I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want...

This pregnancy continues to amaze me. A couple of nights ago I went along for a work's night out in the Salsa Cafe in town, where we were all munching on nachos and sipping sangria (virgin in my case), chatting about this, that and the other and the subject of pregnancy cravings came up. The usual tales about people eating industrial-sized jars of mayonnaise and gherkins were thrown into the mix, along with the obligatory 'I know someone who knows someone who ate chalk when pregnant (or add any other disgusting substance here - sometimes it's coal)' story, and I was asked whether I'd experienced any cravings yet.

I haven't had any, I explained. Apart from a couple of times after I'd stopped feeling car sick all the live long day and quite fancied a chocolate milkshake. But I don't think that was a proper craving, more like me really wanting milkshakes and using pregnancy as an excuse to have them. Yup, I thought I'd missed the boat with cravings.

Anyway, on my way home that evening I suddenly had an all-compassing hankering for (and this has divided the office as to whether this this absolutely rank or not) tinned mackerel and cucumber sandwiches. So much so, that I had to call The Other Half and ask him to make me some (and go and buy the bits if we didn't have the ingredients). He did both dutifully. (Even cut them into triangles as they taste better that way.) I have had mackerel and cucumber sandwiches every evening since. It's not so weird, is it? No different to tuna or salmon sandwiches? Well, that's my comeback anyway, when someone at work asks what the fishy pong emitting from my lunchbox is.

Gathering up the gang...

On Thursday some gal pals came round for a catch up over food - probably my last chance to cook for them all for a long while as one friend, S, is leaving our Northern realm to start her new life in Cardiff in a couple of weeks. It was a lovely, proper girly gossipy evening - and so nice as we haven't all been together in what feels like a long time. I made the gang:

Greek souvlaki with tzatziki
Mediterranean couscous salad
Served with flavoured olives, warm pitta bread, lemon drizzled rocket and avocado
And for dessert - Hot chocolate fudge cake

Yum! And it all went down well. The Other Half even poked his head in the dining room to hoover up the leftovers.

Last night we attended a family wedding party - the evening reception (the couple were married in a small ceremony last week - I think it was her second and his third wedding!). We didn't stay too long though - The Other Half and I only really knew each other and it's not much fun at all when I'm sticking to water because I couldn't face any more sickly sweet coke or lemonade, and he's joining me out of sympathy! Plus we had all manner of random strangers come up to us to wish us well (which we don't mind at all), and bestow their sage advice and old wives' tales upon us (grin and bear it through gritted teeth). Apparently I am going to have a boy as I'm all bump up front. (Where the hell else is the bump meant to go?!)

Speaking of the bump, yesterday was also a turning point as I felt the baby move for the first time! It's amazing - I knew instantly what it was, feels like there's a giant butterfly in there fluttering about. A bit squirmy and wriggly, too - as if it's turning over and trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. And since that first recognisable squirm, it hasn't stopped moving! From here on in I shall refer to the wee one as the little wriggler. The Other Half can't feel anything yet - but it'll only be a matter of weeks until hopefully he can make out an elbow or foot!

At last, my head is out of the loo...

Inform the national media, ring the church bells, write it in huge letters in the sky and make me a nice sandwich, please - my head has finally emerged from its lengthy stay down the toilet pan and I'm back on food for first time in weeks - hale-bloody-luliah! I'm celebrating with a homemade curry and The Other Half. Come on!

Mmmm, curry.

Little white lies part two...

The Other Half went to see Oasis last night, and took the chap who was his usher rather than me - which is something else I have to sulk about. (I spouted off some utter tripe about working late on a webinar and not being able to make it. Grrr.) Ok, ok - I donated the ticket to him myself as I'm still feeling like absolute shit on a stick, but I wanted to go! It would have been money down the drain though I wouldn't have seen much of the concert owing to the fact I'd have been in the loos for most of the evening then either gone home early or curled up under my seat to sleep. And sleep on a stadium floor is something I never want to do, regardless of how tired I am.

