Chocolate Amaretto Tart

Today’s dessert offering at the staff restaurant. It’s a conundrum for me. I like chocolate, I LOVE Amaretto, I find tarts generally quite appealing. The whole combo tho’ doesn’t fill me with joy. Why is this?

Anyway, I can’t eat any of it as I have another couple of days of healthy eating before I can blow out hugely in Mykonos. Yesterday I had the most massive cravings for junk food. It’s been a while since I’ve thrown myself face-first into anything junky and I think my whole body was screaming out for a trip to the dark side of food. I admit, I strayed. I didn’t even attempt to use the force to resist such temptation, I just gave in. I ate chocolate digestives with peanut butter dolloped all over them (?) and then devoured a few super tiny snickers and bounty bars from a large box of Celebrations that has been lurking ominously around the kitchen over the weekend. TOH looked on in horror but wisely stood back, well out of harm’s way, lest he lose a limb in my feeding frenzy.

Today I feel no shame but I’m filled with new purpose and back to eating healthily again.

The weekend was a bit of a monster really and went so fast. Friday was a late night (well, early morning) affair with our friend Jon who’s staying with us. Jon is British but lives in Sydney lucky him (his partner arrived this morning too but I haven’t caught up with him yet - can’t wait, as it’s been ages). We went out in Soho and got completely lashed up. It was great. The only downer was that our friend David had his wallet stolen. He does admit that he made it quite easy tho, as when he checked his bag into the cloakroom of the club he asked quite loudly (he was slightly hammered) “will it be ok if I leave my wallet in this front pocket of my bag?” Short of saying “I’ll leave the zip open, will you be able to find it yourself?” I’m not sure how he could have made it any more obvious.

Saturday I searched fruitlessly in Covent Garden for a few items of clothing that I wanted. A few surprises along the way tho'… I found a cheeky bargain in a sale, which I’m already super fond of. Also, upon entering Paul Smith, a fabulously muscular chap bade me a cheery hello. He had the most bizarre moustache – kinda like a cavalier’s, without the beard – and whilst it was a bit mad, it was also strikingly cool and a bit sexy. He offered to help but I was so flustered I couldn’t really respond coherently. I was content to just watch him glide around the shop. Saturday evening we went to some friend’s for a BBQ and then went to an absolutely brilliant pub close to their house. It was nicely done inside with a great restaurant upstairs. The best thing about it was they had a pianist, a drummer and a saxophone player in the corner. The stand-up piano sounded so ‘east-end’ in it’s plinky-plonky way and they played such fun music. It was a total hoot. Sunday was Harry Potter day. I immersed myself heartily into the world of Hogwarts etc. Nerdy? Yes. Kids book? Yes. Enjoyable? Bloody hell, yes! I’m loving it. If you’ve read the last book, sshhh! As I’ve nearly finished it and don’t want to discuss until I do..

So… this week. Greece is the word. It’s only for a few days but I’m really looking forward to it. There’s a lot of lamb in Greece, which is a bit grim, but I think I’ll cope with all the other goodies on offer.

Now then. I need to consider my wardrobe for Mykonos. In the absence of ridiculously flappy linen (really not me), I need to work out what to wear instead – it’s 35 degrees there at the mo’, so I’ll need something to let the air circulate…

How Great IS Cake?

Now then. It’s been just over 2 years that I’ve generally blathered on about cake. Well. That’s the reason for this post. I started blogging about cake. Then it transformed into all ‘food’. That was followed by stuff about what I was doing at the time. Lately it seems to be a travel journal.

Do blogs grow up?

I feel I’ve strayed from my cakey origins but I don’t think that I mind so much.
I like the fact that I’ve made some blog buddies and I enjoy the interaction with them. I’ve now also met up with a couple of these people.
1. Muzbot in Rome – the glamour – trying to find someone you’ve never met in a foreign city… it was like a movie – all we needed was Meg Ryan and a bit more of a plot. (plus a little less jetlag for him and a little less of hangover for me)
2. London bloggers. It was a total blast.
CuteCTguy has already blogged about the evening – if I knew how to insert a link here, I would – but I’ll give a quick summary of events.

Introductions & champagne
Champagne
Chips
Champagne
Lairy chat and much naughty giggling
A short walk
Curry
GIL’s reluctance to drink more
CuteCTguy and I persuading GIL to drink more
Arrival of ma-hoo-sive beers
Arrival of curry
CuteCTguy dunking most of his sleeves in curry
Accidentally thrusting Ctguy from his chair – sorry.
Weaving our way outside
Hugging a stranger in street (he was hot! At least I think he was but I may have had beer goggles on by then…)
Carriages

T’was a splendid evening and I’m looking forward to ‘part deux’ v soon.

It was such fun that the two gents above should really be awarded some kind of recognition for their part in the shenanigans. Therefore, they are to become honorary Knights of Cake and their titles shall now be “Beef” and “Short”... -cake, obviously.

I’m off to Mykonos next week so I’m really only permitted to write about cake. Consumption of anything resembling a sugar/flour-based confection would lead to weight gain causing horror, maybe even terror, (possibly expulsion) in the streets and on the beaches of the island.

