Working Wednesday

Tomorrow brings another day in London.

After checking that I've turned all things hot, electrical or gas powered off, instructed Recaro on the items that need to be packed in Ellie's nappy bag and assured him her lunch/dinner bag is ready to go, I'll dash out of the house to catch my train.

Here's a few highlights of the journey I'll be taking. Just before crossing the river, my train takes me past the Battersea Dogs & Cats Home. They've got a few buildings around here and I sometimes see them training some of the working dog breeds in the yard between these arches.

If I was sat on the other side of the train, I'd see the derelict Battersea Power Station. No one knows what to do with the Battersea site. It's contaminated land and has a listed building power station in the middle of it. Even though it's in central London and on the River Thames, I'm not sure it'll ever get developed.

Once I get into Victoria , my bus takes me past 'Little Ben'. I think this is one of those 'invisible' landmarks of London - you don't notice it until someone points it out to you. There are plans afoot to revamp a big part of Victoria. This clock will be taken away while the work goes on and then brought back again after all the heavy duty building work is finished.Here I am on the bus. The bus is empty - which means I took the photo last Friday when I went into work late. I'm far more stressed out and cross when I travel in early, but I think you can still see my frown lines between my brows.

This is a another picture of the New Zealand War Memorial on Hyde Park Corner. It was Anzac day last week , so you can see all the newly laid wreaths. Sadly I missed out on the Anzac biscuits that an Australian woman brought into the office. She's a cookie baking fiend, so I hope to get another chance to eat these when she organises a charity bake-off.In their crazed optimism about the British weather, the park keepers at Green Park have already started setting out the deck chairs. It poured down with rain today, so I'm not sure they've made much money so far this year. It costs something like £3 to use a deck chair for an hour. Bonkers. I'd sit on the grass and save my cash for buying some M&Ms at Disneyland one day...Or perhaps I'd save my money for buying an ocean going yacht. He he. I think ocean going yachts are just rich people's equivalent of caravanning. And as far as I know, there isn't a kitsh yachting equivalent to an Airstream caravan, which means that yachts are not cool. (See how I just saved myself loads of money and still sounded superior and snotty).

I jump off the bus shortly after the yacht shop and head into work where I get myself a coffee, raid the biscuit box for fig rolls and swipe a banana from the fruit box before everyone else gets to them first.

I take a random approach to my London posts. If there's anything you'd especially like to see or know, just say and I'll do what I can to oblige.

I nearly burnt the house down

I am so ashamed of myself. Yesterday afternoon, I left a pan on the hob and then left the house for an hour.

After shopping and collecting Ellie I got home to discover the neighbours had called the fire brigade. My neighbour took my housekeys as I was getting out of the house and he opened the front door. After I'd handed Ellie to my sister-in-law for some emergency babysitting, I raced straight into the house to turn the hob off.

I was followed almost immediately by a fireman in breathing apparatus. It's an odd thing - nothing was going to stop me going in the house to rectify my mistake.

And then I stood outside the house trying to calm down while the firemen checked the place over, before going to have a cup of tea with SIL. Ellie thought she was in heaven - she was playing with a miniature tea set. I was so relieved that I hadn't got upset in front of her.

Thank God for good neighbours. The house was full of smoke - there's a tang of acrid in the air - but no damage done. Apart from to the saucepan. When I'm feeling brave enough I'll take a photo of the pan. Until then, I'm still recovering my equilibrium.

Everyone (even the firemen) is telling me it's the easiest mistake to make, but I still feel like a dumb, distracted, klutz.

The thing I continue to discover is that as hard as I try, I'm still making new mistakes and I don't always learn from other people's. Dammit.

And the sun shone

When the sun shines, the English (and Scots and Welsh too - they aren't proud either) go outside for as long as possible to sit, to eat and to drink beer.

It's traditional.

As I'm a very lucky girl, we did our errands first thing and had plenty of time to go to our closest pub for a fish and chip lunch, eaten out of paper on the beach.

Once we'd eaten, we polished off a couple of beers too. We reminisced about the times we've spent on the beach as just a couple and relished the life changes and delight brought about by having Ellie in the family.

I wish you could have been there. You'd have seen Ellie sleeping in her buggy and then getting up to play and stagger about on the shingle.

In a concession to diet and to Ellie's lunch I didn't eat all my chips but saved some for her to eat along with mushy peas once she woke up. I don't like mushy peas myself - bleurgh. It's possible that Ellie hoped it was guacamole (this would explain why she didn't eat much of it!)

The cod and chips went down a treat though. We don't often eat take away chips. These were from V C Jones - also known as Meaty Jones. All the fish and chips are fried in lard. This makes them very tasty, but a bit of challenge for most people's guts.

After that we rolled back to the High Street to collect my bike. We had got it fitted with a child's seat so that I can start to get some exercise with Ellie in tow.

We gave her a choice of a Dukes of Hazard number or a pink one with white daisies. She pouted and smiled with satisfaction at choosing the flowery lid. Yet again I crumble in the face of the pink conspiracy.

I took this photo while pushing the buggy. Ellie cheerfully waving and crying out, 'Hello! Hello!" I think she likes the bike ride experience.

I've got a great big wicker basket that I can put on the handle bars. If the weather's any good tomorrow this might be her mode of transport for going to her childminder's house.

I love these little adventures. We cycled to church this morning. All the way there, I could hear her giggling and chuckling behind me.

Marylebone High Street

London has taken up a lot of my time this week. Work started off with a disaster on Monday, but by Friday things were a lot better - though frantic in other ways.

The worst of it was not spending time with Ellie. However, Recaro and Ellie have been getting on great. I can see that she's far more willing to hold his hand when out walking and will look to him for cuddles in a way that she didn't always before.

I'm a bit behind in blogging. I've got loads of ideas that I need to work on, but I did at least get out on Wednesday at lunchtime to check out the quality of window shopping on Marylebone High Street.

For those of you that don't know it, this road connects up to Oxford Street, but quite frankly is a world away from London's main shopping street. Marylebone is very central, but somehow has a small town village quality in a very up-market way. It has a number of boutiques and interesting food shops. There are chains like Shoon and Saltwater, but these are smaller chains and I'm not sure where else they have outlets.

I was very excited when I discovered Shoon. The clothes were beautiful. When I'm feeling a little more flush, I'm coming back here for a major trying on session. These are clothes I want to wear.

Marylebone High Street is a relatively expensive place to shop, but I think has what it takes to make me feel more original, better dressed and stylish than if I stuck to Gap, Next or Zara. (I need all the help I can get - I don't have the knack for going to Primark or a charity shop and finding anything I like or that fits.)

Even the Waitrose is smarter than the average supermarket. I took a photo of its street clock - I love street clocks. How helpful is that to someone on a lunchtime shopping expedition? Very considerate.

