When life’s bitter pill is too hard to swallow tempura it!

As the fog slowly cleared on Sunday after the epic consume at the hands of my gorgeous sister in law I realised quite how awful and stressful and just downright stupid the week ahead was going to be. A total watching marathon. Every single evening taken up by one child or another requiring me to be somewhere other than my house, eating out of a Tupperware and spending so much more time than can be healthy on the tube. So I reverted to what is beginning to be my default setting and decided that the healthy veggy chilli I had all prepared in the fridge was not at all what was called for and what we should do is ask our next door neighbour in for a drink, he lives on his own and it would be a nice thing to do. Obviously this means that we would have to have fizzy wine (obviously!) and if we were having fizzy wine we might as well have more interesting food. So firstly I raided the freezer. I have a theory that if I use at least two items from the very bottom of the freezer, in this case very unfresh fish from goodness only knows when (my kids have very well developed immune systems) then it isn’t so much greed as actually a household chore. I was effectively cleaning out the freezer, and on a Sunday night too, what a domestic goddess!  Mind you it was looking a bit healthy and not really at all what was required so, yet again my good old save all came into play, I gathered up everything I could get my hands on and I tempura’d it. Now you are talking. (The thing about tempura is that is sounds good, exotic, bit posh, possibly healthy but it is just batter.  Pure batter which is then deep fried. So good). And the evening was set. At some point whilst I was listening to the man next door complain about something, there’s always something, I think the older you get the grumpier you get which means I will be hell on legs, starting as I have so much further down the beam than most people, positively relishing in a good moan. Anyway at some point it did finally occur to me that number three should go to bed as he had mocks in the mounting and the nightmare should go to bed because well he should so a quick crumble and some speedy quaffing later off we all tottered, me totally anaesthetised and utterly incapable of stressing, job done the whole being sensible and facing it thing had been successfully put on hold for another day.

Monday, rather predictably was a little tough. After the requisite hour or so of why the hell do I do it, which bit of me thinks it is a good idea, how is this dieting, how utterly ridiculous who would do such a dumb thing and start a week like this like that, I faced the day. It didn’t look good, which rather made two of us. I tried very very hard to be efficient and didn’t do too badly I must say but fair play I felt revolting!  At about twoish number three arrived back, bit white faced, I sheepishly asked how the exams had gone, fine thank you mummy, much improved by staying up ridiculously late and eating a lot of fried food thank you for asking, and sent him to get ready. At three we set off to the nightmare’s school. Amazingly not to see a teacher but to pick him up, he had two hours to kill between the end of school and needing to return to get ready for the music concert that evening, not enough time to get home and back, and so needed feeding and supervising. Me, his brother and a rucksack of tupperwares were on the scene.  He did quick work of the healthy bit and then I took them both for a waffle and the conversation got around to the whereabouts of his ballet bag, I presumed he had it on him having been too lazy to empty his bag after Saturday despite being told to about fifty times. Sadly this is where the day took a bit of a down turn. No he didn’t have it. Seemingly it was somewhere between Chancery Lane and Amersham, either that or somewhere between Amersham and Tooting, wherever it was it was not somewhere safe and accessible. This is the bag containing all of his kit. All of it, special school (for special school read expensive) tights included, special school (ditto) leotard included, i could go on (and did, trust me on this one!) approximately eighty quids worth of kit.

So he went to school I ranted for an hour and then number three and I went to watch the concert. What can I say, it is very hard to concentrate when every time your little darling appears on stage you have to fight the urge to vault the balcony and throttle him!

and this is only day one. Mind you on the plus side any thought of coming home to extra eating and drinking jollies was firmly stomped on and I actually managed to go to bed totally sober having eaten sensibly. Cool that never happens when watching is occurring despite the constant belief that today is the day I will behave like a sensible grown up. So there is a silver lining. Would have preferred it deep fried!

If all else fails then chips are what you need

So my youngest has decided to make it his mission in life to show me just how lucky i was with my other three.  Being on his second secondary school, the first was a total disaster from beginning to end, in honesty more their failing than his, one would think that he would be keen to show willing, fresh new start and all that.  Sadly he is encountering slight problems.  The teachers would like him to turn up to lessons on time, with his books and preferably to concentrate.  He isn’t feeling this so great.  The homework seems to be a sticky situation as well.  He understands that he has it, he grasps that it should be taken away and then given in at a later date, we are struggling with the actually doing it bit!  He is very reasonable when questioned he understands this isn’t good. He acknowledges that he should change. He is fair enough to say that if he was a teacher he would hate a child like him.  He just doesn’t actually do it. Any of it.  ANY of it.

