Domesticali

Just desserts

Sometimes, I really get the wanties for something. And then I see them everywhere and the universe keeps sending me subliminal 'buy it' signals. The anticipation is possibly the most delicious thing - researching where the best place to get it from might be; agonizing over the colour choice - I can keep the excitement going for weeks.

But yesterday I finally gave in to temptation - it seemed justified. Aside from just having been paid for a piece of work which covered the purchase cost of a stand mixer, I had made a little bargain with myself and fate and it was time to shell out.

Last month, I had read an article in the Waitrose Weekend paper asking for applicants for the next series of The Great British Bake Off. I went to have a nosey, and found myself filling in the application form - you see, it asked the kind of questions that simply invited a trip down baking memory lane. And there's nothing I like more than reminiscing about foodie tales. So I emailed it off on a whim and thought nothing more of it.

Until along came a very nice phone call from someone at the production company wanting to have a chat about my application. I was surprised, to say the least. And flattered. But I didn't think it would go any further - not least because we talked at cross purposes about pastry and I confessed my utter reluctance to even try making my own puff, which I'm sure marks me out as a total baking dilettante.

But it was a laugh and I had great fun telling the couple of friends who knew I'd filled in the form that I'd had a call back. I also promised myself that if things progressed any further, I would finally treat myself to a stand mixer.

So now you see where this is going, don't you? Because I am through to the next stage - on Tuesday I'm headed off to London, clutching samples of my sweet and savoury baking, for the judges to taste. And if they like my stuff, it'll be off for a screen test. The least said about that part, the better, for I have never harboured the remotest desire to be in front of the camera. But I'm calming my nerves with the thought that it almost certainly won't come to that - as the production assistant warned me, the standard is terribly high and I've already seen some blogs from really passionate and inventive bakers with amazing skills who haven't made it through to the next round.

But tra la la, I don't mind, because no matter what becomes of Tuesday, I have a shiny new mixer to play with and by the end of the day, I will be able to say that Mary Berry has eaten my cake.

 

 

Half Term and some hand knitting

We are having a gloriously lazy week this week - 8.30am and half the household is still in bed (the short half). Believe me, especially from the child who always wanted to begin his day at 5.30am, this is most welcome. Though it does mean that he wants to share the sofa with me long into the evening...

Things are never really static in family life, are they? I am trying to make the transition between 'everyone in bed at 7.30, because evenings are grown up time' to 'please remember to put the lights out when you go to bed, because I'm turning in now'. We're not quite there yet, but I can see it on the horizon. It takes a little re-adjustment in my mindset. 

Especially when it comes to knitting. My grown up evenings are always when I used to knit - on the sofa, after supper knowing that the kids were tucked up in bed, or at least in the other room having quiet reading time. Knowing I would not be called to help with something in the middle of a row or have someone pop in and casually change all the numbers on my stitch counter, whilst sitting on my ball of wool. The joys of family life.

So it is slightly miraculous that I have managed to finish the Polly Pullover. Although it has to be said, it is about a simple a sweater pattern as it is humanly possible to knit. And in fab super bulky Spud and Chloe Outer wool, it grows fast.

Last night's sofa sharing involved an episode of Gok's Fashion Fix. Slightly odd viewing for a 10 year old boy, I thought. It turns out he really likes the little pugs who go everywhere with one of the stylists. But he's clearly absorbing much more, which led to the following exchange in the bathroom as I was photographing my sweater.

Me: 'Do you like it?'

Him: 'Yes, it's got very good waist shaping - makes you into an hourglass.'

Me: speechless

Tweedy throw

Sometimes, the planets align and produce the perfect moment to make something. I had been musing on a throw for our living room - something warm and subtle to snuggle under on the sofa. I've never really been a sofa-throw kind of person, but that room is chilly and I was fed up of returning duvets to the beds from whence they had been dragged.

I was fairly wedded to the idea of a quilt with large blocks of neutral-ish fabric, and then the stars aligned with an article in Marie Claire Idees and a sale on wintry fabrics at my local fabric shop.

And so my germ of an idea transformed itself into a throw. Some widths of wool suiting backed with thick black wool (so no need for additional batting), tied with embroidery floss and edged in bias tape. 

Difficult to get a decent photograph of something large, in situ, in the chilly grey light. I have newly found admiration for those gorgeous photos in the quilt books. We had to make do with the garden bench.

But the cat says it is very cosy indeed.