Marylebone also has a number of great restaurants. The Providores is one that really stands out for me. It's tapas style but with an antipodean edge. Downstairs is informal with some shared tables. It's fantastic for breakfast, is great for lunch and I've heard good reviews of its restaurant upstairs for evening meals.

Another restaurant just off the High Street is Relais de Venise. This place only serves steak and frites - French style. Apparently it's brilliant so I'm trying to persuade my team mates that we should try it next time we all go out together.

I didn't have time to check out the home furnishings shops. There's the Conran Store at the top of the road and loads of others.

For the creative types among you, there are some excellent haberdasheries here too. I don't think you'll ever see a wider selection of fancy ribbons and braid on one street.

I don't think my photos do the place justice. If anyone can make any other good restaurant recommendations in the area, let me know. I'm hoping there's going to be few good lunches over the summer and I need to know where to go.

The Baby in the Mirror

I had some reservations about this book by Charles Fernyhough. I thought a man would write too objectively about the development of his daughter and would fail to acknowledge the impact she had and continues to have on his life.

I thought he would be more interested in pursuing his research and academic goals.In fact all the technical cortex-schmootex stuff in the early chapters did make my eyes glaze over. But I persevered - or should I say skipped past all of that - and by about half way through I discovered that Charlie is giving himself over to simply telling a wonderful story about his daughter's developing mind.

A student could find the book a helpful guide to putting loads of different research into context. It's probably more likely to be aimed at someone like me who wants to understand more about their own child's development.

He uses her story to illustrate the findings of various researchers and philosphers. He is something of a house husband, writing at home while his wife lectures. His daughter goes to nursery 2 or 3 days a week. In my eyes I see him as his daughter's principal carer though he sees himself having 'daddy days' for just 2 or 3 days a week. 

During the course of the book the family move from northern England over to Australia for a six month sabbatical. His wife gets pregnant and miscarries. Inevitably these real life events draw you in. His consideration of how children see themselves in relation to the world, people and time are inextricably linked to his and his wife's parenting decisions.

• How (much) do you tell a child about their lost brother or sister?
  
• How long can/should you protect them from death?
  

Their self doubt is endearing - mostly because I recognise it in mine and Recaro's discussions about bed times, tantrums and controlled crying.

The miscarriage is a tough part to read. But it does offer some interesting thoughts on how to deal with death. Small children struggle to understand the duality of body and spirit so even atheist parents can find merit in telling small children there is a heaven when someone special dies. This helps them understand someone has gone without scaring them half to death with the fear of someone precious being buried underground or burnt. (Shocking to think some people might regard their 'truth' to be so much more important than a small child's comfort).

A big theme in the book is about the significance of story telling. Stories illustrate a child's development in terms of imagination, metaphor, jokes, ability to lie, take control, making up rules, mirroring and so on.

So while a small child might first tell a random story or word as a joke, their ability to tell a joke will develop along with their language skills.

Imaginative play ( say using a spoon as if it is a brush) shows them thinking about using objects to tell a story about the experience of hair brushing.

There can often be an overlap between understanding other people's emotions are separate from themselves and developing empathy for others. So if mummy is upset or grieving a child will worry if its their fault. Their empathy for another's sadness will coincide with their feeling that the world IS all about them.

He also considers whether his book is exploitative or might later embarrass his daughter. If you have read a particular Candian newspaper recently you'll appreciate what a hot topic this is.

Well Charlie comes to the conclusion that a toddler is a very different person from the older child or adult that person willl become. There's a lifetime of personal experience, memory and reflection to accumulate and that will allow for significant distance from any writing about the child in its early years.

"Perhaps she is simply proving that the things that matter to you when you are small are not the same things that matter when you're bigger. Or perhaps I am learning that not everything that is valuable in life takes the shape of a memory... That doesn't mean that it (the book) wasn't worth doing."

So even if she reads the book one day and objects or quibbles about details "it's her word against mine, her story against my story. The point is, there's a story. In a way, that's all I've been trying to say."

And on that note - I think we can conclude that Charlie is alright. He gets the parenting gig. Her story is his story too and sees his behaviour, life and attitudes reflected in her (sometimes dimly and sometimes with startling clarity). That's true for all of us I think.

So here's a game. Here are some questions you might have the opportunity to ask a 3 year old. It's not a quiz or a test and don't think you should ask them all at once, but they might net you some interesting responses:

• Where do dreams come from?
  
• Tell me a joke? (Will you get an abstract idea, a story, a dream or an attempt to repeat an adult's joke?)
  
• Do you remember being smaller?
  
• Ask them to draw a lollipop on a stick and a balloon on a string. A while later ask them to tell you about their drawings. Will they recall their creative intention?
  
• Ask if they remember a specific event 6 months ago? (Do they rememember a feeling, an object, a person)
  
• Ask them to imagine doing a specific thing in 6 months time. How might they remember today?

I look forward to reading about any good answers.

This post was brought to you entirely by Blackberry. My poor thumbs! At least I made good use of my commute home.

Working Wednesday

Again, I'm at work in London - a long long way from my little lovely. Posting a photo of Ellie looking incredibly cute goes some way to satisfying the Ellie-shaped hole in my heart that I'm feeling right now.

What's worse, is that I'll be working in London again tomorrow. It's quite possible that since putting her to bed last night (Tuesday) at 8.30pm, I might not see her awake until Friday morning at 6.30am.

Gulp.

Thank heavens for photos. And a husband who knows how to play, bath, feed, put to bed and dress our darling daughter. If anyone's husband out there isn't pulling his weight right now, you can tell them about Recaro. He cooked dinner last night too after he got home from work in time to play with a tantruming/over-tired daughter.

Of course, he's trying to persuade me that we should get a dog and that I should buy him a boat.

Not a chance. Ha ha.

Knives! Tea bags! Whistling!

See what happens when you leave me alone for a day or two. All of a sudden my blogging ability is running riot with outbreaks of exclamation marks!! and random title ideas.

I'll wrestle this blog back under control if. it's. the. last. thing. I. do.

Okay. Now I've got it pinned down. All I need to do now so is get through my back log of memes. Other blogs are giving away exciting goodies - I'm just here telling you stuff about ME. Who could ask for more?

Saralynn - the Happy Baker - tagged me for a Six Word Memoir. The rules are as follows:

1. Write your own six-word memoir.

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.

3. Link to the person who tagged you in your post.

4. Tag five more blogs with links.

5. Remember to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

So here's the memoir: Laughing loving mother. Adventurous sassy woman.

And an illustration to accompany the first part of the memoir at least:

And I've also been tagged by Cajunchic at The Simple Cajun Life (though if you ask me, her life is anything BUT simple). If she can find time to blog, then I can find time to get through my memes.

