Gillian McKeith Can Bugger Off!

This is Dr Gillian McKeith.

I assume that her expertise has never been imposed on the rest of the world (at least, I hope it hasn't), so, for international readers, DGMc was a TV dietitian.

She had her own show in which she would take someone who lived on diet of deep fried mars bars, and couldn't understand why they were fat, then make them poo in a box (POO. IN. A. BOX.) so she could analyse it, then tell them to eat broccoli and steamed rice, and then everyone would be surprised when the target lost weight.

Patronising cow.

A couple of weeks ago a couple of old friends came to stay. I have a photo in my kitchen of a gang of us at a wedding, taken about four years ago. Lorraine looked at the photo and observed that we'd all filled out a bit since then. Slightly indignantly, after they had left, I tried on the dress I wore to the wedding. I needed to prove her wrong. I Have Not Filled Out. Except that the zipper went about half way up and stuck. Clearly the zipper is broken.

With the last few days of lovely sunny weather, I've started putting woolly jumpers away and pulling summer skirts out, and it was with some disappointment that I realised that the zippers would probably be broken on a few of them too. And that my summer tops had probably shrunk in the wash.

So today I started a diet. A right proper diet. I can't do this by halves. If I tell myself that I'll cut back a bit, then I'll lie to myself and say that eating half a deep fried mars bar is clearly progress. So I'm properly calorie counting.

Oh. My. God. I'M BORED! Day one, and I'm climbing the walls! Plain porridge for breakfast, a tuna salad for lunch, and salmon risotto for dinner. Truth is that it's not wildly different from what I might have on a normal day, except that there have been no treats.

All I've been able able to think about all day is food. I've been able to smell it and hear it and see it all day. Even when it's not been there. I've had whole chunks of time when I've not been able to concentrate because I'm too busy thinking about cakes. Or sweets. Or chocolate. I have googled recipes, just so that I can read the words. It's like food porn.

At lunchtime through the week, I almost always have soup or a salad. I'm not a big sandwich fan. But today I hankered after rich creamy cheeses and fresh fluffy white bread. Real butter too, of course. Salted. Never unsalted. Never.

Dribble, dribble, dribble.

I need to snap out of it! I need to concentrate! I need to pull myself together and stop fantasising about food! I need to behave myself for long enough that the zippers on my clothes work again! I need to do this for myself before some crazy Scottish woman makes me poo in a box*.


* This post has enabled me to use the best post label ever.

Food, Glorious Food

I love food. I bloody love it.

I love delicately balanced starters, robust main courses and elegant puddings, presented to me lovingly in a restaurant with proper napkins. I love stinky cheese and pate and bread and olives and cold meats laid out to graze on. I love Chinese and Indian and Thai and Japanese food with a hint of the exotic. I love meaty French meals and simple Italian. I love fish and chips.

And I wouldn't consider myself a faddy eater. I consider myself easy to cater for and positively breezy in the food department.

Well I did. Until now.

At the weekend I was away with friends and, over the course of a few conversations, I discovered that I am, in fact, an obsessive compulsive food freak.

Firstly, I don't like nuts. This puts me on the fringe of society. It's not that I'm allergic to nuts. I just fricking hate them. And the thing is that, if I say to a waiter, "are there nuts in that? Because I don't like them," the waiter will say, "no," but mean, "yes. They're minced up small so you won't see them, but they'll sully every mouthful," or, "yes. They're contaminating the chocolatey goodness as we speak," or, my personal favourite, "yes. They are sprinkled all over the top so they are the first thing you'll see when we bring it to you." So now I say, "are there nuts in that? Because I'm allergic to them," and waiters find out whether The Devil's Seed is in the food and tell me honestly. Of course, they might also spit in my food, but them's the breaks.

Secondly, I don't like to share. If I order something, I'VE ordered it. I read the menu, I chose, it's MY food. That includes the chips and any other small, easily-stealable morsels. They are mine too. Hands off! And you could have ordered the same thing, so don't you come crying to me. OK?

But it works both ways. If I've ordered badly, then I will have to watch you eat your nice meal whilst I move mine around the plate. I won't eat of your plate, because it's yours. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. Thank you very much!

