So it seems I forgot my own blogaversay. Rants was a whopping 4 years old on the 9th May, and it completely passed me by. Shocking behaviour. I feel the blog is now judging me like a wife whose lazy husband can't remember her birthday or something.
Ironically, I actually blogged the day before said anniversary, having no idea that it was the day before the anniversary. And, the day after said anniversary a defect on the hinge of my laptop (Albus) caused the screen to shatter. Karma? I think so.
Well you've made your point, Mistress Blog. I have had to leave Albus once again in the hands of people that don't really want to repair him and I am without him for as long as they deem necessary to report on the manufacturing fault and decide whether or not to repair or replace him. *sob* (These things are particularly stressful for someone who can't deal with change, names her gadgets and gets ridiculously attached to them.)
And now I'm left attempting to write this blog on an old Samsung notebook that has a nervous breakdown if you ask it to scroll down, and which has a three second delay on everything you do. You click a button and it thinks about it, I mean, really thinks about it, and if you're lucky it will eventually do it, but sometimes a window opens up saying, 'Whoa it's too much, I can't keep up with you. I'm tired. Leave me alone.' (Or something similar.) Anyhoo, it's slow going. I miss Albus.
And so Rants, you are now 4 years old, and I think it's safe to say we've been through a lot together. Every tube journey, every training run, every music class you're there gathering rants and using your rant radar to conjure up the next installment. Every YA event, book fair and music concert you're observing and reviewing. And every award ceremony (watched on the TV of course) and the annual Eurovision blog you are at your most sarcastic and cynical. You have never deserted me. And so I salute you and this blog and look forward to the coming year - when of course I will remember your fifth birthday.........I hope.
A big shout out to the readers. Without you we may have to ponder the question: If you rant and no one hears, have you really ranted or are you just a nut case?
Cheers.
Rants.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Friday, May 8, 2015
Notes from a Political Dim Wit
Okay, so the big news today is of course that the map of the UK is way too blue. It looks like forty percent of the country just sank. (I'm not sure what my train will be travelling on tonight.) And various MP's and Party Leaders have jumped ship.
Now as a self-confessed Political Dim Wit, writing a blog on the General Election could be a huge mistake. I feel I don't understand enough. I feel I don't have a right to make comments as I don't know what the feck I'm talking about. And yet, getting up this morning and reading people's comments and seeing the graphs and statistics and looking at the numbers, I can't help but feel a sense of loss. A certain sadness. And a certain unease.
I'm the kind of person who has so much going on in her head that sometimes I find it easier to take a step back and detach myself from the world, otherwise I'm not sure I'd ever get anything done. And I'm not sure I'd necessarily want to wake up in the morning.
Last night I tried to ignore what was happening. I'd made my vote by post a week ago, so the day was nothing more than a long day doing two different jobs and being exhausted. My evening on the couch watching Netflix and playing back to back games of Patience, was my wind down. Perhaps I should have been watching the UK slowly sink. Perhaps I should have been involved in the shock, surprise and outrage. But I'm glad I waited till this morning, at least I managed to sleep well.
But this strange loss and sadness and unease, is somehow balanced with hope. I can't believe it's the end of the world as we know it. I can't believe that we're somehow going to slip into a YA Dystopian novel. But I do believe that we are a nation of survivors and that shitty things happen but we can fight against it. If it does turn into the Hunger Games, then let's revolt. Let's have ourselves an up rise! But there are lots of people threatening to move out of the Country which would then leave the Country in the hands of the people that made this happen, giving very little chance for change. If the people who didn't want this, give up, then the baddies will always win.
And if we do give up, how can we ever instigate change in the future? Yes we'll have five years of this government, but we still have the power to make a difference. Otherwise you could question why small political parties such as Green or Independent, even bother, when they must know they're not going to win their seat. But they keep campaigning, and they keep trying to change things and trying to offer hope. And we as the people of Britain have to keep doing that too. Keep voting, keep making your thoughts known. Keep fighting for what you believe in, because lying down and just taking it, is not my style. People beat you down and you fight back, in whatever way works for you.
Maybe deep inside me there is a little political monster, lurking, hiding, previously scared to voice her opinions, or even have an opinion. And maybe it took a day like today for me to realise that, but come on people, Dystopian's are horrible, but we love them. And why do we love them? Maybe because there are always survivors and there are always people who fight against and rise up against the powerful. Hopefully we won't have to do it with brute strength and physical violence as I have no upper body strength and haven't thrown a genuine punch ever, but on second thoughts maybe we should up the Archery programmes in schools, just in case. Katniss is awesome with a bow and arrow. Plus it's all very Robin Hood. Ooo. We could add survival classes to the curriculum. I digress.
I just think that things could always be worse. I am thankful we are not under a dictatorship like some places in the world. I am thankful that we live in a nation where women can vote and can be elected as MPs and one day Prime Minister - come on ladies I know someone out there is dying for the job. I am also thankful that the amount of female MPs is on the increase - around 30% this election - going up slowly, but heading in the right direction. I am thankful, so thankful and happy that the Green's kept their seat in Brighton. I was really hoping for them to gain my constituencies vote too, from Holborn St Pancras, but even under a defeat in Camden the Greens are happy and hopeful for the future because their support has shot up. Maybe next time guys.
I do worry about the amount of UKIP votes, but then am pleased that only equates to 1 seat. That party scares the crap out of me, as one of my main joys in life would be if everyone could get along and if prejudice and all the isms could be wiped out. I do realise my extreme naivety, don't worry.