So here are the rules:

1. Post 3 random things about yourself.

2. Link to the person who tagged you in your post.

3. Tag at least 5 other bloggers.

4. Let them know you've tagged them by commenting on their blog with an invite to participate.

Here's some very random things about me;

1. I'm clumsy. Especially with kitchen knives. Right know I have two cuts healing up. I'm not a self harmer, but if you saw my hands right now I could forgive you for wondering. In case you wonder - I wax my legs. There's no such thing as a safety razor.

2. I listen to weird bits of advice. Like my aunt telling me that used tea bags can stop bleeding. My uncle is on blood thinning drugs, so any shaving nicks can get way out of control. It really works. I can't remember what the active ingredient is, but if you ever you get an annoying paper cut that won't stop (and you don't want to cover your hands in plasters) try putting a wet, used tea bag on it. It stops the bleeding as if by magic. I'm almost looking forward to the next time Recaro cuts himself shaving... (just kidding).

3. I can't abide whistling. I think it's an abomination and one of the rudest things people can do. Co-workers, husband and many others think this is nutty. Including random strangers who I ask to stop whistling. It's got a lot to do with my mum telling my brother it was rude to whistle. Maybe he was whistling in an inappropriate place. Nonetheless, the feeling stuck. I find the noise really irritating and it bugs me that there's a tune going on in someone's head and I have to hear their awful accompaniment. I used to work next to a guy who would whistle as soon as it was past 5.30pm. He believed he only had to comply with my no-whistling directive during official work hours. It was okay though. I soon ran him off the premises and he's not come back since.

Tagging?

You know what. I'm not going to tag on this occasion. There are some really great posts going on around us right now. What I believe at The Natural Mommy (not that I agree with her - but isn't that part of the blogging fun?) and Eight Windows at I invented Motherhood to name just two and I don't want to get my tag in the way of someone else's well written, inspiring post. And of course we are just a post or two away from Reluctant's 100th post - which I'm looking forward to because I've asked her at least 14 questions and can't wait to read her answers. Also I haven't finished discovering the new blogs that Working Mum is enjoying. There's so much to read, comment on as well as laugh, cry, sigh and awww at. And that's before I've seen what Amanda's only gone and done now...

But just wait, because next time I might just throw a tag your way.

Hyperactivity in the adult male

Boys on a train can be easily bored. If you also factor in the excitement of going to France, playing golf with your mates, and the channel tunnel train, it's inevitable they will find a game to play.

Check out the video of what Recaro stood by and filmed his mates doing on the train. 

It was shortly after the first running man started taking his clothes off that an announcement was made; 'Would the people on carriage 23, lower deck, please start acting their age'.

Amazingly, this announcement had great effect and they got back in the car and calmed down. 

Or at least that's what I've been told.

The Baby in the Mirror

I have a whole new book to read. It makes me feel quite giddy with the excitement of discovery. Also it was a freebie from my sis-in-law. Given my ability to fritter my money away on presents for Ellie and other small people this comes as a relief. Sometimes (err always?) it feels like cash is just flowing away from me.

The book is The Baby in the Mirror, by Charles Fernyhough.

I know. A book about babies written by a man. Already my cynicism, scepticism and negative stereotypes are firing up and I'm getting ready to take a few cheap pot shots at any naive, glib or pompous assumptions. But that would be my female chauvinism at work, wouldn't it?

I'm going to try and get a grip on these less attractive lines of thought and give it my best shot. My mind is open and I'm going to see what there is to discover.

It should be interesting - it's all about a child's development and growing sense of self awareness between the ages of birth to three years old. Since this covers the terrible twos, I'm hopeful that I'll gain some useful insight into what Ellie might be thinking and feeling and therefore have a clue about what I might do in response.

I've only read the first chapter and I think it bodes quite well. He's a lecturer and researcher in developmental psychology, so I'm expecting him to be quite thoughtful in his approach. He's written the book following the birth and first three years of his own daughter. So he does have some recent, first-hand experience. This isn't all clinical research.

Already it feels like stepping into an alternative world. The first chapter sets the scene of his research and the birth of his daughter. He has a rather intense (on his part) and amusing (her part) conversation with his daughter where he asks her what she remembers of her life as a baby. This serves to illustrate how children only start to see the world subjectively from about the age of two and a half. He does confirm that his life did alter when she came into his world. However, he doesn't once talk about caring for her, being responsible for her, loving her.

I'm not saying he doesn't feel any of these things. I just find it odd to read a book about children, by someone who has had a child for the first time, to not acknowledge the impact this new person has had on their lives.

Is it a fatherhood thing? He says having her was like bringing his work home with him - albeit in a very positive, fascinating way. I get the feeling his life and focus shifted - whereas most women writing a semi-academic/non-fiction book like this would describe their life and focus to have changed (in both positive and negative ways).

In writing the book, he seems to have the ability to hold the experience of fatherhood at a short remove from the task of research and observation.

It's a curiously male perspective. I'm definitely going to read this book. It might tell me useful things about Ellie, but I'm hopeful it might tell me more about fatherhood and men's ability to compartmentalise their life and work.

If I'm very lucky, I might even see some of my own prejudices overturned. And if I do, I'll share them with you. 

Another strangely lush adventure

Recaro took the day off work and went to France for the day to play golf with his mates. I don't mind at all.  I might even have to encourage such events.

1. His preparations included tidying up the office so that he could find any stray golf kit.

2. His cleaning frenzy extended to the living room. 

3. He was in a really good mood. It was like Christmas Eve last night he was so excited.

4. He'll be back by 10pm but knew he was going to have so much fun and since I wasn't going to be there, he made me book a facial, so that I had some time to myself that I would enjoy.

Although I usually try and get chores and errands done on Friday, so that we have a good family weekend - I've not done any of that today. We'll shop together instead. 

This means that today could be all about local history, shopping and lunch. You can come too, just guess where we are going first. Here's a clue:

Okay. That wasn't that helpful, but I liked the photo. It's Canterbury - one of the UK's five centres of Christianity. I think the others are places like Iona and Lindisfarne and maybe York (can't remember the last one).

I hope you've noticed this particular gargoyle is a scary female one. It's odd to see aggressive breasts, isn't it? There's a phd thesis on that subject somewhere. 

But before we got to Canterbury, Ellie and I had a tussle over the car keys. I let her drive. Duck navigated.

Which was all a bit hopeless because we ended up at Blean Farm Shop. It was time for me to take over the driving if we were going to stick to the plan.

After parking at the unpronouceable St Radigund's* car park (I love the name), I follow my nose to the Cathedral.

This is the building with the gargoyles. It's next to a very tacky leather jacket shop - I've cropped the photo. I didn't want to show you the things that displease me.

Take a peek in the window at Babylove. A fabulous, if pricey, children's clothes shop. This is great for boys clothes because they don't always involve applique patches of tractors and dinosaurs.