On a different note, my tea tonight consisted of things I haven't eaten since I was 12 (waffles, fish fingers and beans). Interesting. But they seemed to be the only food items that didn't make me feel queasy at the thought of. Hence my cupboards are now packed to the hilt with tins of beans and I predict many meals of beans on toast in the foreseeable future. Oh, and I ended up telling the guy who sits next to me at work today the truth as he's been asking me for a while now if I'm alright, and outright asked me this morning if I was pregnant. And since at the time I was nibbling ginger snaps with a grey, sleepy-yet-ready-to-throw-up expression, I couldn't think of a viable excuse so swore him to secrecy.

Gawd almighty, I'm counting down until I can tell everyone about this small person inside me so they can stop thinking I'm a tired, cranky, hungover bint. Well, they'll think that anyway but at least they'll know why I'm such a bint.

Little white lies part one...

Urgh.

Yes, I'm irritable. Shut up. I'm getting tired of keeping schtum now. Thinking of excuses for everything is almost as exhausting as being pregnant. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean. I also feel the need to bleat on about it all here because I can't vent it elsewhere. So I'd be prepared for some boring baby ranting posts if I were you. In fact, if you're adverse to such things, just bugger off now and save yourself the time.

I had tea out with the gals tonight. Which is usually a lovely, chatty affair but between me fighting to stay awake (not the company's fault, I'm just THAT tired at the minute) and having to pretend I'm not that hungry (not like me at all), I just couldn't be bothered with it all and found myself fantasising about going to bed with new pyjamas and clean sheets rather than participate in conversations about people we went to school with. Choosing what I could have from the menu was also rather trying. Sticking to lemonade is not my scene, and neither is not having coffee. Actually I was feeling quite bleurgh and sorry for myself in general but had to keep a fixed grin and at least appear interested in the exploits of my non-knocked up chums.

I've also found it difficult keeping things concealed at work, too. Being bleurgh at work is becoming much harder to disguise. This is partly my own doing too, though. Aside from needing the loo all the live long day and nibbling on all manner of sickness 'remedies' - trying to keep Amazon deliveries of baby books to work inconspicuous is like a Russian spy operation to get the packages safely to my desk unnoticed. Must find suitcases and large newspaper with cut-out eye holes.

Oh, I've managed to irritate myself now. Good night.

The icks and yuks...

To top off my already skipping-through-a-meadow-filled-with-daisies-mood, this morning the Vampire Midwife turned out to be correct. The sickness has started. Bang on cue. Just when I thought I might be one of the lucky ones and escape this indignity - my body obviously laughed out loud and made other plans. Oh, I can't begin to describe how lovely it is. I haven't actually hurled as of yet, but spent most of the morning whilst getting ready running to the bathroom as I almost did hurl. And retching and feeling grotty is just as bad as actually being sick as you have the wonderful task of feeling like a big bag of cack without the silver lining of the sweet release of puke.

Busy looking up sickness remedies as I type. I can't eat anything. The smell, taste and very thought of food at the minute turns my stomach. And I had to go into work and spend the day pretending everything was fine and dandy in various meetings with a demonic grin on my face that while creepy, at least hid the nauseating urge to barf over my director's shoes. Which, to be fair - if you had seen her shoes you might want to do the same.

Noooo! Please don't take my goat's cheese...

Today I printed off a list of food stuffs to check I'm not eating anything I really shouldn't be, especially as every food label I seem to read says things like 'contains raw eggs' or 'may be unsuitable for pregnant women'. May be? That's just not good enough - I need a definite answer! 'May be' is neither use nor ornament when I'm ransacking the fridge in a hunger rage. You might have gathered that I'd like to consider myself a bit of a foodie, so I'm not really looking forward to cutting out nice things I would normally eat without a second thought. So, here we go, the no-no list. Let's see what it says:

Raw/undercooked eggs
I hate mayo anyway, so no loss there. And I don't like dippy eggs and soldiers. But I suppose I'll have to read up on labels such as uncooked cheesecakes, mousse and lemon curd. Not so bad, as long as I can still have chocolate.