There are obvious exceptions to the food staring rule. Tapas, dim sum, anything bought "for the table", anything called a "sharing platter". They're all fine. But if anything involves dipping, then when you re-dip the second mouthful, dunk the opposite end, not the one that you've already had a good chew of please.

This brings me onto food order. A plate of food will inevitably include some things which are your favourites. These are a quandary. My Grandpa George always used to advise that you shouldn't save the best 'til last because you might die before you get to the end. This is slightly more morbid that I'd personally go for, but the gist is right. What if you're full before the end? What if the phone rings and your dinner gets cold? What if a bird flies through the window and steals your plate? It's important to mix the good in with the average.

Some things, of course, have a natural course. You eat a jaffa cake around the edge, then the sponge, then the chocolatey orange circle at the end. A twix involves nibbling the chocolate up both sides, then the biscuit, then rolling the toffee into a snail and eating it in one. A kit-kat HAS to be broken into fingers. It's the law.

Oh, there's so much to think about!

So perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am a bit obsessive compulsive. But I won't know for sure until I've turned the lights on and off 17 times.

This weekend (3) ...

Hiya! Remember me? I used to write a blog until I waltzed off, without so much as a by your leave, and abandoned it.

So, I've not been 'round much recently for a few reasons.

• I've been flat out. Flat. Out. Work stuff, social stuff, stuff, stuff, stuff.
• I broke a finger nail*.
• I've been working on a couple of extremely intellectual and high brow posts (which are taking some time ...)
• I'm feeling a bit meh. Lots to think about and not enough to say. I haven't really known quite what to write without being a moper, which is dull. So I've taken my mother's advice. ("Young lady! If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all, thank you VERY much! Now DO put on some lipstick dear, or you'll never find a husband**.")
• I've been away. I left Tooting (*gasp*) and went on a mini-break in the Cotswolds. So would you like to hear about it? Here's my ten point Weekend Report ...

1) On Thursday night I left work quick smart, hoofed home, made up the mixture for the BEST chocolate cake known to man, popped along to the pub to win the quiz, ran back home to put the cakes in the oven, packed, painted my nails, and fell into bed. Phew!

2) The people I went away with are all Figaro owners. That's how we all met, but not why we're all friends. We're friends because ... well, just because we are really. But for reasons that are too many (and too expensive) to go into, my Fig spent the weekend on the

Naughty Step, and I hired a shiny, new, non-vintage motor instead. Figaros are automatic, and my hire car was a manual, so I've spent the last couple of weeks worrying about whether I can still remember where to put my feet, but the BRAND NEW (!) Golf that I was given proved very forgiving, and I've had a blissful weekend jetting around the countryside. Vroom vroom!

3) Towards the end of my journey, a text message arrives. "I'm here. It's a bugger to find." And it was. Side roads off main roads. Lanes off side roads. Drives off lanes. Private gates. But it was worth finding when I did.

4) Lots of hellos. Lots of welcomes. Lots of exploring our beautiful home for the weekend. Lots of warm laughter and cups of tea. Lots of unpacking bags of goodies and ooohing and ahhhhing at the contents.

5) We play a game. Apples to Apples. I can recommend it most heartily. Players take it in turns to turn a green card, and then lay a red card from their hand which most adequately matches it. Of course, sometimes it's easier than others to find an apt match. Our efforts to meet the description "dirty" showed that hairballs were deemed the dirtiest, but chorus girls come a close second.

6) Saturday morning. I wake up to the smell of bacon frying. Nom nom nom.

7) Everyone gets their boots and coats on to head to a nearby Cotswold village, but I decide to stay behind and mooch. Intentions to go for a walk are thwarted by bad weather, so I explore our house instead. Amongst other things I find windows with views I can't get enough of ...

... and windows that are tantalisingly out of range ...

8) We head out for a night on the town, in our own particular style; dinner at a lovely restaurant. We enjoy amuse bouche of celeriac soup, assiette of beef, pork tenderloin, and a heavenly cheeseboard. It's all cool and sophisticated. As we leave the restaurant in down-town Cheltenham, a hen party, resplendent in pink feather boas and white heels are fighting in the street, and for all our cool sophistication, we can't help pointing and laughing.