Sigh. I’m off to gnaw on a rice cake.

Foie Gras

En Provence there was lots of this

Beaucoup de these

A lot of sitting here

Tons of this around (including the bees!)

Lots of these

And a great deal of general (usually drunken) holiday merriment.

Sigh.

I feel like a goose who has been crammed full of stuff to make foie gras. Obviously, there was no funnel forcibly shoved down my throat, I did it all to myself quite willingly. However, I wish I’d shown a bit of restraint now and again. There is a worrying amount of trouser-tightening going on. (No rude comments please). I only have two and a half weeks to prepare for my next sojourn, to Mykonos, and the panic is beginning to mount as we’re meeting some lovely friends there. They’re old friends who moved to Sydney six years ago and whilst there have turned into “uber gays”, meaning they don’t have a single ounce of excess body fat and have literally everything trimmed, waxed, curled, dyed and tonsured. Sitting next to them makes me feel positively ancient and ‘under-developed’. I need to put in at least a little effort to improve. Actually, they’re great so they won’t be bothered anyway and it’ll be brilliant to see them - it’s been far too long this time and I kinda miss them.

I know, I know. “how many holidays do you actually go on?”

I can hear you all saying it. I do work in the travel industry tho. I’m NOT a trolley dolly however, so before anyone starts bleating on about that – cut it out!

My week away has flown by. I can’t believe I’m back in London already. The taste of croissants has diminished, the scent of lavender faded and the Provencal skies seem a beautiful, but distant memory. The weather here is still a pile of pants. It’s been so wet I’m almost convinced I’m beginning to grow webbed toes and fingers.

Bugger. Now where did I leave my brolly....

Baguette!!

Zut alors! I’m quite excited. My holiday to Provence has come around really quickly. I can’t wait – I can almost smell that Lavender.

My facial disfigurement is, thankfully, on the decline thanks to some whiz-bang antibiotics and I’m now thinking of such pithy issues as what to pack? What will I need? Do I need fancy shoes?

I’ve never been to Provence before so this should be quite fun. The other half has packed his French language CD’s. I imagine they’ll return from France in exactly the same pristine state as they are at present – unused. I need to brush up on my Francais so that I’m able to order the most ludicrously large lunches, buy vin by the case load and nibble on fromage until dawn. I’m actually not that keen on cheese but I’ll give it my best efforts as an Englishman abroad.

I’m looking forward to sitting by the pool, reading a small Alp of books, listening to a shed load of music and generally lounging about – glamorously so, of course.
There’ll be quite a few of us in our gorgeous villa so it’ll be great fun. There’ll be me and TOH, naughty David (see pic in my post about San Sebastian), lovely Adrian, hunky Mike (from Arizona – they make them well out there don’t they!) and some ladies – PC Jayne and Irish Liz.

I’d also like to mooch around a few Provencal villages, maybe try on a beret or two and learn to play boules. It’s obvious that I’m almost half way to being French already. All I need now is to devour Le Figaro every morning over a seething black coffe and e voila!

p.s. has anyone tried the new M & S rocky road mini bites? They’re delish!

Boiled eggs

Sigh. I'm truly contented, for the moment at least. It's Saturday morning and I've just had boiled eggs and toastie soldiers for breakfast. It's my fave. It's also super-duper comfort food. More of that in a bit.
As a kid, although fairly feisty and a little 'spirited', I was a bit of a girl in some ways (big surprise!) and I hated toast soldiers being called 'soldiers' for some reason. Everyone had to adjust and, in my presence, rename them as toast rabbits. What a pain in the arse!

Anyhoo. It's been a bit of a frustrating fortnight really. Despite doing lots of lovely things I've hit a tricky patch health-wise which is unusual for me as I'm normally never ill. I've got some kind of skin allergy, previously diagnosed by my doctor as a food allergy but now he's changed his mind. Grrr. I can't keep up. It's just like getting a skin peel - red and itchy with swollen eyes and then my face peels off in a matter of days. Grim.

I've spent the week in Manchester on business, and it's been such a busy, hectic week with long hours. One good point was I got to spend an evening with my brother & sister in-law as they live pretty close to Manchester. We went out for dinner and drank beer and they laughed at my face..... whilst in Manchester, I had to visit a health clinic as one side of my face swelled up to Elephant man proportions. Apparently, possibly as a result of my skin reactions of the last couple of weeks, I now have a skin infection. I literally have no jaw line on one side of my face. It's too depressing. I'm taking about a gajillion tablets a day now for a whole variety of possible and, as yet, undefined ailments that I'm starting to rattle when I move fast.
To add icing on the cake I seem to have picked up a hideous cough which makes me hack like an old smoker. I want to hide away from the world for a very long time.

What a misery-guts. I'll pull myself together in a wee while.

One brilliant ray of sunshine is that I'm going to Provence next Saturday to stay in a beautiful villa for a week. I'm taking a pile of books, my iPod and planning to do zero for 65% of the time. The other 35% I shall be eating.