We are nearly at the Cathedral now. Here's the Sun Hotel. Charles Dickens apparently made this hotel famous by either staying here or writing about it. Mind you, he didn't make it that famous. I only read the plaque on the wall about this when I took the photo. 

There's also a shop over the road from here which sells very lovely, very expensive Orla Kiely handbags. I can sometimes be found drooling at the window, but I have not purchased one of these fine items yet. One day, my beauty, you shall be mine. 

At last, we are at the Cathedral gate. And a very fine gate it is too. Here are lots and lots of foreign students. Today the tourists appeared to be either French and young or Italian and old. The Italians were all dressed as if they'd got lost on their way to the ski slopes. It was a bit cold, but not fur cold. I think they just wanted an excuse to wear their fluffiest hats.
Voila.

The scaffolding at the back is where the stone is being cleaned up. I didn't take a photo of the clean parts of the Cathedral, because quite frankly, it all looked too new.

And no one goes to Canterbury to see a new cathedral, do they?

Here's the inside. The photo somehow makes it look very narrow, but honestly, it is pretty big.
Here's little lovely. She was very happy to get a run around inside. Because of increased security, I had to take the buggy around with us, but at least there were lots of French students on hand to lift the buggy up and down the numerous stone staircases for me.

I was quite committed to getting around the Cathedral, because I wanted to show you this.

No, not the gate, the altar behind it.

Isn't that a spooky altar.  I'll read up on what that's all about one day. Please don't have nightmares about this altar. 

As soon as we got outside, Ellie wanted to go back in again. But I wasn't in the mood to attempt all the steps and deal with the teenagers again.

Instead we went Ellie-shoe shopping in possibly the most old-fashioned shoe shop left in England. This tiny shop had masses of staff and shoe boxes lined the walls. I had to describe what I wanted and they'd bring back masses of boxes for me to look through. 

They didn't bother to display everything in the window - that would be a new-fangled, marketing-schmarketing thing to do. I don't think they hold with that sort of nonsense in these parts.

Luckily, they had a slide for Ellie to play with, but we didn't buy a thing. All the summer shoes were either ugly or really ugly. 

Next stop was lunch. We met the Style Queen and Bolly-boy. Style Queen had a daughter just three weeks ago but she'd left her at home with her maternity nurse. 

Yes, SQ is posh. I barely know which knife or fork to pick up first. This is why we go to Pizza Express so I can eat with my hands.
Within a minute of taking this photo, Ellie was asleep. Always a sign of a good day.

Have a lovely weekend everyone.

*Because we are all curious people; St Radegund lived from 518-587. She was the daughter of the King of Thuringia, whose assassination was avenged by the Frankish King Clotaire I. Clotaire had the twelve year old Radegund baptised and educated, and eventually married her. However, her ill treatment by the King, and his murder of her brother, compelled Radegund to leave him. She became a nun and went on to found the great nunnery of the Holy Cross at Poitiers, where she spent the last thirty years of her life.

Flashback Friday

Rewind a year and I recall giving Ellie her first messy, scruffy, painting playdate with our best pals The Guru and Little Om.

The Guru is a fantastic yoga teacher and supremely arty. I think she even has a fine art degree from Goldsmiths among her many achievements.

I think this had something to do with how she managed to keep Little Om - a very boisterous and mobile 7-month boy - pretty  clean. His hand and foot print paintings were really very classy.

Meanwhile, the strangelush gals had a rather more random time.

But at least when it was all over, she really knew how to chill out and enjoy her nap.

There was a time that I always knew when she was ready to sleep. Her arms would go up to her head, ready for her sleeping position.

Now? Well, now I'm getting away with deciding when she needs to nap and putting her in her crib when I think she - and I - need the break. It's said you can't bank sleep - but I've got a feeling the time will come when I'm really pleased I made the most her afternoon naps. 

This was my day

I did lots of good stuff today. I even met a deadline four whole days early. But you don't want to know about that. You want double decker buses. There's three at once, but not one of them was my number eight.

None of these were the old fashioned, jump on, jump off, routemasters though. These are new-fangled buses with automatic doors. Fortunately they aren't bendy buses. I'll post a photo of one of those crazy things another day.

Because I know some of you will have filed your US tax returns early enough to qualify for some free cash, I thought I'd get off the bus in fashionable Mayfair and take a walk up Bond Street.

So that you could spend you dollars in patriotic style, I checked out Ralph Lauren first. If you ask me he's getting frivolous, frilly and slightly 80's all in rebellion against the tougher economic climate in the noughties.


Just take a look at that top hat and ra-ra skirt ensemble. If that's not the stuff of 80's dreams/nightmares I don't know what is.
These old guys are found half way along Bond Street. During the middle of the day, tourists almost queue up to have their photos taken sat between FDR and Churchill. See how shiny FDR's arm and leg is. I think quite a few people have stroked that knee.
Eek. Not sure this is really going to help the hosiery department at Fenwicks.

After this, I'm afraid I had to go and do some work. It's okay though, I was super efficient.

At lunchtime I stayed on track and went out to get my glasses fixed. Apparently they aren't supposed to withstand the full weight of an 18-month old trying to punch your lights out. Isn't that silly?

I was going to the 20:20 Optical Store on Tottenham Court Road. This meant I had to walk through Fitzrovia. What a great name for an area. Very George the first, second, third and fourth. (My knowledge of this period of history isn't very good. I'm sure nothing too important happened during this time...)

This is upper Regent Street. Lots of crane and church spire action going on here. Peeking just around the corner at the end of the road is the home of BBC radio and the World Service.
Over the tops of the roofs, you can see the Post Office Tower. There used to be a revolving restaurant at the top and down in the basement there's a royal mail train service. All very secret agent. 
I went for a very indulgent burger and fries at Hamburger Union. It was so tasty. Much better than I ever remember McDonalds being - but, shall we say, a little bit more expensive.

After collecting my repaired glasses (done for FREE! because I bought them from there last year) I headed back to the office. I thought to myself, I'll keep my camera switched on just in case I see something interesting.

And then I saw John Hurt walking towards me.

All sorts of thoughts dashed through my head. Should I do some self and celeb photography? Should I just ask if I could take his photo? Clearly I spent far too long thinking about this because he disappeared into this hardware shop.

So I took a photo of his back for you. He's the one holding the blue IKEA bag. That's how cool JH is. He reuses IKEA bags. I try and use mine for beach picnics, he uses his for DIY supplies.

I know what you are thinking. I really should have tried harder about this. But I know the agonies I have gone through after harassing people for autographs. It's horrible. I feel so bad about making a complete idiot of myself. Taking a photo of John Hurt's back is definitely the best solution.
Please console yourself with a photo of Cavendish Square - which has secret underground parking below. Very handy for a spot of Oxford Street shopping.
And also consider the strangely lush plate and cup I bought for Ellie. And the very wonderful notebook for all my bloggy ideas. Isn't that colourful and non-workie?