9) On Sunday morning the group divides; those who want to lounge and those who want fresh air. We walk along drives and lanes to the village church, where we shuffle around the church yard and soak up atmosphere. I was particularly touched by this small plaque towards the top of the hill which reads, "Goodbye. We'll miss you. Enjoy the view." So I did.

10) Officially the coolest thing I saw all weekend. Behind the church is a smallholding, and as we walked close to the fence, we saw the inhabitants of the closest field. They didn't take much convincing to come and investigate whether we'd brought food (we hadn't), and to have a good snuffle around whilst they were there. Really. Tell me. If you've ever seen a cooler hairy pig thing, tell me. Because I think this dude wins prizes.

* That's not a real excuse. I'm trying to find reasons to justify my absence. Humour me.
** In a film of my life, my mother will be played by Maureen Lipman.

This Weekend ...

1) ... started early. Even earlier than usual, considering that I don't work on Fridays anyway. I had to work from home on Thursday morning to wait for my boiler repair man to come. Having been given a time slot for his arrival of 9am to 1pm, inevitably he arrived at 4pm. Thank heavens I brought loads of work home to do! Anyway, the good, if slightly embarrassing, news is that, before I'd finished making him a cup of tea, he'd fixed it, and we're now piping hot again. Phew!

2) ... I had my hair cut. My friend Amelia (of 101 Birdtales fame) was there at the same time, and our hairdresser, Crazy Martin, turned the chairs so we were facing one another, instead of the mirrors, so that we could chat. We set the world to rights, and had a lovely hand massage (well ... four of them between us) whilst we gossiped and plotted our next artistic venture. And consequently the first I glimpsed of my new Do was when I was all done! I am now asymmetric, dontcha know.

3) ... I went to see Avatar. I will acknowledge that it's very clever, but personally, I didn't enjoy it. I can't help but feel that, were it not for the 3D element, the thing would have been panned for it's simpering, moralistic clap-trap. But that's just my opinion. I did get some pleasure, however, from looking around at all the people in their 3D glasses.

4) ... I went for dinner at a friends house. She and her new husband had three of us over, plus the lovely baby Amie, with whom I got to have a cuddle and play. It was a lovely evening of fine dining ("yes" agreed Mark. "It was ... fine.") although when I made a joke about women with facial hair (which would have been hilarious in other company) it fell flat and I felt like a proper turkey.

5) ... I had house guests. I shall call them Kelly and Nathan, for those are their names. We spent the weekend bowling from one opportunity to eat to the next, since that is all of our most favourite hobby. When they arrived we had tea and cake, then went out for lunch and to stretch our legs, then back for more tea and cake before we went out for dinner. This morning, after breakfast, we walked to the pub for lunch.

6) ... we spent some time entertaining ourselves by thinking of song titles which would be made better by the insertion of the word "fart" into the title. Favourites included, "Absence Makes the Fart Grow Stronger," "Everybody's Got A Hungry Fart," and "Unbreak My Fart." I know it's juvenile, but we enjoyed it. Today we also speculated about the fact that, at any age, someone farting in the toilet cubicle next to you is funny.

7) ... I've burped a lot. I don't know why. It's most out of character, but at times it's sounded like there's a toad in the room.

8) ... I've finished reading New Moon by Stephanie Meyer. I'm well aware, thank you very much that it's a book about vampires, written for teenagers, but I rather enjoyed it. I think that I might be a little in love with Edward Cullen (NB - the fictional character and not that young whipper-snapper who plays him in the films). I like that he is, at once, far too old for me (109), and far too young (17).

9) ... I seriously over-catered. I do that. I have no ability to think "well, I'd eat this much, so three people would eat three times as much." Then we ate out a lot anyway, so it's all still here. I've just snacked on some toast and pate and cheese and olives and tomatoes for my tea. Grazing food is my favourite.

10) ... I have learned that I am destined to marry a thief. A couple of weekends ago I taught my Goddaughter to count her olive / cherry stones out to see who she'll marry - tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, or thief. It prompted debate about whether it's better to have a poor man or a beggar man, and exactly what a tinker does. Today my olive pits told me I'd marry a thief. Bugger it!