I promised that I'd throw a few pics of our recent visit to Rome in my next post so I s'pose I should do that here and now. Lately, I'm having problems getting photos on to my blog - it's seriously giving me the hump!

Here goes....

I love this pic - it makes me laugh out loud every time I see it. My friend David in the bottom left looks like a muppet gatecrasher!

Yikes! Haven't got a clue what's going on with my shirt here - I'm the one in red, in case you're new here. It's all a bit Tom Jones isn't it?! I promise I'm not wearing leather trousers.

What lovely chaps! I'm so lucky to have them to accompany me about the globe!

Whew!!! Swan Sandwich anyone?

Apologies for the dreadful tardiness and general lack of postings over the last few weeks. I’ve been busy.

Here’s a brief summary.

Rome
Paris
House of Commons (get me!)
Wales (North)
Swan Lake
Work x lots

Tomorrow I’m off to Bruges for the weekend. I’m exhausted.

Rome was spectacular, beautiful, warm, friendly and tremendous fun. I met up with fellow blogger, Muzbot briefly. He was totally jetlagged and very brave for setting foot outside his hotel room in such a state. Not sure exactly what he’s like as a person (I think he may have been a bit stunned by the deafening roar of the conversation between my friends and I) but despite the big, bikey, blokey demeanour he seemed a gentle and friendly type. Anyone who knows him, feel free to agree or correct – Muzbot, you’re not allowed to comment!

Paris was, as usual, achingly, untouchably chic – this is meant in a positive way. Paris is like a model (or in my experience, a sexy barman). Right there in front of you looking amazing and incredibly flirty but you both know you don’t have a single hope of getting into their pants. Rome on the other hand has a big arrow pointing to the zipper with a ‘first ride free!’ ticket.

The House of Commons terrace was for a friend’s 50th birthday and was fun –influential political types plonked about (the friend is quite well connected and used to be something in politics a ways back) and other big-wigs from advertising and national bodies. I focused on champagne.

Wales was another party for the friend above, held at another friend’s enormous pile set in 50 acres of countryside. More champagne, a ludicrously large, budget-gobbling firework display, Welsh poetry & music (again – completely clueless was I), plus dancing outside until well on into the wee small hours.

Swan Lake. Utterly beautiful. The English National Ballet’s production at the Royal Albert Hall is ENORMOUS! There are about a gazillion swans all paddling elegantly in the mist-enshrouded lake.
It’s just lovely. Go see.

Tomorrow we’re off to Bruges to stay with our smashing friend Sophie. Sophie is groovily laid back so we won’t have to be up at the crack of dawn each day. She loves long, lazy breakfasts (something that they do really well in Belgium – with added Nutella!). I’m really looking forward to it, although I feel like I should have my own carriage on Eurostar these days, I’ve been on it so much.

The other half still has more travel to deal with. Next week he’s off to New York and Las Vegas for a stag do. I’m pleased I don’t know the ‘stag’ which means I can relax at home for the first weekend in a couple of months.

I’ll try and get some pics of my latest adventures (many under the influence of far too much booze) in future posts.

Talking Italian

On Friday I’m off to Rome! I can’t wait.

It’ll be warm, it’ll be sunny. The food will be great, the wine will flow.
I’m already a bit worn out with so much contented sighing and I haven’t even left London yet.

I’ve been to Rome so many times that it’ll feel as familiar as a pair of comfy shoes (stylish designer obviously, possibly Italian).
What to do whilst I’m there? Well there’s shopping, of course. I’ve seen most of the sights so I’m on the look out for unusual stuff that’s not mobbed by the gazillion tourists that will be clogging the place up. Any suggestions would be gratefully received. I was about to add “clean ones only please” but then thought “what the hell!?”. Lay them all on me!

Perhaps I’ll just park up in a bar on a square and watch people. It’s my favourite thing to do anyway. I may as well just find the best spot and start gawping straight off.

There’s the Italian chaps to keep an eye on too…

This is my usual conundrum.
Italian boys are such a contradiction. They all look/act gay yet are so vehement about their passion and adoration for women. Mind you, it’s been said to me before that the difference between a gay Italian and a straight one is a bottle of Peroni. On a previous visit, the other half and I were propositioned by a supposedly straight guy who was quite open about the fact that, as we were tourists it was unlikely that we’d ever meet his girlfriend, therefore he was perfectly safe and not actually gay at all – because no-one would find out. Hmmm… Regardless of whether they are gay or straight though, they’re all unbelievably, excitingly and dangerously flirty. It’s baffling, maddening and fabulous all at the same time. Damn those naughty Italian guys.

I suppose I’d better talk about food (How Great is Cake? I’ve almost forgotten whilst thinking about gents of a Roman – or even roamin’ – persuasion). I intend to demolish a modest amount of Tiramisu, maybe a small hillock of pizza and a few shovel loads of risotto. I LOVE risotto. However, this provides another quandary. Carbs are the enemy of the gay. I still have a small way to go before being ready for summer and I don’t want to undo it all at the final hurdle. I’ll never be the snake-hipped twenty-something I used to be so I need to make sure that I stick to lots of fruit and veg. What the hell am I saying?! It’s never going to happen. Bugger. Bring on the lard.

