Boing, boing - I have spring in my steps......

I had a spring in my step this morning. I woke up and stretched like a cat (ok, an overweight cat in mismatched pyjamas but you get the picture), then I wriggled my toes and for once I didn't mind that it was a Monday morning. For me this is the New Year; no more cooking jobs for months and so the burden of normal work seemed like a feather as I lay in bed.

Ten minutes later, having failed to brush my hair or care what clothes I put on, I emerged into the daylight with the Loyal Hound frisking at my heels, delighted at the prospect of his morning walk. The air was balmy and I could smell spring in the westerly breeze. A halo of cloud was waterfalling over the top of the mountain but the rest of the sky was blue and for the first time in months I didn't need to put a coat on. Finally it seems that the icy shroud of winter may be being shrugged off by a defiant spring. I know that this is a false spring, that winter will return, enraged and chilly, but for today I enjoyed this glimpse of what could be.

After a leisurely breakfast where I had to have toast and butter because there wasn't enough milk to be healthy and have cereal, I wandered over to the office. I didn't have much to do today. I just needed to gather together everything hat I need for my Scottish trip, catch up with my mileage sheets (I know - it's gripping isn't it), then I had this cunning plan that I would venture into the garden and try and dig over the vegetable patch and plant the garlic out.

Naturally, from the moment I entered the office this plan was blown out of the blue and spring like sky. I have been deluged with hideous e mails that have taken hours to deal with and it is now half past four and I haven't been anywhere near the garden. Incidentally though, there was a very nice e mail in amongst the horrible ones offering to get the Loyal Hound a new toy - how nice is that!

Somehow though, despite not having the day I was looking forward to, I don't care. That sense of spring has buoyed me up and nothing will get me down if I can help it. I hope you all feel the same.

Musings on the divide between those who do, and those who don't have to.

So, this is the last cooking job of the year. Thank God! 16 people for a weekend is not my idea of heaven however my menu planning has been rather cunning and most of tonight's dinner is done in advance. This did involve working in the kitchen until 10pm last night mind you.

I've made a delicious pudding for tonight - Cointreau and Orange Jelly with grapes and stem ginger. It set in about 5 minutes. I mean I turned around to talk to the Loyal Hound, went to fetch the pudding to put it in the fridge and it was set! Jelly never does that when you want it to. Let's hope that this doesn't mean that it is revolting because it has too much gelatine in it. The main course is lamb tagine, which I have cooked already so that the flavours can develop so that makes that a bit easier as I only have to do the couscous and vegetables now for the main course. The starter is a doddle and so now I just have to do the nibbles and I'm sorted for this evening. Only two cooked breakfasts, a lunch, tea and another 4 course dinner to do.....

Once the cooking is done, I don't have a lovely relaxing time to enjoy my new found freedom. Oh no. The next fortnight is pretty hideous. I am in Scotland next week, then London and Dorset the week after. I know it is all money in the bank, for which I should be grateful as we are now officially in recession, but I confess that I am tired just thinking about it.

There are some women out there who seem to live their life without this kind of manic running around to stay ahead of themselves to afford their book / chocolate / cashmere habits. Instead, they drift around after school looking pretty, marry somebody wealthy and never have to work - EVER! They then spend years complaining that their nanny is unreliable, the new Chanel collection is unwearable and their holiday house is SUCH a chore to maintain. They wouldn't know an electricity bill if it jumped up and bit them and the idea of finding a cheap flight to try and go on holiday just once every two years would be laughable.

How is it that I wasn't one of those and why were they the 'lucky' ones? I don't get it. They aren't necessarily any brighter, funnier, or better read than you or I and I'm not saying that their lives are perfect, or that they are necessarily happy. In fact from the few I have met, they are usually dissatisfied. Perhpas that's the thing that gets me about this peculiar category of women; they don't realise how lucky they are.

In which I reveal that I am thinly read, and seek your help

Today, I am prepared to show my ignorance to the world and to seek your advice on how to remedy my sad situation.

In the words of the great Eddie Izzard, I suspect that rather than being widely read, I am in fact, thinly read. I know part of the reason for this; you see I am a re-reader. If I like a book, I'll read it several times over the years. I love re reading a book. It's like visiting old friends, catching up on the gossip and finding that, in a comforting way, nothing has changed. Some books don't stand the test of time and when you return you wonder why you liked them to start with, but most are just as good second time round.

I'll put it another way. If you ate chocolate for the first time, and found it delicious, you wouldn't refuse to eat it ever again because you know what it tastes like. No, you'd go back for more. Well, that's what I do with books.