Well, when it's indoors anyway.

Valentine's Day

There is a design flaw in Valentines Day falling on a Monday - it's just not the day to be swept off on a tidal wave of love, really. Or for me making it to a computer to wish you a happy one. Will you accept a token a day later?

There were plans to make more of these little rosemary hearts. But somebody pruned my bush very severely. And took all the trimmings to the dump. But on the plus side, you can now make it to the front door without fighting your way through the undergrowth. Not that we ever use the front door. Which probably explains how it becomes so overgrown in the first place.

But I digress. Plans. Yes, there has been much talk of Valentines Plans this year as I've been embroiled in a market research project which has involved answering many questions about my shopping intentions for the 14th and even had me sneaking round the supermarket taking stealthy photographs of their Valentine's promotions. It's hard not to feel incredibly conspicuous when you are trying to look nonchalant whilst behaving oddly. But I did manage not to get rumbled.

Because I guess everyone was minding their own business and not worrying about mine. Which is a lesson I should have taken on the biscuit front. I'd made some dough for heart shaped cookies - it was chilling in the fridge when I stopped by Coffee Lady's blog. And immediately got side tracked by her much more yummy sounding Bill Granger versions. So somehow, mine felt like a disappointment before they even got baked.

Tsk, I should know by now, that it  is dangerous to compare yourself in matters of the heart. So if you got diamonds for Valentines Day in a blue Tiffany box, please, smile at your good fortune and feel free not to share. And don't breathe a word to my menfolk about the biscuits that could have been. Ignorance is bliss.

Partying

Making merry with the six and seven-year-old crowd today. Johnny doesn't officially turn seven till next week, but he was sharing his celebrations with a friend and this weekend fell conveniently between their birthdays.

The whole shared party thing is not something we've ever done before. Mark enjoyed his own moment in the limelight far too much to ever consider it and I was always concerned that my own party control-freak tendencies would not allow me to play nicely in the planning of such an undertaking. But then Johnny is a very different kettle of fish.

Being the centre of attention is a form of torture for him and so I swallowed my own concerns and he and his pal cooked up a request for an indoor play centre party. Which I have to say, turned out to be a very fine thing indeed.

Not least because I got to do the invitations. Using a homemade rubber stamp - inspired by this tutorial.

And make them  cupcakes as well, with a little co-ordinating pennant set for each birthday boy, cut from the insides of the security envelopes I have been squirreling away.

And the other Mum smiled indulgently at my boy's wishes for moustache straws (which I made from instructions found here, taken from this brilliant book).

 
United in a hatred of party bag bin-fodder, we opted for brightly wrapped books instead, with a little sweetie treat tied on.

The boys and their friends all had a great time, with no tears or squabbles or misbehaviour from anybody.

And even better, I was allowed to do all the fun bits which I love and someone else was hugely appreciative that I had done them. Turns out that it's really good to share!

And thanks for sharing your kindness with me on the last post - you guys were right - a glass of wine and a hot bath restored all sense of perspective. But sometimes we need to hear that sensible advice from friends. Thank you.

 

Feeling thin skinned

The phone rang this evening and when I answered it, there was a man with my name and address who knew that we had had a (very minor) car accident the other week. He wanted me to tell him the name of the person involved in the crash.

In the past couple of weeks, I have spent a disproportionate amount of time on the telephone dealing with this. It should have been so straightforward - someone ran a give way sign and hit the side of hubby's car. The lady was terribly apologetic, properly insured and happy to admit liability. Problem solved. But these things are always a hassle to sort out. Not least because hubby made the claim and then disappeared off to Australia leaving me to sort out the repair and getting a hire car. But no matter. Accidents happen, right. They are a pain to deal with, but it was all very low speed and nobody was hurt.

So why, does some company want to know the name of the person involved so that they can make an automatic claim for whiplash compensation. Which would be delivered straight to our door. And double why, when I decline to play along, does the person from the call centre far, far away feel intitled to snap "The hell with you" and hang up on me.

And the biggest mystery of all is why I end up sitting here feeling teary about it. I'm clearly in need of thicker skin today.

Drying day

Hung out my first load of washing this year. Sunshine - yaaaay!

Also learned a new trick - if you fasten the poppers on the duvet cover before you wash it, then socks and other small items don't become lodged inside it. Amazing given how long I have been doing laundry, that there are still improvements to be made. I wonder what else I haven't cottoned on to?