I haven't had time to look at the Booker longlist properly, but I do so like them all laid out like this, like a big plate of cakes.
I haven't had time to look at it properly to see if it reads like the Orange Prize shortlist, which if you remember I couldn't bring myself to tackle.
I'm much more down with misery now, however. I'm drinking more. I can handle anything they throw at me.
Friday, 31 July 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
It's not easy being a thief
I make no secret of the fact that I have no ideas of my own. So why should summer be any different?
If other people are having fun doing something, I see no reason to kill myself reinventing the wheel. The problem is when it just doesn't work.
For example why, when Lucy at Attic24 can rearrange furniture and throw away junk while her children play in the house, do I find myself unable to even unload the washing machine without having to stop to referee a screaming fight about a plastic wind-up dinosaur and wipe a load of paint off the floor?
I bet Lucy doesn't find her carefully picked blooms being waved around the house like a big watery bomb waiting to go off. Mind you, she doesn't put them in an ugly great milk bottle.
(I have to qualify the phrase 'carefully picked'. Actually they were hacked off by the lawnmower.)
And another thing. If Ali can successfully make butter by getting her children to shake a jar, why do I end up shrugging and shoving the jars back in the fridge after Mr Coffee and I find ourselves abandoned in the kitchen shaking jars alone, like fools, while the children find something less tiring to do?
Let's try a craft book. Emma Hardy assures us we can make a salt dough tea set that looks like this:
Sadly this does not seem to be the case.
(Before you start weighing in to say 'oh, but didn't they have fun?' I feel obliged to point out that I ended up making all the cups. And the teapot. And, you know, EVERYTHING ELSE.)
Still, sometimes stealing works out for the best. For example, when the Eldest Latte said she wanted to do 'science', the arts graduate in me started to panic. And then I remembered Dottycookie, my new very best friend.
If only I could steal her knowledge of what it all means.
If other people are having fun doing something, I see no reason to kill myself reinventing the wheel. The problem is when it just doesn't work.
For example why, when Lucy at Attic24 can rearrange furniture and throw away junk while her children play in the house, do I find myself unable to even unload the washing machine without having to stop to referee a screaming fight about a plastic wind-up dinosaur and wipe a load of paint off the floor?
I bet Lucy doesn't find her carefully picked blooms being waved around the house like a big watery bomb waiting to go off. Mind you, she doesn't put them in an ugly great milk bottle.
(I have to qualify the phrase 'carefully picked'. Actually they were hacked off by the lawnmower.)
And another thing. If Ali can successfully make butter by getting her children to shake a jar, why do I end up shrugging and shoving the jars back in the fridge after Mr Coffee and I find ourselves abandoned in the kitchen shaking jars alone, like fools, while the children find something less tiring to do?
Let's try a craft book. Emma Hardy assures us we can make a salt dough tea set that looks like this:
Sadly this does not seem to be the case.
(Before you start weighing in to say 'oh, but didn't they have fun?' I feel obliged to point out that I ended up making all the cups. And the teapot. And, you know, EVERYTHING ELSE.)Still, sometimes stealing works out for the best. For example, when the Eldest Latte said she wanted to do 'science', the arts graduate in me started to panic. And then I remembered Dottycookie, my new very best friend.
If only I could steal her knowledge of what it all means.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Just idling
Back from a weekend with Mr Coffee's parents, where I alternated between hobbling to the dinner table to be fed sumptious meals, and reading.
There are worst weekends to be had. Having a knee the size of a balloon which sends shooting pains through itself whenever you take a step is a bad thing; my mother-in-law's cooking is a good thing. Paul Magrs' Conjugal Rites is a great thing.
Conjugal Rites by Paul Magrs
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This is the third book in the Brenda and Effie series, and the best. The first two were great, in that 'there's nothing else like this' way - in the third one the characters really start to get into their stride. Brenda, the 200-year-old Bride of Frankenstein, is alarmed to find that her intended husband Frank, whom she fled all those years ago, is back to claim her. And she's quite happy, thank you very much, running a Whitby bed and breakfast business and guarding the Gateway to Hell with her elderly friend Effie (a job given to them by an ancient, tiny, wizened abbess who lives in a suitcase carried by her evil and charming son).
