Archive for the ‘Friendship’ Category

Me
April 30, 2009

I came across this delightful meme on Belgian Waffle earlier today. As Mdme Jaywalker has opened it up to all, I thought it would be fun to give it a go.


1. Are you a male or female: Red shoes, red nail varnish…yes, I’m a bloke.


2. Describe yourself: Snow White with roots – plan to get them done just before my sister’s wedding in 2 weeks time.


3. How do you feel about yourself: Could try harder. It was even on my report card at school.

4. Describe your parents: My poor, long suffering parents. Absolute stars, the pair of them! I have given them so much grief over the years, that they have well and truly earned the right to come and live with me in their old age – come to think of it, that would probably be their worst nightmare.

 

P.s If either of you ever happen to stumble across this blog: Sorry, I love you and I promise I won’t put plastic on the chairs.


5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: Disappointing, including the actor Gerard Butler (yes, I had him before you Mlle Aniston). He left me to ‘make it big in Hollywood’ and he did. Sob.

6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: 6ft ex-marine with extra large extremities – why else do you think I took him back after he totalled my car?

7. Describe your current location: Rented flat, with grubby 1970’s lino, make do furniture and a gorgeous, sunny terrace. I also have a ghost that presents itself in the form of a dark shadow. Shiver.

8. Describe where you want to be: I was going to say on a beach in Mexico (Playa del Carmen is one of my favourite places ever), but in light of recent events, (oink, oink, has someone turned the heating up?) maybe not. Alternatives would include: in a hot bath with a glass of champagne, or in bed with Mr XL Xtremities (think I have found a new name for him. He will be pleased).

9. Your best friend(s) is/are: Fantastic, wild, funny and rude.

10. Your favourite colour is: Mint/pistachio Green. I bought my first car, a Nissan Figaro, because it was green. I was in tears when I sold it (I didn’t want to, but I needed the money to settle my debts before moving to France), especially as the new buyer came to pick it up on my 29th birthday. My ex made me this card to make me feel better. Suffice to say, it didn’t.

 

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11. You know that: If someone says, ‘it will only take a minute,’ it’s a lie. I wouldn’t say I was slow, but it has only taken me 35 yrs to work that one out.

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: I would go for ‘6 feet under,’ but it’s already taken.


13. What is life to you:

 

20 days per month – Something to get through.

5 days per month – Hell

The remaining 5/6 – OK, sometimes verging on pretty good.

 


14. What is the best advice you have to give: Do the washing up before you go to bed and make your bed in the morning. It makes you feel as if you are in control.


If anyone else fancies having a go, link back to me, so that I can come and check it out.

 

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Cake
November 25, 2008

As I write this, the oven is whirring away and the smell of Nigella’s Chocolate Cloud Cake is wafting through the air. Ooooh, it is diviiiiiiiiine…retribution for having a dirty oven. Sadly, the cake is long gone. It was made (and eaten) on Sunday and all that remains is what I am smelling now, some soon-to-be-burnt, chocolaty blobs at the bottom of my oven. If only I had removed them before putting the butternut squash in for lunch. It’s so unfair!

 

While I am on the subject of cake, I might as well show you one I made for my friends the other week. Three birthdays, one party and an empty purse meant I had to get a bit creative in the kitchen. This was the result:

 

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My friends brought to life in sugar paste. They all loved it, except for R (the heavy smoker), who I had depicted with a cigarette in his mouth. How was I supposed to know that he had stopped smoking a few days before and didn’t want to be reminded of his previous addiction?

 

“Nevermind,” said M, coming to the rescue. “I still like the odd puff now and again. Do you mind if I have it?”

 

And with that she lifted the offending white stick from the cake, popped it in her mouth, chewed on it for a bit then said,  “I can see why people give up. That was disgusting.”

 

Friends!

 

Forbidden fruit
September 19, 2008

 

 

There’s nothing like a bit of fresh fruit to start the day with, especially when it has been plundered the night before. It was my 67yr old friend who made me do it – honest! She led me into temptation by leading me past the fig tree in her lane. She had tried to get her hands on some earlier in the day, but being too short had failed. Frustrated, she knew exactly who to call; a lofty, 5’10 fig addict – me.

 

We did it under the dead of night. Not because we were ‘stealing’ (I had been assured that the tree was in a garden that hadn’t been tended to in years), but because we had decided to go out for a meal first and collect them on the way back – that way they would be extra fresh for breakfast.

 

With only the moonlight to guide me, I reached over the wall and pulled down branch, after branch, after branch.  A white, milky substance oozed from each fig where it had been removed from the tree.

 

“They look just like little breasts,” I said, rolling a nipple-like stalk between my fingers.

 

 

 

“Oh yes,” said my friend, giggling. “I’ll never be able to look at a fig in the same way again!”

 

Our laughter must have drawn attention to our presence, as we heard something rustling in the undergrowth behind the tree.

 

 “Let’s go,” whispered my friend as she darted off down the lane – she may be a pensioner, but she can’t half lift her legs when she wants too.

 

“But I thought you said this garden was….oh never mind,” I said, trying to catch her up, figs bouncing around in my hand bag.

 

When we reached her terrace we burst into laughter.  “Oh, I haven’t had so much fun in ages,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

 

“Me neither,” I replied, legs crossed, trying desperately not to wet myself.

 

“I know where we can get our hands on some more,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

 

“Aren’t we getting a bit old for plundering?” I replied.

 

“Absolutely not!” she said, sinking her false teeth into one of the juiciest, ripest figs I have ever seen. 

 

 

 

 

 

Falling Hair
July 4, 2008

Today I did something I didn’t want to do – I shaved my friend’s head. As the clippers ran across her scalp, the last few delicate wisps of what had been a beautiful head of hair floated to the floor – it was special hair, hair that she had longed to keep. When the last strand had fallen, I soaked a washcloth in warm water and placed it over her newly naked skin. I hoped its warmth would bring her comfort – from the sounds she made, I think it did. When I took the cloth away she looked beautiful, if a little sad. With eyes wide she turned to look at me – they echoed the uncertainty of what was to come. I saw fragility balanced by strength and I was moved. My friend has cancer. Today was the day she had feared the most. I hope she didn’t feel like she had faced it alone.