Also I may meet up with a fellow blogger if we can co-ordinate schedules – that’ll be super-exciting!

Ciao all!

PST

Well...

Here goes. I didn't actually promise I'd do it but here y'all are.
Just remember, it was taken when I got home after a really busy day which aged me by at least a decade. I look like I haven't shaved in weeks.

At least you can see I'm wearing a pink shirt (a range of pinks actually).

Please bear in mind what I've just mentioned and be kind...

Panini

Just had one for lunch with chicken, cheese and roasted onion – sounds a weird mix but it was delicious. It was a sandwich I wanted to last forever, but alas it came to an abrupt and greasy chinned end and I sat quietly and sadly for a few moments before continuing with my day.

I’m soooo tired lately. I can’t work out why. I slept a fair bit over the weekend too.

We had a lovely weekend pottering about and meeting up with friends. Spent part of the bank holiday in Brighton too. It’s a while since we’ve been, so it was good to get back to the flat and to get some sea air. It was a bit strange as the town felt deserted. The weather was ropey tho, which may explain the absence of the usual holiday weekend crowds. It gave us the opportunity to walk along the beach and get suck in a few lungfulls of fresh air, combined with a few gallons of sea spray as it was fairly rough.

We’re back to Brighton again this weekend as we’re having some friends to stay. I’m quite looking forward to it as we haven’t seen them for a bit and it’ll be fun to catch up over dinner and a few barrels of booze.

As it’s nearly Summer I’m attempting to cut down on eating rubbish but it’s so darned tough. My whole blog revolves around my love of cake for goodness sakes. Actually, that’s not strictly true any more is it? I’ve rambled on about numerous non-cakey subjects of late, often encouraged to do so by naughty blog visitors who have interests other than baked goods. Anyway, I’m trying to cut down so that I can be trim and toned for those all-important shorts and smaller outer garment appearances whilst on hols. Eat less cake, exercise more. Gloom…

For those who have demanded it, I shall endeavour to remember PST this week, evidence may be available but I haven’t decided yet – I seem to have gone a bit shy.

Pink Champagne

It’s great. I like it. But how in hell do you get rid of the taste of it the next day? Short of shaving my tongue, I’ve done pretty much everything I can think of. All to no avail!

Last night the other half and I went to see Equus with our lovely friend Chris and a couple of good-time girls who Chris works with. The play was brilliant and Daniel Radcliffe, as well as being awesomely buff and disturbingly sexy for a 17 year old, was excellent. I’ll never be able to think of him as Harry Potter again, not least because I’ve seen him running about the stage totally stark naked. He really was great in the part and deserves much credit.

Afterwards we went to a gay bar in Soho for ‘one’. I held firm that, as it was a school night, I needed to be home in plenty of time to fit in adequate beauty sleep. There were murmurs of general agreement but I should have realised that the low-level response heralded the onset of a much meatier night out.
We moved on to another bar where pink champagne began to flow – one of the ladies was responsible. Us boys, being of a pinkish persuasion anyway, set to with gusto. Chris lives in Edinburgh, so he wanted to maximise gawping at cute London boys, another sign that I wasn’t going to be able to tear people away from what was beginning to slide into ‘a bit of a big night’. I was brave and declared that it was time for me to head home and I would take my leave. Everyone agreed that we should leave too. “Hurrah” I thought. “Bugger” I thought immediately after, as I was grabbed by both arms and hauled into the club we were passing. My bag was whizzed into the cloakroom and I was shepherded to the bar, protesting weakly – I’d had vodka, champagne, no food and I’d come straight from work. I gave in. I drank more pink champagne. I figured that it was already late, I’d feel tired today anyway so I might as well make the most of it, drink more and watch the cute and the lovely gays of London bustle about the club.

Whilst eating 3 minute noodles in our kitchen at 3am with the boys I remember thinking “What the f… am I doing?!” The thought didn’t last as I was immediately distracted by shovelling another heap of noodles into my mouth.

Some questions…

Why noodles?
It was all we had in – no bread, no cheese, no fishfingers (always great on a sandwich when you’re smashed!)
Why am I finding a 17 year old sexy when my mind tells me it’s just not right?
I can’t help it – he’s uber cute.
Why can’t I get rid of the taste of pink champagne?
Please! Someone come to my aid on this one.

And to top it all off, of course, on waking this morning I felt as rough as a bear’s arse and looked like a total bag of spanners for the whole day.

Harrumph!!

Donuts

Right. Crucial, Friday type of debate.

Ring or jam?

Now you need to think carefully. Opinion here at work is divided. My own thoughts are, why bother with a ring of plain, glazed dough? There’s nothing exciting about them - from the moment you start into one until you reach your fingers on the other side. They’re yawn central.

Jam filled however… cheeky surprise inside. Also, there’s an element of danger involved – you have to eat carefully or you could be scraping sticky donut innards from the front of your shirt and from your chin.