Three (Plus) Beautiful Things

I'm in quite an upbeat and positive mood today, for the first time in ages. AGES! Lord alone knows why - it's peeing down outside, I've achieved nothing but a trip to the supermarket so far, and I've just realised that I did that wearing a top that has a big dribble of toothpaste down the front.

But do you know what I say? I say PAH! to it all!

So! I'll give you the Three Beautiful Things that I have so far (it's about 3:15pm), and I'm going to leave this half written post open and add to it as the day continues. Because you know what? I think there's more to come ...

1) Do you remember these two, who brought me such glee? Well they're back! Read their latest exploits here.

OK. So their latest exploits are similar to (the same as) their previous exploits, but now we have a new quote to add to it. Thank you to Judge Beatrice Bolton for saying, "... it's quite clear from the small extract I heard that you made no attempt to silence yourself." Splendid!

Please, if this woman is in court again, can you let me know in advance, so I can book a train ticket and bag a seat in the public gallery?

2) The car started first time. And didn't break down. And got me to my destination and back again. Without stopping. That might be four beautiful things right there. It's certainly the first time for any of those events in 2010! Whoopee for that!

3) "Everything I do, I do it for you" was just on the radio, and I discovered that, nineteen years (can you believe it?) after Robin Hood walked from Dover to Nottingham via Hadrian's Wall in one day, I still know all the words.

7pm

4) A text message came through from a friend, "on way home. Do you fancy a cuppa?" I replied, "let me know you're home and I'll pop 'round." No more than two minutes later the message back is, "come 'round now!" So I did. And spent a couple of lovely hours drinking tea, eating Jamaican ginger cake and talking about the world with two thoroughly gorgeous ladies.

8:35pm

5) Chinese takeaway. That is all.

9:40pm

6) The candles that are burning in the grate have all got to a critical stage. Over the course of the last two hours they've gone from looking clean and neat to being very dribbly. The wax that's spilled over has made pleasing trickles on the tiles in the hearth and I can't decide whether I want to leave it to get more "rustic" looking, or pick it off. It's got that picking-a-scab kind of attraction.

10:40 pm

7) I've almost finished my first bead carrot. I know, I know! But it looks better than it sounds. I'll post a photo of it soon, and explain why ...

8) I've found a place that sells onesies according to height, which, being taller than the average bear, seems very sensible to me. Also, being a bit of a pyjama slut, I now can't imagine my life without them. Red, pink or camo. What do you think?

9) Hot ribena. It's like nostalgia in a mug. AND it's rich in vitamin C, so it's all good.

11:10pm

10) My tenth beautiful thing is that I've written a list of ten beautiful things. Och, but I'm in a perky mood today!

Happy Friday 22nd January to you all! It's a good day.

xxx

Back to earth with a thump

So that was Christmas. In this house, at least, it's over for another year, and I can't say that it ended any too successfully. You don't need the details - they are too tedious - suffice to say, there was an incident relating to a bowl of tomato salsa, a cream sofa, an enthusiastically slammed door, and some frayed nerves. I think that all was resolved in the end, but it did rather take the sheen off the Christmas Cheer. If you ask me, the Little Baby Jesus has a lot to answer for.

And to top it off, I seem to have caught one of those snotty, snoring, wheezing, hacking kind of really sexy colds. Beautiful.

So all in all, when The Parents left this morning, I was feeling rather flat, and more than a little sorry for myself.

After an hour of self indulgent sulking and moping, I did what I do when I want to shake the mean reds, and I started walking. All did not start well, for I am still encountering teething problems with the sodding iPhone (am I the only person who thinks they aren't all that ...?) and couldn't get it to more than whisper music at me, so instead of setting my journey to the soundtrack of whatever the Shuffle threw at me, it was set to the thoughts running through my head. My journey went something like this ...

1) Bugger. Turned right instead of left. Oh well, I'll go 'round the block and look like I always meant to go this way.

2) Is that lady (could she really be drunk at this time? Well I suppose it is Christmas) going to veer left or right when I try and walk past her? I'll go left. Oh, dear! So will she! Squeeeeeze!

