How the other half lives

Hola world, I trust I find you all well? You find me in my white onesie which I put on clean this morning. To say I have only eaten an instant risotto, a cream/mushroom lasagne and 2 pieces of toast, I seem to have a lot of unidentifiable food items on me, including a massive smear of blackcurrant jam that goes from arm to belly. I’m classy, me.

It’s been a great 4 day weekend. I may be spoiling it somewhat by watching Silver Linings Playbook tonight, which is great and features some amazing performances (Bradley Cooper can really turn it on, can’t he?) but its hardly a chuckle fest is it?

I began my weekend on Thursday by having a “personal day” as the Americans would call it. It was me, the dog, the washing machine, the iron, my KitchenAid and three gym classes back to back. I loved it. In light of the fact my little family were heading down to the big smoke, we needed train sustenance, and as it is Easter, I decided to make some Hot Cross Buns.

Once again, it was a really unplanned bake, but I always have yeast, strong flour and lemons so i improvised. Granny Smith was chopped, some cinnamon coated cranberries plopped in, lemon zest in lieu of orange. It was one of those feel your way things. I was very impressed. Not least because there was about 5 minutes where I was kneading what I thought was like a porridge consistency. I did not think for a moment that bunnage would form. But we got buns. Gorgeous, sweet, spicy buns. It was the triumph of love for Pete and his almost OCD like obsession with HCB over the Easter season over my fear that I would be chipping bits of dough off my work surface for weeks. (FYI there is still remnants of that bitch still stuck on the surface)

With a bag full of buns, an overnight bag and a shopping bag full of bones, poo bags, a bed and a blanket, I went to the train station with Pete and the dog. It was hectic. The dog pulling us in a million directions, up and down the stairs, it was a mildly stressful journey to get there.

The dog, however, was a dream. She was a bit wriggly on the train, but she stuck on my lap. She didn’t try to jump off, bark or (my biggest worry) wee or poo on the carriage.

She was very nervous on the tube, mainly as there were escalators involved. But again, on the carriage? Calm as anything.

The lovely Mel and Anne greeted us. They aren’t lesbians, so I shouldn’t talk of them as if they were, but Anne had travelled to London the day before. Mel snoozed off her working week exhaustion whilst Pete, Anne, Daph and I had a walk around Regents Park, followed by fish and chips and a lot of wine in Prince Regent in Marylebone High St.

Mel lives down the way from Marylebone High Street. It blows my mind. I live down the way from The Moor. Mel’s high st has a The Kooples, Le Creuset and Toast. We have Jack Fulton’s Frozen Foods, Cards Galore and Brighthouse weekly payment shop. Juxtaposition right there. Well anyway, Marylebone had a great vibe. It felt age appropriate. One could live well but would not need to kill ones self in the process.

Friday night was spent at Nopi in Soho. I have often chosen restaurants safely, picking based on what I know I like. This was a challenge to me. The menu was fresh, unlike anything I could concoct. Butter bean hummus. Courgette fritters. Truffled polenta chips. I was sold. The restaurant had an amazing atmosphere too. A young, relaxed crowd, all conversations merged in a din which just spoke volumes as to the fact it was just being executed perfectly. The place buzzed. The food was a sensation as well. We approached our starters in a tapas way, plates to the middle, all tucked in. Heavenly. In a city where it all seems like gourmet burgers and chips are taking over, it was great to find an almost faultless restaurant which felt decadent.

We then had Fro Yo from Snog. I tried some weird citrus flavour, seeing as I didn’t fancy mango or natural flavour. I don’t get natural flavour yogurt as a choice. It’s not a flavour. It’s just cold. I will have a bowl of frozen cold. I understand drinking water, as you need to drink to live. That’s practical. But in a world where you don’t need to eat yogurt, as I have no evidence to suggest one has to eat yogurt to continue to function as a human being, why would you go flavourless?

Well I ended up getting some very tart exotic citrus flavour. It was tasty, but so tart I felt like I was trying to abate some yeast infection. Cold and tart on a freezing night meant my teeth were on edge, but I felt marginally better about the 5 bottles of wine we went through mid afternoon by having a fat free dessert.

Saturday began with a gorgeous walk through the park. The only way to find open, chatty Londoners is to have a dog. People actually spoke to me, and were lovely to me. Never before.

It helps she is adorable.

We decided to try the city branch of TK Maxx. Didn’t see anything despite the extensive Gold Label range on the racks. Off then to Borough. What were we thinking? It was hell. We headed straight to Neals Yard Dairy, for the beat Lincolnshire Poacher and milky Lancashire cheese. We grabbed a few other choice bits from the stalls on the edge of the market, and Pete and I grabbed a couple of coffees from Monmouth Coffee Co, and we dashed straight back to Marylebone to avoid the unnecessary crush.

See how happy the girls were? The power of Chenin Blanc.

We had a few drinks with my former Sheffield now St Paul’s located friend Richard (with Daphne below) and headed over to Waitrose to buy food to pad out cheese into a meal. It was essentially more meze style dining. I spent a small fortune on a whole west sourdough from Le Pain Quotidien. Size of our heads but amazing.

I had a fabulous time all round. The entire thing was polished off by Sunday’s lunch at Carluccios. Imagine our joy at enjoying a glass of wine, pasta and a relaxing Sunday chat when who should walk past? Only Gary Cockerill and Phill Turner, make up artist and former Big Strong Boy now right hand men of Katie Price. It was EXACTLY the z list spot we craved.

A bit of window shopping later, we had to go. After a wonderful few days discovering outdoor London, I wasn’t ready to leave. How can you leave a city that still has Jamelia memorabilia for sale?

We returned home, and headed straight off for a night on the smaller city streets of Sheffield. Amy, Andrew, Robert and Martyn joined Pete and I as we became reacquainted with the gays of Sheffield.

It had been ages since I went out with Pete, was lovely. Turns out? It’s always the same, but always a laugh. I managed to find that line when drunk turns into mess and I ran so far beyond it that it was a teeny dot on the horizon. I became the crier. The weepy mess. What a fool. Never mind.

And back to today. I have watched some more crap on Netflix. Word to the wise, if its called Bad Boy Street, it definitely is shite. If its called Is It Just Me?, you will ask yourself at the end “Is it just me, or is this the biggest pile of cliched bollocks?”. The answer is yes, it is.

And that is you lot all caught up. Daph and I are off to bed. She is once again a bit mopey as she slept with Pete and I on the bed in London, so she misses that treat. Well, she was on holiday after all. We will be back over summer, so she can have that treat all over again.

Well that’s everything. Hope it finds you all in fine form.

Blog later folks

-Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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