Okay. I know you are getting tired now. You'll be wondering when I went home. Well I did catch my train - along with six mothers and their many children, happy meals, quiches, ham sandwiches, home made brownies. 

My threshold for family fun is so much higher than it ever used to be. Even so, I was delighted to make it into Whitstable. Here's the beach - this photo is taken from the train by the way.
This is the scooter that will take me from the station to home and family.
And this is one strangely lush mother who is really looking forward to seeing the love of her life and her beeeeyoootiful, funny, lovely and clever baby daughter.

Seasalter beach huts

I'm working in London again today. Boo hoo. Look what I'm missing.

These beach huts are very close to a very lovely restaurant that I think ALL of you would like. 

I'm going to name drop again now. Cover your ears. I once had a meal here with the same people who I ate with at Claridges where Alan A (CLANG) and Cate B (CLANG) saw me... when Bob Geldof (CLAAANG) and his missus showed up and were turned away. They would only give him a small bowl of olives and a drink.

 He hadn't booked. Sheesh. Some people, huh?

Just do it

At the start of this year I had great intentions for getting 'bikini-fit' by June. I say bikini-fit, but don't imagine any air-brushed gorgeousnous. More a case of 'if I lie down on the lounger will my tummy look flattish' and when I look at the photos, will I see muscle tone in my legs or just notice the cellulite?

The first six weeks went soooo well. I was running two or three times a week and doing sit-up/press-ups and other exercises every couple of days. In fact I was really starting to notice the difference. There was no big difference in weight, but my waist was definitely getting trimmer.

But then I started having bad thoughts. Along the lines of 'wow, this is achievable. All I have to do is keep up the exercise. For the rest of my life.'

That last bit really got to me. So I used the excuse of cold weather to stop my fantastic running efforts. As the no-exercise weeks have slipped by, I'm getting all bulgy again and I'm starting to wonder what happened to my motivation.

Clearly exercise does work for me. It makes me feel positive, more energetic, more confident that I'll be an active, enthusiastic mum for Ellie. It makes me feel sexier - and less likely to just loll around on the sofa (so not a good look).

I just have to tackle my fear of success and accept that I have to treat exercise as a fact of life. It's going to have to be another thing that I do. Just like the laundry, it's not going to go away and once it's done I will feel lighter and free to do the things I want. And sometimes, unlike the laundry, I'll even enjoy it.

I'm also going to read the health and fitness tips at From the cheap seats. Laskigal has garnered loads of good ideas to inspire me.

Today, I'm at work in the local office. No double-decker bus rides here. Instead I have my running kit because my local work day lunchtimes represent my main chance for running. Well. I've published this post now. I'm going to have to do it.

He he. It didn't happen. I walked to the sandwich shop instead. Mmmmm... lunch. Hope I have more will power next time.

These are not my feet

So I was waiting for the number 8 bus from Victoria up to Oxford Street, when I saw these blue tights and black shoes. The theatre over the road is showing 'Wicked'. I think a witch might have escaped. Think of the biker boots as a bonus pair of not-so-great footwear.

Here I share the pretty tulips of Grosvenor Gardens.

And the jumping wild cats of Grosvenor Gardens.

If you peek over the top of Buckingham Palace's garden wall, you can see the Queen's own tennis court.
At Hyde Park Corner, this is Apsley House. It used to be the home of the Duke of Wellington and once had the address, Number 1, London.


There's lots going on at Hyde Park Corner. This is Wellington Arch. A cycle path runs straight through it. On this side of the arch is the Australia War Memorial. On the other side is the New Zealand War Memorial.

Duke of Wellington. On his horse.
After Hyde Park Corner the bus turns onto Piccadilly. This road leads right up to Piccadilly Circus - London's version of Times Square, only not so big and with a statue of Eros in the middle (firing his arrow up Shaftesbury Avenue, but that's another story).

The bus turns off before Piccadilly Circus, but it does go past the other end of that lovely avenue of trees.

From here we go past Langan's (restaurant part owned by Michael Caine) and Nobu (an A-lister kind of restaurant) to arrive a Berkeley Square - where the nightingale's sing.

Then it's up Davies Street and past Vivienne Westwood's shop (I tried to take a photo but the bus was picking up speed). I did manage a lovely photo of the side entrance to Claridges Hotel. 

I've eaten at the Gordon Ramsay restaurant here just the once. The same night as Alan Alda and Cate Blanchett (separate tables for all of us I'm afraid). It was a fabulous meal.

Since then I've only made it back as far as the champagne bar. Happily someone else was subsidising the bill or else I'd still be in shock.

Armoured tanks and a shoot up

We were just going shopping, when we saw this.

 

It wasn't an invasion. Instead it was a reenactment group who like to take tanks, military police jeeps, army ambulances and army trucks to events around the country. It could have been worse - I know of at least one saxon/jurts renactment group who look like they've stepped out of Middle Earth. 

In fact it was forts day at Whitstable Castle (not a real castle, just a Victorian philanthropist's house built with crenellated roof tops and is now a community centre). A load of people were dressed up in WW2 uniforms and civvies for the fun of it. 

One of the presentations going on was all about the forts that you can see out in the sea from Whitstable.  The forts look like rusty sheds on stilts and are located on sandbanks out in the middle of Thames Estuary. They were built during WW2 to prevent German u-boats sneaking up the Thames and to provide artillary points to attack any Luftwaffe flying up the river.

All of this sounds sensible enough until you consider the poor guys who had to man these sea forts. During the day, they were sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe and could only hope they would avoid a bombing. At any point, a u-boat might have rammed into them, knocking them and their metal sheds into the ocean. And then at night, everything would have been pitch dark as the seaside towns would all be in black out.

Not surprisingly, serviceman at the forts demonstrated the greatest levels of mental illness and the highest level of absconding from duty. 

Incidentally, the tank is also located outside 'The Tank'. The Tankerton Arms pub has been closed for a number of years and is now split into flats. But during its glory days, it was one of the finest, most amazing pubs I've ever known.

It's as well it closed down. People who lived and worked there have confessed its closure probably saved lives. Even so, I still miss it. 

I have one more odd photo to share with you. Spring has most definitely sprung and the local asparagus season is getting closer and closer. I think asparagus is really odd stuff so I took a photo of  one of the first shoots emerging while we were at Mallards Farm. 

Recaro thinks this photo is really rude.

I think it's just an asparagus shoot. He he. 

The next Annika Sorenstam

You can't start these things too soon. Saturday was Ellie's first time at a putting green. We are working on her caddying skills first, but we've got some time to go before we start calling Nike for the sponsorship deal.

Golf is something that Recaro and I were into before we had Ellie. We are already hoping that we can encourage her interest in the game so that we can take her on golfing holidays.

Before you think we are complete golf nuts, I've got a maximum ladies handicap and Recaro only ever plays social golf. We aren't talking about sending her on tour at the age of 16 or anything.

