Review: We Were Evergreen

Photos taken by Dan Korkelia www.dankorkelia.com

Last night at The Borderline this cutesy but cool parisian trio warmed London's hearts with a sell-out show to make everyone smile. Their kooky sound - think of a ukelele accompaniment to a light hearted game of ping-pong - leaves you smiling from eyelashes to toenails. There really is no escape from the happy-go-lucky, carefree vibe they pour into the room. I emerged from the club afterwards in the centre of London feeling like I'd just been led to the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow by a unicorn playing a ukelele, but not in a trippy way...

Am I making any sense at all? Its surprisingly difficult to describe We Were Evergreen without underselling or sounding like a flower fairy. This band is like no other I've ever come across.

Lets establish the basics. There are three lovely parisians on the stage surrounded by a variety of fun looking instruments to play with. A girl in an impossibly cool and understated outfit stands to the right, playing a xylophone and glockenspiel and singing lovely harmonies. She beams from ear to ear, exuding pure glee to be on stage. With pixie cuteness she makes you want to get up on stage and join in, until you realise this may ruin the vibe somewhat and that its probably best to leave it to this talented trio.

On the left is a slightly edgy guy, a genius with a loop pedal. He builds the backbone of the music with dextrous use of an array of, often overlooked, percussion instruments, not to mention the occasional foray into beat-boxing. He follows this by playing the bass, ukelele and guitar and jumping in on vocals. This man is a musician from head to toe so he'll pick up any instrument he finds and churn out a catchy riff or bass-line, he's no front man, he forms the entire skeleton of the band.

Meanwhile the fantastic front man with a cheeky grin leads the band through their set singing about trees, children, penguins and memories. He leads the vocals, plays the ukelele and the guitar and keeps on smiling the most genuine smile I've ever seen.

What is great about We Were Evergreen is they don't stop at just plain cute, they push their songs further into the realms of electro to give these catchy hooks a bit of a kick to keep you dancing, and they do incredibly well without a drum kit per se. Their innovative use of percussion is possibly my favourite thing about them, no cow-bell is spared to give a variety of sounds and beats.

If one thing is certain, this band are genuinely thrilled to be performing, and their music is as cheery and light-hearted as they are. They'll instantly put you in a good mood and will have you smiling all day.

The only thing left to do is stalk them on youtube and spotify....I've given you a head start see the links below and I urge you to absolutely go and see We Were Evergreen live if they are performing within a million miles of your home...

My favourite version of my favourite song...

Another lovely song...

And their spotify page:
We Were Evergreen


Enjoy...

One Day: Review

Every chapter of this book pulls you into the lives of Emma and Dexter on 15th July of a different year from 1988 to 2007. Sometimes they are together, sometimes apart, occasionally they get on, but it is clear that they love each other from beginning to tragic end. 'One Day' is unique, hilarious and stunningly written throughout so that by the end you feel like you've been there for twenty years through the ups, the downs and all those missed opportunities.

Emma and Dex meet on 15th July 1988, the night of their graduation. After an awkward morning following their one-night-stand they must go their separate ways, but that is just the beginning of their intensely complicated friendship.

Dexter dives straight into two adventurous gap years travelling the world, living a charmed life. Rich, gorgeous and charismatic, the world is like putty in his hands, as are the many women he encounters. Meanwhile Emma is stuck in a rut in a Tex-Mex restaurant in London, wondering how she ended up there and how on earth is she to get free and make use of that glittering potential that only Dex seems to appreciate.

However Dexter's life of Riley has an expiration date, which he hurtles towards with the grace of a drunken elephant crash landing a plane. Dex is forced to grow up despite his Peter Pan attitude and becomes trapped as his various vices catch up with him. As Emma gets her life together Dexter is unable to keep up. This pattern weaves its way through the novel, Emma's up and Dexter's down then they're up, down and confused all at once and never at the same time. As their relationship develops and dwindles over the years, they try to keep track of their own complicated lives and it certainly takes a life-time for them to find that same page they both need. 

This will-they-won't-they rollar coaster is enchanting, enthralling and impossible to put down. One Day made me laugh, cry and laugh a whole lot more. David Nicholls keeps you guessing as you leap from year to year dipping into the successes, disappointments and catastrophe's of Emma and Dexter's lives. I found myself excited at the beginning of each chapter to know what had occurred in these charmingly flawed brutally realistic characters' lives, as if catching up with old friends after a year apart. I emerged from this book (finishing it on 15th July might I add) feeling like I had known Emma and Dexter for twenty years and already missing them. Call me crazy but thats how involved I became in their extraordinary, and yet, surprisingly ordinary story. 

I am now exceedingly excited for the film to come out on 26th August and I urge you all to read this smashing book before seeing the film. Here's hoping Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess can do it justice as they tread that tricky tight-rope of literary adaptations, I have a feeling they'll carry it off with style.

La Dolce Vita

Italy is bursting at the seams with culture, from Roman ruins to renaissance artists it is impossible to visit this beautiful country without diving directly into its culture. As a result it is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world and is also one of the most commonly written about in travel magazines and sunday supplements. I could fill you in on the stunning Basilica's I saw or I could describe the electric atmosphere of Venice and the understated beauty of Verona. However you've probably read it all before and the cultural aspect of my Inter-rail trip was only partly responsible for making it unforgettable, the rest came down to the hostels we stayed in and of course, the people we met. 