Wouldn't it be interesting if we had speed politics instead, and a Prime Minister and their government only ran for a year or two years? That way they'd have to be concise and fast acting otherwise they'd be sure to be ousted at the next election. That way, when smaller parties are gaining momentum, they would only have to campaign over a shorter spell and might make some surprise results. Everyone would have to be on their toes and there would always be this looming threat of being chucked out. Ha ha. I'm sure there are millions of ways this would be terrible, was just an idea. But five years is a heck of a long time.
Okay, it's probably time for me to skoot now. As I've demonstrated, I know nothing, except that there is always a sprinkling of hope. If you are going to declare that by this new government we are entering a YA dystopian future then there has to be a pin prick of light. So let's focus on those pin pricks and concentrate on breaking through the darkness.
On the Prime Minister's speech, I can't help thinking that in his head he was singing, 'Na, na, na, na, na. I won all on my own. Ha ha.' I also imagine him in flannel pyjamas jumping on his bed, sticking his tongue out making raspberry noises. Just an image I thought I'd leave you with.
Man, sometimes I wish Hugh Grant was Prime Minister like in Love Actually, making speeches about David Beckham and Harry Potter.
Rants
Now as a self-confessed Political Dim Wit, writing a blog on the General Election could be a huge mistake. I feel I don't understand enough. I feel I don't have a right to make comments as I don't know what the feck I'm talking about. And yet, getting up this morning and reading people's comments and seeing the graphs and statistics and looking at the numbers, I can't help but feel a sense of loss. A certain sadness. And a certain unease.
I'm the kind of person who has so much going on in her head that sometimes I find it easier to take a step back and detach myself from the world, otherwise I'm not sure I'd ever get anything done. And I'm not sure I'd necessarily want to wake up in the morning.
Last night I tried to ignore what was happening. I'd made my vote by post a week ago, so the day was nothing more than a long day doing two different jobs and being exhausted. My evening on the couch watching Netflix and playing back to back games of Patience, was my wind down. Perhaps I should have been watching the UK slowly sink. Perhaps I should have been involved in the shock, surprise and outrage. But I'm glad I waited till this morning, at least I managed to sleep well.
But this strange loss and sadness and unease, is somehow balanced with hope. I can't believe it's the end of the world as we know it. I can't believe that we're somehow going to slip into a YA Dystopian novel. But I do believe that we are a nation of survivors and that shitty things happen but we can fight against it. If it does turn into the Hunger Games, then let's revolt. Let's have ourselves an up rise! But there are lots of people threatening to move out of the Country which would then leave the Country in the hands of the people that made this happen, giving very little chance for change. If the people who didn't want this, give up, then the baddies will always win.
And if we do give up, how can we ever instigate change in the future? Yes we'll have five years of this government, but we still have the power to make a difference. Otherwise you could question why small political parties such as Green or Independent, even bother, when they must know they're not going to win their seat. But they keep campaigning, and they keep trying to change things and trying to offer hope. And we as the people of Britain have to keep doing that too. Keep voting, keep making your thoughts known. Keep fighting for what you believe in, because lying down and just taking it, is not my style. People beat you down and you fight back, in whatever way works for you.
Maybe deep inside me there is a little political monster, lurking, hiding, previously scared to voice her opinions, or even have an opinion. And maybe it took a day like today for me to realise that, but come on people, Dystopian's are horrible, but we love them. And why do we love them? Maybe because there are always survivors and there are always people who fight against and rise up against the powerful. Hopefully we won't have to do it with brute strength and physical violence as I have no upper body strength and haven't thrown a genuine punch ever, but on second thoughts maybe we should up the Archery programmes in schools, just in case. Katniss is awesome with a bow and arrow. Plus it's all very Robin Hood. Ooo. We could add survival classes to the curriculum. I digress.
I just think that things could always be worse. I am thankful we are not under a dictatorship like some places in the world. I am thankful that we live in a nation where women can vote and can be elected as MPs and one day Prime Minister - come on ladies I know someone out there is dying for the job. I am also thankful that the amount of female MPs is on the increase - around 30% this election - going up slowly, but heading in the right direction. I am thankful, so thankful and happy that the Green's kept their seat in Brighton. I was really hoping for them to gain my constituencies vote too, from Holborn St Pancras, but even under a defeat in Camden the Greens are happy and hopeful for the future because their support has shot up. Maybe next time guys.
I do worry about the amount of UKIP votes, but then am pleased that only equates to 1 seat. That party scares the crap out of me, as one of my main joys in life would be if everyone could get along and if prejudice and all the isms could be wiped out. I do realise my extreme naivety, don't worry.
Wouldn't it be interesting if we had speed politics instead, and a Prime Minister and their government only ran for a year or two years? That way they'd have to be concise and fast acting otherwise they'd be sure to be ousted at the next election. That way, when smaller parties are gaining momentum, they would only have to campaign over a shorter spell and might make some surprise results. Everyone would have to be on their toes and there would always be this looming threat of being chucked out. Ha ha. I'm sure there are millions of ways this would be terrible, was just an idea. But five years is a heck of a long time.
Okay, it's probably time for me to skoot now. As I've demonstrated, I know nothing, except that there is always a sprinkling of hope. If you are going to declare that by this new government we are entering a YA dystopian future then there has to be a pin prick of light. So let's focus on those pin pricks and concentrate on breaking through the darkness.
On the Prime Minister's speech, I can't help thinking that in his head he was singing, 'Na, na, na, na, na. I won all on my own. Ha ha.' I also imagine him in flannel pyjamas jumping on his bed, sticking his tongue out making raspberry noises. Just an image I thought I'd leave you with.
Man, sometimes I wish Hugh Grant was Prime Minister like in Love Actually, making speeches about David Beckham and Harry Potter.
