busy busy busy
2008-12-06, 4:42 p.m.
Well, my week off�s almost over and what on EARTH have I been doing?Firstly, Ive been doing an awfie lot of cooking so if you�re in the slightest bit interested, you need to click back to
There�s mince pies and Christmas Cake and general edible gorgeousness abounding!
And its not only ME! Look! L finally made something edible! I did the dough but he was totally responsible for the easy bit shaping the rolls and baking them.
I have bought him a simple cook book and his own apron (not a frilly girly one � its just plain blue) for Christmas in the hope it will inspire him to occasionally take responsibility for the household comestibles greatness.
On a separate topic, when L�s mum died we got custody of all kinds of stuff from her house � silverware, a cocktail cabinet, that fucking great big rug (previously mentioned) and �some ornaments�. Ornaments are very personal things, aren�t they. One persons vile piece of cheap crap is another persons objet d�art.
We have a praying cupid (whimsically sentimental but small enough to hide behind other, more tasteful, objets), some paintings (in the loft. They. Are. Not. Going. On. My. Walls. Ever.) and a couple of large replicas of Michaelangelos David and the Venus de Milo. Both sculptures are AWESOME���in reality. Ive seen both and they�re fabulous. Our copies, on the other hand��ummmm�.are not. They�re cheap-looking, poorly executed (as if someone had only had the originals described to them and had copied them �sight unseen� or something) and too big and clunky to �accidentally� lose. Of course, they have the added stigma sentimental value of L having bought the bloody things for his mother in the first place � of course, for �bought� I could mean �won at the fair�, I mean, LOOK AT THEM!
In the last furniture reshuffle, L brought them down from where I had hidden them the office and put them on the bar. Treac was instantly mortified by the sight of David�s little willy and Venus� bare bosoms and can now only walk past them if she looks the other way. 8 year olds can be very prudey, cant they. Jooj, on the other hand, is waaaay cooler and can be in their naked proximity without going puce. If anything, I would say she spends rather too MUCH time sizing up David�s tackle�all in the name of �research and art appreciation�, Im sure.
Desperate measures, my friends, desperate measures. Firstly, I sometimes need Treacle to actually go to the bar and get stuff for me � ideally without her hand over her eyes. And I don�t want Jooj to think that men do actually look like that naked. Also, I don�t want anyone visiting us to think that we have no taste, so I have been searching for a way to spare Treacle�s blushes, give Jooj something else to think about and to give D & V a neat little ironic twist. I think Ive found it:
I can foresee a variety of little outfits for the two of them�although not too many things with sleeves for poor Venus, eh? The kids think its great and have suggested a couple of outfits of their own � eeeh! It�ll be Chigley�s answer to this charming little fellow. Fucking hell, that website�s irritating, isn�t it? Well, that�s Belgians for you,I guess. What was that I was saying about not wanting people to think we have no taste?
Got Lee and Anne Marie and other friends coming for dinner tonight so Ive been making curry all day � a Chicken Jalfrezi, a Beef Madras (still in the oven � needs long slow cooking) and a Prawn/coconut/sweet potato one which is nice and mild and creamy. YUM.
More soon my dears � off now to wash the peroxide off my roots before all my hair falls out. Even with MY questionable taste I can appreciate that �scabby bald patches with added chemical burns� is not a look that�s IN this winter for the discerning lady about town. Also need to do something about my makeup � hastily put on this morning before going to get my hair cut and, with the benefit of now NOT being as hungover as I was then, I note with some disappointment that I look like I have been shot in he face, at point blank range by some kind of Maybelline Gangsta. Or maybe I was born with it.