It would mean short break holidays to the prettiest parts of Ireland and Spain. Who could argue with that?

Everyone's a winner

I love you guys. None of you, it seems, let under threes play (unsupervised or even, at all) with coloured pens. We are all as mean and control freakish as each other. I find that strangely reassuring.

Other decisions that I've made - following your good advice on an earlier post - include;

• Recarro and I are going to carry on taking Ellie along to the early morning communion service. It's where we want to be and noone is actually complaining. Being there is, quite simply, the only way for her to get used to church.

• I'm carrying on with the reusable nappies. They are going to inspire me to some very planned and well-considered potty training* sometime this summer. If I give up on them now, I'll only end up keeping Ellie in nappies longer than I need to.

I promised I'd dish out a Blog of Distinction award to the blogger who helps me out most with one or more of my current parenting issues. There could only be one winner and I'm delighted to confirm the award goes to Reluctant. Check out her most excellent shopping post. Not surprisingly, this is the second time she's been awarded Blog of Distinction.

But before anyone gets upset, I have more news of awards! Amanda has given this blog a You Cheer Me Up Award. Such a friendly award I think. 

I don't think there are many rules associated with this award. It's self explanatory. I'm passing this onto;

The more the messier - I defy anyone to read about tornado outfits and volcano cakes and not feel happier

From the cheap seats

Amanda

 

Saralynn

Reluctant

Working mum

Jakelliesmom

Hope this award cheers you up as much as it did me.

*Why do I do this to myself? Talk about setting myself up for a fall. I'm not going to get a medal for potty training Ellie early/quickly/easily. She'll be ready when she's ready. 

Fussy fussy

Tuna fish cakes and sauteed carrots and broccoli. I don't know about you, but I'd eat it.

In fact I did. I cooked enough for us both so that Ellie could see me eating exactly the same food.

Unfortunately that before photo is also the after photo. Well. At least she didn't throw it on the floor. 

She hasn't eaten many vegetables over the past few days so I did give her a sachet of pureed broccoli, pears and peas which she sucked on like a little astronaut.

She also ate some apple, but refused to eat any fromage frais. (So I ate that. Waste not, want not).

As a result, we generated an impressive pile of waste and washing up. Normally, I don't give second choices - I'm a mother, not a restauranteur, after all. Generally, my tactic is that if she doesn't want to eat, I send her off to play till the next meal time.

I always hope that Ellie will have at least two good meals a day - it's a way of reining in my own expectations and avoiding getting stressed out over uneaten meals.

If you have any tips or realistic ideas on what 18 -24 month old children can eat, PLEASE tell me. I'd like to stockpile a few ideas.

Poor man's stroganoff

Poor man's stroganoff is an ideal recipe for a Frugal Friday post. This sneaked an earlier appearance into some people's Google Reader, because there are still a few kinks in Blogger's scheduled post feature. Or I messed up, but let's face it, that's not likely. Much. 

By the way, I was interested to read ScrappySue's poll and subsequent comments about the merits - or not - of Blogger. If you want to bitch about Blogger, now's your chance.

Back to the recipe: instead of using expensive fillet beef, this uses rump steak. It does take longer to cook than the real thing - but it's a far easier recipe as a result. It allows me to cook the meal in phases - taking a break when I need to, such as giving Ellie a bath.

My inspiration was a Delia Smith recipe - but I've taken out all the fussy nonsense (frying strips of beef in batches - pah. I don't have time for that kind of crazy cooking).

 

Here we go, rump steak, portobello mushrooms, onion, creme fraiche, nutmeg, butter, white wine and rice.
Chop the onion in half rings. I got this wrong and ended up with an additional bowl of finely chopped onions. Very annoying.
After softening up the onion rings in a generous chunk of butter - don't let them burn - add the strips of rump steak. Let the beef brown all over. Delia says do this in strips - but as I said above... pah! - throw it all in at once, you want to eat, don't you?

Once all is nice and brown, add about 10ml of white wine. I used Gran Tesoro white wine from Tesco's. It costs less than £3 ($6) a bottle but is good, every-day-drinking wine. If that isn't a top tip for a frugal Friday, I don't know what is.

Turn the heat down to a gentle simmer, put the lid on the pan and go and do something else for one hour. Or do nothing. That's good too.
When the hour is up, slice the mushrooms and gently stir them into the beef and onions.

Simmer again for another half an hour. During this time, cook your rice. 

At the end of the cooking time, stir in a couple of tablespoons of creme fraiche - or more if you think it needs it. Add a grating of nutmeg.

Serve your stroganoff to your family and see their little faces light up. (Look closely, I think you can see at least one smiling face in this shot). 

It's all okay. Help has arrived.

After reading what a difference it made to Amanda when she got the cleaning and washing inspectors in, I was delighted to find a local specialist right here in town.

She's very thorough and really quite bright (though that might be because today, I embraced the pink... and orange... and red).
She really did her best to explain to Rose how the job should be done.
She's really got so much energy. Once her work was done, she packed her bag and yomped off. 
Hope she comes back next week. She was great.

Look no further - I've seen what you need

I thought a sartorial theme for Thrifty Thursday would be useful for those of you wanting to make sure you don't pick the wrong outfit next time you go shopping.

I was in London yesterday and took the opportunity to check out some perfect items for you and the man in your life. But first, walk with me from Victoria station to Bond Street:

At this time of day, there are only commuters at Buckingham Palace. Lizzie wasn't home (check out the Union flag on the flag pole - not the royal standard). I think she must be avoiding the London marathon this weekend which ends right at the end of her driveway.
And you thought parks were just for mums and children. They've just laid a new path in Green Park because the commuters were carving a new direct path anyway.
This is one of my favourite views in London. 
Ever wondered how big a diamond would be if it was as big as the Ritz...

At last - window shopping. First of all something for the man in your life. I really like Gucci's subtlety. That little star on the jacket - it could be your way of telling him-indoors that he's special too.
Next, at Miu Miu, they only make clothes for really beautiful women. So obviously I had you in mind. It takes a particularly stylish woman to handle this outfit - but you know, I think you could do it. And the children would think you were throwing them a circus and clowns party at the same time. Isn't that great?

Of course, you'll need a coat. Look no further than Burberry.

And for that Lindsey Lohan look, how about this super big bag to show off your tiny frame. It's very capacious, so don't you go filling it with all your mumsy stuff now. It wouldn't look so good with nappies and snacks spilling out the top.

 In case you can't see the glorious shiny tackiness of this bag, be assured it looks as expensive as a carry all from the pound shop. (I hope that's not going to get me sued!)

I couldn't hang around shopping all day, I had to go to work. I really would have liked to have bought one of these pretty teacups from Asprey. But it's not that kind of office.

At least I have the photo.

Eavesdropping is a delight

On my train journey home, a mum and 16 year old daughter sat next to me.

