New Year New Me

Ha!
There won't be any new me. Although isn't there something that says all of your cells renew so that every few months you're essentially a new person?
Hmm, that seems weird.
Perhaps if you shaved your head that could be true?
I have no idea where I'm going with this.

Anyway, welcome to 2019.
It's not that I have any grand plans for 2019, but I feel like I'd like to do better. 
My Dad passed away in May of 2018 and that really made the year a write-off for me.


But that's a post for another day.

I'd really like to get more done, to be more efficient.
I don't want to make resolutions, they seem to me like you're setting yourself up for failure, perhaps instead I wake up in the morning and resolve to do the best I can do that day.
For me, and I'm sure for many people, the best you can do is variable.
Some days you're full of energy and motivation and ready to take on the world.
Other days you're tired and low and getting dressed might be the best you can do.

I think the important thing is to adapt to how you feel on each of the 365 days in the non-leap years.  Frankly, every time we have day 366 we should all get to have a massage. 
A conga massage! No, that would be weird. I retract that idea immediately.

Back on track.
I like to write the things that are in my brain, I'd like to track the things I make when I've been hunkered down in my craftroom/studio/sewing room, call it what you will. I'd like to do better at remembering the good times I have.
I would like to get back to blogging.
Also, I had three accidents in just one week over Christmas and goodness knows that shit is funny. Totally hit myself in the finger with a cleaver at one point....the finger still exists with surprisingly minor damage. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to express my thanks and gratitude to my fingernail for stopping the advance of aforementioned cleaver.

Long story short, I'm going to try my best to be my best without giving myself a hard time on my worst days.

Riding Bearback

I've always had a lot of wacky dreams, I don't always remember them, which is pretty disappointing!

Last night was quite spectacular in the world of dreams.
I dreamt I was seated upon my sofa, engrossed in a tv show, when I finally looked up from the tv, I noticed there had been an accident in the road immediately outside my window.
Large crowds had gathered around a lady that had been hit by a car. She was wearing a pleated navy skirt and was surrounded by people trying to help, whilst they waited for an ambulance. There was a girl who was laid on the verge sobbing, with a group of friends talking to her. For some reason I went to ask if she wanted to come inside but her friends shooed me away.

I hate it when dreams don't have an end, they just dissolve away into another dream, I have no idea what happened to the lady in the navy pleated skirt.

But as one dream dissolves away, another one slips in to replace it.

I looked out the window again, an animal had been hit by a car.
But not just any animal.
It seemed like it was a polar bear.
A polar bear was laying in the road.
But wait, it wasn't just a polar bear, there was a man there too, he was curled up like the little spoon to the bear big spoon.
It appeared that the two were unconscious.
The man started to stir, then the bear, and suddenly it wasn't a polar bear, it was a big brown bear. A huge brown bear.
I asked if they were okay and I was far, far too close to such a huge bear.
They awoke fully, the bear clambered from its prone position to being back on all four paws. Suddenly the man, wearing a wild blue puffy suit with gold trim, was seated atop the bear. He bid me farewell and rode atop the bear as it bounded off quickly across the fields.

What the flim-flam were those dreams all about?
Good grief, whatever my subconscious brain was trying to figure out, I hope it managed it.

Logophile

My phone did that little noise it does when something Facebook related has occurred.

I looked at my phone, I have been tagged in a post...I must investigate further!


I digitally strolled my way over to Facebook to see more and am greeted with the following words: "Fun when you show people a very specific word definition and one of the associated images is a Facebook friend". 
I was the Facebook friend in question!

So, out there, there exists a single word that will lead you to a photograph of my good self.

I took a moment, I thought, I turned a few words over in my mind, when suddenly I had a brainwave, I tapped the letters on my keyboard and began my google search.

The results appeared and I guffawed. I snorted with laughter. My ribs hurt, my tummy hurt, so much laughter, so much.
I have no idea why I found it so utterly hilarious, I still do.
The idea that a single word will make my youthful face appear in a google search is just hilarious to me.

It's such a great word too.
Not your average run of the mill word, oh no, this is an unusual word, not one to be found in the vocabulary of many.
What's the word?
What could it BE?
Well, that'd be telling wouldn't it!