Rants
Friday, May 1, 2015
Queue
So, I've just been to the bank to pay in a cheque and a guy really ticked me off. So much so that the rest of my Kentish Town outing, became the fastest errand running ever - rage speed.
So I always use the automated machines for making a deposit, because ain't nobody got time for queuing up to the one cashier who's working, half an hour before they close for the weekend. But it's a tiny branch, so they just have this one high table, which acts as a resting place to write out paying in slips and also as a place to queue.
As I wasn't in the queue, I went around the other side - you know courtesy to the other people - and I filled in my slip. Then in walks two guys and one of them enquires as to if this is the queue. I mean stupid question to start off with, there's nowhere else to queue, but then he realises that and shuts up. Then the other guy says, 'Well some people seem to be doing it wrong,' clearly aimed at me. I thought, no I shouldn't respond, but then, wait a minute, he just called into question my ability to queue. Whoa! As a British citizen I find that highly offensive. Queuing is built into my DNA. With your ability to crawl is your ability to queue. When you finally learn to walk, you get to queue standing up. I mean, whoa!
So I looked at him, gave him the pissed off look and said, 'I'm actually using the machine.'
He replied with, 'It's alright.' And the universal hand gesture for calm down, which all men really should know better than to use on riled up women.
If he hadn't been borderline elderly, I might have hit him back with another retort, but you know what, I was also brought up with manners. Shame he wasn't.
It really is the little things that can tick you off the most.
Have a fun Friday. And here are two Friday Facts to remember:
So I always use the automated machines for making a deposit, because ain't nobody got time for queuing up to the one cashier who's working, half an hour before they close for the weekend. But it's a tiny branch, so they just have this one high table, which acts as a resting place to write out paying in slips and also as a place to queue.
As I wasn't in the queue, I went around the other side - you know courtesy to the other people - and I filled in my slip. Then in walks two guys and one of them enquires as to if this is the queue. I mean stupid question to start off with, there's nowhere else to queue, but then he realises that and shuts up. Then the other guy says, 'Well some people seem to be doing it wrong,' clearly aimed at me. I thought, no I shouldn't respond, but then, wait a minute, he just called into question my ability to queue. Whoa! As a British citizen I find that highly offensive. Queuing is built into my DNA. With your ability to crawl is your ability to queue. When you finally learn to walk, you get to queue standing up. I mean, whoa!
So I looked at him, gave him the pissed off look and said, 'I'm actually using the machine.'
He replied with, 'It's alright.' And the universal hand gesture for calm down, which all men really should know better than to use on riled up women.
If he hadn't been borderline elderly, I might have hit him back with another retort, but you know what, I was also brought up with manners. Shame he wasn't.
It really is the little things that can tick you off the most.
Have a fun Friday. And here are two Friday Facts to remember:
- Don't tell women to calm down,
- Don't question a British person's ability to queue.
Rants
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Some Midweek Rants
Aaaaah. The sun is out, the shorts are on, the birds are singing........time for a rant!
Pink
So this Pink thing is absolute bullshit. (If you haven't come across this story yet, Pink went to a cancer charity benefit looking incredible in a long black dress and was somehow then ridiculed for the choice of outfit and her weight. She then issued a statement calling out the cyberbullies and basically saying up yours.)
But she looks amazing as always. And why should she have to defend herself against nasty bullies? Why should she have to justify her outfit? Do men have to do the same? And yes she makes a joke of it and tells everyone she's happy with her body, which of course we all should be. but again, why should she have to make a public statement about that? Shouldn't that be obvious just from looking at her?
How are we ever going to convey how hurtful and wrong body shaming and cyberbullying is to younger people, when adults are readily taking part in it themselves?
I know we all judge, we all do it, it's instilled in us from a young age to question difference and to observe others. But that doesn't mean you have to blast that all over the freakin' Internet. Keep it to yourself. Try and expand on that initial judgement by looking for something positive to say about the same picture or outfit, or see the beauty in that difference. Or just shut up, because it doesn't really matter what Pink wears, she can wear whatever the feck she likes. Oh, and shouldn't the cancer charity and the support she showed them be more important than the dress she wore to said event? Or her weight on that particular day?
The world's gone mad. Or rather it's going madder. Put a stop to this nonsense and think about the person behind the picture. Think about the feelings behind the still image.
Rapid Change
I wouldn't be British if I didn't mention the sudden change in weather. We zoomed from long sleeves and knee highs to shorts and sun cream in about 48 hours. Insane.
I'm not complaining, per se, I just like a more gradual change, you know, one that gives you chance to dig out your 'summer clothing' from the depths of the chest of drawers, where it hasn't seen daylight in nine months. Oh, there are all the vest tops, hidden underneath the jumpers and long sleeved tops and trousers and skirts. Etc.
Being of the pasty variety means sun cream is now essential to the bag as soon as I leave the house otherwise red face comes to visit, and if this weather carries on the sexy sun hat will have to leave its dark home in the wardrobe and face the outside world once again.
Though I have to say, I did enjoy my walk into town today in a vest top and long shorts, arms and lower legs feeling the direct warmth of the sun for the first time in almost a year. It's not bad this Vitamin D stuff.
Okay, so I just rewrote Cornflake Girl as Sun Cream Girl, and it really works! #lovetoriamos
I've always been a sun cream girl
It's always been a good solution
For pale, pasty freckled girls
Who'll bronze in the blink of an eye
You better get your sun hat on
Or you might burn your scalp
And it will flake and itch and burn
This will not really, this, this will not really happen to me
You bet your life it will
You bet your life it will
You will burn
If you don't put the sun cream on
Please use the sun cream.