3) Do squirrels hibernate?

4) What IS that child wearing? And is it a boy or a girl? A girl. It's got long hair. Or maybe it's a boy with long hair. But what IS it wearing?

5) I wonder what will happen next Christmas. Will I have them come to me or will I go to them or will I do neither? Option (c) has a certain appeal. Perhaps a wee cottage somewhere remote with an open fire, a radio, no telly, and loads of books.

6) These houses are nice. I like the colour of that front door. Ooh, look at that nice Christmas tree. And I wonder where they got those blinds. They'd be nice in my house. Oops! Homeowner staring at me! Keeping walking!

7) Shall I go to The Nightingale for lunch? They do the lovely smoked haddock. But then it can be a bit brat infested. Perhaps I'll keep walking. Or shall I? Oh for goodness sake! Make up your mind and stop dithering on the pavement! Keep walking? Good decision. Now stop wondering about the smoked haddock.

8) Oh, these houses are nice too. I wonder if I'll ever live in a place like this? I wonder what I'll live in next. I wonder how long I'll live in my house. I wonder if I'll buy my next place alone or with someone. I wonder how long that will be. I wonder where it will be. I wonder if I will still live in London, or will I move out.

9) Good Lord! Is this year's "Must Have" accessory a three wheeler buggy? Everyone's got one! And did that mother really just say, "Please don't let him dribble on his tank top darling. It's Hilfiger"?

10) I know where I'll go. I'll go to Brew and have eggs Benedict. That'll hit the spot.

11) Oh sod. All the shops are shut. Bloody bank holidays! Wait! Cath Kidston is open. Perhaps they'll have something floral that I can't live without. I'll look after lunch.

12) No, not takeaway, eat in please. Yes a table would be nice. No, I'm not waiting for anyone. Yes, a table for one. One, yes. No, I'm really not waiting for anyone. (**Thinks to self: If you make me feel any more like a loner, you'll not get a tip, dear**). Yes, it is just me today. (**Thinks to self: There it goes!**)

13) That was nice. Now, a quick nip to Waitrose and then I think the bus home.

14) First I'll pop back and get a flowery laptop bag I think.

15) Oh look! There's the bus! Run, run, run, run, runnnnnnnn! Gottit!

16) Bugger. Didn't go to Waitrose.

17) Gosh, but I'm tired! Home, cup of tea, quick (!) blog post, and something easy for dinner I think. Something, of course, involving turkey (groan).

A timeline

7:30am - TS stirs. After much deliberation she decides that she has to go to the loo. As she steps out of her room she trips over a Christmas stocking immediately outside her door. The spare room door is open. The parents are sitting in bed, each with a cup of tea, and are surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper and presents. TS goes back to bed.

9:00am - TS wakes again. As she steps out of her room she trips over a Christmas stocking immediately outside her door. Still. The parents are up, showered and dressed, and hopping from one foot to the other. "Is it time to open presents yet?" Father asks. "Coffee," TS states.

9:15 am - TS has convinced the parents to have breakfast first and presents after. She has prioritised a jug of coffee. It has helped. Bread, croissants, toasted muffins, and the obligatory range of six jars of preserve are served.

9:45 am - "Is it time to open presents yet?" Father asks. TS convinces the parents to clear the table first. The brother calls having already opened all presents. The Parents talk to the Brother. TS clears the table.

10:00 am - Present opening commences. All is calm. All is bright. Highlights include a slug trap and some smellies still bearing the "3 for 2" label. Classy.

11:00 am - "If that pudding doesn't go on soon we'll never be having it," Mother announces. TS puts pudding on to boil.

11:15 am - Present opening concludes. Father has put all his chocolates next to the radiator. The phone rings. "It'll be Great Aunt," mother concludes on the second ring. It is not. It is a friend calling with best wishes and thanks for presents. Great Aunt is pointedly called from a mobile phone in the kitchen.

11:45 am - Pudding is boiling, kitchen is clear of breakfast, oven is heating, phone conversations are concluded. TS decides to slope off for her shower.