I had notions of what a hostel might be like - dorm rooms full of snoring teenagers, shower blocks and canteen style breakfast rooms. To an extent I was right - each hostel had dorms, showers and a breakfast room but the similarities ended there. In reality hostels are incredibly individual, each one is different from the last in clientele, atmosphere, and, unfortunately, cleanliness. Not only that, but part of the charm of each hostel is the way its atmosphere fits in completely with the character of its location, a lot can be learnt about a place by the hostels found there. 

We started our trip with a pit stop in Turin, an industrial town known for car manufacturing and winter olympics and not a whole lot else. The hostel here was huge and impeccably clean, everything had a smooth, modern surface and absolutely zero character - just like the car factories full of robots that inhabit this city. We felt like we could be anywhere in the world and not a single one of my 600 photographs was taken in Turin.

The next stop was Como, unbelievably picturesque Como. As we arrived at this family run hostel we were greeted like long lost friends by a textbook stereotypical Italian "Mamma". Ostello Villa Olmo is laid back, almost horizontal, and full of really lovely people. As you walk into the reception slash dining room your eyes are immediately drawn to a wall covered with postcards and drawings from previous visitors and this hostel was my absolute favourite for atmosphere, charm and comfort.

I think its fair to say that this lake side town is beautiful enough to merit the photographic binge that I had there. 

From one beauty to the next, we moved on to Verona. Verona has more character than the rest of Italy combined, everywhere you look there is another 16th century villa or Roman amphitheatre (ok so there's only one amphitheatre but it is huge and built from pink marble so it dominates the city centre). As you walk around the stunning city you can't help but feel like you are walking around a film set, "fair verona" doesn't even begin to cover it. In-keeping with this theme, the hostel we stayed in (Villa Francescati) is a converted 16th century garden estate just over the river, bursting with character and with people too. As much as we liked the hostel here, a lot of our sentences during our stay in Verona began with "when we are millionaires" as it seems that the best way to 'do' Verona is with a very large budget for a boutique hotel in the centre and copious shopping trips and opera outings. Whatever budget you are on, Verona has a magical and very romantic atmosphere - tale of star crossed lovers anyone?

Juliette's tiny balcony

Piazza Bra - surrounding the famous open air opera house

24 hours in Verona then we skipped off to Padua, university town since the dawn of time and the atmosphere to match. Our hostel was shabby but clean and friendly and the girl in our room was an art history student who gave us great advice about Venice. This was one of the best sides to staying in hostels; not only do you meet great people but they'll often reel off as many tips and recommendations as they can think of for a few of your own tips in return of course. We found Padua just as friendly as the hostel and although we didn't spend much time actually in Padua the feel of a university town was a great comfort to us as we were surrounded by young people. 

We visited venice from Padua, having heard that the humidity in Venice makes it nearly impossible to sleep comfortably, not to mention the thought of how many euros you are spending not to sleep in this ferociously expensive city. I think Hannah would agree that this made our visits to venice that much more relaxed and enjoyable as those swarms of tourists need to be taken in small doses. Although hoards of people were only found in the huge piazza's - dive down one of many side streets and the crowds disperse, leaving you to enjoy this city which becomes on big bold and beautiful tourist attraction in the summer months. 

Our gondola driver grabbing a beer from the local pub during our (free!) gondola ride - highlight of our time in Venice

Following a magic but manic time in venice we took a time out in Tuscany. We stayed with H's parents in their holiday villa in the mountains whilst we took a break from cities, hostels and shower blocks. This few days was stunning and so relaxing, giving us the perfect opportunity to rev up for Roma. 

3 days of culture in the countryside and we found ourselves on a train to Rome, our last stop in Italia, unfortunately for just 2 days. They say a lifetime isn't long enough for Rome and I completely agree, having spent two days flying around the city trying desperately to squeeze in one fascinating place, or fabulous meal after another. "Hotel Beautiful" was certainly not my favourite hostel of the trip - it was a place to crash out and nothing more. Initially we were worried about a hostel in the seedier part of town "Termini" and I certainly wouldn't recommend it, except that we were about 45 seconds walk from the immense airport-like station Roma Termini, which is very convenient for catching a train at silly o clock on the last morning. 

Aside from the noisy but fine hostel, Rome itself was magical. It is in fact a lot like London as it is full of stunning architecture with an incredible, monumental history and meanwhile it is a fully functioning modern city. We saw stunning sights and awe-inspiring buildings but the absolute highlight of our visit to Rome was the best pizza I've ever had. Lonely Planet calls it the best pizza in Rome and as far as I'm concerned that makes it the best in Italy. Pizzeria da Baffetto is a bustling trattoria, where people were still queuing outside at half 10 at night hoping to be squeezed onto a table with other strangers just to save time. The pizza was indescribable and perfect. It was a perfect combination of finding this place by accident, when we were tired and starving combined with a truly Roman Pizzeria experience that I highly recommend to anyone who is heading to Rome. 