So yesterday I set off again on the two hour round trip to his school by tube, oh the joys of living in london, where I met with yet another very nice and eager young lady slightly questioning her vocation in the light of her new student and we had a hopeful and positive brain storming at how we can help. I came home, accompanied by said nightmare, discussing positive ways to go forward, talking about homework strategies stressing positive attitudes, the whole kit and caboodle.  We got back I sent him to get to work on the homework I was now more than aware that he had and went to see the other, bless his cotton socks, child still living at home who was feeling a little ignored and did point out that he was about to start his GCSE mocks and lots of other things and could do with a little bit of attention.  After about twenty minutes I went to check in progress. He was just sitting. He had yet to take his books out of his bag!  Seemingly he wasn’t aware that when I said do you homework I meant do you homework, not sit and stare!  Arg

So I did what any reasonably human being would do. I took them to bodeans. This might need a tiny bit of explanation. Bodeans is a meat restaurant a carnivores heaven, ribs, pulled pork, the lot. I don’t eat meat haven’t for years and years.  It is also quite pricy. We have NO money. None it is pathetic.  (I mean that in a cannot afford to go to restaurants due to the fact that we have to pay school fees due to the fact that the free school and my son disagreed and we found ourselves with no option, way not in the actual no house or food way). I am trying to lose weight before Christmas.  I am trying not to drink on a weekday, it was a Monday.  What can I say. Sometimes the only way through is to have chips, nachos and a bottle of red wine for supper!  I got home sent them to bed went to my room with a cookie and pulled the duvet over my head.  Woke this morning rather aware that that was not my finest parenting moment but also knowing that tonight I can be the slave driver necessary to get him to actually do his homework in the right book on the right day.  As to giving it in hell I am only human!

Seriously when you find that you cannot go on, trust me on this one, chips. Chips are what you need. They just make life that tiny bit more bearable

Tempura. How good is that?

Arg. I did it again.  So my angel is home which is just the best ever and after celebrating this fact maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, yesterday was a tad slower than it should probably have been but eventually we both managed to get dressed and ready and come up with the brilliant idea that we should go shopping.  I never go shopping. I hate shopping. It’s hot and I have no money and I want stuff and I either can’t afford it or can’t get into it.  And, it is fair to say, I am a bit of a scruff, potentially on a bad day maybe even a slob, but usually just a scruff.  It goes without saying that the perfectly formed utterly gorgeous 19 year old ballet dancer is neither of those things, actually no she is sometimes a horrendous slob, but she is never scruffy.  Always made up always, in my eyes,perfect.  Like living with an airbrushed model.  Anyway I digress.  I am a bit of a scruff and it was decided that I needed new jeans.  I did.  Mine are lovely and comfy and squidgy, usually, sometimes on a Monday they are a little snugger than maybe is ideal but generally we get on quite well me and my jeans. Only problem is not only are they boyfriend cut,so way too young for me, but they are so old they have worn through on the bum.  My solution to this was to wear dark coloured knickers, the angel thought better and off we go to buy jeans.

it was a success. A pair of sensible age appropriate (as in no rips a nice dark colour, straight leg blah blah) jeans were picked out, wrestled into and finally purchase and we could get on with the real reason for coming, the coffee shop.  Where we decided firstly that we should go home as it was ridiculously late and secondly that we would have fish and vegetables for supper.  Changing room mirrors do that to a girl.  Cutting this big ramble short. We came home, the boys were totally crap (just slipping that in there in case any of them read this) having done nothing at all to help prepare for the evening.  We prepared our lovely healthy meal and then, then we decided to tempura it!  Tempura. What a fabulous thing. Learning to  make tempura has probably been the biggest single factor in my new found battle against middle aged spread.  What a gift. I got all our lovely vegetables, loads and loads and loads and I covered them in batter and I deep fried them, sprinkled them liberally with salt added two bottles of cava and ta da now you are talking.

Although I must say at the point when the logistics of how to cut up the brownies for pudding (mint chocolate fudge ones in case you are wondering with a palate cleansing bowl of ice cream first as mint doesn’t really go with tempura) are causing you so much brain ache that you need a little rest and this prompts you to rethink your drinking choice with hindsight i would say this was not the time to swap to red!!

That is my piece of wisdom for the day.

I think about food way too much

So having decided, sort of, to do this I have spent the week thinking about it, I have blogged prolifically. I have been so massively amusing, witty, pithy even. And so knowledgeable (yes for any grammar spotters, as oppose to grandma spotters, whole different ball game, out there I know you shouldn’t start a sentence with an ‘and’ but, well, I just did). I have entertained and confided. I have moaned and enlightened. The only wee problem is that this has all been IN MY HEAD. Usually in the middle of the night although occasionally on my walks to and from the shops or even on my treadmill.  Just none of it actually written down.  Which is, quite frankly, a shame as some of it has been, to use an expression of my daughters, well funny!

