Not that I'm jealous or anything...

My nieces were sick this week. Very sick. The kind where you vomit profusely and spend the day on the settee under a duvet. There is something wonderful about these days that is lost on you once you become an adult. I remember them from my own childhood, vividly. There were so many pleasures to the sickness, first the excitement of having the settee to yourself – with covers (I’m older so duvets didn’t exist in my childhood days). Secondly the collection of books - Malory Towers, St Clare’s, Secret Seven – you could read as many as you liked and in any order. Maybe even comics.

            And then there was the television. I dared a visit to my nieces (on their second sick day) and there they were, like an image of my former self, on the settee, snuggled under duvets and watching Aesop’s Theater (yes that is how it was spelt). And this was where the vision shattered.

            I too got the television. In the mornings this meant Open University – a man (usually bearded), with a blackboard and lots of chalked sentences that meant nothing to me but contained lots of squiggles (e.g. 3±7(xy)≠24), sometimes he’d have a whole blackboard full of these and would get very excited by the time he’d got to the end

            After Open University you could watch BBC Schools programmes, and I could learn to tell the time before the programme started and develop my social skills (see video). This, you will see, is why sick children of the 70s are blessed with patience.

            Then the programming turned to the adults and I could watch Pebble Mill at One (which is probably why my favourite band was Showaddywaddy). 

 

And then, when you were just thinking you could get used to being sick, spending time with your mum and the television - you got The Test Card.

Not just for a minute or two - this was for hours… and you really, really wanted to get better so that you could get up and walk to the TV to shut the thing up.

This was written for all those who can remember days before 24 hour cartoons/news/cookery/comedy/films and remote controls…

Along came a spider, who sat down beside her...

Our book-loving friend

And I wasn’t frightened away. Rob and I love spiders and happily share our home with them, although this year they have been bigger and closer. We don’t have a television but we do watch films and on the last two occasions we have been joined by what is clearly a relative of the tarantula family. It pops its head over cushions and watches us with a beady eye, next news it makes a dash and you’re never sure where it will appear next. The other night I caught it reading my book (pictured) so you can see that we’re living in close proximity with our arachnid friends.

            Perhaps a little too close.

            Today I was writing (as I do through the daylight hours), tapping away on my keypad, trying to put the finishing touches to an article on using yoga to improve your running. Twice I felt something brush my chest but put it down to perhaps a falling eyelash (yes, I’m like the princess, I can feel a pea under ten mattresses as well). Then I felt the distinct feel of footsteps over my knee, four pairs of them. Either I was being ambushed by four tooth-fairies or one of our house-guests had joined me. It was the latter, and I didn’t mind but it did remind me of our stay in Daman.

            We hadn’t quite been in India two weeks and, as my travel had been limited prior to this trip, I was a novice in much of the natural world. (On a train journey up to the Matharan Highlands I had excitedly pointed out the men sitting in the trees to Rob – they were monkeys!)

Our hotel in Daman was very nice, we had an ensuite room with hot water and a private balcony for 400 Rupees (£6.06 at the time) and, as we were staying there for several days we took the opportunity to unpack a few things, make use of the wardrobe and chill.

            It was in this hotel that I bothered to discuss the beetles with Rob, the shiny ones that joined me in the bathroom and scuttled round my feet. I thought they were quite beautiful in a dark and glistening kind of way. Rob told me they were cockroaches but, being the kind of person who judges others by how I find them rather than what I’ve heard about them, I was quite happy to share my bathroom with them. In fact you could say we got on well for the whole of our stay.

            Until the morning we were leaving.

            I got my pack out of the wardrobe (I always leave packing till the last minute) and started to stuff things in. At this point my things started to climb out – which was weird, we’d only been travelling a few days and our clothes weren’t that dirty. Within seconds my arm had turned quite black – moving black. I had grown a skin-tight, shimmering, gleaming, shrink-wrapped sleeve.

            Made of cockroaches.

Cockroach, courtesy of Just Animal

            And then I stopped liking them, I tipped my pack up and hundreds of six-legged armoured creatures ran out, covering my feet and filling every part of the room. And actually I flapped my arms about, became breathless and incoherent and rather like one of those screaming blondes that were popular in 80s movies (I’m thinking Goldie Hawn irrationality).

            There’s only one other creature that’s prompted such a reaction – and I’m afraid that’s another tale.

Drop a dress size in ten days - but please read the small print

Just after Toronto Half Marathon

I’ve lately been buying a lot of fitness magazines – it’s research for one of my latest assignments, and they’re not a bad read. Indeed, given that I have been trying to lose a little weight over the last few weeks, some of them are very enticing. Like, for instance, the one with the following front cover announcement:

            DROP A DRESS SIZE FAST! Slim down in just 10 days

            Now I’m not going to name and shame (though it is a November issue so you could take a look on the magazine shelves if you are at all interested) but I thought it would be interesting to share this article with you. Briefly. I don’t want to infringe copyright after all. 

That was a dark night - and I'm not talking about Batman

Niah Caves

Lately the gloomy weather has been leading to some very dark nights. It’s not normally a problem if I wake up in the night – given that our house is mainly glass I can generally see very well. Enough to know there are no monsters under the bed and enough to see my way around without disturbing Rob or standing on a cat. Not so at the moment

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog

I always read the credits to films. Sometimes I am thwarted in this mission – physically dragged out of the cinema or, on rare occasions, Rob simply turns the dvd off – and it seems too much effort to start it again, fast-forwarding all the way to the end.