Krispy Kreme is a current favourite as their donuts are soft and squishy. Most other brands are too bready.

Leading on from this one step further, is the dilemma - jam or custard? I’m a bit torn there really, as I love a bit of custard. I also love a bit of jam. In a donut, in biscuits, on toast.

It’s the weekend. I’m off out for tapas this evening and then off to a birthday party in Holland Park tomorrow.

I suspect I may have a hangover story to tell come Monday…

Energy Drinks

I feel I really need a cart-load of energy drinks right now. After 2 gruelling weekends of artery-narrowing food and a kidney-punishing amount of alcohol, I think I’m ready for a quick visit to The Priory (UK version of Betty Ford clinic).

Last week was a major booze fest that I don’t think I fully recovered from until Wednesday, all made worse by having a super sore throat. This weekend was another stonking booze-fest which ended yesterday in an 8.45am cab dash through the streets of London, to get the other half and I as close to home as possible before the city roads shut down for the London Marathon. We had to walk the last part as we’d left it just a little too late to end our shenanigans before attempting to head home. Our ‘dirty whore walk of shame’ in last night’s clothes, reeking of drink and fags took us through preparations for street-side marathon parties and cheery faced early gatherers, getting ready to wave their loved ones on. My unshaven, blood-shot eyed look sadly wasn’t convincing enough as one of the many fancy dress runners. One of our friends, who we’d left at 8.45am, sent a text message to say that his partner looked like a ‘drag fish-wife’. You can only imagine my appearance as I fell through our front door, crawled up the stairs and flopped onto the bed like a rancid old tramp.

Yesterday was spent loafing about in post-booze haze. I think I drank about 8 litres of water standing at the kitchen sink as soon as I got up. I really wanted to just get a garden hose and place it down my throat for an hour. My tongue felt like the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag (probably looked like one too, but I couldn’t risk facing it in the mirror).

I’m off to see the stage version of The Sound of Music this week so I need to dig out my wimple and starting dusting off a few of my favourite things.

If anyone in the UK has the chance to see ‘Boeing Boeing’ at the Comedy Theatre just off Haymarket, snap up a ticket – it’s hilarious!

Ok. I feel the water cravings returning. I need to go and suck dry a water barrel or three.

Eating for England

I really went for it! I showed Spain what a stomach on legs can really do. I made an enormous dent in the San Sebastian pintxo output. Sadly my trousers suffered the complete opposite - no dents but every space was filled to capacity. So much so, that on Tuesday back at work, my trouseres split and the fly started to fall out. Honestly! I was crimson with shame. However, I think it's more to do with poor needlework than massive overindulgence in this case, as they were brand new and the other pair I bought on the same day are holding out quite nicely.

Back to my trip to Northern Spain. The train was hilarious. It was kinda like camping but on the move. A group of fully grown men in one compartment might sound like the recipe for a wild old time but it was more like a scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" rather than "Some Like It Hot"! Six men attempting to step around each other in a small compartment of a rapidly moving train in stripey pyjamas. It was a good job we'd had plenty of wine before each journey, as we just fell about like rag dolls sustaining absolutely no injuries at all. It was a hoot tho.

The gay bar (note - no 's' at the end of the word bar) was fun too but, as per the official Spanish Nightlife Rulebook, no-one turned up until midnight. I was pie-eyed by then but still managed to roll into the hotel at about 5am each morning. The other half had performed his usual task and 'child-proofed' the room for me each night (bless) before my dramatic entrance and graceful swallow-dive onto the bed. My friend David and I seemed to be the naughty boys of the weekend (no change there) as everyone showed admirable restraint on the alcohol front, apart from us. I was still up red-eyed and scruffy-tailed each morning tho, to embark on yet more pintxo adventures.

Pintxos really are amazing. There are literally heaps of them on each and every bar and you just help yourself, telling the bar staff how many you've had when the time comes to move on. Of course I was hopeless at this, as David and I were shovelling fistfulls of the things into our permanently open maws. I'm putting in some photos of pintxos to give you a little local flavour.

Please note also the pic of me - dreadful it is too, but I said I'd do it in my last post. I wasn't too smashed when it was taken but all in of the others I have a somewhat vacant gaze... I'm on the left and naughty David is on the right.

Oh. And could someone pleeeeease explain to me how I get pics where I want them, rather than bunched up at the top of a post? Ta.

Pintxos

Huh?

Yes. Pintxos. It’s the Basque word for tapas. It’s something that I’m hopefully going to be VERY familiar with by the close of the weekend.
Tomorrow I’m off with some chums to San Sebastian in Northern Spain. A group of 6 gay men on a sleeper train through Europe to the sun. How pink is that going to be?

