive and available however when the moment presents itself they crumble and flee.

courtesy of www.weheartit.com

One poor meerkat wasn't quite quick enough and being the "patient" shopper I am I grabbed his attention with an assertive "Excuse Me"- as he tried desperately to scuttle past avoiding my eye contact.

"Yes?"

The charm was back on, hoping in vein that I was going to ask where the customer toilets were presumably.

"We'd like to buy this one, please" I point happily to my shiny little red number.

"I'll just get someone for you" and he ran like a man possessed into the Back Room.

Not to reappear in the next 5 minutes with someone in tow, but to come back out looking more nervous than ever. Clearly the burrow he had dived into wasn't yielding any brave meerkats specialising in PC sales.

He walked purposefully to the other end of the store and returned dragging a rather pathetic looking PC specialist meerkat before diving back into a near by burrow, not to be seen again.

As I said this should have been straight forward as we knew what we wanted (or rather I needed). And in terms of set up I had married a man who would be able to deal with all and any aspects of software installation that might arise during the course of my relationship with this toy. Certainly more than I could cope with!

"So, do you know what you're after then?" Him, looking directly at my Husband.

Slightly annoyed, I took a deep breath, pointed and said "This is the one, please Sean" I say nice and slowly reading his name badge.

"Ah" he says.

I note the raised eye brows and softening of his tone of voice.

I have clearly presented a problem. He is going to have to change tack as is clearly not dealing with the man but the small-lady-brained woman.

"O.K then, do you know what it does?" in an ever slower and more gentle tones of voice

"Yes" me, with about 3 seconds of patience left . . .

"What is it you need it to do?"

As if this were some kind of test!! Should I fail it then he would not be in a position to take money from us in some strange act of retail responsibility. This I understand with knives and alcohol etc. to under age children. But a PC to a couple in their late 20's?!!

"I need it to access the Internet, basics word documentation, ability to cope with imagery. Nothing significantly technical or high spec. Thank You"

Me, now down to about 2 seconds of patience remaining . . .toying with the idea of telling him I was planning on hacking into various government computers and banks or accessing indecent images.

"Right, well then lets see what we have in stock shall we"

Shoulders up to my ears and steam pouring out of them. I throw a look at my Husband. Who is slightly amused at this exchange of patronising conversation, where I have tried to out-patronise a sales man and failed. As he (meerkat not Husband) has absolutely maintained his Little Lady attitude throughout the course of this conversation.

We have been in the shop for about 20 minutes before getting to the point of confirming an available machine. It's incredibly warm and we are now being subjected to the sales pitch of insurance and

courtesy of www.weheartit.com

software etc. Which is now being delivered to my superior-man-brained husband rather than the feeble-little-lady-brained wife. Presumably he felt that this was going to be far too technical for me to cope with all together.

The shoe is now on the other foot from my perspective and I am now in a position to find the exchange quite amusing.

My Husband is taking on the look of a seriously angry snake ready to gobble up this stupid, insulting and patronising meerkat, who is rapidly taking his last second of patience.

courtesy of www.weheartit.com

We eventually get the PC home only to be faced with the blue screen of death.

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It is rapidly returned to another store and exchanged for a sexy glossy, black, 10 inch screened machine which is standing up to the test of my little blogisphere adventure.






*
Although the thoughts of having some kind of magical glitter float its way through the pages of this blog have crossed my mind.

Bike Ride: Loch Katerine

At the age of about 8 years I remember getting a bike. It was a bike that sticks in my memory because it meant I didn't have to share it with my little sister and it was purple. As a highly fashion conscious 8 year old this meant the world to me. It was a Raleigh and had a blue Tony the Tiger* reflector, which was fixed on the back wheel.

I would ride it up and down our short drive, by short I mean about 50 yards in length. But it was my bike and a bike that saw me through my cycling proficiency test in primary school. It taught me the art of re-attaching the chain to the gears when it regularly

courtesy of www.weheartit.com
and repeatedly came off during the 4 mile bike ride to school. A journey which had to be done over a fortnight until we passed our test.

I remember the feeling of freedom and independence that the bike and certificate gave me and for 3 months wore my cycling proficiency badge with pride. However as I grew up my biking and love of it fell by the way side and I did it less and less.

20 years after arrival of my purple Raleigh bike with the Tony the Tiger reflector I now have a new bike. It is silver and has black swooshy bits on the side- which are very important in terms of going fast. Bikes have long since evolved from my early days and this one comes with suspension built into the front forks. It would appear that I too have "evolved" in that I can no longer spend a whole day on my bike without knowing about it for a couple of days later. Sitting, standing, the transition between the two, walking and running all require a bit more thought and consideration following a bike ride.