Trevi Fountain

Picturesque and buzzing Trastevere is the ideal place to spend your evenings in Roma

I think it's clear that hosteling around Italy was a truly fantastic experience and all I can say to sum up is now I've tasted "La Dolce Vita" of laid back and friendly Italia, I can't imagine a better lifestyle. 

Hostel Recommendations

Ostello Villa Olmo (Como) - http://www.hihostels.com/dba/hostels-Como---Villa-Olmo-031065.en.htm

 - This is the only hostel in Como but it really is fantastic, it is a lovely lakeside walk into the centre of town and they do huge and delicious meals for only 10 euros, I highly recommend this place.

Villa Francescati (Verona) - tel 045 59 03 60 ostellionline.org

- This hostel is in a really cool villa with lots of character but I'd take earplugs as the traffic outside is noisy.

Ostello Citta di Padova (Padua) - ostellopadova.it

About half an hours walk through the city centre to the station, but it is a nice walk and the hostel is easy to find, friendly and clean.

Beehive hostel (Rome) - www.the-beehive.com 

This is not where we stayed but we were too late to book here as it is very popular, it has fantastic reviews and looks like a great place to stay. 

I also highly recommend the Lonely Planet guide to Italy - it is very easy to use and helpful for accommodation options and restaurant suggestions as well as history about the various sights. I became dangerously attached to my copy during our trip!

1 month

A month ago I moved house, so far I have lived in this house for 7 days. I have been so incredibly lucky to spend three and a half weeks exploring Italy and the South of France. Returning home on wednesday I felt particularly scattered and now I've had chance to catch my breath (and learn where the kitchen utensils go) I want to catch you up on my travels over the next few posts. I want to provide you with a little escapism from the abundance of bad news that seems to be filling newspapers, radio and blogs at the moment. Take a step away from sickening reports of the appalling riots which have "broken Britain" and of the endangered stock market which seems to be going to hell in a handbasket, as I try to portray the last month as vividly as possible before my tan fades.

If you want the reader's digest of what I've been up to....

3 days after a chaotic change of address I hopped onto one of many trains to Italia for 2 weeks Inter-railing which was inspiring, enlightening and so much fun. 

Why I adore Venice

Hannah and I spent 2 weeks skipping from Turin-to-Milan-to-Como-to-Verona-to-Padua-to-Venice-to-Tuscany-to-Rome-to-Annecy-to-Paris. Meanwhile One Day was my train book of choice.

I came home for 4 days and my head was spinning! I was busy washing clothes and catching up with friends whilst trying to figure out where I'd squirrelled my stuff away to in my new room. Before I knew it I was in the car with the parents trekking down to Roujan in the South of France for a chilled out week that is best summed up by this picture:

This hammock is in the garden where we stayed and is my favourite place in the world.

Last friday I took a train from Beziers to Grenoble and was greeted by my favourite sister. I spent 5 fantastic days with her in Meribel in the french Alps where she now lives all year round, the alpine villages in summer are stunning and worlds away from their winter alter-egos as ski resorts. 

Watch this space for travel recommendations, a book review of One Day and some insight into the relaxed vibe of a ski resort during its summer season...

This has been the best month of my life so far so I want to share it with you.

What has become of my bedroom:

Invasion of "The Packers"

I woke up this morning to the crunchy, scratchy, velcro sound of tape being stretched around a cardboard box. Walking downstairs I heard the chatter of strange men and felt the atmosphere of chaos surround and engulf me. The reality - that "The Packers" had taken over my house and were swiftly squirrelling away all my family's belongings - hit a few seconds later. I wandered into the kitchen in the hope of some breakfast and a cuppa, only to find yet another strange man packing away the contents of the kitchen cupboards, I was suddenly confronted with the excruciatingly awkward situation of making some kind of attempt at breakfast whilst tiptoeing around the man stuffing my favourite mug into yet another big brown box, why did I feel like I should apologise to him? It's my house after all, well, not for long.

Maybe I should explain - tomorrow we are moving house. So, for the past week I have been gradually and systematically filling boxes with books, clothes, pictures and general rubbish that I can't yet bring myself to throw away (3 years worth of Vogue and Elle Magazines) and that I'll probably end up throwing away in ten years. Today we thought the packers would come and to pack up "the breakables" that we are clearly incapable of packing ourselves? Imagine our surprise when it became painfully obvious that they were here to pack, well, everything. Whilst it was certainly a bonus not to have to do this ourselves, an atmosphere of stress descended on my mother and myself (control freaks that we are) as we found it impossible to keep up with the speedy packing up of everything from kitchen utensils to lampshades. We shared looks of concern and despair as we imagined the interesting weekend of unpacking which lies ahead. Interesting does not begin to cover it!

Despite my initial shock at the speed at which our cherished belongings could be bundled away, not to mention the sharp pangs of that rug-being-whipped-out-from-under-my-feet-feeling, I eventually surrendered to the whole fiasco. In my experience when a situation runs away from you, the only option  is to surrender, just let it all happen. I found as soon as I achieved this, and once I'd eventually had some breakfast (having run away to hide upstairs earlier in the morning) I became incredibly excited about the move. 

