i have a homemade pumpkin cheesecake in the oven.
today julie and i did a crossword puzzle from the paper and had cheese and oatcake lunches.
now i am puttering about with my glass of white burgundy while liam does the dishes before we watch the lady vanishes on dvd.
saturday's are ace.
28 July 2007
27 July 2007
the high life (and no, not MGD)
so friday afternoon is certainly an odd time to remenisce about last weekend. but it hasn't been done yet, my network is being weird and i could do with a break from spreadsheets (i may be too busy for a lunch break but no one can brgrudge me a minutes peace).
so, last friday:
finish work, walk home in the sunshine with homemade peanutbutter cookies with chocolate blobs on top. yum. my baking has improved exponentially.
6:32,surreptitiously liaise with my hook up. namely, trade said cookies for an early copy of Harry Potter from Jamie*. In fact get two, as part of the bargain is I deliver the other to a mutual friend on the dot of midnight as a surprise.
*names have been changed to protect the innocent
6:34 begin reading.
7:20 Liam comes home. He surmises the situation and drifts away to make dinner.
8:02 Liam brings me dinner in my room and I give it up for the rest of the night as it is just stupid to think I can't wait another second. Spend the rest of the evening goofing off as per usual.
saturday morning
sneakily wake up before 7am alarm as Liam must be up for work in a couple of hours. quickly dress and wait by the window for cab to arrive.
am whisked to new station for pottermania live radio interview.
other than in my sleepy haze calling the completely wrong person on arrival (instead of station, call a picture book author friend of mine who gets v confused and eventually says 'sara. i have no idea what you are talking about. what's going on?' where i realise i've called the wrong person, have to explain the faux pas then cut short as am late for interview now!)
sit in a red felt booth the small enough you could touch all the walls, fitted with headphone and microphone and clock. am fired questions from some bodiless voice frmo glasgow in front of god knows how many weekend insomniacs on live radio. (said author friend listened in after this and reassures me i did just fine). it's harder than it sounds, radio.
taxi home to cuddle up with the book again for a few hours.
saturday afternoon
bundle and pack as liam and i are away for the weekend when he finishes work. i couldn't afford to take time off for a week in brussles like we hoped, so we are going to blow my holiday stash on a decadent mini-break with only an hour's travel time.
the important question of what does one pack for a weekend where you don't intend remove the supplied fluffy bathrobe or eat anything but room service takes up a good portion of the afternoon.
after, trek to town and realise i think i should buy something nice for our little excursion. suffice to say this becomes a detour to the weird leather & lace sex shop for some ace kama sutra massage oil and a surreal conversation with the comic-book-guy like employee about lube with a easy access squirt handle.
saturday evening
pick up liam, hop the train, sit together eating blueberries while i read Deathly Hallows and he reads Azkaban with regualr interruptions where he asks for the current death toll.
arrive One Devonshire Gardens (where the likes of George Clooney, Justin Timberlake and the rest of the visiting pazparrazzi-ites go as it's the poshest one in the city, and Glasgow is the poshest city in Scotland). Men in kilts take our bags, ply us with whiskey in the opulent living room and I sign away my life savings.
get the tour of our Classic King Suite (with full on four poster with massive draped, bay window bigger than an SUV overlooking the garden and a black marble bathroom.) and try to have the 'should we tip' conversation with only our eyes behind the consierge's back.
when we're alone obviously we immediately put on the fluffy robe (and matching slippers), play a bit of putt putt with the specially engraved putter supplied with every room and check out the minibar (full mostly of champagne and imported chocolate)
I order the room service while Liam runs the bath. There are candles and bubbles and it's deep enough water comes up to my shoulders. It's spectacular.
Then all pink and glowing (and still in robes), we sit down to a multi-course dinner on silver platters at the little table in our room like real celebrities. We even got a visit from the sommelier and our own waiter (who we wouldn't let stay while we ate because that is just fucking weird, so he went to get the next course).
If you care, I had a beautiful salad and steak. Not that it mattered by then.