She knows her skin will peel
But looking kind of tan is hard
When your buried beneath loads of cream
It's better for your skin and health
So listen to the sun cream girl
She speak lots of sense
Or you can risk it yourself
This will not really, this, this will not really happen to me
You bet your life it will
You bet your life it will (oh-oh)
You will burn
If you don't put the sun cream on
Please use the sun cream
Mother. Please apply the sun cream (Oh-oh)
Brother. Please apply the sun cream (Oh, this time)
Sister. Please apply the cream...(the sun cream)
Mother. Please apply the cream, please apply the sun cream.
And the girl with the sun burnt nose, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the red shoulders, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the red, red, back, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the sun burnt toes, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah!
Mother. Please apply the sun cream.
Brother. Please apply the sun cream.
Sister. Please apply the cream. (oh, yeah.)
Mother. Please apply the sun cream.
Well that was fun.
Okay, final rant:
The 21st Century
Is anyone else struggling to remain in the twenty first century? What with Poldark and Outlander and watching reruns of Pride and Prejudice and Downton, I find myself using some interesting phrases, expecting to change for dinner, and half expecting to see a clan of Scots outside on horseback. (Aye, and I wouldn't be complaining either, you ken.)
I sometimes look up and think, where am I? What is this? And, oo, corsets. But then of course I thank the twenty first century for its lack of corsets and its liberal views on living in sin and having children out of wedlock and not being seen as a spinster. And I love the fact that equality and rights for women and servants and LGBT and race are so much further along. But really, Claire (Outlander) should listen to her husband more and stop getting herself kidnapped, Honestly. I know she's headstrong and stubborn - I might know someone like that, and I might even have made some of her rash decisions - but she keeps getting herself into trouble which then gets her completely hot and awesome husband into trouble and there's been a few too many attempted assaults and almost maimings for my liking. She has to realise she's from the twenty century but currently residing in the eighteenth, and I need to remember than I am definitely from the twenty first. Thankfully. I'd have been tried as a witch, called out as a spinster and shunned in another other century, I'm sure of it.
Alright then. Enjoy the sun whilst you can. Let's face it, we could be back to knee highs and long sleeves by next week. And Happy Wednesday.
Rants
Pink
So this Pink thing is absolute bullshit. (If you haven't come across this story yet, Pink went to a cancer charity benefit looking incredible in a long black dress and was somehow then ridiculed for the choice of outfit and her weight. She then issued a statement calling out the cyberbullies and basically saying up yours.)
But she looks amazing as always. And why should she have to defend herself against nasty bullies? Why should she have to justify her outfit? Do men have to do the same? And yes she makes a joke of it and tells everyone she's happy with her body, which of course we all should be. but again, why should she have to make a public statement about that? Shouldn't that be obvious just from looking at her?
How are we ever going to convey how hurtful and wrong body shaming and cyberbullying is to younger people, when adults are readily taking part in it themselves?
I know we all judge, we all do it, it's instilled in us from a young age to question difference and to observe others. But that doesn't mean you have to blast that all over the freakin' Internet. Keep it to yourself. Try and expand on that initial judgement by looking for something positive to say about the same picture or outfit, or see the beauty in that difference. Or just shut up, because it doesn't really matter what Pink wears, she can wear whatever the feck she likes. Oh, and shouldn't the cancer charity and the support she showed them be more important than the dress she wore to said event? Or her weight on that particular day?
The world's gone mad. Or rather it's going madder. Put a stop to this nonsense and think about the person behind the picture. Think about the feelings behind the still image.
Rapid Change
I wouldn't be British if I didn't mention the sudden change in weather. We zoomed from long sleeves and knee highs to shorts and sun cream in about 48 hours. Insane.
I'm not complaining, per se, I just like a more gradual change, you know, one that gives you chance to dig out your 'summer clothing' from the depths of the chest of drawers, where it hasn't seen daylight in nine months. Oh, there are all the vest tops, hidden underneath the jumpers and long sleeved tops and trousers and skirts. Etc.
Being of the pasty variety means sun cream is now essential to the bag as soon as I leave the house otherwise red face comes to visit, and if this weather carries on the sexy sun hat will have to leave its dark home in the wardrobe and face the outside world once again.
Though I have to say, I did enjoy my walk into town today in a vest top and long shorts, arms and lower legs feeling the direct warmth of the sun for the first time in almost a year. It's not bad this Vitamin D stuff.
Okay, so I just rewrote Cornflake Girl as Sun Cream Girl, and it really works! #lovetoriamos
I've always been a sun cream girl
It's always been a good solution
For pale, pasty freckled girls
Who'll bronze in the blink of an eye
You better get your sun hat on
Or you might burn your scalp
And it will flake and itch and burn
This will not really, this, this will not really happen to me
You bet your life it will
You bet your life it will
You will burn
If you don't put the sun cream on
Please use the sun cream.
She knows her skin will peel
But looking kind of tan is hard
When your buried beneath loads of cream
It's better for your skin and health
So listen to the sun cream girl
She speak lots of sense
Or you can risk it yourself
This will not really, this, this will not really happen to me
You bet your life it will
You bet your life it will (oh-oh)
You will burn
If you don't put the sun cream on
Please use the sun cream
Mother. Please apply the sun cream (Oh-oh)
Brother. Please apply the sun cream (Oh, this time)
Sister. Please apply the cream...(the sun cream)
Mother. Please apply the cream, please apply the sun cream.
And the girl with the sun burnt nose, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the red shoulders, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the red, red, back, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah
And the girl with the sun burnt toes, thought she knew so much, thought she knew so much, yeah!
Mother. Please apply the sun cream.