I'll admit I didn't totally surrender, I was absolutely determined to pack all of my boxes myself whilst the packers sorted the rest. Why, I'd already gathered and packaged most of my things and so I stubbornly decided to finish what I started - as ever. I was not prepared for the afore mentioned strange men to be emptying my underwear draw, no. 

"The Packers" did work very hard and kept the moaning to a moderate level - "its a big house for a big family so man up and stop wingeing about how much stuff we have!" - is what I felt like saying, instead I hid away in my room until all but the pictures and a few choice objects (handbag, ballet bag, hairbrush, italy guide book) were jammed into big brown boxes. My next defensive move in the battle of the boxes was to go out for a couple of hours doing any and every errand I could think of to pass the awkward time.

So here I sit, on my bed, in the middle of my now very empty room; I say empty - all my belongings are still here, just rearranged and I am now surrounded on all sides by piles of boxes, in fact my room is completely full. I'm exhausted from the mental effort of the day and also somewhat disorientated by the great peaks of boxes stacked to the ceiling in various parts of the house. I had also planned to include some pictures of the ridiculous stacks and pillars of boxes which surround me, until I realised, oh irony, my camera cable is buried in one of these boxes and there's no way of telling which one. Pictures to follow...

I think its best to leave you with just three of the (multiple and very mixed) feelings I'm experiencing right now during the last night on the corner where I've lived for 95% of my life; nostalgic, exhausted but nonetheless very excited :) 

SugarCraft: not for the faint hearted

My artistic capabilities leave much more than much to be desired. Painting my nails is the closest I should be allowed to painting, but as someone who loves to indulge my creative spirit I am greatly disappointed that I am completely inept when it comes to translating ideas into art. In April I spotted, off in the distance, a glimmer of hope: in the form of Suger Craft (otherwise known as icing cakes). Having spent the girliest day, possibly ever, fussing and faffing about how to use a piping bag and the best way to cut flowers from icing, I came home with my frighteningly fragile birthday cake, creatively inspired. I was ready to reattempt all sorts of artistic endeavours, from drawing to knitting and everything in between. This was in April, since then I have altered a jacket here, made a bracelet there but I have yet to brave the challenge of SugarCraft unsupervised and in the comfort of my own home.

This delay has been inevitable and frustrating, due to the arduous, strenuous, torturous (and many other -ous words too) never-ending revision spin class* which I have been pedalling since mid-April. *(for anyone not familiar with revision, you go round and round in circles until you are exhausted, sounds like a spin class to me!).

There is hope yet, a second attempt at SugarCraft made it onto my list of post-revision fun (and dangerous) things to try. You may wonder why I say this with caution and trepidation, the answer is simple - it all comes down to supervision.

The cake I decorated for my Birthday (see picture below, isn't it a beaut - proud), was decorated under the supervision of leading SugarCraft artist Rachel Mount, not only was she standing by for any sugar-emergencies but also - I'll let you in on a secret here - she had mixed the petal paste, which is what we used to create the flowers, of which I used a fair few! Considering that some ingredients of petal paste include liquid glucose and "Gum Tragacanth" you may understand my concern that this complicated concoction could go horribly wrong...

Optimistic and up for any challenge I am determined that I will succeed and I'll keep you posted on my progress (in the new Blake Bakes part of this blog) as I experiment with the techniques I learned direct from the master herself. Give me time and I'll be knocking out beautifully crafted birthday cakes at every opportunity, of course all of this in preparation for "Blake's Cake Bakery" someday, watch this space...

Link to Rachel Mount's website: http://www.rachelmount.com/
Yes those really are all cakes, she is certainly the coolest artist I've ever encountered!

Free as a bird

7 years at secondary school, 1 year studying Wuthering Heights and Dracula, 3 months of Periglaciation, 1 month of relentless revision, 3 days in a silent room, now I'm free. A level exams have been a long time coming and were over in the blink of a stressed and tired eye. I breathed a sigh of relief and excitement as I handed in my french exam paper, regaining at the same moment my time, my freedom and my sense of spontaneity. I was at that moment freed from revision, plans, self-inflicted house arrest and rapidly thinning hair...

So what next? Celebrate was top of the list...followed swiftly by squirrelling away stacks upon stacks of revision notes and breaking out the books that I actually want to read. This afternoon however, in the spirit of embracing my (recently repressed) creativity, I found myself experimenting with my camera, an excitable canine muse and her stuffed toy goose. Proud of my efforts I thought I'd share the highlights:

You look as good as your outlook

I'm sorry for the lack of activity on my blog recently but unfortunately I have become some kind of revision monster. Perpetually (self)imprisoned in my room under a mountain of spider diagrams, practice papers and felt tip pens. Whilst I had convinced myself I didn't have the time, let alone the brain space, for a blog until the 17th June (the day of my last exam), I could do with a welcome distraction from periglaciation and Wuthering Heights.

Academia has ruined May, any student will tell you that revision is the most boring exercise you may ever have to do. Take something initially interesting and repeat it and repeat it until you beat your stubborn forgetful brain into submission. This may seem like a harsh view to take and I assure anyone not familiar with study leave that there are one or two benefits(see below). However this does not detract from the depressing and demoralising, seemingly never-ending nature of Revision...the untameable beast. What is more is that revision feels self-inflicted, especially when it comes to A2 revision, there's a uni place in your sights and a fear of failure pushing you to revise, conflicting nastily with a laziness and lack of concentration that lurks inside us all. To anyone who doesn't relate I'd say my emotional dial can lurche, leap and swing from motivation and proactivity to total apathy and procrastination several times per day.