It frequently occurs to me how much else I might have read if only I didn't read the same books over and over. There's a lot of misspent reading time in my past. Then it occurs to me how many of the 'great authors' I have never even touched, because I was busy reading my favourite authors all over again. So this is where you come in. Here are some authors I have NEVER read and my pathetic reasons why; tell me, faithful blogging companions, should I read any of them? What am I missing?

Tolstoy - the books look so heavy - literally. I'm not sure I could actually take the physical strain of reading them.

Salman Rushdie - the man is prolific, I'll give him that, but are his books any good or just published becasue of the Fatwah and only read by people who eat at Nigella's house.

Kafka - now, did he write The Unbearable lightness of being? If he did then I have read that, but if he didn't then I have read nothing by him.

James Joyce - I did once start Ulysses but my brain exploded and I fell asleep with the weariness of the worlds that fell on my shoulders during Chapter 1, so I did not persevere. Did I miss out?

Emily Dickinson & Sylvia Plath - I put them together because I've read neither and for the same reason. To me (who has never read them!) they give off a rather depressing vibe of female angst and misery. It's not appealing but I am basing my opinion on very little other than third hand opinions (probably of people who have also not read them). Give me some first hand feedback. I know someone out there has read them.

Tom Stoppard - now it's decidedly odd that I have never read any Stoppard as I love his screenplays and the way he writes. Despite this I never pick up his books. This is, I think, because I am worried that I won't like them as much as his plays and films, and then I'll be cross. Am I right to worry?

Tolkein - I am reading Lord of the Rings, but only when I stay with one particular friend in London who has a copy by the Guest Bed. This means that in three years I have only got as far as chapter 4. It's slow progress. I don't actually own the book myself and I keep resisting buying it. I just don't know whether this is the wise decision of one not swayed with Tolkein fever, or the sign of an idiot missing out on one of the all time great storytellers.

Who else have I missed of this list? I'm so badly read I can't even tell you.

Honest Guv!

So, Just Me Really (I can't do the links but she is over there on the left of the page), has tagged me with an award. Here it is and can I just say that I rather like it. I love those old signs so to get one as an award is a double whammy.
Anyway, it turns out that there are rules to this award thingummy. I have to tell you ten honest things about myself and then ruin other bloggers' days by making them 'fess up as well. So, here goes:

1: As a small child I announced that I would like to be called 'Alopecia'. I had no idea what it meant and thought it was very glamorous. My family have not stopped laughing about this ever since.

2: I get horrible hairs on my chin that I pluck out as soon as I see them. Apparently this is a result of having polycistic ovaries but I am paranoid that I will miss one and then people will talk amongst themselves about my hairy chin. Aaargh - I can't believe I told you that.

3: I didn't vote in the last election even though I told everyone I did. I lost the postal vote form thing. Now I am a firm believer in voting because if you don't vote then you can't really complain about the government you get. Consequently I have had to lie about my ballot status in order to whinge about the world today and point out to everybody how it would be so much better if they only made me chancellor, or just the Emperor Ming.

4: I have lost a ring that Crazy Frog lent me and haven't confessed to it yet. I keep hoping it will turn up even though it is a YEAR since I lost it (I took it off while I was making Beef Wellington and never saw it again. I suspect I cooked it in the Beef Wellington and somebody ate it....)

5: When I was small, and special boy was still smaller, we were playing superman in his bedroom. This involved jumping off the top bunk and pretending we could fly. The bed had a removable ladder with metal hooks which was lying on the floor with the hooks face up. Special Boy leapt, landed on the ladder and very nearly lost his eye as he impaled his face on the hooks. He still has a scar through his eyebrow to this day. I made up a totally different story to tell my mother as we went to hospital so that I wouldn't get into trouble.

6: I once worked in John Lewis in the run up to Christmas. My very first morning I overslept and was late in. In my defence this is because I was sleeping in a box room with no windows and I had no idea it was daytime! However, when I turned up to work the manager gave me this look of utter disdain and said "Overslept did we?" in this incredibly sarcastic way. I was so vexed to be caught out that I found myself saying "Actually no, my grandmother died last night" At this point all my grandparents had already died so I didn't feel this was going to jinx any of them but I spent the next few weeks explaining why I didn't go to the funeral....

7: I am very bad at returning books that I am lent. I have very good intentions but if I don't get said book back within a week of borrowing it then it seems to make it's way onto my shelves and never goes home to it's real owner. Considering that I hate it when I don't get books back which I lend out, this is rather a repellent habit.