Before crawling under the canopy for for a relaxing massage, we hang our breakfast order on the door and then retire in the decadent silence of the high life.
sunday morning
wake up just before breakfast is delivered at 11 on a massive tray. though, with liam still in bed i insist on taking it at the door.
we peek open the drapes and have a leasurely breakfasting the sitting room. pastry, fruit salad and a pot of fresh tea. sigh.
sunday afternoon
after a nap, a shower and the final few pages of harry potter, we wander about the west end. things are deteriorating quickly. He is mad and I am upset and everything is rubbish. we have a bit of a scuffle. snippy, tired, crabby and ridiculous we try and scrounge a picnic as I have booked for Shakespeare in the park.
we head to the botanics for what should be a wonderful production of othello and a sumptuous feast only to find it's folding chairs in a greenhouse. crowded, humid and incapable of spreading out the snacks, i break down. i was so looking forward to this as the highlight of our trip and suddenly it looks like a holt high school production I'll have to suffer through for 3 hours
we decide to ditch the play, hedge our bets and have a picnic in the last rays of sunlight in the garden. we are better than mediocre shakespeare anyway, with our fancy seed humous and dried blueberries.
of course, we bought lots of the provisions in a kroger-a-like, so when we had a bag of crisps left over, we had to hide them walking into the hotel. who could flash their wal-bob roots in front of bloomingdales? only the tell-tale crinkle under liam's eggplant coloured velvet blazer could give us away.
monday morning
we are resolved to get out of bed before 4 this time, and have breakfast in bed and read about the flooding in the downs in the paper.
we then head to some tiny little second hand bookshops where i buy a lovely book of errudite poetry and a beautiful edition of vanity fair.
monday afternoon
lunch in a fancy french cafe yields decadent cheese boards (ooh. appenzeller with chilli chutnney on saffron crackers...)
then have raspberry cheesecake in the sunny gardens before wandering through a spectacular museum of Hunter (one of the first medical detectives - babies in jars, skulls with syphillitic groths, it was ace) and then exploring Glasgow's unbelievably beautiful university. It's like if all of Oxford's colleges were combined into one, up on a hill with spiral staircases and a glorious cathedral.
monday evening
then a train ride home and a giddy evening of holiday hangover and calm.
so, last friday:
finish work, walk home in the sunshine with homemade peanutbutter cookies with chocolate blobs on top. yum. my baking has improved exponentially.
6:32,surreptitiously liaise with my hook up. namely, trade said cookies for an early copy of Harry Potter from Jamie*. In fact get two, as part of the bargain is I deliver the other to a mutual friend on the dot of midnight as a surprise.
*names have been changed to protect the innocent
6:34 begin reading.
7:20 Liam comes home. He surmises the situation and drifts away to make dinner.
8:02 Liam brings me dinner in my room and I give it up for the rest of the night as it is just stupid to think I can't wait another second. Spend the rest of the evening goofing off as per usual.
saturday morning
sneakily wake up before 7am alarm as Liam must be up for work in a couple of hours. quickly dress and wait by the window for cab to arrive.
am whisked to new station for pottermania live radio interview.
other than in my sleepy haze calling the completely wrong person on arrival (instead of station, call a picture book author friend of mine who gets v confused and eventually says 'sara. i have no idea what you are talking about. what's going on?' where i realise i've called the wrong person, have to explain the faux pas then cut short as am late for interview now!)
sit in a red felt booth the small enough you could touch all the walls, fitted with headphone and microphone and clock. am fired questions from some bodiless voice frmo glasgow in front of god knows how many weekend insomniacs on live radio. (said author friend listened in after this and reassures me i did just fine). it's harder than it sounds, radio.
taxi home to cuddle up with the book again for a few hours.
saturday afternoon
bundle and pack as liam and i are away for the weekend when he finishes work. i couldn't afford to take time off for a week in brussles like we hoped, so we are going to blow my holiday stash on a decadent mini-break with only an hour's travel time.
the important question of what does one pack for a weekend where you don't intend remove the supplied fluffy bathrobe or eat anything but room service takes up a good portion of the afternoon.
after, trek to town and realise i think i should buy something nice for our little excursion. suffice to say this becomes a detour to the weird leather & lace sex shop for some ace kama sutra massage oil and a surreal conversation with the comic-book-guy like employee about lube with a easy access squirt handle.