This adventure sees Effie descending into hell to save her friend from the accursed marriage to the handsome brute with the bolts in his neck. She brings along a voluptuous hotelier, still wearing her nightdress, and their faithful two-good-to-be-true young helper Robert. Once there, they find all the previously dead characters from the first two books wandering round the place living remarkably familiar lives...
There are worst weekends to be had. Having a knee the size of a balloon which sends shooting pains through itself whenever you take a step is a bad thing; my mother-in-law's cooking is a good thing. Paul Magrs' Conjugal Rites is a great thing.
Conjugal Rites by Paul MagrsMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
This is the third book in the Brenda and Effie series, and the best. The first two were great, in that 'there's nothing else like this' way - in the third one the characters really start to get into their stride. Brenda, the 200-year-old Bride of Frankenstein, is alarmed to find that her intended husband Frank, whom she fled all those years ago, is back to claim her. And she's quite happy, thank you very much, running a Whitby bed and breakfast business and guarding the Gateway to Hell with her elderly friend Effie (a job given to them by an ancient, tiny, wizened abbess who lives in a suitcase carried by her evil and charming son).
This adventure sees Effie descending into hell to save her friend from the accursed marriage to the handsome brute with the bolts in his neck. She brings along a voluptuous hotelier, still wearing her nightdress, and their faithful two-good-to-be-true young helper Robert. Once there, they find all the previously dead characters from the first two books wandering round the place living remarkably familiar lives...
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Just in case
If you are ever out at the cinema and see a woman who is unable to bear weight on one leg, hopping along whilst pushing a wheelchair and trying to co-ordinate two trays of popcorn, a handbag full of Capri-Sun and an armful of raincoats, please smile at her.
If you ignore her it makes her feel like she has gone one step too far towards looking like a loopy packhorse and is no longer part of society at all.
Also, if she happens to lose one of her children and you find it screaming in a lift on a different floor of the multiplex, please wait a minute. It may take her a long time to hop up all those stairs.
Thank you.
If you ignore her it makes her feel like she has gone one step too far towards looking like a loopy packhorse and is no longer part of society at all.
Also, if she happens to lose one of her children and you find it screaming in a lift on a different floor of the multiplex, please wait a minute. It may take her a long time to hop up all those stairs.
Thank you.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Limp
This week in my July Flylady marathon I am meant to be transforming my bedroom into a hotel retreat.
But I am injured. After spending the day hobbling around on a painful dodgy knee, and becoming an object both of sympathy and ridicule for my colleagues, I have taken to my bed.
From here I can see all the piles of stuff that I should be tidying away.
Maybe if I close my eyes?
Yes. That's a lot better.
But I am injured. After spending the day hobbling around on a painful dodgy knee, and becoming an object both of sympathy and ridicule for my colleagues, I have taken to my bed.
From here I can see all the piles of stuff that I should be tidying away.
Maybe if I close my eyes?
Yes. That's a lot better.
(My mother forced me as a 17-year-old to go on a typing course.
If she hadn't, that last sentence could never have happened.)
If she hadn't, that last sentence could never have happened.)
Monday, 20 July 2009
Shiny shiny
As we leave the Bathroom Zone, I'd like to show off the shininess of my taps. See, you can see my face in them.This lasted at least an hour.
Friday, 17 July 2009
Everyday routine
Four years ago, at 12.30pm one afternoon, I pushed open this gate and went through. I had a baby strapped to my chest in a Wilkinet, and a sense that everything was familiar and strange all at once.
It was the last day I picked the Eldest Latte up from preschool at the end of the term before she started school.
I went back to the gate today. Her nursery has long been closed and demolished - her class the last to go there. Beyond the gate now is this:
After standing there feeling like an idiot for a couple of minutes, I walked along the road for a few hundred yards to the new nursery and picked up the baby, now a four-year-old, from her very own very last day.
The Lattes went to private nurseries for a couple of half days a week as babies and toddlers for necessary mummy-has-to-work-now childcare - but on reaching three they went to preschool, and began to turn into little people.