Here’s my weekend holiday checklist…

Tickets
Money
Passport
Hot water bottle – for storing gin onboard the train – a la “Some Like It Hot”
Splendid pyjamas – essential bunkwear for sleeper train chic
Sunglasses – extra dark - for secret, unobserved perving at super cute Spanish hotties
Cap – to prevent my newly shaved head from becoming toast
Glamourous eveningwear
Shorts – need to get my legs brown. Winter has taken it’s toll…my legs look like hairy church candles – although still marvellously shapely!
Cool and groovy daywear – no excuse for looking shoddy
Elasticated waist trousers – pintxos, tapas, pintxos, tapas, beer, beer, beer…
Camera – I’ll try and get evidence of Spanish hotties as mentioned above
A solid constitution – a whole weekend of Spanish booze will require serious focus
A list of San Sebastian gay bars – more of a pamphlet really. We should get around all of them by midnight on the first day. We’ll probably be on a continuous gay loop for the weekend
Easter eggs – rude not to

I really, really love Spain. It’s warm and sunny, people are generally attractive with fabulous skin and no-one goes out in the evening before 11pm. To do so would be social suicide. Everyone has dinner at the kind of time I would be having breakfast, were it a work day and even the cheapest of wine tastes great – in fact the more you drink, the better it gets as your taste buds get gradually killed off…

Adios!

Veg

I’m taking a little poetic licence here (I know, I know, I’ve always been crap at poetry) but the veg I’m referring to is basically me. And my behaviour over the weekend.
On Sunday I had a ‘stay in my pyjamas’ day. It was great.
I’m taking antibiotics at the moment (long story but a clean one!) which means I can’t drink alcohol this week. There have been some ill effects. My right arm has experienced a dull, throbbing pain and is getting weaker by the minute. The sooner I can start lifting a glass the better it’ll be for my long-term health.
However, the weekend was spent with Jaffa Cakes, bucket loads of tea, assorted cakes and a friend popped around with a box of macaroons which nearly induced full-blown hysteria as I was coasting on the edge of a huge sugar tsunami as it was.

Other news…

I think I really quite fancy Sting. I never used to at all but I saw him on TV recently and I felt a bit funny. Maybe it’s the ‘older bloke who’s stayed in shape’ thing. I dunno. Maybe I’d eaten something odd that afternoon. I’ll ponder it for a while and get back to you.

Over the weekend I also took the radical step of having my head shaved. Fortunately it was a voluntary decision, not lice induced! I hate it. The weird thing is, everyone else seems to approve. I’m not sure if people are just being polite but the comments have been v. positive and range from “it makes you look younger” (not sure how that works!), “it suits you” all the way to “ooh! It’s sexy!”. The weirdest thing is that now it’s done everyone wants to feel it! Why is that I wonder. It’s just fuzz. Maybe it’s why people like stroking pets. I’m not against being rubbed gently by people, especially if they’re pleasing to the eye. The strangest comment, and a few people have said it, is “it’s good – you have the right shaped head”. What’s that all about? I’ll keep the buzz cut for a bit and see what other effects it has. I may even get to like it myself.

I’ve just realised that I’ve never got around to posting a pic of myself on my blog. I may do if I decide I like being shorn…

Gasp!

I’ve just had a wee scan over my most recent blog entries and, though I hate to admit it, I need to face the harsh reality that they’re kinda dull.

Eek. Mammoth apologies to anyone who may stop by now and again, please don’t let the recent dip in standards affect your future enjoyment. Look out for new and improved content (that I will have copied from 2005) for your reading pleasure.
“Must try harder”. Funny, that’s not something that ever appeared on any of my school reports. Or in any post ‘sack-wrestling’ feedback…

What to discuss today then? Harking back to an earlier post about what to do with my life, I’ve been having a think about what to do and where to go. Usually these thoughts have been at the most inappropriate times and places and have been accompanied by a slack jaw, open mouth and vacant gaze, sometimes even dribble.

The ‘to do’ question has kinda been shelved as it’s too difficult, so my brain has swiftly glossed over any of these considerations and pounced joyously on the ‘where to’ issue. Travelling is a bit of a passion and it occurred to me that it’s some time since I donned a backpack and trooped off with vague thoughts of ‘finding’ myself spiritually and mentally, whilst lolling somewhere fronded by palms and lapped at gently by warm seas. Of course I never found anything but the best place to get riotously drunk with shady locals of dubious repute and the knowledge that if it’s still moving I probably shouldn’t eat it (usually whilst being encouraged to do so by aforementioned locals!)

…I’ve just been handed a sherbet lemon – wow! It’s been years!…

I enjoyed my 2 year backpacking adventure and then subsequent shorter sojourns and I do yearn for that kind of freedom again. Trouble is, they don’t pay the bills do they?!

Anyone know how I can do it for a living?

On my list of things to discover…

South America – any of it will do. Apart from the dangerous bits. Does that just leave Mexico? Would the Galapagos islands be ok?

New Zealand – wanna catch me a hobbit

The Northern Lights – not a destination as such, the Southern lights would do just as nicely

Japan – I LOVE Tokyo and I’d like to explore more of the country

Canada – apparently Calgary at Stampede time is choc-full of cowboys. Wanna throw on some chaps and get all Brokeback…

Scotland in a campervan – I’ve got a cardigan and a flask

Zanzibar – I like the word so it's bound to be good, right? It’s apparently beautiful

Italy, Spain, France – super close and super sunny (mostly). I’ve seen a fair bit but I’d like to stop and spend time, learn the language, eat cakes, drink beer, take up boules…

Other areas in brief – Asia, esp, SE Asia – Laos, Vietnam, Korea, revisit Thailand, Malaysia & Singapore. USA by large car with loud radio & trunk groaning with junkfood.