saturday evening
pick up liam, hop the train, sit together eating blueberries while i read Deathly Hallows and he reads Azkaban with regualr interruptions where he asks for the current death toll.
arrive One Devonshire Gardens (where the likes of George Clooney, Justin Timberlake and the rest of the visiting pazparrazzi-ites go as it's the poshest one in the city, and Glasgow is the poshest city in Scotland). Men in kilts take our bags, ply us with whiskey in the opulent living room and I sign away my life savings.
get the tour of our Classic King Suite (with full on four poster with massive draped, bay window bigger than an SUV overlooking the garden and a black marble bathroom.) and try to have the 'should we tip' conversation with only our eyes behind the consierge's back.
when we're alone obviously we immediately put on the fluffy robe (and matching slippers), play a bit of putt putt with the specially engraved putter supplied with every room and check out the minibar (full mostly of champagne and imported chocolate)
I order the room service while Liam runs the bath. There are candles and bubbles and it's deep enough water comes up to my shoulders. It's spectacular.
Then all pink and glowing (and still in robes), we sit down to a multi-course dinner on silver platters at the little table in our room like real celebrities. We even got a visit from the sommelier and our own waiter (who we wouldn't let stay while we ate because that is just fucking weird, so he went to get the next course).
If you care, I had a beautiful salad and steak. Not that it mattered by then.
Before crawling under the canopy for for a relaxing massage, we hang our breakfast order on the door and then retire in the decadent silence of the high life.
sunday morning
wake up just before breakfast is delivered at 11 on a massive tray. though, with liam still in bed i insist on taking it at the door.
we peek open the drapes and have a leasurely breakfasting the sitting room. pastry, fruit salad and a pot of fresh tea. sigh.
sunday afternoon
after a nap, a shower and the final few pages of harry potter, we wander about the west end. things are deteriorating quickly. He is mad and I am upset and everything is rubbish. we have a bit of a scuffle. snippy, tired, crabby and ridiculous we try and scrounge a picnic as I have booked for Shakespeare in the park.
we head to the botanics for what should be a wonderful production of othello and a sumptuous feast only to find it's folding chairs in a greenhouse. crowded, humid and incapable of spreading out the snacks, i break down. i was so looking forward to this as the highlight of our trip and suddenly it looks like a holt high school production I'll have to suffer through for 3 hours
we decide to ditch the play, hedge our bets and have a picnic in the last rays of sunlight in the garden. we are better than mediocre shakespeare anyway, with our fancy seed humous and dried blueberries.
of course, we bought lots of the provisions in a kroger-a-like, so when we had a bag of crisps left over, we had to hide them walking into the hotel. who could flash their wal-bob roots in front of bloomingdales? only the tell-tale crinkle under liam's eggplant coloured velvet blazer could give us away.
monday morning
we are resolved to get out of bed before 4 this time, and have breakfast in bed and read about the flooding in the downs in the paper.
we then head to some tiny little second hand bookshops where i buy a lovely book of errudite poetry and a beautiful edition of vanity fair.
monday afternoon
lunch in a fancy french cafe yields decadent cheese boards (ooh. appenzeller with chilli chutnney on saffron crackers...)
then have raspberry cheesecake in the sunny gardens before wandering through a spectacular museum of Hunter (one of the first medical detectives - babies in jars, skulls with syphillitic groths, it was ace) and then exploring Glasgow's unbelievably beautiful university. It's like if all of Oxford's colleges were combined into one, up on a hill with spiral staircases and a glorious cathedral.
monday evening
then a train ride home and a giddy evening of holiday hangover and calm.
21 July 2007
potter publicity
this morning the bbc sent a car for me. i was whisked away to the studio to be interviewed about pottermania and it's aftermath. i don't really remember what i said as 8am radio is just not the best idea when one has been reading most of the night.though i must say, sometimes it is quite cool being the resident expert on kids books.