12noon - TS comes out of the shower to be faced with a table cloth crisis. Her management training does not go to waste. Disaster averted. She can get dressed in peace.

12:05 pm - Father discovers he has left his chocolates next to the radiator. Mother is finding things in the kitchen. TS abandons hair and make up. Mother departs to do hair and make up. The bird goes in the oven.

1:45 pm - new potatoes cleaned, old potatoes and parsnips peeled and cut up to be roasted, baby carrots topped and tailed, sprouts peeled and crossed, stuffing made, red cabbage prepared, cranberry sauce located and tipped into a bowl, crudites chopped, dips and olives located, crisps, drinks poured, table laid, crockery located, crackers found, lost again, found again. Mother walks into kitchen and enquires whether I was going to put any make up on today. TS goes to put make up on and reassemble now rampant hair.

2:00 pm - TS glides downstairs, the picture of domestic goddishness, fully made up, hair rearranged, in jewellery which co-ordinates with her outfit. Father hands her a stiff G&T. She reclines by the fire. "Isn't it nice to sit down!" Mother declares.

2:01 pm - TS bastes the bird. Returns to gin.

2:03 pm - TS goes to heat oil for roast veg. Returns to gin.

2:05 pm - TS puts roast veg in oven. Returns to gin.

2:07 pm - TS remembers the sausages in the fridge and goes to put them in the oven. Returns to gin.

(Repeat for half an hour)

2:37 pm - Mother looks at watch and points out that it's nearly 3pm. TS deciphers code, drains gin and goes to throw starters together. Mother butters bread.

3:15 pm - Starters prepared and on table. Bird out of oven to rest (lucky bugger). All veg roasting / boiling accordingly. Mother is asked to make gravy. She frowns and shakes her head. She does not like the new roasting tin. Or the quality of what's come out of the bird. Or the shape of my table spoon ("It's different to mine. But I'm manage.") TS offers to make gravy. Mother says no. She'll do her best.

3:30 pm - Starters started.

3:35 pm - Starters finished. Return to kitchen. Father carves the bird. TS drains all veg / removes from oven accordingly, and transfers to serving dishes and to table. Mother is there too.

3:45 pm - All food on the table. TS surveys what she's achieved and is proud. Father says that the gravy looks like the best bit. TS bites her tongue.

4:15 pm - Everyone has had dinner and seconds. There is almost as much food left on the table as when we started. Mother says she told me there would be. TS racks brains to recall such a conversation. Plates are cleared.

4:16 pm - Father is asked to get cheese out and put on the table.

4:17 pm - Cheese is found spread liberally, still in it's wrappers, around the kitchen. TS decides to make up the cheese board herself.

4:30 pm - the Christmas pudding and white sauce are served. Disaster strikes when Mother realises she's forgotten the plastic sprig of holly for the top of the pudding. Life goes on.

4:45 pm - The thought of any more food makes TS feel a bit panicky, but there are standards to be met. Father and TS have token sliver of cheese each. Mother does not.

5:00 pm - TS says that the only thing she really wants to watch today is The Gruffalo at 5:30 so clears the table. She finishes clearing the kitchen. Loads the dishwasher. Washes the things that won't fit. finds things that have been "put away" and puts them away. She makes up a tray with coffee (two sorts), milk, cream, sugar, chocolates.

5:31 pm - TS enters living room. Gruffalo is not on. Father begrudgingly changes channels, then mutters throughout.

6:00 pm - Parents settle in for Dr Who. TS takes coffee things back to kitchen, puts ham on to boil for tomorrow, fixes broken candle holder thing, makes tea, finds cheese biscuits under dining table and transfers to tin. Finds more things that have been "put away". Puts them away.

7:00 pm - Father leaves lounge declaring Strictly Come Dancing "a load of old rubbish". TS re-enters lounge to watch said rubbish. Mother says, "Isn't it nice to sit down?"

7:01 pm - Mother falls asleep.

8:50 pm - Father re-enters lounge to peer at final scenes of Eastenders, play with candles, mutter about "a load of old rubbish" and prod Mother until she wakes up. TS misses seeing Archie Mitchell die.