If you don’t read the credits then I highly recommend it – I say this both as an aspiring writer (who cannot wait to be credited with something) and also a converted credit-reader (they are very interesting and there is no end of things you can learn about the film by reading the credits). Take caterers

Also bad

Couldn't find a limen but this is a nice Canadian gull

I learnt a word today. This is good, I like to learn new things but it is also bad because I should have known this word previously but had never even considered its existence. To make it doubly bad, I am still at a loss for how to use the word. Generally when I learn a new word, gargantuan for example (yes, I know, I’m a Tarantino fan) or zeitgeist, I use it, regularly and teach it to my nieces but today I cannot.

            The word is liminal.

            I should not be surprised by its being, given that I use the word subliminal perhaps not frequently but certainly confidently. I could use it at a dinner party should I wish to – and not just with regard to advertising. So why was I surprised to read the word liminal today? More to the point, given that I know the word subliminal could I not just have removed the prefix and worked out (via mathematical/linguistic reasoning) what liminal meant? Was it really necessary to get out the dictionary and, on finding that it is not listed in my copy of Oxford Modern; did I really have to go to the university website in order to access the Complete Oxford and thus sate my curiosity?

            Still, curiosity sated please could someone give me a meaningful sentence containing the word? Or explain the following, quoted from Mind (1884:428):

‘The liminal difficulties cannot be evaded without the most disastrous consequences to the body of the exposition.’

Actually, perhaps E. B Titchener helps (1895):

‘We may also introduce the concept of the limen, defining the just noticeable deviation from indifference as a liminal pleasantness or unpleasantness.’

Or then again – perhaps he doesn’t.

Your comments would be greatly appreciated.

On a more (ful)filling note, here’s a cheap and cheerful recipe that you could serve at a dinner party without looking bad. (Just use less ingredients if you’re doing it for a starter).

Recipe: Warm chorizo and black-pudding salad

Source: Lots of chefs do variations

Ingredients:

Black pudding (1 per person)

Chorizo (not that ready sliced stuff)

Green beans

New potatoes

Dijon mustard

Crème fraiche

Butter (salted or unsalted – as you prefer)

Egg

Here’s what I do:

Halve the potatoes (if they’re large) and boil in water until tender, adding your beans for the last five minutes. Cook your black pudding to your liking, we boiled ours this time but you can slice and fry. Whilst all this is cooking slice your chorizo quite chunkily and fry in a separate pan until crispy. Meanwhile make your sauce – put some water in a pan and set it to boil, find a dish that fits snugly in the pan and into this place a good sized knob of butter, a teaspoon of Dijon and then a few spoons of crème fraiche. Stir it as it all melts together over the bain marie. (This sauce is all about personal preference – I like the mustardy taste quite mild so I use less mustard/more creme fraiche – you’ll need to taste and do it to your liking.)

            Get a big frying pan full of water and get this boiling. Plate up your salad on warmed plates and poach your eggs in the boiling water (they’ll only take a couple of minutes) serving these on top of your salad. Drizzle it all with a little sauce, serving the rest in a jug.

Saddened by the Pull of a Cork

Up until a few months ago Rob and I relied on each other for certain things. I needed Rob for opening wine and he needed me for surfing the internet, we were constantly saying to one another,

‘And what will you do if I die?’

 I’ve had one of my favourite Sunday afternoons – made chicken stock, French bread, cereal bars and poached pears ready for dessert (they’re currently steeping in a nicely thickened liquor which I prepared from fortified wine, sugar and a touch of arrowroot). During this culinary extravaganza I selected a wine from our last French trip and, with remarkable deftness of hand, used the corkscrew (wine waiter variety, those pump-action all singing all dancing ones will not do for us) and decanted the wine.

            Then I remembered how I came home the other day to find Rob surfing the net – on my computer – no assistance required.

            And I felt a touch saddened by our independence.

I thought I’d finish the week with a really tasty and tremendously easy pasta dish. The beauty of this dish is it is very quick, very easy and extremely nutritious, packing all those wonderful Omega oils into one delicious meal.

Recipe: Artichoke and Salmon Spaghetti

Source: Originally inspired by a ‘Good Food Magazine’ recipe

Ingredients:

Jar of artichokes in oil

Tin of salmon

Broccoli (cut into small florets)

Cherry tomatoes

Black olives (optional)

Here’s What I Do

Nothing (ha, this is one of Rob’s creations)! If you want to make it, empty your jar of artichokes with oil into a medium sized pan (you need one with a tightly fitting lid). Into the same pan put the tomatoes and the broccoli florets. Put on the lid and cook over a medium heat – the oil will steam the broccoli. This should take about 20 minutes but make sure your artichokes don’t start to burn.

            Meanwhile prepare your spaghetti (as per pack instructions). Drain your tin of salmon and remove any big bones, chopping the flesh into large chunks. Put the salmon (and olives if using) into the artichoke pan for the last 5 minutes.

            Serve your spaghetti onto warmed plates, putting the artichokes etc on top and ensuring that you drizzle all the lovely juices over.