Pate and liver products
Ewww. Not something I would choose to eat anyway. So far so good. Apparently it's the vitamin A content in them or something that does something nasty.

Soft ice cream
That's fine. I'm not a fan of Mr. Whippy and listeria doesn't sound too pleasant a side effect, so we'll give this a miss.

Meat
Avoid undercooked meat - bye bye rare steaks! Ah well. I'm sure I can live without Parma ham and the like for a few months, too.

Fish
Limit intake of oily fish like salmon, mackerel etc. to two per week to cut the risk of pollutants, also tuna due to the mercury content. OK, that's doable. I will miss smoked salmon, however. But can't say I've ever eaten shark or swordfish so am unlikely to miss those.

Seafood
Only eat cooked seafood - no raw prawns etc. Which means no sushi - arrrrrgh! The Other Half better treat me to some sushi when I've de-sprogged, I tell you.

Unpasteurised dairy products
Avoid goat's and sheep's milk. Fair enough. And blue and soft cheese. Which means...horror of horror - I can't have goat's cheese, noooooo! I love goat's cheese.

The fridge better be stocked when I come home from hospital.

Tea time tales...

We've had a flurry of birthdays in our little group of late, coupled with some lovely birthday tea nights out in own after work to celebrate. But tonight decided to stay closer to home and go very local! There's a new little Italian restaurant just opened in our village and we thought we'd give it a try. However, no matter where we go in the world and no matter how good the reviews are from everyone else - it always seems to be our group who end up saddled with catastrophe and bad service. Something ALWAYS goes wrong. It's like a law - we must have faces that say 'yes, please treat us badly, we don't mind at all!'

I have a whole host of appalling service stories. Taking the top spot however was the time when a waitress tipped a whole plate of spaghetti bolognaise down my friend S's back, ruining her dress. No apology. The saving grace was that it was cold spaghetti I suppose, so no 3rd degree burns - although the fact that she was serving it cold in the first place is not very comforting. And she tried to short change us. Tonight wasn't nearly as bad as that, but it wasn't great. I'm not going to name names as it's a very new restaurant and is entitled to some teething problems, but really. Why would you employ staff who can't be bothered to listen to what customers order, and make it up as they go along? (Two of our meals came out wrong, even though we repeated the order twice as the waitress seemed confuzzled.) And we'd all finished by the time my friend G's dish came out. And when it did - yep, you guessed it - it was also incorrect.

Somehow I don't think we'll be venturing into that restaurant for a wee while. Especially as I now have the knowledge that my friend J has spent the remainder of the evening since we parted ways and went home locked in the bathroom with her head down the loo, saying hello to her pasta again. How delightful. And it may just be that I know this fact now, and I may just be being paranoid and looking for things that might not be there - but now I've got a funny queasy feeling too. Great. I could really do without a night of crying huey in the bathroom.

The Easter bunny forgot my address...

I love bank holidays. They're even better when you get an extra day off work bolted on to your annual leave for free. Get in. And what's been even better is that we had a lovely Easter lunch yesterday and I didn't even have to cook it - my mother dearest decided to host! You can't beat Mum meals. Even if she does decide that the best 'universal' starter to suit everybody round the table is that 1970s crowd pleaser - prawn cocktail. (Although I can't complain too much as she does leave out the revolting nuclear tainted pink Marie Rose sauce, and adds nice lumps of white crab meat to the mix. With shredded cucumber and lime juice.)