Brother. Please apply the sun cream.
Sister. Please apply the cream. (oh, yeah.)
Mother. Please apply the sun cream.
Well that was fun.
Okay, final rant:
The 21st Century
Is anyone else struggling to remain in the twenty first century? What with Poldark and Outlander and watching reruns of Pride and Prejudice and Downton, I find myself using some interesting phrases, expecting to change for dinner, and half expecting to see a clan of Scots outside on horseback. (Aye, and I wouldn't be complaining either, you ken.)
I sometimes look up and think, where am I? What is this? And, oo, corsets. But then of course I thank the twenty first century for its lack of corsets and its liberal views on living in sin and having children out of wedlock and not being seen as a spinster. And I love the fact that equality and rights for women and servants and LGBT and race are so much further along. But really, Claire (Outlander) should listen to her husband more and stop getting herself kidnapped, Honestly. I know she's headstrong and stubborn - I might know someone like that, and I might even have made some of her rash decisions - but she keeps getting herself into trouble which then gets her completely hot and awesome husband into trouble and there's been a few too many attempted assaults and almost maimings for my liking. She has to realise she's from the twenty century but currently residing in the eighteenth, and I need to remember than I am definitely from the twenty first. Thankfully. I'd have been tried as a witch, called out as a spinster and shunned in another other century, I'm sure of it.
Alright then. Enjoy the sun whilst you can. Let's face it, we could be back to knee highs and long sleeves by next week. And Happy Wednesday.
Rants
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Baking Rants
Ah, the smell of baked cookies, wafting through the house (okay, the tiny one bedroom flat in London, where your kitchen is essentially your living room, which is also your dining room because it's the only room you have that's not for sleeping or peeing in). But still, the smell of freshly baked dough infused with cinnamon and raisins and chocolate and oats. Ah, the serenity of it all.........
Hmmmmmmmm.
Butter. A staple of every fridge and a necessity for bakers. There's just something so satisfying about a slab of butter. It comes in those lovely little 250g bricks of yellowness. Or so they say........
In the hope of making two different batches of cookies today, I needed 260g butter between the two recipes. I had a full pat of butter and a tiny bit left over from another pat. Should be about enough, right?
Wrong. I put it on the scales and bam, it's barely 230g. Say what? How can you sell something that clearly states it is 250g, when it's not? Money grabbing liars. Oh, and that was weighed with packaging - not that the packaging of butter weighs anything - so they can't even claim that would have anything to do with it.
So then I started weighing everything else. The raisins. Should be 500g, weighed in at 490g. The porridge oats. Should be 500g, weighed in at 490g.
Just think if you were conned out of 10g of everything you ever bought. Madness!
So, as I was making batches of cookies, I thought I would try out our sexy baking function on the new oven, Sirius. He's done us right so far, what with Dino apple pie with perfect pastry, and countless pizza and calzone on the pizza setting. So I had high hopes of the ability of Sirius to cook several trays of cookies at the same speed.
Yet. After the recommended 12 minutes, my cookies were not only anaemic, but were also soggy on the bottom. This has never happened before in the land of Flat 19's cookies. So I put them in a few minutes longer. And I moved the trays around as Sirius hadn't managed to cook them all at the same speed.
After having about 7 minutes longer than they normally had in the old oven, I gave up and took them out. They had browned on top, so looked less ill, but some of the bottoms were still a little soggy. No one likes a soggy bottom.
But after a few minutes cooling on the tray and then a quick transfer to the rack, they were hardening up, and after a test - come on, that's the beauty of baking right, the testing? - we realised they were actually pretty tasty.
But, I did the next batch of cookies on the normal setting and they cooked much better. No soggy bottoms, and just the usual game of musical trays, swapping the trays around so they all gained that golden brown colour on top.
Don't lie to me Sirius. I trusted you.
This is merely a plea, but Sainsburys Kentish Town please start stocking the dark brown soft sugar again, it makes much nicer cookies and biscuits. The light brown stuff is all golden and pale. I like the dark sugar, it really gives them colour and punch.
And really, some recipes are crazy. As I was making the first batch of oat and raisin cookies, I half the quantities which still makes about 22 cookies, otherwise I have cookies coming out of my ears and I've used up all the ingredients in the house. But when a recipe says 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla extract before you've even halved the recipe, you know something's gone wrong. 1/4 teaspoon vanilla? In cookies? You might as well not bother putting any in at all. I put in 1/2 a teaspoon. Ha ha ha. I laugh in the face of your rules, recipe book. Oh, and the same with the Cinnamon. I am a purveyor of Cinnamon and again 1/4 teaspoon in 22 cookies is simply not enough. As with blue eyeshadow, you can never have too much cinnamon. I think a whole teaspoon went in. Not sure, but they taste great!
Ah, and now for that moment where you pop in that last tray of cookies for just a couple more minutes, as they just weren't quite done enough, and then you forget, until suddenly you're like, 'Did I leave the oven on?' A second later, 'Did I leave some cookies in there?' Then the burning smell. Then the realisation. Oh Shit.
Luckily they weren't burnt in the traditional sense - blackened - but they were a considerably darker shade than the rest of the batch. Ah well. I'll freeze them and hope that they'll taste better after some time in the cold place.
Needless to say, I've got the baking heat right now, so despite the chill in the air I'm running a temperature, and I'm desperately trying not to snaffle a cookie or two off the cooling rack. This is a real test of will power.
Though I did eat quite a bit of dough earlier. Mmmmmm cookie dough.
Weigh your butter, people. Weigh everything.
Rants
Hmmmmmmmm.
