Christmas shopping.

Get this vibrator out of my bum!

I went Christmas shopping with husband last weekend. We said, fuck it, we're gonna get it all done in one day! So we set out on a mission on Saturday morning. The bus was leaving at quarter to nine so we'd leave the house at 9.40, loads of time we thought, as the stop is very close. So just about to walk out the door when he realises he can't find the key. Run around house, look for key, get angry with each other, lots of grumbling and mumbling from me, finally find key and leave. We're rushing up the road now, I'm giving him daggers behind his back and cursing him from a height until I realise I forgot my photograph CD. I wanted to get some photos printed as a present for husband's Mam. So had to run back for that, while he grumbled and mumbled, fucked me from a height and threw me a few dirty looks. So, finally we have everything and we're walking up the street. Husband says:" I bet the bus comes along right now and we miss it." And what happens, bus comes along right then. But I'm not missing anything, I leg it and turn to husband and tell him to leg it. The two of us dash for the bus, knowing there is not a hope we are going to make it. Fortunately the bus driver spots us and kind soul that he is, pulls over and lets us on even though we're miles away from the stop. We jump onto the bus and thank the driver, husband takes a seat and I get my wallet out to pay for bus. But I don't have enough money. I'm thinking to myself: "I can either tell him I don't have enough and risk getting thrown off the bus, or I can pop the gallons of five cent coins in the drop and hope he doesn't notice. I do the latter. And get away with it. Yes!

It's actually made from her breast milk, caught in a bowler hat.

So into town we go. I love town at Christmas time. The lights, the decorations, the music; it really gets you in the spirit of things. Until you start shopping, then you just want to kill someone, usually whoever is with you being a fussy, picky, annoying, little fecker. He tries on a pair of jeans, then another one, then wants a bigger size, then a different colour. Thinks they're too short but the others are too long, they're the wrong shade of dusty blue, those ones are too flared... AHHHHHH! So he finally decides which ones he wants and buys them. Then we go to buy a gift for my Mam. Husband wants to get her perfume. I suggest Elizabeth Arden, Sunflowers. Husband shakes his head. "No, I want to get good perfume", he says. He wants Chanel. "What's wrong with Elizabeth Arden?" I ask. "Well, she didn't have any films made about her did she?" he retorts. I can't argue with that. After a consultation, yes a consultation no less, with the Chanel assistant, husband decides Chanel Mademoiselle is the perfect fragrance for my mother. I'm beginning to fear for his sanity. Also, husband would like it gift wrapped please. Ooh la la! Get him and his high falootin' ideas. The assistant wraps the perfume in shiny, white, wrapping paper and ties it with black Chanel ribbon. She sprays some tissue paper with the scent and wraps the already wrapped perfume in the tissue paper. It is then gently, lovingly placed into a glossy Chanel tote. Husband nods approvingly at the assistant's efforts. I snort. Tis far from Chanel totes he was raised. As we walk out the shop doors I ask Husband where is his other shopping? The two bags he was carrying before we ended up poncing about the perfume counters. His face drops. He left it downstairs when he was trying on jeans. I shake my head and frown. Tut tut. He runs off down the escalator. I walk over and look down at him and laugh. Watching him weave through the crowds of people, trying to get to the changing rooms. He finds the bag and runs back up to me, face red from his escapade. "You're some ejit. What are ya like?" We both laugh. It's time for lunch I reckon.

Christmas cake

It is said that cooking is an art, baking a science.  And I'm crap at science.  But this year, for the first time, I felt an overwhelming urge to bake a Christmas cake. My Dad used to bake a Christmas cake every year when we were little. He always chose a heavy, rich, dark and dense cake recipe. My mother would end up doing the icing and marzipan.  As Dad poured his heart and soul into that cake, my Mother surely ripped it out.  If his style was Michelen, my Mother's was McDonalds. Packaged marzipan and roll out "Icing in a Box". Two weeks after Christmas the layer of icing and marzipan was always half gone, picked off and devoured by us kids on a sugar binge. The actual cake was left virtually untouched as the only ones who liked it were my parents.  It was too heavy and boozey for our undeveloped taste buds.  Eventually my mother would give in and wrap it up, store it in the press. It would be taken out at intervals throughout the year; Easter, birthdays etc.

Even though I'm pretty sure I'd have a greater appreciation for that type of cake as an adult, I can't quite chase the bad memories away and so chose a lighter recipe to make for myself.  No treacle, no currants, better variety of dried fruits and the addition of nuts all sounded like my kind of cake.  And so yesterday I added my brandy soaked apricots, cherries, sultanas, figs and mixed peel to the cake batter with whole roasted hazelnuts and almonds to make my perfect cake.  Seen as I was snubbing my Dad's classic recipe I felt I had to pay homage some other way.  I decided to use the same tin my Dad had back in the 80s. A little bout of nostalgia, an extra ingredient to add a bit of magic to the mix. I texted my mother in the evening, after I had soaked the fruits, to make sure it was still knocking about. She ensured me it was and said she'd have it pulled out of whatever black hole it may have fallen into by the next day. And true to her word, after much routing and rummaging, she found the tin.  She called to let us know, with a warning that it was on it's last legs and may not be much use. The tin arrived in the house, looking a bit battered, bruised and rusty but when lined with a bit of parchment, I knew it would be fine.  At this point I decided to check the size of the tin needed for the recipe.  I like to do things like that, wait until it's too late to check necessary details.  And of course I then see that the recipe calls for a 20 cm cake tin. Mine was 25 cm tin. Shit. Still, never mind all that exact science stuff, what's 5 cm between friends, eh?  Quite a lot it turns out.

What my cake would look like if I was not stupid

During the cooking, I constantly looked through the glass of the oven door. I knew the cake would be a bit thinner than it should be due to the tin but I hoped it wouldn't be too noticeable. When time was up I opened the door, took the cake out and yes, it did look a little undernourished.  In fact, if cakes were breasts, mine was screaming for a Wonderbra, superboost.  I was very upset. My cake was ruined.  No one would want to eat it.  And worse, my Dad would rip the piss out of me for years to come! Husband tried to console me, telling me the marzipan and icing would add at least another half inch. But I didn't believe him. I knew I had destroyed Christmas. I thought about making another cake.  I could make the same cake again and place it on top of this one! Or I could make a different cake, but use the right size tin and do it properly. Then again, I could scrap the cake and make some other dessert altogether, a pudding perhaps or one of those Christmas Yuletide log things? In the end I did none of these things. Instead we went to the pub and got drunk. And you know what I discovered? A hangover will relieve you of any grand ideas or great plans you had for the next day.  And that scrawny, pitiful, worthless cake you once looked upon with disdain becomes a kooky, alternative and unique creation  that you'll be proud to show to friends and family alike. And I also consoled myself with the thought that by the time they're eating my cake on the big day, they'll all be pissed anyway.


Please excuse the lack of pictures of my cake and my bag from the blog below but it turns out we don't actually have a camera or at least we lost the charger - d'oh! Hopefully getting my hands on one soon so all of the millions of you reading can see the pics for yourselves.