Anyway, to more pressing matters. Easter eggs. In my opinion the best Easter eggs ever in the world bar none are the weeny little Cadbury's Buttons ones that cost about £1. The chocolate egg tastes so much better than normal chocolate for some reason! (Probably the excessive amounts of extra sugar they pump into them when moulding the eggs, but shush.) Then you have the added bonus of finding a bag of chocolate buttons inside. Fantastic. However, I have a bone to pick with the Easter Bunny this year. Did I buy eggs for others? Yes I did. And despite several hints of a not-so-subtle variety about cheap Cadbury's Buttons eggs, did I receive one? No I did not.

No Buttons egg. Not even one solitary egg. Or Mini-eggs. Not even a paste egg that my sister normally makes and stinks my mother's house out to high heaven with a boiling, staining concoction of coffee and onion skins. (Okay, I don't like boiled eggs but that's neither here nor there.) I suppose you know you're getting older when even the Easter Bunny forgets your address. When I have children I really want to hide mini Easter eggs around the garden and make an egg hunt for them. (Or get The Other Half to hide them so I can take part too - that sounds like a better plan.) However hard I try, I don't think I'll ever grow up. Do I have to? Oh yeah, people already think I have. Hence the zero Easter Eggs situation. Harrumph.

Acceptable in the 80s...

Carnage, cocktails and costumes - the three Cs of a successful party! I feel surprisingly fine today. Maybe it's because we've only just finished clearing up the residual crap so have had something else to concentrate on all day - or maybe it's down to the fact that I gave up on the Del Boy cocktails and started drinking the non-alcoholic plain pineapple juice when it all became too much round about 11:30pm when the 80s dancing competition ended? Hmmm. Anyway, it was like, so totally awesome.

Fashion Wheel, Kerplunk, Spirograph, Screwball
Scramble, Operation, cocktail umbrellas, armbands,
neon...how many 80s relics do you remember?

Everybody made the effort to dress up which was brilliant. Neon Barbie and Ken (matching sun visors and vests!), Madonna (more bracelets and lace than you could shake a stick at), The Hoff (with curly wig, chest hair, leathers and orange skin), Alex Drake (Ashes to Ashes), the 1984 LA Olympics, many generic 80s costumes in varying neon colours featuring legwarmers and awful make-up - and we had two iconic 80s doctors in our presence - Ghostbuster Dr. Egon Spengler and Doc Emmett Brown, to bring a bit of science to the proceedings. Egon's proton pack was made from a cereal box wrapped in a bin liner with a vacuum hose poking out of it. Genius.

All you need for a DIY 80s party:

Food
Anything full of sugar, colourings, and leftover from primary school birthday parties - fairy cakes and crispy cakes, crisps (Space Invaders and Monster Munch), party rings, jammie dodgers, rocket lollies, pickled onions and cheese on sticks. I topped it off with a Mr. Men birthday cake.

Cocktails
'Del Boys' - pineapple and coconut juice, Malibu and pineapple slices (from a can of course). 'Club Tropicanas' - orange and mango juice, peach schnapps and lemonade. Decorate both to the hilt with mini umbrellas, those plastic monkeys, glittery streamers on sticks and fruit in the glass.

Music
My crap 80s iPod playlist came in VERY handy. Gather up as much electro-pop and synth as you can. Think Wham!, Cyndi Lauper, MJ, The Boss, A-ha, Kylie, one hit wonders plus film soundtracks. And make sure you have an 80s dancing competition.

Costumes
Several people picked an 80s character or icon, but most dressed in general 80s attire. Armbands, legwarmers, off-the-shoulder tops, big hair, crimped hair, lace, bangles, stilettos, and - would you believe it - as much neon as you could possibly wear.

Games
We all raided our garages to procure such relics as Fashion Wheel (still with its original coloured pencils!), Operation, Rubik's cubes, Kerplunk, Spirograph and Screwball Scramble. I also found a bag of Trolls. The drunken Kerplunk tournament was a particular highlight, however.