17 July 2007
last night, after a long day and a rather unremarkable homemade lasagne, liam took me for ice cream.
we meandered through my green and chirpy neighbourhood to the local homemade parlour. it's called Lucas and a family run little place with an upstairs for kiddie parties and penny candies strung from the counter. it's so cute.
and i even got to splurge on a praline parfait with hot fudge. it was in a little plastic stem cup like an old school diner sundae and i was so excited. long handled spoon, holding hands in the sunshine. there is nothing better.
until, holding this stem cup from the bottom, the base and the body proceede to seperate in my hands (like those shitty champagne flutes in college) and the ice cream, hot fudge, nuts and whipped cream spun - literally spun- through the air and directly into a muddy puddle in the middle of a construction site.
we both laughed (but mine were covering tears). and poor liam went and got me another one, which was obviously even better.
and then we went to sit on a garden bench in a tiny hidden green around the corner and smell the honeysuckle.
sometimes it's like a fairytale, just with more comedy value.
we meandered through my green and chirpy neighbourhood to the local homemade parlour. it's called Lucas and a family run little place with an upstairs for kiddie parties and penny candies strung from the counter. it's so cute.
and i even got to splurge on a praline parfait with hot fudge. it was in a little plastic stem cup like an old school diner sundae and i was so excited. long handled spoon, holding hands in the sunshine. there is nothing better.
until, holding this stem cup from the bottom, the base and the body proceede to seperate in my hands (like those shitty champagne flutes in college) and the ice cream, hot fudge, nuts and whipped cream spun - literally spun- through the air and directly into a muddy puddle in the middle of a construction site.
we both laughed (but mine were covering tears). and poor liam went and got me another one, which was obviously even better.
and then we went to sit on a garden bench in a tiny hidden green around the corner and smell the honeysuckle.
sometimes it's like a fairytale, just with more comedy value.
13 July 2007
death be not proud
In an effort to set a good exmaple for the thousands of wee ones going to walk through my gates soon to make tiger masks, fairy wings and all manner of glue laden paraphanalia (not to mention I get self affirming glow of do gooderyness and a decent reputation) I am trying to make our workshops as eco-friendly as possible.
The pots to hold crayons are made from potato starch and are biodegradable in just 180 days. The scissors are made from 100% recycled stainless steel. The pencils were once plastic cups. It's a beautiful thing.
Plus, the recycled craft warehouse I joined to get second hand tissue paper, buttons and corks from an arts council development project was possibly the funnest morning I've had in ages. And of course all their staff are work placement training for people with learning disabilities. It's one big happy family of tree huggers and life affirming community development.
But in my extensive research into available reused recycled, biodegradable, nontoxic and renewable resourced supplies, I have stumbled on some scary things.
Like say, 100% recycled coffins.
The pots to hold crayons are made from potato starch and are biodegradable in just 180 days. The scissors are made from 100% recycled stainless steel. The pencils were once plastic cups. It's a beautiful thing.
Plus, the recycled craft warehouse I joined to get second hand tissue paper, buttons and corks from an arts council development project was possibly the funnest morning I've had in ages. And of course all their staff are work placement training for people with learning disabilities. It's one big happy family of tree huggers and life affirming community development.
But in my extensive research into available reused recycled, biodegradable, nontoxic and renewable resourced supplies, I have stumbled on some scary things.
Like say, 100% recycled coffins.
09 July 2007
scottish cliches
thirdly (and lastly), my life here in scotland is complete. i have seen the media incarnate of this nation in the flesh as any true tourist could only dream of.
sitting in one of the posh alfresco bars of george street for an afternoon meeting over martinis (raspberry stoli, pomegrante juice, champagne, some floating rasperries and a twist of lime), we were looking out the window as the world went by, and who should hobble along using his yellow striped umbrella as a cane with a miniature blonde on his arm but sean fucking connery.
seriously. the scotsman of scotsmen. the icon of generations. the man who has signed a headshot in every restaurant in town meandered past my window.
i openly stared obviously, to make sure he was real.
and he paused, looked directly at me for a minute, nodded a little (either in acknowledgement or a simple gesture of 'yeah i'm him, leave me alone" I don't know) and continued on his merry way.
sadly, i have no major news to report, though the rest of the evening i had Queen's Highlander anthem in my head and wished he did a better spanish accent for the good of mankind.
