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...
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Friday, 18 March 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
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...
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...
Sunday, 27 February 2011
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...
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...
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
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 :)
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 :)
Sunday, 6 February 2011
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?
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?
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
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.
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.
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