Decorations
Afore-mentioned bag of trolls came in handy to decorate the room. As did streamers and balloons in as garish-as-possible colours, luminous table confetti, Barbies, My Little Pony, (I think someone may have brought a Care Bear?) and just general neon-ness.

Dude. It was like, so totally tubular.

Bring on the sangria...

I love a decent catch up session with friends. Especially with those you don't see nearly often enough! Last night I headed out into town for tapas and lots of talking - for a long-overdue reunion with some pals from my MA. This merry bunch of folk included the star guest - the seldom-seen gorgeous gal from Athens who just jetted over to visit for a few days: cue lots of duty-free ouzo produced from her bag for each of us and the rest of the night becomes a bit blurry!

Tapas is lovely but it's lovelier in the relaxed-and-nestled-away-up-the-steep-cobbled-street-restaurant of El Torero. The sangria soon flowed copiously along with the gossip and it was fantastic. I learned all about my pals C and M's new pad in Durham; L's updates on her latest novel (she's up to number three - and I'm very jealous, having read one and two); A's job for a Greek theatre company; as well as everyone giving their lowdown on the recent cinematic offerings (hey, we're all ex-film students so we're allowed to judge). Lots of loveliness.

And to round the weekend off nicely, today is Mother's Day so I'm heading over to my folks' for some Mum cuddles and to bestow some flowers and nice things upon her. I like weekends like this. I just wish they happened more often - I guess I'll just have to get saving for that trip to Athens to make them happen more often!

Top o' the morning to ya...

I love an excuse to get into the kitchen and whip something different up, and last night was no exception! OK, I did have a reason. Wait - I'll rephrase that. I FOUND a reason. Yesterday was our 'official' 7th anniversary (i.e. the day we actually first went out together), and also St. Patrick's Day. And while neither myself nor The Other Half have any Oirish ancestry or links whatsoever, I thought what the heck and decided to try my hand at some Celtic cuisine for the occasion. Here's what I cooked up a storm with:

Soda Bread
Ok, I ran out of time to actually make this myself but it looks simple enough! And the supermarket coughed up a pretty good alternative to homemade.

Beef and Guinness Stew
I adjusted the quantities for two people, and used a mixture of button and chestnut mushrooms as I didn't have shiitakes. Plus I chucked in some chunks of carrot to pad it out a bit.

Colcannon cakes
So simple to make and could go on the side of lots of meals. I used the bacon to top them - but if you were veggie you could always sprinkle with grated strong cheese instead.

Cheesecake with Irish whisky sauce
This was delicious (we had to wait a wee bit of time to actually attempt to eat it, however - we were soooo full up after the stew!) and I'm not a whisky fan, but this was absolutely divine.

Yum, yum and yum again. I don't think I'll be waiting until next year for St. Paddy's Day to come around before I make this little lot again.

Always room for a little one...

Well, I've given up the ghost trying to make everything myself for tonight and have conceded defeat. The Gods of Cuisine have conspired against me. So, everybody is bringing something along with them and I no longer have to subject all and sundry to my exploding spring rolls. Phew! My only concern now is that my little table seats six; yet we have seven for dinner. Methinks the person with the littlest backside will be perched on a patio chair and we'll all be a bit squished. Oh well. How very classy, dahlings.

A Lazy Susan. I'd like to know exactly
who this Susan was, and why she was
so lazy. And how could her laziness
have possibly produced a spinning piece
of wood?? We may never know.

I'm off to dig out my chopsticks and dust off the Lazy Susan which I have procured from the Outlaws. I have never used such a piece of dining kit. It screams '1970s' to me but it's really from Ikea. I have spent a considerable amount of time today spinning it to see how fast it can go. (It goes very fast, if you're wondering.) Perhaps speak tomorrow if I haven't poisoned us all...

Toodle (or is it tootle?) pip for now.

How to be a rubbish domestic goddess...

Rant alert.