Butter. A staple of every fridge and a necessity for bakers. There's just something so satisfying about a slab of butter. It comes in those lovely little 250g bricks of yellowness. Or so they say........
In the hope of making two different batches of cookies today, I needed 260g butter between the two recipes. I had a full pat of butter and a tiny bit left over from another pat. Should be about enough, right?
Wrong. I put it on the scales and bam, it's barely 230g. Say what? How can you sell something that clearly states it is 250g, when it's not? Money grabbing liars. Oh, and that was weighed with packaging - not that the packaging of butter weighs anything - so they can't even claim that would have anything to do with it.
So then I started weighing everything else. The raisins. Should be 500g, weighed in at 490g. The porridge oats. Should be 500g, weighed in at 490g.
Just think if you were conned out of 10g of everything you ever bought. Madness!
So, as I was making batches of cookies, I thought I would try out our sexy baking function on the new oven, Sirius. He's done us right so far, what with Dino apple pie with perfect pastry, and countless pizza and calzone on the pizza setting. So I had high hopes of the ability of Sirius to cook several trays of cookies at the same speed.
Yet. After the recommended 12 minutes, my cookies were not only anaemic, but were also soggy on the bottom. This has never happened before in the land of Flat 19's cookies. So I put them in a few minutes longer. And I moved the trays around as Sirius hadn't managed to cook them all at the same speed.
After having about 7 minutes longer than they normally had in the old oven, I gave up and took them out. They had browned on top, so looked less ill, but some of the bottoms were still a little soggy. No one likes a soggy bottom.
But after a few minutes cooling on the tray and then a quick transfer to the rack, they were hardening up, and after a test - come on, that's the beauty of baking right, the testing? - we realised they were actually pretty tasty.
But, I did the next batch of cookies on the normal setting and they cooked much better. No soggy bottoms, and just the usual game of musical trays, swapping the trays around so they all gained that golden brown colour on top.
Don't lie to me Sirius. I trusted you.
This is merely a plea, but Sainsburys Kentish Town please start stocking the dark brown soft sugar again, it makes much nicer cookies and biscuits. The light brown stuff is all golden and pale. I like the dark sugar, it really gives them colour and punch.
And really, some recipes are crazy. As I was making the first batch of oat and raisin cookies, I half the quantities which still makes about 22 cookies, otherwise I have cookies coming out of my ears and I've used up all the ingredients in the house. But when a recipe says 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla extract before you've even halved the recipe, you know something's gone wrong. 1/4 teaspoon vanilla? In cookies? You might as well not bother putting any in at all. I put in 1/2 a teaspoon. Ha ha ha. I laugh in the face of your rules, recipe book. Oh, and the same with the Cinnamon. I am a purveyor of Cinnamon and again 1/4 teaspoon in 22 cookies is simply not enough. As with blue eyeshadow, you can never have too much cinnamon. I think a whole teaspoon went in. Not sure, but they taste great!
Ah, and now for that moment where you pop in that last tray of cookies for just a couple more minutes, as they just weren't quite done enough, and then you forget, until suddenly you're like, 'Did I leave the oven on?' A second later, 'Did I leave some cookies in there?' Then the burning smell. Then the realisation. Oh Shit.
Luckily they weren't burnt in the traditional sense - blackened - but they were a considerably darker shade than the rest of the batch. Ah well. I'll freeze them and hope that they'll taste better after some time in the cold place.
Needless to say, I've got the baking heat right now, so despite the chill in the air I'm running a temperature, and I'm desperately trying not to snaffle a cookie or two off the cooling rack. This is a real test of will power.
Though I did eat quite a bit of dough earlier. Mmmmmm cookie dough.
Weigh your butter, people. Weigh everything.
Rants
Friday, March 27, 2015
Revelations and Observations.
As a writer, observation plays a huge part in everything you do. What you see and hear, and quite often overhear on a daily basis, when travelling, working, reading or listening to music can have a profound effect on whatever you are writing. It can give you the inspiration to write something new, and it can give you real life situations, real life dialogue and some definite revelations.
Here are just a few things I've observed this week:
Tube Revelations
You don't realise how many sides you have, as a human, until they're all covered by other people. Until you're crammed in a tube carriage with backs, shoulders, boobs, elbows, faces, knees, thighs, abs, feet and heads pressed up against you. Believe me, hexagons and dodecahedrons have nothing on the human form. We're like the most complicated polygon with a few more curves than straight lines, but so many nooks and cradles and angles that we can actually be surrounded on approximately twenty two sides - everyone is different - which makes rush hour tube journeys an interesting lesson in anatomy, geometry, patience and the tolerance of being pressed up against strangers.
Daffodil Revelation
They make me smile. I see a whole field of them, in a row or in circles, or even a single one pushing through to find the spring and they make me smile. Weird. Is it the yellowness? Is it that I associate them with my mum because we were always told to give daffodils to give our mum on Mother's day? Or is it because they are in fact mood altering plants and the closer you get the happier you feel, but that warm fuzzy feeling doesn't last because now you've stepped in dog turd?
Take your pick.
Play Date Revelations
Kids are so unreasonable. They want their friends to come round and play, but they want everything on their terms. They want all games and activities to be played exactly as they are with parents or by themselves and they allow no suggestions or alterations from the guest. They spend more time fighting, arguing and storming off than actually enjoying each other's company. They bitch and moan and sulk and paddy, and threaten to end the play date. Little control freaks. They shout at and deny everything to their guest and expect them to want to come back for more. But then the guest fights back and asserts himself leading to further conflict. Then at the end of the day the child tells their parents all the bad things the guest has done whilst retaining their sun-shines-out-of, butter-wouldn't-melt type act.