However, having recently heard (and adopted) the phrase you look as good as your outlook, I choose to rise above all this negativity and search for the positive in any way that I can...
Despite the demoralising nature of study leave and all that it entails there are several ways to survive it with your mental health intact.

1 - any student will appreciate the constant proximity of the fridge during study leave, snacking is always a valid excuse for a break and yummy too.
2 - pyjamas all day and no reason to wash hair, shave legs or pluck eyebrows sounds like a good idea to me (yes I now resemble some kind of revision troll living in the cave of my bedroom)
3 - not to mention the promise of summer...my inter-railing trip around Italy is the only thing currently getting me through study leave, the promise of sun and spontaneity is crucial in order to preserve my mental health at the moment

There are, I am sure, many more benefits to be found and coping methods to try when it comes to the trials of tackling the revision monster (please let me know if you have any suggestions).

As far as I'm concerned plenty of tea and a sunny outlook will get you through anything.

Those of you reading in the throes of revision - I wish you luck in your exams and remember to look forward to the nice long summer to follow!

and to those of you currently not revising - please be sympathetic to your friends/family who are revising, I promise the mood swings and lack of sociability will become mere memories of May, until next year...

Beibonic Plague

Just like Swine Flu, that horribly corny phrase "Beiber Fever", has infected millions of innocent people worldwide. Luckily, I've managed to escape the 'fever'; I will not be found swooning at a concert, nor will you catch me donning my 3D glasses to watch the life-story of Mr Beiber himself - note that he is only 17 years old, I would say his life story has only just begun, rather than already finished and committed to film.

So I'm not a Beiber-fan, but neither am I a hater. My feelings concerning the baby-faced boy are as neutral as beige on cream. I can appreciate talent and I'll concede the boy can sing. Unfortunately to my mind he will always be about 14 years old, probably because he is adored, worshipped, idolised even, by pre-teen girls the world over.

The more I consider the spread of the Beiber Epidemic, it strikes me that whilst he is beloved by millions he is detested by just as many, is Beiber the new Marmite?

The scary fact is that it is very hard to escape from adoring fan's chatter, sceptic's rants or even Joe/Josephine Bloggs' ambivalent speculation. This terrifying thought occurred to me as my french lesson rapidly deteriorated into a conversation and a google search about whether or not Justin Beiber is Bi-lingual. He is not. As we ascertained three youtube clips later.

I cannot escape Beiber-talk, even in a french lesson where none of my peers are particularly interested in him either (in fact it was the teacher who brought him up in the first place). Why is this popstar so controversial? For 'research-purposes' - naturellement - I delved into several of the 237 million google search results, oh the rumours I found...

I'll leave you with a thought, this guy has managed to get everyone talking about him, good, bad and in between. I like to call it the Beibonic Plague, he has successfully captivated millions of people, whether you love him, love to hate him, or really can't be bothered, you'll end up talking about him somehow.

Pancakes of Persuasion

Today everyone is united by a love of pancakes. Troubles and sulks were swept away by excited topping choice debates, topping the headlines of every conversation I had and heard today. As we all know topping-choice is crucial, get it right and you are looking at pancake-perfection, get it wrong and you'll feel sick all day. So the stakes are high when it comes down to the wire and decisions must be made.

Personally I am an eccentric pancake-topper...I'll throw anything yummy in there. For my dinner this evening I had a cheese and bacon pancake and a cheese and more cheese pancake, followed by several sweet pancakes of increasing creativity. My toppings know no limits of sugar-content, heart-attack risk or calorie counts, it is Fat-Tuesday after all. However, amongst experimentation there is always room for a nod to tradition with a lemon and sugar soaked pancake. Unfortunately the traditionalist in me was forced to forgo such conventional toppings, due to the lemon-less-pancake-day-debacle of 2011. A lime had to suffice and I reckon its tastier.

What I love the most about this day is the warm swell of optimism and happiness that washes over everyone. As the sunshine and topping-chatter filled rooms around the country, I am certain spirits were flipped like a crepe into a sunny-demeanour. Because who doesn't love a good pancake?

No one. I have never heard them called too soft, too warm, too delicious, what could possibly be wrong with a pancake? As one of the most versatile of foods, you can have pancakes sweet or savoury, tiny or huge, for a snack or supper, scotch or crepe... The possibilities are as endless as...ok they're not quite endless but nearly.

I challenge you to find something negative about a pancake. Exactly, it can't be done. Pancakes, even mere conversations about Pancakes have the power to turn a terrible tuesday into "Mardis Gras" and with a name like that nothing can go wrong.

Who knew Eggs, Flour and Milk had such magical powers of persuasion?

I will leave you with my two favourite discoveries of the day;
Bunny's love pancakes too...

And more importantly Make Pancakes Not War...

Now bring on the Lent challenges...