VFC

Some time ago I saw a postcard on PostSecret talking about long car journeys. The sender said that when travelling long distances and noticing another vehicle keeping pace with you for a long time, it was like you were automatic car buddies. As is often the case with the revealed secrets it struck a chord.
I wanted to add that postcard to this post, I googled and googled but it was not to be found anywhere.

I've always felt that camaraderie with other vehicles on the road as we travel along together. A brief vehicular friendship.
Unless they drive too close, in that case we are sworn enemies.
Or they don't use their lights in poor visibility.
Or they fail to indicate.
There are strict rules on my vehicular friendship apparently.

I do have a point...I'm just taking a somewhat circuitous route to get to it.

So, last week, I took a drive over to Wales to see some friends for the day.
I love being in my car and I love to drive. I love my music and the road beneath my wheels. It was a really nice drive, then I got stuck behind someone doing 40 in a 60. (This is an automatic ban from any vehicular friendship.)
As I waited for an opportunity to overtake, a blue van approached behind me, settling just a fraction too close for my liking - getting close to not being allowed into my vehicular friendship club (let's say VFC for short, it's one hell of a mouthful else).
The moment arose, a clear stretch of road opened up, I dropped down a gear and whizzed past the slowcoach.
I continued my journey and a little while later, the blue van reappeared in my rear view mirror.
I offered my mental congratulations on their success in also separating from the slowcoach.
On we went. As the miles passed and we took the same roads time and again, the blue van was a fully fledged member of the VFC. I'm not sure how long we hung out together, maybe an hour. At each turn I willed the blue van to keep following. How long could we possibly go in the same direction?

Finally, my google sat nav instructed me to turn left at the next roundabout. I put on my indicator.
Oh no!
Blue van was going straight on!
This was it, we were to be separated. I had a moment of sadness, then, sensing our imminent separation, blue van's lights flash-flash-flashed. Blue van was bidding me farewell! I held up my left arm and waved emphatically. 
It was a two-way friendship!
Goodbye blue van friend!

I sighed and carried on.
And then....

Then I discovered google had royally shafted me and sent me to the wrong place.
I should have gone straight on at the roundabout.
Google separated me from my blue van friend too soon, too soon.

I'd input the whole address of where I was going, but google had seen fit to override the post code and send me somewhere with a similar first line to the address, but whilst I'm sure it was lovely, I had no desire to visit a large organic farm. I wanted to see my friends!

I changed the address to just the post code and set off again. This time alone, no blue van friend to accompany me.

I miss you blue van friend, I hope your day was as lovely as mine.

Numb

I need both to pee and to blow my nose.
Neither of these are pleasant images.
But what these things have in common is that Kini is fast asleep on my lap.
Fast, fast asleep.
So asleep I cannot bring myself to move.
I can no longer feel my legs.
My legs are as asleep as my cat.
Help me.
Send tissues.

Out Loud

I talk to myself sometimes, and by sometimes I basically mean all the time that I'm alone. Although, obviously, I'm just talking to Kini the whole time, whether or not she's in the room...ahem.

Yesterday I uttered the following brilliant lines:

"Why is my cardigan in the wok?"
I'm still not actually sure why my cardigan was in the wok.

"Oh! It's a potato! I thought it was a really hard grape!"
I don't know how I came to possess  such a tiny, green potato.

For the record, I say some weird shit even when I'm not just talking to myself. 
I think my friends could happily vouch for that.

Life Disappointments

The label on my dark brown cardigan says 'Chocolate', but it's not.

Further Farce

It is, I think, commonly understood that my life is pretty huge farce. Today was no different, just another ride on the farce train.

I didn't sleep well, so rolled out of bed and decided to head into town.
A spot of shopping later and a couple of huge bags of fruit & veg in the car I made my way home, as I drove down my street I noticed something in the road, just a short distance from my home. I parked up and wandered back to find a collared dove sitting in the gutter. 
It made no effort to fly away so I gathered it up in my cardigan and carried it home.  
As I got to my front door, I noticed a large box - I'd been sent flowers!
I love being sent flowers and it doesn't happen nearly often enough sadly!
So there I am, dove under one arm, trying to unlock the door with the other hand and then also trying to take in the flowers, with my tennis elbow screaming that I've made a poor decision.
I make it inside, I thank goodness that I happen to have an empty box in the conservatory from a delivery yesterday and in goes the dove to recuperate.
I carry the flowers through into the house, make it to the lounge where Kini has decorated the carpet with partially digested cat biscuits.
Awesome.
There's nothing I like more than when my cat has guffed everywhere.
On top of this, Kini was apparently livid that I'd had the audacity to leave the house and thus leave her alone, so she yelled at me almost continually until I fussed her (after I'd sternly advised her that if she hadn't guffed everywhere then I wouldn't be still ignoring her!)