9:05 pm - Father says he's had enough and is going to bed. Mother and TS watch a series of Christmas specials, before she decides to retire too.

Midnight - TS heads to bed for fear that she will soon turn back into a pumpkin. She is thankful to have had so much help preparing the feast. Really. She's not sure she could have done it alone ...

Well here it is ...

I've been bombing 'round since first light today (what am I saying? I've been bombing around all week!) dealing with food, parcels, and helping my parents absorb everything they've brought with them into the house (either they don't travel light, or they plan to stay for a while ...), and all the time pondering what I want to say to you all tonight.

In the end, after lots of head scratching, I have concluded that it is this ...

Merry Christmas!

With love

TT

x

It's Been A Long Time Baby

Goodness, but it's been AGES since I've been here for a catch up with you kids! Do I have a good excuse? No, not really. I've been socialising with actual people, and it's been lovely, but it does mean that I've rather neglected you, which is bad. I'm sorry. Rest assured, I do still love you.

So, this weekend, I've had a visit from the Very Fabulous Kelly (who might yet marry me) and her current husband, the Very Lovely Nathan. It's been great! We've had a fab and groovy time, with, I think it's fair to say, something for everyone. There has been gin and dinner and wine and accordions and a lot of weather and artiness and delicatessens and cakes and tea and crosswords and silliness and a lot of mulled wine and non-mulled wine and orange playing cards and Queen and cooked breakfasts and shop wandering and tapas and prize winning puddings and more artiness and ... and ... and ... I think that's about it. But that's enough, don't you think?

There have been four main themes to the weekend:

1) Food. Food eaten at home, food eaten in restaurants, food bought in shops and brought home to chomp on, food cooked from raw ingredients. Food eaten off plates, food eaten with fingers, food in pieces so big that they have to be prised in. Food, food, food, food, food. And, to cap it all, just after they left, I found a sneaky little bag of Percy Pigs hidden for me to enjoy later. Nom nom!

2) Impressions of (a) Stacey on X-Factor, (b) the owner of a very English retailer who telephoned my office this week, and who was not the calm, beautifully spoken, eloquent woman I wanted her to be, but a slightly mental, jittery, batty woman. Over the course of 24 hours, both impressions started to converge. One impression now fits all. It's crazy*! (*spoken in a slightly vacant, but excited voice).

3) Lead In My Pencil by Paolo Nutini. (Kelly, this clip will help us fit the words to the choon!) Altogether now, "rat-tat-tattle-ta-da-da-da-daaaa ... nothing's gonna bring me down!" I challenge you to listen to this and NOT have a little boogy!

4) The punchline "I used to have a boyfriend like that." "It was all a bit disappointing." "I used to have a boyfriend like that." "It's all about the sausage for me." "I used to have a boyfriend like that." "He'll only come up to your elbow." "I used to have a boyfriend like that." "It's all sticky in the bottom." "I used to have a boyfriend like that."

It's been great - I've had such a good weekend! I've always found it hard to have people to stay before, living in small flats with no room to manoeuvre, but this house have given me the gift of hospitality, and I love it. It's so nice to fill the house up with friends and family and be able to enjoy sparking company.

I love being able to potter around doing nice local things with people. Even more mundane jobs, like running for milk and cooking breakfast are more fun when there's people in to chat with, and to give me an excuse to get the nice china out, and put the milk in a jug.

The house seems hellish quiet now. There's six whole rooms and I'm sitting right in the corner of the front one. There's too much space by half, and I feel a bit small and lost. And what's more, for the first time all day, there's no-one singing, "nothing's gonna bring me down"...

Guilty Pleasures

A few weeks ago, a left the office a wee bit later than usual, and with my mind firmly on the subject of food. Between the office and the bus stop, I passed two men just as one said to the other, "Ever been to Wagamama?" and that was that.

By the time I got to the bus stop I was thinking of little steamed chicken dumplings and dipping sauce. By the time the bus drew in, I was dreaming of noodles. By the time the bus got to Victoria I knew that anything else for dinner would just not do.

So I went to Wagamama. Alone. I filled my boots with dumplings and noodles, all accompanied by the clamour of kitchen and diner, and a good book, and it was fabulous. I enjoyed every. Last. Bite.

