Xmas

Well, I had a good Christmas. You?

Festive foolishness

A conversation between Dad and me:

“She’s the girl from … Ipanema”
“That’s what I was thinking”
“Who lives next to…”
“The man from Laramie?”
“In the house …”
“That Jack built?”

Madame La Sooze came round last night in order to deliver presents and eat macaroni cheese. As has become customary, I got my camera out and she gurned in front of it. If she ever becomes famous, I could make a bloody fortune. The impetus for fetching the D50 was seeing our reflections in the conservatory window. Although it was dark, the curtain was still open so that we could see the fairy lights on the oak tree outside. We sat in front of the window and played around with the light from Dad’s torches. The resulting photos are very strange, with low light, reflections, double images in the double glazing and things that are outside looking like they’re inside and vice versa.

We moved over to the Christmas tree after a while to take advantage of its glowing festive nature. Suzy’s a patient model / professional gurner and often I was so concentrated on the camera that I wouldn’t see that she was pulling a face until I’d taken the pic and it popped up on the screen on the back. Similarly, when we tried a few portraits of the two of us together, it was only when I got back to the camera that i would find that she had been doing this or this.

Proof

I love the fact that Santa came round the same evening we were putting up the lights and decorations. As I went to the bottom of the drive to take some blurry photos, a behatted money-collecting elf passed by and asked if I believed in Father Christmas. “Hell, yes!” I said, a little too loudly.

As Santa drew up, he saw that I had my camera and asked if I was taking photos. “Yes,” I said, “for proof!”. You see, proof that Santa exists. And that he has a Peugot-drawn sleigh. Well, I expect the reindeer are resting.

Now my belly is full of scampi and chips and I need to start transforming the house into the Christmas wonderland I like to conjure up each year. Cards will be stuck to the dining room wall, the little sleigh I made a few years ago will be set up with its props, the garlands will be tied above the doorways, the tree shall be festooned with glittery things and I shall start to feel merry.

Don’t eat the dough

I thought I might have a bunch of photos from Knole Park to share with you today, but the plan Suzy and I had for a bit of shopping, a light lunch and a stroll round the park quickly turned into one shop and an enormous, long, delicious lunch. And that was it. I did take some photos of that though.

We ate at Zizzi in Sevenoaks, ordering 5 starters between us: chicken and chestnut paté with toasted ciabatta and Crostini Formaggio di Capra (mine), Garlic Mozzarella Pizza Bread with caramelised balsamic onions and Bruschetta Genovese (Suzy’s) and olives. We had tastes of each other’s dishes of course and every time the waiter came past to ask if everything was all right, all we could do was nod and mmm at him with full mouths and warm bellies.

A few days ago I was overcome with urge to make stuff. Having read about and seen the photos of Elaine and Lily’s salt dough creations at wannabehippie.com, I decided, to hell with everything, I was feeling creative.

The first step was googling and, man, you wouldn’t believe the number of different recipes there are for salt dough, all with wildly differing ratios of ingredients and cooking times. In the end, I went for 1 cup of flour, 1/2 cup of salt, 1/2 cup of water and bunging them into the oven on the lowest setting for a couple of hours. The dough behaved well and I added quite a bit of flour to it as I kneaded it. Then I started to roll it out and cut out shapes using my biscuit cutters. I think my favourite design was using the doughnut cutter and the holly leaf cutter to make the garlands in the photo. Incidentally, I’ve no idea what the plait is for, all I know is that it looks good.

Over the next few days, I painted the decorations with acrylic paints. I only have red, green, silver and gold (the primary colours of Christmas!) at the moment and would like to expand my collection somewhat. The pots are about £3 each though, so it’s quite an expensive thing to expand. The trouble is, I now desperately want to make some more salt dough goodies, but (a) I’m not exactly sure what to make (hell, I don’t even know what to do with the things I’ve already made) and (b) I think my creative phase has waned a little. Unfortunately, I’m much more creative in my head than in reality and thus my ability to produce what I imagine comes and goes. Maybe I’ll make some dough tomorrow to see if it’s gone or not. I’ll either end up with more delights like those above, or just a mess and a bad mood.

Hands up, who thinks the following sucks?

My kidney stone was due to be obliterated on 5th January 2006. I had a morning admission, so I would have been out again the same day. Then I get a letter saying that my appointment has been moved to the 4th because Mr Kidney Man no longer has any ADC beds, so I’ve been put on the TCI list. Eh? I rang the hospital today to confirm that I could do this date and asked what the hell all the letters meant and what was going on. ADC is “Adult Day Care” and TCI is “To Come In”. Mmm, snappy.

So there are no day care beds for Mr Kidney Man any more, meaning that I have to be admitted as an in-patient the day before in order to guarantee my bed. The operation won’t take place until the 5th, but they want me in hospital at 3.30pm on the 4th. This, in case you can’t put two and two together, is a colossal waste of my time and surely can’t be the most effective use of bed space on the NHS. Come the 4th, I shall be doing my damnedest to go home overnight. Even if I have to say, “I’m going out for a cigarette. I’ll be back in the morning.” I live only half an hour away from the hospital, so I just want to go in, pee on the bed to mark my territory and come back, you know, when they’re, like, ready. Wankers.

Later, a text from Suzy: “I just saw two men walk past, laughing at something one of them had said. One was tall and slightly scruffy but nice looking and the other was a well-dressed and handsome dwarf. Have we been cloned and turned male without us knowing?”

Hangin’ with the Nowlans

Man, I’m going to be in trouble if I don’t write something here before I see Lauren next Tuesday. There’s already been threats and petrol bombs. Ok, I exaggerate. Just petrol bombs.

Suzy, Lauren and I are going to an oriental restaurant in Tonbridge to bathe in hoi sin sauce next Tuesday. As the restaurant offers a buffet of delicacies from Singapore, Thailand, India and China, we should be able to tick off a couple more countries on our culinary map. Not that we have a map. we should really get a map.

Yesterday, we went for a walk in Dunorlan Park with Sam’s family. Only, the timing depended on Darcie, who slept soundly for longer than usual, having been up late, schmoozing at her Nanny’s 50th birthday party. So off we set in the falling dark and returned a while later to the car park in the fallen dark.

I’d not been to Dunorlan Park before and it’s certainly somewhere I want to visit in, you know, like, daylight. There are inquisitive ducks, geese, moorhens and fewerhens, so I think a bit of bread and my D50 should mean some good photos. Unless a goose pecks my eye out or something. That wouldn’t be quite so good.

After our dusky trail, we returned to the Nowlan’s abode for expensive chocolate cake and quizzes from Jackie’s party the night before. Damn good cake.