Since this is the London to Broadstairs line I was intrigued to see they had a massive bag of American candy with them. I spotted jujubles, junior mints, reese's peanut butter cups, pixy stix, jelly belly beans, daffy taffy and other delights "made with artificial ingredients". I considered running off with the bag, everything looked deliciously kitsch, but eavesdropped instead.

Their conversation ran along these lines;

Daughter: I'm going to that concert on saturday. (This appears to be a central London gig with a late finish)

Mum: I'll come and pick you up afterwards. 

D: No, I'll get a taxi and a train.

M: No I'll come and pick you up

D: Why? You don't have to.

M: You don't know how to deal with drunks and you won't be able to get a taxi.

D: Yes I do. I'm streetwise.

M: Yes, I know you think you are streetwise. 

D: I'll just tell Lizzie how uncool you are.

Mum barely raises an eyebrow to show how little this matters to her.

D: Lizzie's parents are letting her come back on her own.

M: (Disdainfully) Really.

D: So you'd leave Lauren at home for three hours

M: No. Granma will come over

D: (Exhasperated and outdone) Don't be so organised!

I swear I saw mum glow with happiness with this shocking insult.

Ssshhh.... they are sleeping

Tasty Tuesday: beach breakfast (and confessions of a slack mum)

I'm spending a lot of time at home this week - mixing up working at home with looking after Ellie. The childminder is on holiday and I'm getting into my stride as a SAHM.

Clearly, I'm quite a natural at this mothering lark, because by 8am she had refused her breakfast and I was already wondering how I was going to wear Ellie out enough so that she could go for a nap in the morning... and in the afternoon. After all, if she needs two sleeps it's got to be because she's had such a good time. Right?

Fortunately today is a gloriously sunny day. So by 8.30am we were out of the door and walking up the beach to town. I bought a newspaper, a coffee and a pain au chocolate for our breakfast picnic at Peter Cushing's View* and then onto the park.

Ellie can't refuse a pain au chocolate. She makes it look as though I haven't fed her for a week though, the way she jams into her mouth. My diet technique for the day was to only buy one croissant and let her have all that she wants of it. So I got none - a zero-calorie triumph for me.

Back at home, I decided to copy our fabulous childminder and encourage Ellie to sit down for juice and fruit while I read a story - four times. I tried picking up others, but What Colour is Love? is all that she wants. The repetition is good thing, isn't it? Maybe it's just because she likes the sound of my voice.

Though of course, I know why she likes me reading to her. That's when she knows she has all my attention. I'm not tidying up, cooking or .... dare I say it... blogging.

But then the time came when we both agreed it was time for her morning nap. How could I tell? I think it had something to do with how she wanted to launch herself down the stairs. 

The irony is that if I pay proper attention to playing and being with Ellie, she will get worn out and go for a sleep. Pleasure seems to bring its own reward. At least it does with this child. Today.

It's a funny old thing this motherhood. I love spending time with her and she makes me enormously happy. Yet I still love it when I get my own space back. And if she goes to sleep without tears (as she has done just now. Hurray.) then I don't feel guilty about it either. Although I do. Damn this maternal ambiguity.

*Peter Cushing was known for playing Dracula and other spooky parts in Hammer Horror films of the 70's - oh and he was in the first Star Wars too. He was a much loved local celebrity around town. The 'natives' of Whitstable (named after Whitstable native oysters) don't just think you have to be born here to 'belong' - it helps if you have your own personal Peter Cushing experience too. He said of himself, 'I'm a gentle fellow'. I think this is a lovely thing for any man to say of himself.

What's in your kitchen?

SaraLynn put out a challenge; 'what's in your kitchen?' I really can't resist answering the question. And this should also help get my premature post off the Google Reader. If you are among the few that spotted a recipe... well let's just say Blogger's scheduled posting widget has a few wrinkles waiting to be ironed out.

So what's in my kitchen. This should be easy, after all no one could accuse me of being a complete stranger to the room with a fridge and the hot cupboard device. 

My first shock was finding I had a child in there. Emptying out the drawers and unravelling the greaseproof paper. Ah well, that's going to keep her occupied for a minute or two.

This would give me a chance to fill the dishwasher. Except favourite toy was 'put away' in there. Who knows what the duck did wrong.

I'm going to have to stay on the right side of this little girl.

I want your opinion: I'm asking for it

Working mum has named this post a Blog of Distinction. It's apparently for being a blog which makes her laugh, cry, think or sigh. I hope I've made her laugh and occasionally think. (Not that she doesn't think of course. I'll stop there. When in a hole, don't dig deeper).

Thank you, Working Mom! I've been thinking hard about where my five awards are going to go from here. The winners are;

• Her bad mother
• Laskigal at From the cheap seats
• The mom bomb (this has nothing to do with her competition, of course. That necklace is mine. BWA HA HA HA).
• Leah at Bigger is better. Check her out. Sometime's she's a bit angry, but today she's looking for some LDS good lovin'. Often very funny! Got a feeling you guys might have some advice.

Where's the fifth? Well, that's going to go to the blogger who helps me out the most with one or more of the following three of my current parenting issues. If you can make me laugh, think, cry or sigh - you too could have a blog of distinction:

1. Since having Ellie, I've been a very motivated mum. I've done my share of domestic duties, plus kept her in reusable nappies and made almost all her food from scratch. But I'm getting bored of the washing machine now. Please can you say some nice things about my efforts so far, just so that I can keep it all going till she's toilet trained. She's 18 months old, so I've got a while to go.
2. As I've posted before, I'm not the most creative type. I can sit with Ellie and play with lego and Mr Potatohead. But I do hide the felt tip pens from her. I feel a considerable amount of fear for all surfaces in the house when she's marauding about with a pen in her hand. She does get to play with washable crayons whenever she likes (I've even been known to encourage her). Is this intolerably mean and control-freakish of me?
3. The last question is about church. We take Ellie to an 8am communion service. Only about 10 people go to this service. All of them are really old - apart from our groovy young vicar... well she's about my age. That's young, right? Anyhoo, we take it in turns to take her out into the lobby when we agree she's too loud or too active. The congregation is really polite about Ellie and they all smile at her afterwards... but do you think we are being unreasonable in taking her there? Neither of us want to go to the later family service - they encourage people to put their children in the creche/sunday school - which seems to defeat the purpose of getting her used to church. What would you do?

Something disagreed with us.

I don't feel well and nor does Ellie.

But at least it wasn't my ear she threw up in.

Poor Recaro.

It's just blogging. I've still got a mind of my own.

If I was to make one big assumption, it's that you - and I mean you who is reading this right now - don't like to be told what to do. Instead you, like me, like to sustain the belief that we are all making our own minds up, reaching our own conclusions and shaping our own opinions. 