They were lucky. They both managed to be born at the right time in the year to score five whole terms of pre-school: some poor summer-born children have to make do with three. But five terms is a big time in a little person's life; and a huge time in the life of a parent who can't believe it has managed - twice - to go past so quickly.
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Taking care of my second home
Overheard in the Playmobil House today:
"Hooray! We've got the kitchen set up! Now all we need is beer!" - the Littlest Latte
It has not been a great day for Flylady antics today in the Coffee House. There have been more important floors to sweep.
Because Littlest and I set upon one of the biggest tasks there is - sorting out the Playmobil house.
How I love Playmobil! When we originally bought the house for the Eldest Latte it was in the living room, and Mr Coffee and I used to play with it when she had gone to bed. The parties we had! Well, it did come with 12 bottles of wine. Also the car came with a crate of empties in the boot.
Our Playmobil house is this model, but when I went looking for a picture to show you, I found the Playmobil site itself and became consumed with desire. Because all the new stuff! My god! Look at the new living room! A footstool - we don't have one of those. A cactus! And look at the fishtank!
There's a bath in the bathroom! We just have a shower. I'd like you to take a look at the flexibility of the bathroom design for a second. That towel rail? It had never occurred to us that it was not a grab rail for the side of a disabled toilet. It clicks into the same space in a matter of seconds. If only we could have done this in our real bathroom.
And just look at all the other things! All the furniture is in new and bold colours. I am intrigued and amazed by the cunning new storage solutions. And there are other things, many other exciting and wonderful things that we don't have. We don't have a home office. Or a backyard, or a paddling pool set. Or a gardener with his own pair of secateurs. Or a cafe! Or a sunroom, or a laundry room, or a City Van.
We do have several Caucasian Families, however, since we got a new set with every different room we bought. Mr Coffee and I used to call it Polygamy Towers. At one point we had about six babies piled into the one cot. However babies are small, and easily lost, and we are now down to just one.
I am reliably informed that Playmobil babies fit comfortably into the mouths of Playmobil crocodiles, but unfortunately cannot be removed once placed there. We have no crocodiles, so must assume that the babies have been stolen away by giants.
"Hooray! We've got the kitchen set up! Now all we need is beer!" - the Littlest Latte
It has not been a great day for Flylady antics today in the Coffee House. There have been more important floors to sweep.
Because Littlest and I set upon one of the biggest tasks there is - sorting out the Playmobil house.
How I love Playmobil! When we originally bought the house for the Eldest Latte it was in the living room, and Mr Coffee and I used to play with it when she had gone to bed. The parties we had! Well, it did come with 12 bottles of wine. Also the car came with a crate of empties in the boot.
Our Playmobil house is this model, but when I went looking for a picture to show you, I found the Playmobil site itself and became consumed with desire. Because all the new stuff! My god! Look at the new living room! A footstool - we don't have one of those. A cactus! And look at the fishtank!
There's a bath in the bathroom! We just have a shower. I'd like you to take a look at the flexibility of the bathroom design for a second. That towel rail? It had never occurred to us that it was not a grab rail for the side of a disabled toilet. It clicks into the same space in a matter of seconds. If only we could have done this in our real bathroom.
And just look at all the other things! All the furniture is in new and bold colours. I am intrigued and amazed by the cunning new storage solutions. And there are other things, many other exciting and wonderful things that we don't have. We don't have a home office. Or a backyard, or a paddling pool set. Or a gardener with his own pair of secateurs. Or a cafe! Or a sunroom, or a laundry room, or a City Van.
We do have several Caucasian Families, however, since we got a new set with every different room we bought. Mr Coffee and I used to call it Polygamy Towers. At one point we had about six babies piled into the one cot. However babies are small, and easily lost, and we are now down to just one.
I am reliably informed that Playmobil babies fit comfortably into the mouths of Playmobil crocodiles, but unfortunately cannot be removed once placed there. We have no crocodiles, so must assume that the babies have been stolen away by giants.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
I'm finding it very hard to keep a straight face here Marla
I went sniffing round Flylady's video archives for holiday advice.
I reckon if I sit down and plan my holiday arrangements, my online shopping, and all the things I want to do before September for fifteen minutes every Tuesday I could just about sort this year's summer holidays out by 2012.