Yesterday I looked after a child and his friend for a play date. Oh my.
(Whilst playing with the playdoh) Guest: 'A thin poo is coming out.' *Laughter* 'Look it's a thin poo coming out.'
Guest: 'Do you want poo on your ice cream?' *Giggles*
Ahh, the poo stage. When's that going to end?
Guest: 'But I'm the guest and I'm not here very long.' Heard this one a few times.
(Whilst playing with the Lego) Child 1:'If you do that one more time I will never have another play date and I will cancel this one.'
Guest replies: 'You can't really cancel a play date.'
Child 1: 'Yes you can. Mummy told me how.'
(Combining playdoh 'bombs' with their Lego play.) Guest: 'You can't do this. They don't explode.'
Child 1: 'Yes they do.'
Guest: 'No. These bombs don't explode.'
Child 1: 'Yes they do. Anyway, I'm not listening to this. I don't want to play this game anymore.' *storms off*
(Concerning lunch, which I made for them: Tomato, basil and bacon pasta.) Guest: 'What are we having for lunch?'
Me: 'Tomato and bacon pasta.'
Guest: 'With real tomatoes? Because I don't really like tomatoes.'
Me: 'It's a sauce, I've made the tomatoes into a sauce.'
Guest: 'Oh yeah, I don't really like that.'
Me: 'Well your mummy said you do, so you can try some.'
Guest: 'Oh, well actually, I only like the ones like on the high street. Not the home made kind.'
Needless to say the guest ate no pasta, just sniffed it and said 'Actually I remember I've had it before and I don't like it.'
(Balloon football playing.) Guest: Don't forget, I've had years of practise playing this game with my dad.'
Wow, kids can be so condescending to each other.
(Trip to the park) All the way there, guest: 'I was first. I won. I win. I beat you.' Etc. Other child understandably getting annoyed/upset.
Guest: 'I'm going to marry Alice.'
Me: 'Is Alice in your class?'
Guest: 'Yes. I do love her. She's actually really nice.'
Me: 'What do you like about her?'
Guest: 'Well, I actually like her face. And she's really strict.'
Me: 'And you like that she's strict?'
Guest: 'Yeah. So if there's a weirdo she'll scare them away.'
And there we have it. Love is.......a liking of the face, strictness and the ability to chase off weirdos.
Final Revelation
Cocktails, Prosecco and lots of good Italian food will cause you to fall asleep intermittently on the Overground. It will cause you to lose track of what page you're reading, cause you to read over pages again and again, and eventually cause you to give up and close the book, resting your head against the glass partition. Zzzzzzzzzzz. Luckily it also seems to keep you ticking enough to wake up at every stop to see if it's yours. Phew.
Thanks for reading.
Happy Friday.
I hope your weekend is full of observations and revelations.
Friday, March 20, 2015
It's RF RF RF Ranting Friday
Yay! Finally. Some things to rant about. Luckily for you guys this has been a week full of little things that have ticked me off. So you now get to hear about them. Man, you really are lucky.
Okay firstly it has to be those freakin' evil pigeons again. They're back and this time it's definitely personal. They're not cooing, they're saying 'you, you, you.' I mean it. I'm trying to go back to sleep at 6.30am and they're saying 'you, you, you, get up, up, up.' They sit on whatever ledge they can find right outside the bedroom window and they make sure they tick you off before you've even started your day.
Soon everywhere will be covered in silver shiny tape, though there are those birds that are getting cocky, those daredevil birds that have grown a pair of giant pigeon balls and now think they can take on the silver tape. They are no longer scared of its shininess or the way it flaps and rustles in the wind. They're gaining in confidence and ready to take over the balcony, maybe then, the world!
I'm a little book obsessed these first few months in 2015, and I know that's not a bad thing, it's an awesome thing, it's just that when you're putting everybody else's already-published books before your never-going-to-get-published-if-you-don't-edit-it book, then you are shooting yourself in the foot, walking a dangerous line, being a lazy bitch. Pick one, they're all true. But at least I'll be a well-read lazy bitch. That's something, right?
Why do people ask me really stupid questions, when, I might add, I'm in the middle of teaching a class? Do I look like I want to be harassed by your ridiculous musings at a time like this? I have seven preschoolers dancing on the carpet. Can't it wait until I'm done? The answer is no, it can't, they must ask right now for optimal pissedoffishness.
'Are they listening to Samba?' I hear her ask one of the other teachers. (By the way, she doesn't even work in this room, she's just come to skive from the baby room.) I just carry on dancing with the kids.
'Why are they listening to Samba?'
I hear her. I ignore her, because it's a stupid question to which the only answer can be: why not?
Then she makes it more direct. 'Helen, why are they listening to Samba?'
I give her the look that says I'm-teaching-a-class-ask-me-afterwards-or-not-at-all. Yes, I do have a look for that. But she doesn't take the hint.
'Do you understand what they're saying?'
At this point I give up and turn off the music.
'Do you understand what they're saying?' she asks again.
'No. Not really.' (But I don't have to. It's music, it's universal and it's beautiful and it's about sound and feel as much as understanding lyrics. How many English speaking lyrics do you understand from your favourite band or artist? Or scrap that, from your least favourite artist? Why do you think we have lyric sites? Because half the time it's impossible to tell what they're singing. And besides we never fully understand what a song means, it means different things to different people, adding to the beauty of song. People draw their own meanings and only the actual song writer can ever truly know what they intended it to be about, but then once it's released, it's meaning automatically changes into whatever the person listening to it feels. It is always evolving and changing. And if understanding what they're saying is a prerequisite of music then most people wouldn't be able to go to the opera, or listen to anything from any other culture or Country. And the world would be a terrible place.) But of course, I can't say all this, so I hone it into another look and try not to be angry.