My husband and I have done a couple of these and are starting to realise, painfully, that we might not be as prepared as we should be for these bike based outings! We are learning, although it would appear to be a gradual process.

On one particularly sunny weekend we decided to cycle around Loch Katerine, some exceptionally brief research indicated that it was possible to cycle close to the Loch's edge and has had positive reviews. So Loch Katerine it was. We packed light for a "couple of hours" bike ride.

Loch Katerine is roughly 17 miles in circumference (8 miles in length and 0.5 a mile wide**) and has a tarmacked road that runs alongside it. No real requirement for the in built suspension but that's not the point. I was going to break myself into this cycling malarkey gently and this looked like the ideal opportunity. . .

We set off at 9am and arrived at Loch Katerine at 10am hoping to home for a late lunch at 2pm. My husband had done the manly job of shoving the bikes in the boot while I was tasked with the job of packing our day sacks which I did with due care and attention making sure we had:

1 x map
1 x water bottle (filled)
2 x apples

We hit the road with enthusiasm and the first couple of hours ticked by easily, however we'd only cycled a half of the loch's length by this time and had another estimated 2 hours of cycling ahead of us. No problem, we were on plan. We pulled over and devoured our apples and water. Confident that in 2 hours we would be pulling into the car park and heading back to Linlithgow for lunch.

We cycled on and the tarmacked road came to an end. Our options were to head for Glasgow or to head back the way we came. We decided to persist with our original plan of doing the circuit. This would mean going off road, specifically onto a walking path. A chance to test the suspension fork things on my bike and get it a bit mucky I thought.

This particular adventure ended with a lot of frustration at a sign. A sign which read:

"Walkers only- cyclists prohibited!"

We had no option but to turn around and head back the way we came, in effect covering significantly more distance than we would have had we been able to continue. However we were now without any water and our apples had long since been scoffed. The shade of the trees had also disappeared as we set about our return journey.

Conversation between us was very quiet and what some might call tense.

Had "Someone" (Husband) done a bit more research they would have realised it would not be possible to complete a circular route around the Loch we might not be in this predicament. Had "Someone Else" (Wife) been more organised and less half job then we would have had more water and food for the journey. Also had "Someone Else" packed sunscreen, regardless of weather or available shade, "Someone" wouldn't be starting to turn a lobster red. Yes, it would be fair to say that tensions were running high and anger will only contribute so much energy to the cycling.

The 10% gradients that I had thoroughly enjoyed were now proving to be my Nemesis on the homeward journey. My hands, thighs, calves and bottom were now all conspiring against me by throwing waves of pain through my body on each rotation of the pedals.

About an hour from the car park we had stopped to have another "discussion" about whose fault/bright idea it was to go on this particular route and what we would do differently. When I heard some laughing, not at our argument I hasten to add. A group of English, female students who had rented a cottage were sitting out to enjoy the afternoon sun with a couple of drinks. By this time I could virtually smell H2O I was so thirsty.

After a quick conversation it was agreed that it would cause less alarm if I, a fellow female, approach the girls and asked for some water. We agreed the sight of a red faced, sweating man sticking his head over their gate into the back garden might result in us having to explain ourselves to a policeman. Although we did contemplate the idea that we might be able to get a lift back to the car park taking that approach. We decided I should be the one to say hello and go begging for some water!

They were very kind, and if by some chance one of these ladies happens to stumble across this particular story- thank you again. You saved a marriage!

We eventually got back to the car that evening having covered we guess about 40 miles***. We were sore, tired and strangely grateful at the sight of our bashed up old Nissan Sunny. We also have an agreed plan of attack when it comes to taking the bikes out on a "light ride":

• more research
• plenty of water
• sun screen
• maps (for escape routes)
• more food

An emergency fish supper on the way home brought peace to our bickering and the aching muscles which presented themselves over the next couple of days put any ideas of going out on the bikes to rest for a wee while at least.

*
He was right "They're GRRRREAT!!". Sadly they probably no longer put these little treats into cereal packets for health and safety reasons. As an incentive to get us kids to sit and eat breakfast it probably worked a treat. But then again the associated e-numbers that would go with these often sugar loaded breakfasts was probably more trouble than they were worth!!

**
I currently make my living as an analyst and am the proud (though slightly geeky) owner of a maths degree hence the importance of explaining my calculations.

***
Again with the maths, here is the rational:
75% of 28 = 21 this took us 3/4's of the way around the Loch before we had to head back, which would be another 21 miles therefore we did about 40 miles in one day.