Oh hang on! Did she say December? She's talking about Christmas. Well at least I'm in time for that.
I think.
Monday, 13 July 2009
Wish me luck, I'm going in
This week we are in the Bathroom Zone. And the words that strike terror into my heart: "and one extra room".
Sounds fair enough, doesn't it? After all, there is so much water about in the bathroom that it practically cleans itself, right? We can do another room too, surely?
Except the room opposite the bathroom is the Eldest Latte's room. It is a room of endless bits of paper which appear to be rubbish but are in fact Vital Plans and Special Posters, disembodied Bratz feet (you know when you lost the shoes from your Sindy dolls? This is worse - the whole damn foot comes off) and bedraggled My Little Ponies with bits of string around their neck, which appear to be be either makeshift bridles or nooses, depending on your mental health at the time.
The horror. The horror.
Sounds fair enough, doesn't it? After all, there is so much water about in the bathroom that it practically cleans itself, right? We can do another room too, surely?
Except the room opposite the bathroom is the Eldest Latte's room. It is a room of endless bits of paper which appear to be rubbish but are in fact Vital Plans and Special Posters, disembodied Bratz feet (you know when you lost the shoes from your Sindy dolls? This is worse - the whole damn foot comes off) and bedraggled My Little Ponies with bits of string around their neck, which appear to be be either makeshift bridles or nooses, depending on your mental health at the time.
The horror. The horror.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Bah!
What a bad mood I was in this weekend. I don't know why. Don't ask me.
There was no reason. It was a perfectly respectable weekend. We went to see some art. The Littlest Latte took pictures of her view of the affair:
while the Eldest Latte followed the curator about asking intelligent questions, such as "What is that?"
Today I tried to shake off by bad mood with some very uncomfortable Kundalini Yoga (don't click on the link unless you want to give yourself neck-ache. Though the woman assures you it will get you out of a bad mood, the way it does this is by making you so uncomfortable that merely stopping will cheer you up.)
In the end the only thing that worked was going out into the garden and pulling things up. And humming the only song I know with the words 'wrecking ball' in it.
There should be more of those songs, I feel.
There was no reason. It was a perfectly respectable weekend. We went to see some art. The Littlest Latte took pictures of her view of the affair:
while the Eldest Latte followed the curator about asking intelligent questions, such as "What is that?"
Today I tried to shake off by bad mood with some very uncomfortable Kundalini Yoga (don't click on the link unless you want to give yourself neck-ache. Though the woman assures you it will get you out of a bad mood, the way it does this is by making you so uncomfortable that merely stopping will cheer you up.)
In the end the only thing that worked was going out into the garden and pulling things up. And humming the only song I know with the words 'wrecking ball' in it.
There should be more of those songs, I feel.
Friday, 10 July 2009
It could be a lot worse
Phew! The world is safe from aliens for now.
And I cleaned the oven.
It's a good enough start to a weekend.
And I cleaned the oven.
It's a good enough start to a weekend.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
I'm not sure this would go down well at the Paralympics
An egg and spoon race won by a child in a wheelchair, being pushed along by a teaching assistant, and carrying an egg which is sellotaped to a spoon.
Go Eldest Latte! Go! Go! Go!
Go Eldest Latte! Go! Go! Go!
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
The Idle Feminist
Years ago - I mean years, back when cars were square - I went to two weeks of a car maintenance course.
I was 21 and full of feminism. I would change my own brake pads! I would know where my oil filter was!
After the second week I came home with a new strategy. I would just earn enough to pay someone to do it for me. Empowerment was one thing. Fiddling about underneath a big old greasy thing that I didn't understand was completely another.
I am in the Kitchen Zone this week, and after some thought I have realised that however clean my kitchen plinths are it is not going to detract from the effect of having big half-finished tubs of grout on the floor. Mr Coffee is so busy at work at the moment - perhaps I should finish the kitchen tiling.
But I've tiled before. It's not like I have anything to prove.
So this morning I got myself the phone number of A Man Who Does. And I hope - lord I do hope - that he will.
I was 21 and full of feminism. I would change my own brake pads! I would know where my oil filter was!