The one thing that I have noticed is that I think about food way too much.  I seriously think that I think about food pretty much all the time.  I am not sure this is a good thing, and i have an small suspicion that this might be a tiny bit to blame for what I am steadfastly blaming on ageing metabolism!  For a long time I had a will of iron, seriously I cannot now imagine how I did that.  I would say no thank you.  I never do that now. Oh no, now it’s yes please all the way. It’s so much nicer!  Slightly awkward getting into my jeans but aside from that little thing, so much nicer.  I have a slight excuse this week as my precious angel, otherwise know as my daughter, is home for the weekend and I always feel the need to feed her pretty much every second she is here!  She is a ballet dancer so teeny tiny and so gorgeous you would not believe, and it’s not because she is thin, although she is ridiculously so, it’s because she appreciates it so much. She knows. She knows that when I present her with something, take last nights hot apple cookies with homemade vanilla, caramel crunch ice cream, that if I say how is it then ‘nice’ or even ‘lovely’ or my son’s favourite ‘good’ is so not what I am looking for. Oh no.  I need details. I need every morsel to be dissected and hell I need telling how wonderful I am. Tell me it’s gorgeous and I will do more. I am that needy!  This is one of the many reasons that she is perfect. She loves my cooking. I love her. It works.  The boys do too, obviously, but you know they are boys. It is food. Life is good. For me I think it is becoming a mission. A baking mission!  I could be a bit obsessed!

Not sure how good an idea this is

So I awoke, or came too, slowly at first and then I remembered.  Omg (sorry I have teenagers. I do try but sometimes it really is just easier, I know I know it sounds utterly stupid for a middle aged woman to use it, hell it sounds utterly stupid for a teenager to use it but it’s just sort of quicker and gets the point across and I can say it without feeling a bit odd about writing the individual words, ok blaspheming, now I sound ancient and in truth I have the worst muckiest potty mouth whilst speaking but there is something about writing it that turns me all prudish and peculiar, yup I have never allowed double standards to hamper me! So anyway sorry for the ridiculous teenagism but they could well pop up every now and again) I started a blog and wrote complete crap whilst drunk and then put it onto the internet!  And I did all this without thinking it would be a good plan to come up with a snappy pretend name, nope I just went on out there and was rude about my husband for all to see.  So I guess at least I started by behaving badly. No letting it creep in slowly once I was confident nope just wham bam off we go. Start plastered and obnoxious. Fab.

anyway not convinced I will carry on doing this. Not at all convinced anyone would want me to but it’s sort of funny.  Like I need another time waster in my life.  Mind you quite enjoying the spell check I thought last night that it was due to the vast amount of alcohol i had seen fit to quaff on a Sunday evening but no it is still as daft today.  Unedited I would have told you that I didn’t need another time Easter in my life, which let’s face it is true but not exactly what I was trying to say. Mind you earlier I also would have described myself as Middle Ages which I feel I belong to sometimes and indeed look as if I do this morning but…

We will see…

First time

So I nearly lost the will to life setting this up. My kids have told me for so long to blog but I just shrugged it off. Mainly because I had no fecking idea of how to do it but also because at the time of day when blogging seems a good idea typing is so blooming hard!  One word forward one back space. How do I have so many random ,ns, just popping up in the middle of sentences and seriously now does the ipad really think that a word can consist of a million letters all strung together with a little wiggly line under them.  Having said that some of them to my shame and secret ridiculous amusement are now part of my every day correspondence.  My poor darling daughter can tell exactly how many glasses i have drunk by how funny I find the spell checks and how many I allow into my goodnight message,

so here we are my first ever blog. I am, obviously, a little worse for wear.  I had what up until about 7.30 was definitely. So definitely going to be a good non drinking none bad eating engaging with the arsehole ( sorry probably a bit earlyish to enter the maybe less than charitable feelings I can have toward my husband, trying not to curl my lip as I write that) being nice to the teenage boys, evening. Then sort of went pear shaped and and surface to say a bottle of wine loads of sushi (Yup I like that shit it doesn’t define me. Trust me I like most things that involve salt, protein and sugar tonight it happened to be sushi. Last night sad to say it was nachos. So so many nachos which was why tonight was going to be good super good night) and choc choc chip scones with ice cream.  Did I mention I bake, a lot and even more when I am either hung over or sad. My kids loved it when I got drunk when they were little, all the other kids hated their mums drinking mine loved it not only would I get them up to eat crisps in the middle of the night but the next day once I could lift my head, I have a ridiculously low and pitiful capacity. I have seriously done my best and worked so hard at it but cannot change the fact that one glass is all it really takes, mind you never actually ever stopped at one. Or indeed two, nope now I think about it nor three, I would make ridiculous baked good for lunch. Today was choc choc chip scones with coffee glaze. So good. I don’t like scones I thought I was safe. These are so good. Actually that is the other thing. What do I do with all the extra baked goods.  Maybe I could have a blog and a place where I could off load all the extra cakes. Trust me the whole baking thing can get out of hand

so now I am bored of the back key. I have no idea of what happens now. I like this. In guess if anyone else likes listening to me being super dull let me know. Gosh that sounded knobby. I’m new. I have no idea.