'Do you speak the language? Do you understand what they're saying?'
There she goes again ticking me off at the end of four back to back lessons when I'm exhausted and sweaty. What I want to reply with is: 'Are you fuckin' serious?' But instead, I reply with - bearing in mind, the kids are still there and I'm still teaching a lesson - 'No. I don't, but I don't have to. I expose the children to music from all around the world, in order for them to hear different languages, different sounds and different instruments.'
'Oh right. Well P***a probably understands.' She says, as though I'm a moron for not understanding.
P***a's Spanish you idiot. Of course she would understand, though the child has made no such connection because the child was just enjoying listening and dancing to the wonderful music and the child is three.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
So from stupid questions to a question I will pose to you. Why do people have to constantly move when they're talking on the phone?
This mini rant is dedicated to the woman who circumnavigated the bus stop at Old Street Station yesterday, about eight times whilst me and the little man I pick up from school waited for our bus. And every time she passed back around us on her short orbit she kept having to dodge around the little man as though he was in the way. At least pace, but not constantly circle us. It felt really weird to be caught in the middle of that. But worse, I had another lady on the telephone at the other side of me that was just walking back and forth. Ahhh, just somebody keep still.
Okay then, I think I'll leave you with that. Enjoy your Friday and the weekend. May it be full of new things to rant about, family and friends, and milk because I want cereal!
Too-da-loo
Rants
Okay firstly it has to be those freakin' evil pigeons again. They're back and this time it's definitely personal. They're not cooing, they're saying 'you, you, you.' I mean it. I'm trying to go back to sleep at 6.30am and they're saying 'you, you, you, get up, up, up.' They sit on whatever ledge they can find right outside the bedroom window and they make sure they tick you off before you've even started your day.
Soon everywhere will be covered in silver shiny tape, though there are those birds that are getting cocky, those daredevil birds that have grown a pair of giant pigeon balls and now think they can take on the silver tape. They are no longer scared of its shininess or the way it flaps and rustles in the wind. They're gaining in confidence and ready to take over the balcony, maybe then, the world!
I'm a little book obsessed these first few months in 2015, and I know that's not a bad thing, it's an awesome thing, it's just that when you're putting everybody else's already-published books before your never-going-to-get-published-if-you-don't-edit-it book, then you are shooting yourself in the foot, walking a dangerous line, being a lazy bitch. Pick one, they're all true. But at least I'll be a well-read lazy bitch. That's something, right?
Why do people ask me really stupid questions, when, I might add, I'm in the middle of teaching a class? Do I look like I want to be harassed by your ridiculous musings at a time like this? I have seven preschoolers dancing on the carpet. Can't it wait until I'm done? The answer is no, it can't, they must ask right now for optimal pissedoffishness.
'Are they listening to Samba?' I hear her ask one of the other teachers. (By the way, she doesn't even work in this room, she's just come to skive from the baby room.) I just carry on dancing with the kids.
'Why are they listening to Samba?'
I hear her. I ignore her, because it's a stupid question to which the only answer can be: why not?
Then she makes it more direct. 'Helen, why are they listening to Samba?'
I give her the look that says I'm-teaching-a-class-ask-me-afterwards-or-not-at-all. Yes, I do have a look for that. But she doesn't take the hint.
'Do you understand what they're saying?'
At this point I give up and turn off the music.
'Do you understand what they're saying?' she asks again.
'No. Not really.' (But I don't have to. It's music, it's universal and it's beautiful and it's about sound and feel as much as understanding lyrics. How many English speaking lyrics do you understand from your favourite band or artist? Or scrap that, from your least favourite artist? Why do you think we have lyric sites? Because half the time it's impossible to tell what they're singing. And besides we never fully understand what a song means, it means different things to different people, adding to the beauty of song. People draw their own meanings and only the actual song writer can ever truly know what they intended it to be about, but then once it's released, it's meaning automatically changes into whatever the person listening to it feels. It is always evolving and changing. And if understanding what they're saying is a prerequisite of music then most people wouldn't be able to go to the opera, or listen to anything from any other culture or Country. And the world would be a terrible place.) But of course, I can't say all this, so I hone it into another look and try not to be angry.
'Do you speak the language? Do you understand what they're saying?'
There she goes again ticking me off at the end of four back to back lessons when I'm exhausted and sweaty. What I want to reply with is: 'Are you fuckin' serious?' But instead, I reply with - bearing in mind, the kids are still there and I'm still teaching a lesson - 'No. I don't, but I don't have to. I expose the children to music from all around the world, in order for them to hear different languages, different sounds and different instruments.'
'Oh right. Well P***a probably understands.' She says, as though I'm a moron for not understanding.
P***a's Spanish you idiot. Of course she would understand, though the child has made no such connection because the child was just enjoying listening and dancing to the wonderful music and the child is three.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
So from stupid questions to a question I will pose to you. Why do people have to constantly move when they're talking on the phone?
This mini rant is dedicated to the woman who circumnavigated the bus stop at Old Street Station yesterday, about eight times whilst me and the little man I pick up from school waited for our bus. And every time she passed back around us on her short orbit she kept having to dodge around the little man as though he was in the way. At least pace, but not constantly circle us. It felt really weird to be caught in the middle of that. But worse, I had another lady on the telephone at the other side of me that was just walking back and forth. Ahhh, just somebody keep still.
Okay then, I think I'll leave you with that. Enjoy your Friday and the weekend. May it be full of new things to rant about, family and friends, and milk because I want cereal!
Too-da-loo
Rants
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