Cheese on toast with mushrooms and pickle for lunch, before popping off to the doctor to get my beloved injection of Vitamin B12. 
I love my B12 injection so much, it's like coming back to life after being utterly exhausted.

After that...I went and collected my Dad, who's finally home after his accident on December 23rd.
He still has memory loss and needs carers to visit thrice daily, but hopefully his being back in his own home will give him his confidence back and he'll get his brain working again!
It'll take time, but he's just thrilled to be sleeping in his own bed tonight.
 

Veggie Love

As I'm a vegetarian, I love vegetables, but it's wonderful to see that they love me back:

Isn't that adorable?!
I had a heart shaped mushroom once too. 
But I ate it.

A Wee Haunting

In the midst of a busy day yesterday I went out for lunch, afterwards I excused myself to go to the loo.
There were three empty cubicles, so I chose one and went in.
I was sitting there, completely alone, when the hand dryer turned on.
Did I mention that I was alone?
That I was behind a closed door, some way away from the hand dryer.
I may have been freaked out.
I may have completed my wee in turbo time.
I went out and there was no one there, the hand dryer had turned off, but I had not finished freaking out.
It's definitely my first experience with a haunted hand dryer and hopefully my last!

Going Dark

I knew there was something I had to today.
It was bugging me all day that there was something I mustn't forget.
But I forgot.
I've since remembered....
And now there's just 10p left on my electric meter.
I should have remembered to top-up.
I miss living in a home where you just paid by direct debit instead of a ruddy card meter.
I find myself wondering when it's all going to go very dark.
A sensible person would find a torch, just in case, but you see, I am not a sensible person.
So if it all goes dark before I make it to bed, the first words out of my mouth will be "I wish I'd got a torch out".
I'm going to climb the apples and pears and see how long that 10p will last!
It's very exciting isn't it? Or not.

Laughter

I was discussing with someone the kinds of laugh we all have, from the polite chuckle to the full belly laugh that you can't hold back until it takes on a life of its own and which you are powerless to stop.
In discussing that I was reminded of a couple of incidents and as I'm getting back to my blog world I had to come back with a chuckle or two.

A few weeks ago my niece, Chloe, and I decided to have a picnic. We couldn't decide where to go but eventually opted to chill out by the river at Newark Castle which also meant a quick trip for delicious goods from Waitrose. So we picked up some goodies, laid down a blanket and munched.
After a while, upon realising I was the second oldest person in the entire park I thought about jumping into the river to end it all but my fear of water saved me. Then Chloe realised that made her the third oldest.
At this point the snort of laughter was released.
After a couple of hours of lounging we got ready to head home, gathered up our food remnants and started to pick up the blanket. That was when we noticed it.
A piece of chocolate cake, or rather the mousse part of a very delicious slice of chocolate & raspberry cake.
But this piece. It didn't look like cake.
It looked like someone had taken a tiny, perfectly formed poo in the corner of our blanket.
Chloe and I made eye contact, looking from each other to the chocolate poo.
We knew it had to be moved.
Laughter ensued.
The blanket could not be folded with chocopoo in the corner.
I started to head towards what can only be described as the donkey laugh.
I found a tissue and reached for the chocopoo.
I didn't get it all, now it looked like a really sticky chocopoo.
At this point the laughter had reached hysterical.
There were tears.
There was pain.
There was a serious inability to breathe.
And a serious concern about bladder control.
And the donkey laugh was full blown. Eeyore on ecstasy.
Snorting. Squeaking. Squealing.
Desperately trying not to draw even more attention to ourselves. Although it might have been too late for that.

I cannot even begin to think of chocopoo without the giggles setting right back in.