sitting in one of the posh alfresco bars of george street for an afternoon meeting over martinis (raspberry stoli, pomegrante juice, champagne, some floating rasperries and a twist of lime), we were looking out the window as the world went by, and who should hobble along using his yellow striped umbrella as a cane with a miniature blonde on his arm but sean fucking connery.
seriously. the scotsman of scotsmen. the icon of generations. the man who has signed a headshot in every restaurant in town meandered past my window.
i openly stared obviously, to make sure he was real.
and he paused, looked directly at me for a minute, nodded a little (either in acknowledgement or a simple gesture of 'yeah i'm him, leave me alone" I don't know) and continued on his merry way.
sadly, i have no major news to report, though the rest of the evening i had Queen's Highlander anthem in my head and wished he did a better spanish accent for the good of mankind.
the horror!
also, i thought i would share a parting photo thought. taken months ago in Bologna, this almost ruined my childhood forever.
i don't know if you can imagine walking arounda fair completely dedicated to kids books with not a kid in sight. it's already a surreal experience. but when one happends across dearly beloved old friends and their masticated and demented offspring, it's truly horrific.
...one of these things is not like the others
one of these things just doesn't belong
can you tell which thing is not like the others
by the time i finish this song...
isn't it freakish?
this is seasame street unlimited. selling the licence for the show, books, dvds, whatever around the world. instilling everyone with the belief they too can be happy in a nondsecript new york suburb.
but due to cultural differences, media squabbles and the opportunity to adapt the best seller to the home market, new characters have been developed in a country near you.
Witness the glorious twisted appeal Abelordo from Latin America and below, Googli from India!
i don't know if you can imagine walking arounda fair completely dedicated to kids books with not a kid in sight. it's already a surreal experience. but when one happends across dearly beloved old friends and their masticated and demented offspring, it's truly horrific.
...one of these things is not like the others
one of these things just doesn't belong
can you tell which thing is not like the others
by the time i finish this song...
isn't it freakish?
this is seasame street unlimited. selling the licence for the show, books, dvds, whatever around the world. instilling everyone with the belief they too can be happy in a nondsecript new york suburb.
but due to cultural differences, media squabbles and the opportunity to adapt the best seller to the home market, new characters have been developed in a country near you.
Witness the glorious twisted appeal Abelordo from Latin America and below, Googli from India!
some things i've been meaning to mention
not that anyone is regularly disappointed in my unexplained silences, but i feel as though I should run through some highlights montage style.
firstly: the big news, kate is engaged.
other than the she will now be called mrs. kate cadenas and her children may well be called things like hood and harper cadenas, i couldn't possibly be a single ounce happier.
secondly: the lesser big news, liam and i are moving in together. which i know isn't really news to anyone who has been paying attention, but it feels rather more serious all of a sudden. we went on our sunny sunday afternoon to see the place one last time. taking pictures, drawing floorplans (i am officially my mother, carring a tapemeasure in my purse), discussing what bed we will buy.
i think it irked him i felt buying a bed was a bigger committment than moving in together, but i said ' i can always move out, but investing in furniture is for life. i mean, who would get the fourposter?'. i am not sure he appreciated the wit in the way i had hoped. that or he secretly hates mahogony.
in other news in no apparent order:
- I went to the poshest two parties of my life in London. One was an exclusive hire of the Tate Modern with London's 400 best literatti on the gallery's uppermost floor- a bar with floor to ceiling windows across the whole room affording panoramas of both sides of the river. Followed by a roof top terrace press launch and celebration of the children's book award of children's book awards atop the British Library. Who even knew the British Library had a private rooftop garden which seemed like a green haven in Bloomsbury?
- I also watched wimbeldon, which is slowly winning me over every year. the legacy. the whiteness. the crisp british grass and that john mcenroe still commentates. sigh.
- attending a mad hatters tea party certainly ranks. everything you imagine was there, and more. even the catepillar's hookah.