Ski Craft

"Goggles? Glasses? Suncream? Gloves? Both Gloves? Liftpass? Are you SURE? Chairlift chocolate? Helmet?" If you've been on a family skiing holiday you should be familiar with this checklist hollered by parents at 5 to 9 from the doorway of a cosy mountain chalet.

This is the moment when little Johnny discovers he's only got one glove. In a flash the ski-boots that were carefully and laboriously fastened by daddy are off and strewn across the boot-room as little Johnny hares up the stairs to hunt for glove number two. Whilst he's gone, the chairlift chocolate is passed round, for when that elevenses feeling hits from a cold and foggy skilift. Johnny returns and there are minutes left in the rush to make it to ski-school on time, but oh dear, disaster, Lucy needs the toilet. Mum tuts, dad sighs and the second pair of boots are catapulted across the room, Lucy clatters upstairs to the toilet. This chaotic scene has become a part of the first-day-ritual of the family skiing holiday,everyone is ready to go and there is always something not quite right.

Imagine organising several children (and adults too), for a day of sliding down a mountain. There is no opportunity to go back to the chalet if you want to get in as much skiing as possible and everybody needs to have their own googles, helmet, gloves, suncream etc (see list above). Can you see the challenge? In my experience families fall into two groups, those who faff till half past nine and those who get the first lift of the day.

I have been lucky enough to go on a family skiing holiday every year of my life so far and I'm proud to say, in my family, mornings are run like a military operation. It all comes down to one word: Training. From a young age my parents rattled off some version of the above check-list until they were blue in the face. As a result none of the three kids in my family dared leave anything behind for fear of abusive tutting from Mum.

In my family we call it Ski Craft. This encompasses tactical lift-queuing, knowing not to take someone else's skis from the boot-room and all things organisational. With ski craft it seems everyone can sit back, relax and enjoy sliding down a mountain for six days.

Last week I was lucky enough to visit my seasonnaire sister in Meribel. This was a ski-trip unlike any other I've ever been on, I went alone. I had a fantastic time but must admit i missed the family-ski-holiday-vibe. I missed bickering over where to ski and where to eat - note that these are the only things worth worrying about on a ski holiday. Not to mention returning to the chalet at 4 o clock to a freshly made tea and cake, possibly my favourite thing about skiing holidays beside the actual skiing. These are just the everyday staples of a ski-holiday, really its about the silly stories and farcical moments that have made my family's holiday history so fun.

The culprits of childhood trauma and adult entertainment are without a doubt button lifts, and toilet emergencies...

..."Whatever you do, don't let go" Mum told my 4 year old brother as he toddled off to ski-school. What a good little boy Max was, he had Mum's words resounding in his head, he held on for dear life, the button whizzed round the wheel at the end and he was catapulted into a snowdrift, his ski-instructor hastily hiked back up the slope to rescue him and my mother watched from the chairlift above...

...Aged 9 (or so) My sister had waited and waited and waited for the toilet, finally a welcoming mountain restaurant was reached and she ran (or more like hobbled which is all you can do in ski-boots) for the loos. Tearing off the many layers of ski-wear, she made it just in time, in her hurry she neglected to lift the lid...

...There doesn't seem to be a story like this about me? I suppose my best trick was knowing how to spill hot-chocolate down whichever item of skiwear happened to be new or pale. Really, as the youngest I learnt Ski Craft by example...

Birthdays

28th April. Definitely my favourite day of the year, you have one guess why?

Naturally that particular day when you "become" a year older can be acknowledged in one of two ways (ok probably more than two but more than two doesn't flow right so let's not be pedantic ok?) Anyways THE Birthday is categorically the highlight of the year for many and for the rest a 24 hours worth avoiding at all costs.

Those of us in the first group love spending a day with people throwing cards, presents and hugs at you from every which way. People you barely know congratulate you on your annual achievement and the day is punctuated by rapid consumption of cake, chocolate, cake and many other treats. I think that all birthdays are worth celebrating because it means everyone has a whole day designated to being spoiled, appreciated and made to feel special. Plus I've established that cake is yummy.

Others hide from their birthday like the bogey monster, skulking around, avoiding people who may or may not jump out at them armed with birthday banners and the horrors of the "surprise party". - Firstly these never seem to stay secret so the honouree is forced to squeeze out an insincere and overly melodramatic "oh wow I had NO idea!". Secondly someone who doesn't want to celebrate their birthday doesn't want to be forced to celebrate either; returning home to a house full of people sitting in the dark waiting to scare the bejeezers out of them by jumping and shouting as they walk through the door. (I'll admit I may just be bitter about the whole concept, having never been the victim of a surprise party myself, which, as a "birthday enthusiast" I would love.) Anyway what I'm wondering whilst I wrap presents for one of my best friends (hopefully she's reading this...Livi I hope you love what I got you) is why do so many people have such a strong attitude towards birthdays? Whether you love and celebrate them? Or resent the marking of another year over, why does it bother us so much on this day?

Young people counting down the days (not suggesting older generations never get excited over birthdays...its just that excitement for ageing seems to diminish rapidly after about 21) why not celebrate everyday? or on your half birthday too? I'm interested to figure out why the day marking an event that we had no control over is so profound in our lives. The best I can come up with is that a birthday is the only certain, reliable thing in life. Your birthday will never change and is not up for interpretation from a variety of perspectives, it merely represents the moment when the world went from one without you to one where you exist...my head hurts.