So don't think for a moment that this post involves me being uttlerly responsive to other people's calls to action. It's got nothing to do with Don Mills Diva that I finally booked a hair cut. 

That was pure coincidence. 

As if I'd need someone else to point out that my grooming regime was getting slack.

I didn't just have a go at self-photography because Amanda wanted to see what everyone looks like, even if that means using very dodgy self-photography skills. It was important to conduct a cost benefit analysis on my haircut. It's not as if Amanda is bossy or anything.

 

As this 'after' photo shows, I got a sassy kind of kick to my hair for my money. 

And I didn't go out and finally buy some new moisturiser just because Jen M said so. I was going to do that any way. She didn't scare me with her extensive knowledge of anti-ageing products. Much.

I was always planning to learn how to use Photoshop one day. It was just a matter of time. It was just lucky chance that took me to the pioneer woman's Photoshop tutorials. I'm sure I'd have posted these photos straight out of the camera otherwise. (Ha! as if).   

You see, blogging is just for fun. It's not like it influences the way I live or anything.

I love babies

I could eat two whole ones.

Pinked again: away with the fairies

This is what defiance looks like.

There I am trying to bring her up as a proper little feminist and all she wants to do is play like the fairies.

Once in this costume, she wouldn't let anyone take it off her.

Even if it means roughty-toughtying down by the sea in a high visibility jacket. (She has a very safety conscious childminder - though on this occasion, would a lifejacket be more appropriate?)

Quit frankly I'm shocked. This means I'm not going to get my own way all the time.

Three beautiful things

1.A good train journey. Today, I'm working in London. I only do this one day a week so it's a pleasure, not a chore. Incredibly, I also had a great train journey with two notable events. The woman opposite me was listening on headphones to the something that was making her smile. She had to duck her head to hide her smiles - or else she'd look like the train looney. The man next to me was deeply and peacefully asleep that he had to be woken up when the train terminated at London Victoria. He wasn't snoring - that would have been unpleasant - just very relaxed.

2. Walking. The weather has warmed up, so I decided to tackle my fitness by walking from the station to work. This route takes me past Buckingham Palace, through Green Park and up Bond Street. Everything was shiny and lovely - full of the joys of spring in fact.

3. Bond Street. Street of dreams more like. This is window shopping heaven and I'm very lucky that I usually walk down here when the shops are closed. Not that you'll find me shopping in Louis Vuitton, Ralph Lauren, Armani etc on a regular basis. The things that caught my eye were children's summer shoes in Camper, handbags and china in Asprey. There was also an hilarious outfit on display in the dinky Miu Miu store. Next week, I'm bringing a camera.

This post is inspired by the Three beautiful things blog. What are your three beautiful things today?

Awards for edjumacational mothers

SaraLynn at the Happy Baker has seen fit, in her infinite wisdom, to give me an award.

This is so great. And of course, I want to spread the joy - even if it means some people are getting an award twice within the week. I checked the original rules of the award - it's allowed!

I'm going to dish out a few awards to those blogging mothers who have taught me a lesson - or even two;

Jakelliesmom who's taught me that a great blog doesn't have to include daily posts. Less can be more.

Reluctant Housewife who convinces me that its great to ask opinions - and to not hold back when she's got something to say. Despite her 'reluctance' she also posts very handy cleaning tips for eradicating crayon marks.

Amanda who seems to teach everyone that there's a lot of joy to be found in being one of the most open-hearted bloggers you could ever wish to meet. Also, I'm hoping this will help me win Minnie Mouse in her Friday giveaway.

SaraLynn is getting an award right backatchya because she sets herself wholesome challenges - cooking something new every week; tough challenges - looking out for all the children in her extended family; and weird challenges - frying ravioli. Never did understand that;).

Jen M for finding rude jokes as funny as she ever did before motherhood struck.

Don Mills Diva for inspiring me to book a haircut! As if my scraggy locks weren't inspiration enough I needed a blogger to point out the error of my ways.

Working Mum who is giving me advance warning of the perils of combining work with motherhood, children in fancy dress costumes, the cost of children's shoes and the unpredictability of fabulous childminders.

CC for her reading, writing and speech advice. In fact she covers housekeeping, cooking and family stuff too as well as running an autism awareness campaign this month. Do you know - I think she might have superpowers after all.

The Natural Mommy who blogs everything. Even if she's just fried the high chair. Quite how I justify awards to both The Natural Mommy and Jakelliesmom, I don't know. But hey, I'm the one giving out the awards!

Things that make you say awww

Check out the Pioneer woman for photography/photoshop tips.

Tasty Tuesday: cheat's quiche

I've just been given a blog award. Isn't that great? I'll post more about that tomorrow. Coincidentally, it's from SaraLynn at the Happy Baker who has inspired me to write up a Tasty Tuesday post.

So with a big cheer for SaraLynn, here's my cheat's quiche. After using several recipes, I've tuned this recipe up for high speed completion. If I have the right ingredients in the cupboard it's even been known to impress my in-laws.

Here are most of the ingredients. The most obvious cheat is using ready made shortcrust pastry. I thought I'd try and disguise it by placing the packet upside down, but I guess you are just too smart to be fooled by that kind of cheap trick.

You'll see I've forgotten to put any eggs in the photo. That was an oversight. Also I've used cathedral city cheddar. In an ideal world that would be emmenthal and gruyere cheese. Also this is the first time I've tried this quiche with purple sprouting broccoli instead of 'normal' broccoli. What the heck. I'm a wild woman living on the edge of oblivion. I'll try most things once.

First the pie crust. After buttering a loose-bottomed pie tin, I roll out the pastry and lay it over the tin. Pressing the pastry into edges and all that stuff you know how to do. 

Because I'm going to prebake the pie-crust and I don't want to use any kind of pastry weights, I just prick the pastry all over. That way it won't rise and will stay beautifully flat after 20 minutes in a 170C oven.

I fry up one chopped onion, one pack of lardons and once they've got going, I add in sprigs of broccoli. All this is far easier to do if you aren't hefting your daughter on your hip. So I recommend putting little lovely down even if that makes her shout very loudly.

After the onions were caramelised, I gave Ellie a bath, milk and bedtime story. If you don't have a small child to deal with, you could take this opportunity to put the onion, lardons and broccoli in your lovely flat pie crust.

Mix up three eggs, half a pint of double cream (is there a difference between US and UK pints?) and 8oz of cheese (that's the equivalent of two sticks of butter - holding some back to sprinkle on top in a moment). Add some seasoning to the mix.

Pour the mix as evenly as you can manage over the veggies. Sprinkle the remaining cheese on top. It's good for the oven.

Bake it for about 15 minutes at 180C and then another 20 minutes at 150C.

Yummy. Ideally I'd serve this with salad and jacket potatoes. But, err, I didn't have any. We had this broccoli quiche with ... extra broccoli.

I am such a fabulous housewife.