After the second week I came home with a new strategy. I would just earn enough to pay someone to do it for me. Empowerment was one thing. Fiddling about underneath a big old greasy thing that I didn't understand was completely another.
I am in the Kitchen Zone this week, and after some thought I have realised that however clean my kitchen plinths are it is not going to detract from the effect of having big half-finished tubs of grout on the floor. Mr Coffee is so busy at work at the moment - perhaps I should finish the kitchen tiling.
But I've tiled before. It's not like I have anything to prove.
So this morning I got myself the phone number of A Man Who Does. And I hope - lord I do hope - that he will.
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Permission to stop
I'm tired. A heaviness has descended over the last day or two. And this is where Flylady really comes into her own.
The washing is hanging on the line, soaked by a pouring rain which started at 1pm. But that's okay - they're not the only clothes we own: a load of washing a day has meant we are never desperate.
The kitchen looks like somewhere we could eat breakfast; there are no things to trip us on our way up the stairs.
The best thing is, I hardly feel to have done anything. Just a couple of minutes, here and there, and we seem to have things under control.
I can stop for today. There are things to do, but they will be done another day. I don't even have to worry about when - I'll be told when it's time.
Because when you need to stop, you need to stop. There's no other way. Take it from someone who has had quite enough of being ill - looking after yourself is the most important thing you can do.
The washing is hanging on the line, soaked by a pouring rain which started at 1pm. But that's okay - they're not the only clothes we own: a load of washing a day has meant we are never desperate.
The kitchen looks like somewhere we could eat breakfast; there are no things to trip us on our way up the stairs.
The best thing is, I hardly feel to have done anything. Just a couple of minutes, here and there, and we seem to have things under control.
I can stop for today. There are things to do, but they will be done another day. I don't even have to worry about when - I'll be told when it's time.
Because when you need to stop, you need to stop. There's no other way. Take it from someone who has had quite enough of being ill - looking after yourself is the most important thing you can do.
Monday, 6 July 2009
Stop throwing that dust around here, Mr Barrowman, we are trying to get things clean
Today is Home Blessing Day for those of you who give a monkeys about my Flylady month. Six tasks, from dusting to vacuuming, with each taking just ten minutes. The only way I could get a vacuum around my house in ten minutes would be to run around with it unplugged.
I am so very much looking forward to the BBC's new mini-series of Torchwood, which starts tonight, though not for the reason cited by Limecat. Five nights of sci-fi in a row! And there were three radio plays last week, which being the anal type of geek I am, I had to download.
But as to John Barrowman's (cough) charms, I find myself completely baffled. Especially after seeing him on Tonight's the Night, jumping around in a shiny suit with some grinning back-up dancers, looking for all the world like Shane Richie.
However it's a good job somebody fancies him, because practically all the new characters the Torchwood team meet in the radio plays are his character's former lovers. It seems that his - ahem - winkle is one of the main plot protagonists. Where would they be without it? Who on earth would they find to talk to?
(Winner of my blogiversary giveaway is The List Writer, who has the Random Number Generator to thank for her success. Now I need to know what book/ coffee coarseness she requires...)
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Soggy
I am not insane. I am sure my neighbours think I am, as I hang my washing out in a downpour, but I am not.
It might clear up. Sunny skies may break through and I may find my washing crisp and dry when I come home from a day out. If they don't, I have a load of wet washing, which is just how I began.
It might clear up. Sunny skies may break through and I may find my washing crisp and dry when I come home from a day out. If they don't, I have a load of wet washing, which is just how I began.
Saturday, 4 July 2009
I'm not sure I'm doing this right
Today, according to Flylady, is Family Fun Day!
Hoorah! What fun we have had! We have taken the Littlest Latte to dance class. We have hung around for an hour, and then taken the Eldest Latte to dance class.
We have been to the fishmonger, the greengrocer, and the cheese shop. We have been to B&Q. We have been to the fabric shop twice, and have run up and down the stairs with various paint cards and fabric samples. We have eaten peanut butter sandwiches in front of the TV, and we have discovered that the car is leaking rather a lot of oil so we can't really go anywhere.
Which is a pity, because a trip to the tip would have taken the day beyond just fun. A trip to the tip would have been amazing.