Clean Up In Aisle 5

After Harriet and I spending the majority of our recent lives readying her shop for opening, we decided we needed a day off and possibly a spot of retail therapy.
By retail therapy I mean a desperate hunt for hair dye in order to address the inches of roots on my noggin in a shade I dislike.
So there we are, having a brief wander around the delights of the local JTF warehouse. I have tracked down the necessary bleaching agents for my locks and we're browsing. Harriet wanders off to look at toys, I glance at the trolley and there's a gaping hole where my handbag should be.
Both hands fly to my face. I am completely frozen as the thoughts run through my head, "my car keys are in there", "all my money is in there", "how will I get home", "how will I get in my home", etc., etc.
I managed to emit a strangled "Harriet" whilst obviously looking like I'm about to pass out.
She dashes over (as well as a woman with a week left till she brings forth a child into the world can dash).
I'm not sure I've blinked and manage a sort of quiet wail of "my bag's gone". She immediately starts to walk away, before turning back and ordering me to start walking up and down the aisles to look for it.
I did a dance not unlike that which accompanies desperation for the toilet. For some reason panic totally disrupts any kind of thought process and the decision of whether to head left or right to begin my search seemed impossible.
I finally began my slow walk down the aisles.
A tannoy noise sounded, my imagination let me believe they were going to issue some sort of code word for 'thief in store'. But they just called a member of staff to the barrier. Quite disappointing and not the red alert I'd imagined.

Several aisles later, more thoughts of "how will I get Harriet home? She's too pregnant to walk!" and "oh my god the keys to everything are in that bag" and there sits my bag on a shelf. Waiting patiently. Just where I'd placed in order to partially scale the shelving in order to reach something too high up.
Ah how clear your memory is after the fact.
I rang Harriet. I explained the fact I am a twat and she came on back to me where I stood shamefaced and more than a little covered in a film of cold sweat.
She suggested that we go sit down and get a drink.
I suggested I go to the loo as I was either going to wet myself or throw up.
Equally pleasing events for a day out.
She then tells me that the tannoy announcement that asked for someone to do the barrier was the red alert I'd imagined.
They'd closed the barrier meaning no one could exit the premises.
So even though I'm clearly an idiot, it was a little bit exciting causing havoc.
But I promise to try and control myself, and my handbags, in future.
Well at least for this week.
Or tomorrow.

Batter vs Pastry

This is a totally random debate that has been raging for weeks and weeks now, amongst my family, friends and random strangers that get drawn into it.

So the question is: Which is the better food, batter or pastry?

Both can be sweet and savoury.
Both work as starters, mains and desserts.

Batter brings us pancakes. Maybe you like a crepe with a banana and chocolate filling or perhaps a cheesy roasted vegetable filling. What about Yorkshire pudding? Toad in the hole? Then of course there's the batter that goes around the fish in our wonderful English fish & chip shops. Weirdly I miss the batter, not the fish, as a vegetarian. Although I suppose you can still get that batter on a Mars Bar, I've never tried that and I intend never to try it. Tempura batter is another one...

But pastry opens the world of quiches. Banoffee pie.
There's shortcrust, filo, choux and puff. I adore a pie made with puff pastry and I would hate to have a life without chocolate eclairs. I made these superb feta and spinach filo triangles a while ago and they were delicious!

Now it's time to help answer this (very important) question:

So, which gets your vote? Batter or Pastry?
	Batter?
	Pastry?
pollcode.com free polls

A Peek Inside My Mind

I was laying in the bath earlier this evening, I'd left my PC running through my collection of mp3's and as I laid there I thought to myself "I'm sure I don't have Cotton Eye Joe on mp3". Then I realised it was Loaded by Primal Scream.
Because those songs exactly alike.
Or not.
I think I might have stood near to too many speakers at too many gigs.

I like to have candles around me when I bathe. It makes for a relaxing environment. What's less relaxing is having one candle piss wax all over the carpet. Especially when you're meeting your landlord for the first time in three years in a few days.

I love water. Cold, cold water. I have no reason for saying that, other than the fact I'm really thirsty and am going to have a big pint of cold water any moment.

I also really love how soft baby oil makes your skin feel. Again there's no reason for sharing that either. It was just a thought running through my mind.