On Saturday, I am supposed to be having the girls over for dinner. This has now turned into some of the girls plus some other halves for a Chinese New Year supper. OK, I can cope with that. Ordinarily. Except this hasn't been an ordinary week. No. It's been a week of complete and utter culinary disasters. My domestic goddess halo has fallen. In fact, I've Frisbee-d it out of the bloody window.

Earlier in the week I made a big pot of ramen. It always goes down well in my house, does ramen. I just don't think I engaged my brain when making it, this time. Instead of shredding pak choi, in went red cabbage instead. I don't believe I've ever had luminous purple soup before. Radioactive soup. I bet Nigella never has such mishaps. A day later I tried my hand at melty-in-the-middle mini chocolate puds. They were lurrrverly. Rich, but delish. The recipe made four little puds, so I saved two for dessert the next evening. Only muggins here forgot that they were melty-in-the middle puddings, and whacked them in the microwave at full pelt to heat them through. They were no longer melty-in-the-middle puds when I fished them out. More like steaming rubber bouncy balls. Sigh.

Anyway, undeterred, that same evening I set about making a stew to use up all the leftover veg in the fridge. Now, I didn't do anything differently to what I usually do here, so I'd like to know why it all went hideously wrong. Casserole pot on hob, oil in pot, brown off meat and onions, throw in the veg, add stock and simmer for a bit, then bung in the oven. All was fine until I added the stock. Then I heard a sort of popping, crackly noise. Then a gush. The casserole pot had cracked clean IN HALF and a litre of hot stock proceeded to flood the hob, run into the oven and all over the floor...it was a flamin' stock tidal wave. £80 Le Creuset casserole pots should not shatter on your hob. No. They. Should. Not. I have a good mind to take the two halves back to the shop. Which I could have done if only I hadn't shattered them into several more pieces on the patio in a rage.

Last night I decided to practice some homemade spring rolls ahead of Saturday. I've had my three cooking calamities this week, I couldn't possibly be due any more, I said to myself. Ho ho, how wrong I was. I had the recipe in order (a usually trustworthy source - Saturday Kitchen), a very nice gal at work gave me some tips, all the ingredients were lined up and I was ready to go. The filling went well. The pastry - not so well. More bundles than rolls. Now, even though they weren't wrapped very well they still should have been ok. So I'd really like to know how in the name of all that is holy do spring rolls EXPLODE in the oven? What did I ever do to them?

I think I'll have the takeaway menu on standby on Saturday.

It's not worth crying over spilt vino...

Remind me never to play board games whilst tipsy with my equally inebriated Other Half ever again. He's just far too competitive. I mean, honestly. It was only Cranium - not exactly high pressured. (Have you ever played Cranium? It's ace. Like 4 games in one.) And certainly not worth going in a strop and throwing a prop from the game - a ball of purple plasterciney play dough stuff used in a clay form of Pictionary - at me mid-sulk. Except he didn't aim properly. Oh no. The stuff missed me and knocked my wine off the table. Luckily my hand-eye coordination is better than his, and I caught the glass. Tsk.

My Facebook graffiti of the Incident. The Other Half was not impressed.

Anyway, apart from that, last night was tres amusant. A wee gathering of chums to celebrate our pal S returning from the Big Smoke. It was supposed to be themed (her idea) and that theme was Italian food (again, her idea. But a crowd-pleaser, nonetheless) and everyone had to bring something. As people arrived, our table became laden with an entertaining mix of garlic dough balls, spinach ravioli, mini tiramisus, teddy bear shaped pasta and more pizzas than in Rome. Therefore this turned into a Pizza Party. And a good time was had by all. Until the flying plastercine incident, that is.

Boys. Honestly.

Auld Lang Syne...

Happy New Year! (A bit early, I know, but I have plans to sit on my backside all evening eating sushi and watching films.) My plans with friends have fallen through but to be honest I'm not really bothered - today I am taking advantage of my new cookbooks (in particular, the one about how to make your own sushi - really looking forward to rustling up some homemade norimaki rolls) and am generally pottering about doing not much besides watch cack films, and will be singing along badly to the party tunes that are sure to grace the airwaves on every radio station across the land.