(One giveway day left)
Friday, 3 July 2009
Let the fun begin
Well, judging by the terror of Flylady displayed in yesterday's comments, I won't see any of you for dust after today.
I'm sorry. But the fates are aligned. Just as I re-read my very first blog post, I got an email from NaBloPoMo telling me that July's daily blogging theme was Routines.
How could I resist! Flylady is all about the routines, and I'm a bit out of control right now. And I always wanted to have a go at posting the hell out of myself. What would happen if I drivelled on pointlessly every day for a month?
Let's find out, shall we? And let's start our odyssey of tedium right here, with an inspiring video from the Flyster herself.
Don't get me wrong. Before I read Flylady's website I was convinced that everyone else cleaned all their house, every week, and there was no way I could keep up. I do like her routines. I just have a problem with the cheeriness, and the Hope, and the complete lack of irony.
Sarcasm is greatly needed in order to keep your house clean, I find.
What is going on in this video? Though I appreciate that someone other than me may find hope in the bottom of their sink (I am too miserable to find hope anywhere if I'm honest) this does not explain why they then choose to put kittens or children in on top of it.
It doesn't seem sanitary at all. Unless of course they are using their kitten as a fluffy cloth with which to apply Cif.
Anyway, in the absence of a dining room to dust (today's Mission) I have given the basement a cursory clean before I trotted down to the Scope shop with a load of old videos that I found in a box.
Why, now if I ever wanted to use the sewing machine I could actually get my legs under the table!
(Still time to enter my giveaway, by the way. I'm going to give you until Sunday.)
I'm sorry. But the fates are aligned. Just as I re-read my very first blog post, I got an email from NaBloPoMo telling me that July's daily blogging theme was Routines.
How could I resist! Flylady is all about the routines, and I'm a bit out of control right now. And I always wanted to have a go at posting the hell out of myself. What would happen if I drivelled on pointlessly every day for a month?
Let's find out, shall we? And let's start our odyssey of tedium right here, with an inspiring video from the Flyster herself.
Don't get me wrong. Before I read Flylady's website I was convinced that everyone else cleaned all their house, every week, and there was no way I could keep up. I do like her routines. I just have a problem with the cheeriness, and the Hope, and the complete lack of irony.
Sarcasm is greatly needed in order to keep your house clean, I find.
What is going on in this video? Though I appreciate that someone other than me may find hope in the bottom of their sink (I am too miserable to find hope anywhere if I'm honest) this does not explain why they then choose to put kittens or children in on top of it.
It doesn't seem sanitary at all. Unless of course they are using their kitten as a fluffy cloth with which to apply Cif.
Anyway, in the absence of a dining room to dust (today's Mission) I have given the basement a cursory clean before I trotted down to the Scope shop with a load of old videos that I found in a box.
Why, now if I ever wanted to use the sewing machine I could actually get my legs under the table!
(Still time to enter my giveaway, by the way. I'm going to give you until Sunday.)
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Oh happy day
Just two short years ago I sat down to write my first blog post. (I'm going to need you to read that, because we'll be referring back to it another day.)
(I didn't celebrate my one year blogiversary because it would have been a bit of a con. After all, I didn't write anything else for three months.)
To celebrate I promised a giveaway, and a giveaway you shall have. Naturally one of the items in the package will be coffee, from the lovely Atkinsons Coffee Shop (just look at that picture! How can you not love coffee when you get to buy it from there?). Tea, or fruit tea, is available as an alternative to those of you freakish hippies who have a problem with coffee. I won't take it personally. Oh no no.
Also I will send the winner the item of their choice from my Green Metropolis books for sale list, which you can view by clicking on the icon on the right. If you don't like any of those I have loads of stuff I haven't listed yet, from contemporary literary fiction right back to Chaucer. Or tell me what you like and I'll choose something for you and you can hate it and moan about me behind my back.
Come to think of it don't ask for the Chaucer. The Chaucer is a massive book, and it would cost me far too much to post. What, are you trying to bankrupt me?
There. That's enough I think, I don't want you getting all emotional and thinking "It's too much! It's too much! I don't deserve this!" and not bothering to enter.
To enter just stick your name in the comment box.