- i have been drunk off of pomegranate and raspberry martinis on a working lunch and picnicked in the sunshine with my lover.
okay, i am waxing a little poetic. all of these things have actually happened, but they are essentially the highlights of the last 6 weeks which mostly consisted of working on spreadsheets of crayons, buying dinner, cooking dinner, eating dinner, washing up and going to bed tired, sore, crabbby and uninspired.
but that said, i have recently made:
- mushroom and thyme risotto
- steamed asparagus with balsalmic vinegar and parmasean
- honey oatmeal cookies so dense they are like scones
- strawberry shortcake with whipped cream
(*small aside: so there is no cool whip in britain. even the aresol reddi-whip is scarce. instead, you buy approximately a yogurtsize tub of 'whipping cream' then proceed to beat it vigorously by hand for like 15 minutes. it is the most labour intensive cooking i have ever done. but god is it good.)
- homemade smoothie and pancake breakfasts
- i could go on, but i am getting hungry.
and now ive found a recipe for blue cheese and rocket penne plus a fantastico looking flatbread which are totally on my agenda now.
and yes. i try not to worry about my patty duke like domesticity. i kind of like it. (so long as he alwsys does the dishes and at least half of the shopping.) so i am resolved to be happy this has replaced my general addiction to cathardic baking of lard filled baked goods, as sometimes my cooking even involved vegtables. it's healthy stress relief! what a comfort.
it's just such a shame nice ingredients like good balsalmic vinegar or my new penchant for rapeseed oil are so fucking expensive.
firstly: the big news, kate is engaged.
other than the she will now be called mrs. kate cadenas and her children may well be called things like hood and harper cadenas, i couldn't possibly be a single ounce happier.
secondly: the lesser big news, liam and i are moving in together. which i know isn't really news to anyone who has been paying attention, but it feels rather more serious all of a sudden. we went on our sunny sunday afternoon to see the place one last time. taking pictures, drawing floorplans (i am officially my mother, carring a tapemeasure in my purse), discussing what bed we will buy.
i think it irked him i felt buying a bed was a bigger committment than moving in together, but i said ' i can always move out, but investing in furniture is for life. i mean, who would get the fourposter?'. i am not sure he appreciated the wit in the way i had hoped. that or he secretly hates mahogony.
in other news in no apparent order:
- I went to the poshest two parties of my life in London. One was an exclusive hire of the Tate Modern with London's 400 best literatti on the gallery's uppermost floor- a bar with floor to ceiling windows across the whole room affording panoramas of both sides of the river. Followed by a roof top terrace press launch and celebration of the children's book award of children's book awards atop the British Library. Who even knew the British Library had a private rooftop garden which seemed like a green haven in Bloomsbury?
- I also watched wimbeldon, which is slowly winning me over every year. the legacy. the whiteness. the crisp british grass and that john mcenroe still commentates. sigh.
- attending a mad hatters tea party certainly ranks. everything you imagine was there, and more. even the catepillar's hookah.
- i have been drunk off of pomegranate and raspberry martinis on a working lunch and picnicked in the sunshine with my lover.
okay, i am waxing a little poetic. all of these things have actually happened, but they are essentially the highlights of the last 6 weeks which mostly consisted of working on spreadsheets of crayons, buying dinner, cooking dinner, eating dinner, washing up and going to bed tired, sore, crabbby and uninspired.
but that said, i have recently made:
- mushroom and thyme risotto
- steamed asparagus with balsalmic vinegar and parmasean
- honey oatmeal cookies so dense they are like scones
- strawberry shortcake with whipped cream
(*small aside: so there is no cool whip in britain. even the aresol reddi-whip is scarce. instead, you buy approximately a yogurtsize tub of 'whipping cream' then proceed to beat it vigorously by hand for like 15 minutes. it is the most labour intensive cooking i have ever done. but god is it good.)
- homemade smoothie and pancake breakfasts
- i could go on, but i am getting hungry.
and now ive found a recipe for blue cheese and rocket penne plus a fantastico looking flatbread which are totally on my agenda now.
and yes. i try not to worry about my patty duke like domesticity. i kind of like it. (so long as he alwsys does the dishes and at least half of the shopping.) so i am resolved to be happy this has replaced my general addiction to cathardic baking of lard filled baked goods, as sometimes my cooking even involved vegtables. it's healthy stress relief! what a comfort.
it's just such a shame nice ingredients like good balsalmic vinegar or my new penchant for rapeseed oil are so fucking expensive.
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