8: I always wished I had titian coloured hair but I was too frightened to dye it in case it looked mad on me. I hate that I didn't take even small risks like that when I was younger (or even now), instead I always tried to do the right thing and consequently missed out on all sorts of excitement (see point 9)

9: I was once offered a full time job cooking for a Senator but I turned it down because my parents would have hunted me down and killed me if I didn't go back to University and I was too chicken to tell them that I was wanted to defer. I still wonder what my life would have been if I had accepted that job.

10: I don't seem to have a biological clock. I don't long for babies though I do want a family (if you see what I mean). Sometimes I wonder if that is why I am still single.

So, there you are, 10 random but true facts about me, just for you. So in the name of passing these things on I nominate Katyboo, Bevchen, At Home & Happy, Mr Farty and Home Office Mum to take up the baton and show me how this should be done.

They have to be kidding?

So, I went to see a house today. To be honest it was WAY out of my price range. I mean a hundred thousand pounds out, but I thought 'what the heck? It's been on the market for over a year, why not?' and off I pootled to check it out.

The estate agents (foul untrustworthy fiends) had painted a picture of a 4 bedroom farmhouse with kitchen, sitting room, dining room and utility room, a couple of acres, stables, outbuildings etc etc. Everything I wanted in my dream world (well, a swimming pool, Library and walk in dressing room wouldn't go amiss either). It looked sort of interesting on the site and over the last year of property searching I have looked at this house over and over again and persuaded myself that perhaps the reason I can't find a house is because this one is perfect and naturally therefore out of my budget. But in these hard pressed times perhaps they would take an offer, a ridiculously low laughable offer. I am an optimist. I booked a viewing.

It was blizzarding as I drove through the lanes, following the directions from the foul, untrustworthy fiends. Naturally these were ludicrous and took me 5 miles out of my way on the most circuitous route possible. Finally I find the house. First problem? You can't turn into the drive. Instead you have to drive past it and reverse in with a lovely three foot drop off on one side of the car. Not encouraging.

The yard was a tip. The 'stables' were a ramshackle corrugated shed, with a second shed randomly placed behind it and then bizarrely a small garden shed with a balcony looking, not at the view, but at the road. Turning my attention to the outside of the house, I see that the doors are painted in seventies brown and the window frames in a shade of yellow that should be illegal. That definitely did not show up on the website but it's all fixable so I refuse to run away and instead, knock on the door.

The man who showed me round said they had lived there for 18 years and had not had to do anything to the house. This might be because it was too messy to see that stuff needed doing to it. I mean in all honesty, it was a tip (I'm always amazed at people who don't tidy up AT ALL when they are trying to sell their house). What I could see was not particularly exciting. The utility room is, well, utilitarian. The downstairs loo had a charming blue loo and sink with contrasting cream loo seat (mmm, nice!). It turns out that if you want to flush the loo you have to run the cold tap on the sink. Really, for hundreds of thousands of pounds, you can get charming personal touches like this.

The kitchen isn't nice or horrible, it's just a kitchen and it turns out to be one of the lightest room in the house. I could see my hands and see that there was only 1 metre of worksurface. However there is a narrow room next door that could be knocked into the kitchen with money I don't have so I refuse to let this get me down. Next we go through a biggish room that is the sitting room but is also the corridor so they have only been able to fit one chair and a short sofa into it. The room is bitterly cold and with no doors on the openings leading out of it, I can't see that getting any better. We turn into the old part of the house and move into what I am told is the 'Dining Room'. The ceilings so low the loyal hound might risk concussion and the walls are painted the colour of an aubergine. It's so dark I trip over a chair. Fumbling towards the doorway on the other side of the room I find myself in a lobby at the foot of stairs so steep I may need crampons to climb them. It turns out that the Master Bedroom is on the other side of the stairs, but on the ground floor. It is also dark and icily cold due to the fact that all the floors are tiled. Now I know that a lick of paint can work wonders but this is all starting to get ridiculous. I feel like a mole, a mole facing the eiger.

I climb the stairs wishing for safety ropes and choose door number two. This is apparently bedroom 3. I'm not sure I'd call a room so small that you can't open the door fully into it a bedroom but there you go. Opposite is a tiny bathroom and then there are two more bedrooms, not small but definitely not big. I take a deep breath and go back down the stairs, beaning myself on the meter box that hangs precariously over them as I go.

Emerging back into the cold wind whipping over the hill I stared across the valley and wondered exactly what I would get for the hundreds of thosands of pounds that I don't have. Concussion? Hypothermia? An inability to see in real daylight?

I know that we all put our hopes and our hard earned cash into our property. It is the ultimate nest egg but this is ridiculous. If that house had been half the price I'm not sure I would consider it and they want twice what it could possibly be worth. They have to be kidding. I'm sticking with the hovel. At least I can see inside it without a flashlight at midday.