I have a feeling my sushi-hating folks may make an appearance later on, and I will be kicking out my Other Half into the street (most likely in his knocking-about-the-house shorts and t-shirt combo) just before midnight to be our first-footer, but that's about it. I quite like not having plans tonight. It doesn't feel as forced. Anyway, whatever you're doing and whoever you're with - hope you have a good one. Here's to 2009; may it bring everything you wish for.

xx

'Twas the night before Christmas...

Hello all, hope everyone had a fantabulous Christmas and Boxing Day and that Santa has been good to you. (I must say he was very good to me and brought me all manner of domestic goddessy things - cookbooks, foodie things, and a matching apron and oven glove set which is 1950s meets 1980s - black with bright multicoloured polka dots - so very me!) We've had a hectic one - visiting his folks' for Christmas lunch, mine for the evening, and all manner of family in between. Today, The Other Half and I finally caught our breath at home and did the dishes...from Christmas Eve. We appalled even ourselves. Every glass vessel in the house (including some bowls and a vase) had been utilised. Still, a good night was had by all.

It's becoming a sort-of tradition (in that this is only the second time it happened) that we play host to our friends for a bring-a-bottle-games-and-nibbles night on Christmas Eve. Last year, the old roulette wheel and casino table had an airing and the nibbles consisted of anything I could knock up from our only- recently-moved-into kitchen cupboards which were a bit bare, to say the least. Anyway, this year we had a bit more preparation time. I finished work on 23rd (until 5th Jan - whoop!) and we both spent Christmas Eve getting the house ready and rustling up some grub for 11 hungry people. (Recipes to the right and down a bit - the dolmades and canapes in particular went down a treat.)

Well, the Christmas tunes were on loop; drink flowed and the food was polished off; The Other Half spilt his thumb open on an exploded can and spent the night with a comedy cartoon-eqsue bandage adorning said digit; but the hysterics really started when game time began. We played giant pictionary in 'Win, Lose or Draw' girls-vs-boys stylee on a flip chart someone (who will remain nameless) pilfered from work, and had to contend drawing such anomalies as 'God' (you try drawing a 'concept'), 'Guam', 'Tipperary', 'Stephen Fry' and 'Vincent Van Gogh'. (Friend C who had to draw Van Gogh was very good actually - his team were just rubbish and didn't guess in time. He'd drawn the Sunflowers on an easel, and a one-eared man with a pair of scissors and everything. His team were baffled and the guesses included 'Spock' and 'Willy Wonka'. I don't have a clue why, either.)

Here's hoping next Christmas Eve is just as fun. Ideas for games on a postcard, please!

A collage completed by everyone at the end of the evening.
I can't quite remember exactly why Rudolph is being rogered
by Santa; but I'm sure there's a logical explanation.

Bree Van De Kamp, look out...

Slap my arse and call me Judy. Actually, no - just call me Nigella, for I am a newly-appointed domestic goddess. Well, almost. (Only with a rounder backside and no suggestive spoon-licking shots for the imaginary camera in my kitchen.) Yes, pardon my self appreciation here, but the truffles for work did not turn out like little poisoned balls of evil; instead, they were rather nice and I was mightily impressed with my confectionery efforts. As were my colleagues when I handed them out. Happy days indeed.

Yum.

OK, my sister helped me with one batch (I needed 2 pairs of hands - one to roll the truffles, one to dip them in chocolate) but I'm still proud. I even survived a slightly panicky 10 minutes when I thought the white chocolate batch I was making had split in the bowl (cue lots of swearing). They hadn't. I just hadn't taken them off the heat. Panic over. So, in-keeping with my 1950s-housewife image, I have (somewhat belatedly) asked Father Christmas to kindly find the time to fill my stocking with some cookbooks so I can experiment further. I wonder what he might bring.