My solo dates at Wagamama have become a bit of a guilty pleasure. I've been a few times now. I love the people watching and noise of the place, and I love the small luxury of dining alone. There aren't many places where I'd be comfortable just being by myself, but there is something about the convivial sharing of tables which makes it ok there.

I was there this evening, and smugly thinking "well, I'm good most of the time" when I realised, to my shock, that I'm not. I started counting off the dirty little food secrets on my fingers, and had to start on the second hand.

I need to salve my conscience. Please hear my confession...

My job requires me to regularly go to shopping centres. At least one kiosk in just about every shopping centre in the country is occupied by those wonderful people from Millies Cookies.

They aren't really cookies at all. Really they are little patties of slightly warmed dough. You can buy them individually. But why would you do that, when you can pick 'n' mix a selection? In my world, a drive home from Bluewater starts with a bag containing six biscuits, and finishes with an empty bag, and a queasy feeling. And even knowing the unpleasant sensation of yukkiness (real word?), I can guarantee that next time, I'll do the same.

Forgive me?

Should I tell you, then, about the speed with which I can devour a bag of liquorice comfits? Does everyone know what they are? They look like this and are little sticks of liquorice covered in brightly coloured hard sugar. No-one else in my office likes them, which means I don't have to share. Frankly, if they did, I still wouldn't. They are just lovely. The crunch of the shell, the chew of the liquorice. What's not to like? Mmmmmm.

Is it wrong that I'm dribbling a little?

I've always like a frazzle. Who am I kidding? I can inhale one of those weeny bags in a mere second. No bacon in the world ever tasted like the flavour of frazzles, but I do love that they put those bacony coloured stripes on them for authenticity. It's very convincing.

But recently I discovered something really dirty. Red Barn make a fake frazzle. A fauxzzle if you will (that's not my joke. It's someone else's. But I like it a lot, so I'm passing it off as my own). They come in a much larger bag, taste slightly more strangely unbacony, and are made of a fluffier corn stuff. I bloody love them! There's a bag on my desk right now, just in case, on Monday, I have a need for a wee snackette.

But ... I've saved the worst for last. And I feel a bit grubby just writing this. **clears throat** I like KFC. Not the burgers, or the chicken strips, or the nugget things, but the proper, original, joint-from-no-part-of-a-chicken-that-I-can-identify chicken pieces. There is something fantastically tempting about that secret blend of eleven herbs and spices which just knocks me batty. I do know that it is about the worst food that you could put in your system ever (I suspect that in some parts of Europe, it's not even recognised as food) and therefore I don't have it often. It's very much a special treat. Lucky me! The chips are terrible, but used to scoop up the coleslaw, they come into their own. The corn cobbette is, of course, the side order of choice. But ultimately it's all about the chicken. I am pleased to be able to report that it's finger lickin' good.

Phew! I feel better for that! I feel like a weight has been lifted. Ironic, really, since just reading this post has probably caused us all to add a few pounds.

Now ... I think it's time for a cup of tea and a jaffa cake ...

Did you know that yesterday was the first official day of winter? The first day when the night is longer than the day. Summer’s over. That’s all, folks!

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m going to be all doom and gloom and start talking about the nights closing in, and the cost of heating these days.

In fact, when I was told that yesterday was the first day of winter, I was quietly thrilled. Usually, I’m a sucker for a sunny day, but this year I find myself longing to have an excuse to pull out the woolly jumpers and long winter coats. I’ve seen some gorgeous chunky scarves in shop windows that I’ve got my eye on, and now I think some accessories shopping is justified.

And winter food is so much more comforting, don’t you think? Bangers and mash, casseroles, and stodgy puddings with custard! Hot chocolate! Nom nom nom!

Right on cue, this morning, on my way to the station, I felt the first pinch of winter on the air. The first sign of the sharpness that makes a girl dig her hands into her pockets, and double check that her trashmina is in her bag. The sky seemed a long way up this morning, and everyone was walking that tiny bit faster.

So you can keep your summer frocks and your light salads. I’m off home to fire up the boiler and dig out the thermals.

Brrrrrrrrrrilliant!