Many a conversation, particularly at school, has been based on "my birthday is in x days" followed by jealousy either that so-and-so can learn to drive in November one year and such-and-such has to wait till July the next year. There are a few age "milestones" which make a difference, you hit double digits, become a teenager, learn to drive, are allowed to vote (drinking is legal but you were drinking way before this anyway...) and then you become a fully fledged adult - 21 seems to be a big deal but I can't figure out why, suggestions? So these all happen in the first 1/5th of an average life (ish) and then what? Despite the many fantastic things yet to happen, age seems to matter so much more when you are still officially "growing up" In itself that is a ridiculous notion because who ever fully grows up or even stops growing up? granted it slows down a little but surely "getting old" is just a synonym.

If age is just a number then birthdays are arithmetic: what a way to suck the magic out of my favourite day of every year. Perhaps age is just a number, but birthdays are a celebration of your life so far. If you really think about it life could go on perfectly fine without knowing how old you are, the only use of age is categorisation and identification of people. To anyone reading who plays the numbers game "I'm 29 and 12 months old" "this is the first anniversary of my 39th birthday" just take a minute to remember how much fun it was to count down until birthday time, and how much fun the last x number of years have been. Your age absolutely does not matter, we're getting older every split second but we don't mark it or give ourselves time limits this way. (that would be very silly of course but you gotta love the silliness)

I have an inkling that I could write my way round in circles all night with this and I'm sitting in a very uncomfortable chair, so I'll attempt to wrap this up. Firstly enjoy every second of the day that is dedicated to you each year. Demand that those around you pay full attention and treat you like the Queen of Sheba. Secondly remember that the central reason for young people counting down days and months to their birthday is because it marks some new kind of freedom be it learning to drive or suffrage, so as soon as you've passed all these "milestones" revel in the ultimate freedom to being an "official adult" whilst acting like the kid that is inside all of us.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIV :)

P.S. go online and figure out how many days old you are, all kinds of fun and everyone is invited to celebrate my 7000 day birthday on 27th June 2012 :)

Cake's Blake Bakery?

The staple foodstuff for the Japanese is rice, Italians prefer pasta and us Brits love our potatoes. Judging by todays consumption statistics, my staple food is cake. Fairy cakes to be specific. I managed to munch down 2 whilst they were still warm and scarf down three more before even contemplating icing. I love to bake and will definitely own my own cake shop someday...name suggestions anyone? Blake's cake bakery is much to much of a tongue-twister perhaps, try saying that five times fast. No actually try it please, your computer screen is not going to judge. (My sorry attempt at this ended up as the title, see above)

Now that thats out of the way, I feel like I'm in orbit of a point and I need to shake myself out of orbit and set a collision course.

Cake is yummy. Having established this, I think I have unearthed the trigger of my baking-habit. Feeling happy? Bake to celebrate. Sad? Bake to cheer myself up. Silly? Bake the silliness into a silly cake...I could go on but I think you get the gist. I'm a generous baker, I bake for everyone and try not to sit there wolfing down an entire batch by myself, tempting as it may be.

One of my less-graceful habits is making and gorging myself on bowls of chocolate icing (only one at a time of course). Mentioning this particular guilty pleasure, I can feel my mother tutting at her computer and sending her eyes to the heavens, and beyond. It is not exactly a healthy snack, nor a vice I am proud of. However if made with water, this contains no fat, just more sugar than my RDA. However as much as I love icing (see above), I made a discovery today; that if you want cake badly enough, icing it becomes superfluous. The half finished batch which I still have neglected to ice is a testament to my colossal apathy slash impatience.

Guilty pleasures aside, it is the creativity of baking that draws me in. So far I have yet to attempt my near impossible aspirations for baked-art, but what I currently lack in talent I make up for in effort. Of course this depends on whether I am baking because of a craving for a gluttonous gateaux moment or whether I'm feeling adventurous... Either way it is surprisingly cathartic and satisfying making fairy cakes, and just as satisfying to munch them down in one afternoon. Unfortunately too many people shy away from the baking tray and stick to the shelves of waitrose for sweet treat supplies. To these people I say just get on with it, it is so satisfying to bake.

What I'm getting at is that baking is not incredibly difficult, it just takes concentration, and, if you feel up to it, a smidgen of improvisation. Either way I implore you to do three things for me:
1 - remember the last time you baked
2 - pick out which sweet treat you (or someone else) are/is craving and give it a go...whats the worse that could happen?
3 - next time it is someone's birthday - make their cake for them, it is incredibly rewarding and homemade cakes are so much better for you (and better tasting) than Mr Kipling et al.

Happy Baking/Munching everyone :)

p.s. I have just given myself the idea to spend my summer at a proper baking course...excited much?