Even more exciting is how many more working days I have left before Christmas - only two to go! Oh yeah. Had my team Christmas lunch (not a turkey in sight - all veggie!) and the drinks after work on Friday - amusing, to say the least. I was slightly merry, and have a vague recollection of telling my friend G that she had fantastic boobs (whilst copping a feel). And I ended up in a little pub where they were playing reggae. But not just any reggae, oh no. Bad reggae versions of Christmas songs. We left in protest via the Chinese takeaway.

Humbug, Scrooge, Grinch...whatever...

Tonight I'm missing my work Christmas party. Yes, yes - I know. While it is considered to be bad form by many not to attend; in my defence, I was double booked. But before you rename me Ebeneezer - it might be the company-wide party I'm missing, but I've still got my team Christmas lunch to look forward to, and the customary drinks-after-work-on-the last-day-of-term affair. I very much doubt I'd have been missed anyway. There'll have been the same gossip as last year which I'll hear all about tomorrow - someone will have made a horrendous fashion faux-pas; someone will have kissed someone they shouldn't have; someone will have said something they definitely shouldn't have; and there'll be beautiful pasty faces, panda eyes and hangovers galore at work in the morning. And besides, I'm on a mission this week. And that mission is truffles.

In a vain attempt to save some dosh this Christmas, I decided to make all my presents for work. Last year when I was the new girl, it was sprung on me at the last minute that my team of eight all buy gifts for each other, so I had to hot-foot it into town on my lunch hour and hastily ended up making my own crackers. (Bought a couple of cracker kits and filled them with sweets and mini games. They went down well. My stress levels did not. Fighting the shopping crowds a few days before Christmas with an hour's window is not my idea of a good time.) So this year, I'm more prepared and fancy testing my culinary skills. I've been out for the ingredients, have jars and decorations a-go-go and am all set to whip up a confectionery storm. However, I have never made any such things before and sweet treats are known not to be my forte in the kitchen, so this could all go hideously wrong. If I end up with inedible chocolate golf balls that look like they were made on the Generation Game, I'll resort to Plan B: olives and herbs in oil.

And it's my last full week at work before Christmas this week - awoohoo! The little iPod is loaded with Yuletide tunes and I'm ready to sing. In my head, of course. I wouldn't subject the hungover office to the horrors of my tuneless voice. Then again...

Gunpowder, treason and plot...

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...

I've always found this rhyme a bit odd. Nothing happened! It was a non-event! Why do we need to remember an event that didn't happen? Guy Fawkes didn't blow up the Houses of Parliament, the King did not die, and for all we know Guy Fawkes himself might have been an innocent bystander who thought he was doing someone a favour by changing barrels of ale in a pub rather than rolling gunpowder into Parliament's cellars - and he was hung, drawn and quartered for his good will. After all, it was over 400 years ago. How do we REALLY know, eh? So, I find it strange that we celebrate by having bonfires and fireworks and burning effigies of poor Guy when nothing actually happened.

This, however, does not mean that I don't enjoy Bonfire Night, oh no. I do. I like the firework displays. And the bonfire. And sparklers. And I love the food. What I do not like, however, is really rubbish planning. Tonight, The Other Half and I set off to our local (I say local, it was 6 miles away) display in good time, all wrapped up against the cold. We drove around for 25 minutes searching for a parking space only to give up and defeated, we watched the display from an industrial estate a mile down the hill from the bonfire. Then we had the bright idea that by driving home over the hills, we'd be able to have a panoramic view of displays across the city. This would have been true if the fog on the hills wasn't so thick that we couldn't even see the road properly, never mind the horizon.

Anyway, what made it all better when we returned home, deflated, freezing and hungry, was the food. Jacket potatoes stuffed with cheese and leeks, herby sausages, and spicy onion soup. Topped off with a toffee apple and mug of hot chocolate. It doesn't get any better than that.