I’ll send you all a postcard. I wish…

Club Sandwich

Why are they so good? I’m munching through one right now and it’s great. I only ever seem to have them whilst on holiday (another unanswered question there too!) but I saw one today and decided it would fill a gap. I don’t feel like I’m on holiday but it’s a welcome change from the norm.

My shopping trip over the weekend was a bit of a change from the norm too. Things were going well, until a few purchases in… my card stopped functioning and, try as I might, I couldn’t get it to work in machines or anything. Bugger! Perplexed and a little frustrated I called my bank. They explained that due to the recent activity on the card they thought it had been stolen and put a stop on it! Admittedly, the ‘few’ purchases I’d made were quite pricey and in rapid succession – just two pairs of shoes and a new mobile phone. I was advised that the unblocking process would take 24 hours. Harrumph! That put an end to my spree. I could have used another card but I reckoned I could do it all over again next week instead.

It also meant that the other half had to pay for dinner as I cried poverty and misery due to my new status of alienation from the international banking system. Always a silver lining. Mind you, he would have paid anyway. He always does. Bless.

It’s strange that I bought shoes though. I really don’t enjoy buying them. Not sure why. It always feels such a chore. Maybe it’s because I didn’t actually need them that made them easier to buy…? Didn’t actually need the phone either, I just felt my current one needed updating. I’d really struggle if I were a woman. I don’t get the whole shoes and handbag thing. Don’t get me wrong, I like to buy good shoes (don’t see any sense skimping on something I’ll be standing around in all day/evening), but I’m not filled with the same joy, post-purchase as I am with other clothes. And as for bags! That’s something I simply don’t comprehend. I hate carrying anything. If it doesn’t fit in my pockets (or the other half can’t carry it) it stays at home. Perhaps I need my own lady-in-waiting to cart all of my knick-knacks about, just a respectable few paces behind obviously, as they do.

Right, back to my club sandwich. It’s good but it really isn’t the same without the sunshine, the proximity to a beach/mountain/lake/pool and French fries.

Spring has sprung

… but how long will it last? We’re having lovely sunny weather this week and everything is perky and bright, including me. However, we could be plunged back into gloom again as there is snow forecasted for the middle of next week. I can’t keep up. It’s coat on, coat off, coat on weather.

I had a chicken & bacon panini for lunch. It wasn’t what I wanted at first but I settled into demolishing it with gusto. It was rather good. The only issue I had was that it could have done with more filling at one end. Often the way with sandwiches. Often the way with life too, I think. One end needs a bit more filling, padding or improvement, whilst other parts are choc-full and bursting with goodies. Hmmm. My last post was a bit of a mooch about work which is plodding on the same, as mentioned previously, but other things in my life are tearing along at a cracking pace and I have the proverbial wind blowing thru my hair (also sadly more proverbial than it used to be…)

Talking of wind thru my hair… we got the registration number for our new car today. It’s to be delivered in a couple of weeks’ time. We shall have to start saying our goodbyes to our current vehicle. It’ll be sad. Beyonce (our car – there is an explanation) has done us great service for the last couple of years but it’s time for her to be passed to someone else so they can enjoy her many delights. Actually, now I’ve mentioned the car’s name I realise that our new machine will need a fitting label. It’s not as sexy as Beyonce, but more masculine, shiny and er… well... more German. Perhaps Klaus or Helmut…? I definitely need to give it more thought.

At last it’s Friday. I intend to dent my bank account tomorrow, as it’s been ages since I’ve run amok in the shops. I have hopes of taking the West End by storm and leaving many outlets totally empty of fabulous things. Should I draft a schedule to give structure to my mission? Should I just await inspiration and let instinct take over, allowing myself to be drawn to the designers that my inner being yearns for? I may need a cheeky aperitif to help me decide. I’ll probably have a spot of lunch first, before launching my onslaught. The excitement mounts…

Have a splendid weekend all.

Chocolate fingers, cheese on toast and comfort food

I’m feeling a bit flat lately. Not sure why. My normally perky disposition has been replaced with a ‘Groundhog Day’ kind of gloom. The other half is away for a week (in Cannes of all places!), my parents are a long way away and I’m feeling lonesome. I’m really rubbish on my own. Even TV is boring without someone to talk to about it.
I wish I had a dog. They’re such great comfort and always pleased to see you. It’s totally impractical for us to have one of course, but right now it would do just the trick. A fuzzy friend with an eager to please attitude would be perfect.