But everyone wins! Because I can give you all fruit! (Well, all of you in the UK, anyway. I can't send people in other countries fruit. I'm pretty sure of this, because I saw it once in an episode of The Simpsons.)
The other day I ordered a Graze Box to be delivered to me at work - a little letterbox-sized parcel of fruit, nuts and dried goodness. Mine had cherries, dried pineapple, chilli almonds and big fat juicy raisins - very, very yummy indeed and beautifully packaged.
Anyway the company sent me a code to offer friends a free box (usually £2.99). And you are all my friends, right? If you want one let me have your email address and I'll send you the code. (I have to admit to not being entirely altruistic here. They give me some money off if you use the code. But, hell, I'm buying someone coffee.)
Tomorrow, July starts around here for real.
(I didn't celebrate my one year blogiversary because it would have been a bit of a con. After all, I didn't write anything else for three months.)
To celebrate I promised a giveaway, and a giveaway you shall have. Naturally one of the items in the package will be coffee, from the lovely Atkinsons Coffee Shop (just look at that picture! How can you not love coffee when you get to buy it from there?). Tea, or fruit tea, is available as an alternative to those of you freakish hippies who have a problem with coffee. I won't take it personally. Oh no no.
Also I will send the winner the item of their choice from my Green Metropolis books for sale list, which you can view by clicking on the icon on the right. If you don't like any of those I have loads of stuff I haven't listed yet, from contemporary literary fiction right back to Chaucer. Or tell me what you like and I'll choose something for you and you can hate it and moan about me behind my back.
Come to think of it don't ask for the Chaucer. The Chaucer is a massive book, and it would cost me far too much to post. What, are you trying to bankrupt me?
There. That's enough I think, I don't want you getting all emotional and thinking "It's too much! It's too much! I don't deserve this!" and not bothering to enter.
To enter just stick your name in the comment box.
But everyone wins! Because I can give you all fruit! (Well, all of you in the UK, anyway. I can't send people in other countries fruit. I'm pretty sure of this, because I saw it once in an episode of The Simpsons.)
The other day I ordered a Graze Box to be delivered to me at work - a little letterbox-sized parcel of fruit, nuts and dried goodness. Mine had cherries, dried pineapple, chilli almonds and big fat juicy raisins - very, very yummy indeed and beautifully packaged.
Anyway the company sent me a code to offer friends a free box (usually £2.99). And you are all my friends, right? If you want one let me have your email address and I'll send you the code. (I have to admit to not being entirely altruistic here. They give me some money off if you use the code. But, hell, I'm buying someone coffee.)
Tomorrow, July starts around here for real.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Are you ready yet? I'm not
So, it's July, and you're all excited. You fools! Only one of you noticed the label to the last post, which concerns me a great deal. A great deal. I do hope no-one has cancelled any plans over this.
Anyway I don't have time to talk about July today because I have been too busy undercoating a bedside table. And being hot. Hot! Hot! You wouldn't think this would happen in the North of England but we have been melting. The sweaty Littlest Latte spent the day looking as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over her.
Mr Coffee and I have also been occupied emptying and filling drawers since our time trawling round junk shops ended with the purchase of bedroom furniture. Finally! For many years we have been staring resentfully at an ugly IKEA cabinet and some even uglier drawers, the origin of which is best never mentioned.
Now the only thing to decide is what colour to paint my bedside cabinet. Do I choose the green on this left hand wall or the green on that left hand wall?
I know! Such entirely different looks!
Anyway, back soon!
Anyway I don't have time to talk about July today because I have been too busy undercoating a bedside table. And being hot. Hot! Hot! You wouldn't think this would happen in the North of England but we have been melting. The sweaty Littlest Latte spent the day looking as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over her.
Mr Coffee and I have also been occupied emptying and filling drawers since our time trawling round junk shops ended with the purchase of bedroom furniture. Finally! For many years we have been staring resentfully at an ugly IKEA cabinet and some even uglier drawers, the origin of which is best never mentioned.
Now the only thing to decide is what colour to paint my bedside cabinet. Do I choose the green on this left hand wall or the green on that left hand wall?
I know! Such entirely different looks!
Anyway, back soon!
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