I'd give a telepath SUCH a headache.

Oh and that mean Twitter? Yeah, it is keeping my account suspended it seems.
It would appear I got caught up in this spam invasion as I had the exact same tweet appear on my list of tweets. Still despite being one of thousands affected it's bloody frustrating!

I think I've become addicted to MicroDermabrasion. I keep thinking about when I can do it next. I'm currently at alternate days, but I'm worrying about my (full) pot of cream/lotion/potion becoming empty.
Must consider more important world crises....

Bad Hare Day

On Wednesday I headed over to my barn, as I went to open the huge sliding door, I squealed and jumped back as I noticed a bloody great hare had died and was leaning up against the barn door.
As I started to move the door I realised the eyes of the dead hare were staring up at me and tried desperately to ignore them.

When I returned to the barn on Thursday I hoped desperately that something would have carried off the dead hare during the night. But no, there it lay, eyes still staring up at me.
I just cannot bear dead animals, I start to get cold sweats and feel nausea.
It didn't help that the movement of the door made the hare wobble about.
As I went to leave the barn I decided to look in the opposite direction and just slam the door as hard as possible, ignoring wobbling dead hare.
I grabbed the handle and pulled hard to slam the door.
The door ground to a sudden halt as it was half shut at the same time as a loud snapping noise rang out.
I told myself not to look, but glanced down anyway.
The legs of the dead hare had jammed the door and snapped. Now the hell what was I supposed to do?
Obviously I rang Harriet, did the well renowned dance of the grossed out girl and squealed a bit.
Whilst Harriet was on the phone for moral support, I slowly dragged the door shut and with it the body of the hare.
I can't even begin to tell you how this makes me shudder. It's just nasty, nasty I tell you!

When I got home, I spoke to my neighbour and pleaded for help.
He came back with me and moved Mr Hare to a much better resting place.
I expressed surprise that he was able to move it so easily and I wished I hadn't when he said "it was actually pretty stuck in there". Eugh.

Why is it that I feel like the only person that ever got a hare stuck in their door?
Which sounds like a euphemism.

Jumble's A Dog

I went to see my friend Harriet today, she was ready to leave when I arrived but I resisted and urged her to chop my hair before we left. After a brief panic and my assurances I was sure it would be fine, she dutifully trimmed the back of my hair, I just can't do that part myself, no matter how I try.
I asked for the dustpan to clear it up and she refused, assuring me she was coming home to hoover the whole downstairs and she'd just do it then.
So off we went, when I returned her home, she went off to collect her son from school.
Apparently on returning home from school, her son wandered into the house, pointed at the remnants of my hair on the floor and said "What happened? It looks like Jumble ate Stephanie!"

Psychopath

Some time ago, a friend of mine put this question to me and I didn't hesitate with the answer, which apparently makes me a psychopath. But don't be afraid.
Maybe I just have a brain that works laterally.
Or maybe I'm a psychopath.
If I am, I'm a gentle one. If such a thing exists?
Anyway, I babble. As usual. Here is the question:

This is a story about a girl.
While at the funeral of her own mother, she met a guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much the dream guy that she was searching for that she fell in love with him immediately.
However, she never asked for his name or number and afterward could not find anyone who knew who he was.
A few days later the girl killed her own sister.

Question: Why did she kill her sister?

First, find your own answer to this question.

Then, check out this link for the answer.

Naturally, you have to let me know if you're a psychopath or not... I have to know if I'm in good company. Or bad company. Whichever.
So, leave me a note in the comments... go for it.
Are you a psychopath?

It does! Or is it just me?

Five A Day

I'm not sure how universal the five a day principle is; the idea that we need to eat 5 portions of fruit & veg a day to maintain a healthy diet. Being a vegetarian that's just fine by me!
However, I was reading an article earlier on which is a little alarming.

One in ten parents believe fruit flavoured sweets count towards a child's five a day. Double that think chips count.

One in five parents think spaghetti hoops and orange squash constitute a portion too.

One in five parents also believed that oranges and bananas did not count as a portion!

That's scary right?
Well, it gives me the fear, but then I was the only kid I knew that ate kohlrabi, so maybe I had a vegetable head start!