I’m having to turn to comfort food instead. I’ve reverted to my student days and I’m eating things I haven’t had in years – it’s fabulously retro . The other half wouldn’t dream of consuming the stuff I’m having right now so it’s a blessing he’s not here to see me devour it. I can’t even divulge the food crimes I’m committing as it’s too, too embarrassing. Some of it involves macaroni, tinned beans and packet cheese sauce but I’ll go no further as I want to keep some shreds of self-respect and dignity…

I think it’s my job that’s leading me to feel this way. As someone who recruits others for a living, you’d think I’d be able to sort myself out. Not so. The company I work for, to the outside world, is dynamic, fresh and exciting but after 10 years I’m over it now. I think it’s time I moved on…

What to? Obviously a food taster somewhere would be ideal. However, I’m getting on a bit (not too far on, you understand but on nonetheless!) so I really need to decide what it is that I want to be when I grow up. Sadly the grown up part is already here and I still haven’t made up my mind. Oh crap! Is this a mid-life crisis? When is mid-life? Where are all of the rules on this stuff kept? Are there some instructions somewhere? Wonder if there’s a website… I’ve got so much ‘life’ stuff sorted out lately that I think I’m on a roll and need to iron out all these wrinkles.

Maybe I should have a cup of tea and a digestive whilst I think it through. I’ll pat my imaginary, virtual dog (I’m calling him Colin) and mull it all over.

Answers on a comments post-card please to….

Alpen Yoghurt Bars with Apple & Blackberry

!

It's madness. I never thought I'd be typing anything like this. Alpen yoghurt bars with apple & blackberry are seriously good. What's more, they're really healthy too. Sadly, I seem to be missing the whole point from the health angle as I've eaten a box of six in two days. I think the idea is to have one a day for breakfast...

I'm having trouble blogging at the moment. I often do it at work during my lunchtime but the nazi internet police at the company where I work have prevented all internet use, apart from management approved sites. Basically, if it's not essential to your job, you can't access it. What a big fat pain. It's not as if I don't get my work done.

So. What have I been up to? Er...

Spent the weekend at our place in Brighton. It's been a while since we were there last and it was great to be by the sea again. Saturday was a be-yoooo-tiful day so it was briliant to be out and about. However, that's really all I can write about on the 'fresh air and clean living' aspects of a life by the sea.

The other half had a small business meeting on Saturday afternoon (captains of industry never switch off do they...?). Our friend David and I decided that a bit of shopping would hit the spot but we were derailed by a nearby bar and the lure of cocktails. At 3.30pm! It's scandalous, I know. But we threw caution to the wind, set up a tab and settled in for tall glasses of ice-pop flavoured goop, fruit salad garnish and a cheeky kick. Some time later the other half arrived to a smiley pair of booze addled wrecks and declared last orders. We trundled off home to have a disco nap before the evening's shenanigans. Half way home, David piped up "uh-oh....". As there was some ridiculous face pulling to accompany the 'uh-oh' I wondered what the heck he was on about. With good cause, David had halted in his tracks. We'd forgotten to pay the tab and had just walked out. Major faff! We called the bar and apologised hugely. The barman - attractive, rakish and, as with barmen almost everywhere, always temptingly just out of reach - was massively impressed and thanked us for being honest. WTF? We returned, now disappointingly sober to pay the bill.

It was starting to get a bit chilly and David began to get a bit grumbly about not having any holidays to look forward to. Suddenly he then lurched off to the left, dragging me in to a tanning salon. I wasn't as sober as I thought because six minutes later I was back on the street with a warm glow and a somewhat rosier complexion. I don't normally go in for a blast on a sunbed but I've got to admit, I did feel perkier and rather more dashing with a Saturday night tan!

We raced home, showered, changed and then nipped to a nearby bar for drinks with a friend before floating off on a vodka foamed wave to a great restaurant for dinner. If anyone is visiting Brighton and looking for recommendations, you MUST try Pintxo People. It's kinda cool, makes the most amazing Blueberry Daquiris (I know - I'm just bursting with testosterone in this post aren't I?) and has a really fun atmosphere. The food is amazing - it's the only chance the other half gets to speak as David and I spend a fair bit of time deep in serious concentration, shovelling food into our usually yacking pie-holes. Poor bloke. We had the best octopus I've ever tasted tho. Even the other half liked it and he avoids all foodstuffs with the texture of marigold gloves, perhaps understandably.

We ended up falling out of the restaurant and getting home at about 2am.

I was just pulling my shoes off and trying to decide whether I could be arsed making a cup of tea before bed or not, when the other half declared he wasn't ready for bed, that we were going back out and a taxi was on it's way. Bloody hell. Back on with my shoes and coat.

Some hours later, when the other half realised he wasn't made for extended drinking or dancing, he hauled David and I out of the club and into a taxi home.

Whilst leaning against the sink with an enormous glass of water before bed, I received a text message from my chums who now live in Sydney. I replied and they called me - they were still ripped to the gills from Mardi Gras the day before and just gearing up for a Sunday night's revelry. I've got to hand it to them. Those guys were rubbish when they lived in London and would be safely in bed by 1am. Sydney has honed them into hardened party boys. Must be all that sea air....

Right. My next post will be shorter, involve more cake and I promise to butch up. Honest.