Writer's Gridlock

I have a tonne of ideas. I could chatter on about nostalgia and changes. I could describe how incredibly dull I thought Up in the Air was. Apart from a few shots of ninja suitcase zipping there is very little story line to speak of. I could even babble on about the feeling I experienced today, of emerging from the tunnel of January, the fog of stress and rain that seems to have lifted for a while. Yes there are so many tiny buds of ideas zipping around my brain this way and that, so many that I cannot pick one to explode and as soon as I start picking at one of them, they all start to burst out onto the page in an unintelligible mess of jibber-jabber that I can barely understand.

I’m told writer’s block is very common, and considering I want to be a journalist I suppose I should get used to it and find a way out of the maze? So here goes, my attempts at shifting writer’s block:

I am a devout worshipper of the almighty mind map. Large or small, neat or scribbled, colour co-ordinated or numbered; however it turns out it will be eternally useful. Unfortunately my trusty mind maps have today degenerated into a series of doodle-embellished arrows.

So I move on to procrastination, a little tidying up here, some “To-Do list” writing there. Several cups of tea later and I am going nowhere fast…time for a change of strategy…

…Definitely not a fan of looking at other blogs/articles for inspiration. No. This seems to stunt my original thoughts like the growth of a 6-year-old coffee-drinker.

If all else fails, sleep on it. Not the desirable solution when there is a deadline, lucky for me on this blog there are no deadlines. I suppose it’s worth a try, but it seems counter-productive to go to bed instead of at least sitting near a pen and paper/keyboard in the hope of a lightning-strike of inspiration.

If anything, this particularly uninspiring blog post will show you that currently I am metaphorically spent. For now I have no more similes, concepts or visualisations up my sleeve, to brighten up a social commentary or idle musing of mine. I am at least somewhat reassured that my day-dreams will soon give me new ideas…then I’ll be filling, stuffing and cramming the metaphors into my next post before you know what to do with them.

Just swallow it! Now!

Sat in my room with a mouthful of water. In that mouthful is a capsule of penicillin. Next to me is my mother. Both of us are trying everything we can think of to deceive my body into swallowing the pill. Several gulps and many erratic arm gestures later I managed to get it down - and of course it was fine. Swallowing tablets is one of those things that comes easily to many and is a source of much fear, frustration and embarrassent for others.

I am not afraid of swallowing pills, I know that I swallow food in much bigger chunks, I know that the pill will make me feel better and I know that I won't even notice it when I actually swallow it. So why is it that I gulp-down all the water in my mouth and there, left on my tongue, is a soggy, semi-dissolved pill. No matter how much I rationalise, it takes a great deal of time and effort to trick my body into going against natural instinct. Is it just that swallowing without chewing first is unnatural? In that case surely survival instinct should counter-act this with the notion that medicine will help us get better? I suppose natural instinct cannot be taught about modern medicine can it?

There are several options for someone who, like me, has trouble gulping down pills:
1 - don't get ill. ever. pills are not for healthy people - unfortunately we have little control over this
2 - when ill, pretend not to be, or that you don't need medicine
3 - whenever possible use melting/dissolving/chewy pills - how odd it would be to find one that does all three?!
4 - Leave it until you absolutely cannot wait any longer then spend ten minutes awkwardly pacing around a room with a mouthful of water until it magically disappears...then celebrate until the next dose is required.

I think the message here is to all of you fellow pill-phobics: Take heart that you are not alone, it is not wussy and you have a much stronger anti-choking survival instinct in you than others. And to those of you who casually chuck 4 pills to the back of your throat, have sympathy for your less cavalier friends, and understand that saying "Just swallow it! Now!" does not help. Ever.

Glimmer of sunshine?

January is rubbish. That is the general vibe I'm picking up from everyone around me at the moment. The way I see it January is a test. Testing our will power to keep up those new lofty new year's resolutions, testing our new shoes in apocalyptic weather, testing many 17 year olds literally as they find their month littered with A level exams. After the excitement of the "Holiday Season" where shiny things are hung from every tree and staircase, it is inevitable that we should fall into the dreary January mood.

This is the point where my sunny optimism kicks in, I am convinced that there are goodies to be found in a month of rain and grey. For starters all the best TV shows return in January, How I Met Your Mother, America's Next Top Model, 90210, and of course my favourite Grey's Anatomy. Whatever you fancy, it's there for the watching, with brand new series brandishing story lines ready to make us gasp and oh-em-gee. So after a hectic day of school/work/revision theres a new episode to collapse in front of with a cup of tea and a chocolate hob-nob/digestive/[insert favourite biccy here].

Another biscuit in the tin of joy this month is that the shortest day is behind us. From now on the light will be lasting longer and longer and longer, before you know it it'll be spring and we'll all be wondering what the fuss was about. Somehow once we hop into spring time we forget how miserable it can be when it gets dark at 4. There is a sense of emerging from a tunnel in January, it feels as if we're one step closer to spring, temperature wise the only way is up (sometimes literally as it could not possibly be any colder.).

Of course I mustn't forget the joys of january sales, exams being over until june (this at the end of the month) and of course enjoying all your spangly new christmas presents. For those of us able to stick to a new years resolution, there is the added bonus of the satisfaction of a resolution well resolved.

Though the world seems gloomy in a non-eventful month of grey, try to find your own glimmer of sunshine and hold on for dear life, it will help you make it through a tricky month. There is always something positive to be found, even if it is as trivial as stonking good telly.