HNT/repeat

I couldn't miss out on the very last HNT of the year, especially as it is a revival week .. my favourite of 2009.

Wishing you all a better, brighter year ahead.

And lots of fucking too.

petition

I'm catching up, slowly. Stuff i had left unfinished, or even unstarted, will be soon put away. It is time.

The photo was taken on christmas day morning.

sweeping up the crumbs

• ...ly cold
• is in bed with a beast
• had a long car journey with a furry hot water bottle on my lap, a careful cat to pet during motorway snares
• experimental patisserie: chocolate log with white chocolate buttercream, necessity of almost-midnight urges.
• drunk in charge of a kenwood. Watch me beat this butter. No mercy.
• the streets sparkle with rhinestone, the stars as lanterns in a dark blanket
• coffee;hot, heels;high, children;happy, cake;heavenly. Surely that's enough for the now.
• spontaneous cake baking once again. It makes me feel better.
• christmas cheer interruptus with vomiting child.
• The couple at the next table are rowing with muttered threats and badly aimed maliciousness
• is wearing a festive hat and silky stockings
• while drunk last night i slipped a barebacking reference into the conversation, just to watch friends' husbands choke on their shirazes
• chocolate truffle cake for breakfast. Now i have cocoa fingerprints on my keyboard.
• shiraz never tasted so good. And Blade Runner too.
• is heading out into the cold, with intent
• went to sleep with a broken clit

• Father christmas is putting on his boots and his whiskers in my office
• flirting with Father Christmas on the phone. There is a rendevous planned for tomorrow.
• an excess of chocolate buttercream will not wasted
• there is noone here to help me, so i get to eat all the soft mallowy trimmed edges of the chocolate roulade myself
• buche de noel and crackle glaze double chocolate fruit and nut cookies
• gigi is getting a new baby sister. Tomorrow.
• needs a temporary gigi replacement. Something small and fuzzy.
• is gigi-less and blue

not a thursday, but does anyone care?

Mum made me a special gluten-free trifle for christmas lunch.

not "normal"

It is not often that someone takes my breath away with a single word.

I'm sorry, I should be wishing everyone a Merry Christmas but tonight is not the night for any more words.

blonde buche

Late at night, drunk, and i ran out of dark chocolate, so the latest log has a white chocolate buttercream. Lush.

*


No sex.

NO SEX.

Damnit.

Thank goodness for Nea. My new best friend.

noel, noel

Traveling home from a party, the boys are chatty, and apparently still hungry. I suggest peanut butter sandwiches when we get home.

"Don't get the peanuts mixed up" sniggers my eldest.

I know why they are laughing, and take the opportunity, secure in the dark car, everyone sitting comfortably, to broach the subject.

"You do know" I remind gently, "that the proper word for it is 'penis', rather than peanuts?'

There is a dark silence in the car.

"Of course" they both claim, on reflection.

"It is fine to call them peanuts at home, but you need to know they have another name" I explain.

"I shall take mine off" says the smallest, huffily.

"Don't" I laugh.

"You will want it, later"

There is immediately a chorus of "why, Mum?". I can hear genuine curiosity.

"Well", I gulp.

"To pee .."

A deep breath, seize the moment, plant a seed.

"And to make babies."

There is an intake of horror from beside me followed a long, frozen silence.

"So," I say brightly.

"chocolate log for supper?"

recipe here.

My new Kenwood mixer makes the best buttercream, effortlessly beating butter to a light cloud of fluff. Mix with melted chocolate for a denser, richer cocoa hit. The sponge is almost a soft meringue, sweet and moist. I want to try this next with a thin layer of vanilla buttercream and the same of raspberry jam as the interior swirl for a fancy effect beneath the chocolate frosting.

cheating

• sent home with a laughing mouth and scuffed lips
• is a kinky sinner trapped in the body of a single, working mother; a vanilla victoria sponge sandwiched with real fruit & thick cream.
• Had a near death experience in the jacuzzi
• talking bukkake at the school gate.
• is very carefully eating oven-hot brownies
• is juggling pots: beef stew with thyme and anchovies, celeriac soup and a chocolate caramel cheesecake brownie.
• has burnt fingers
• is thinking that making out on a dimly lit stairwell, snatching a moment while the children watch TV and supper steamed, would be ace.
• has pecan crumbs in her coffee and peccadillos on her mind.
• shall bake today. It is the only solution to today's issues.
• wishes her car was automatic drive. With sweet blancmange thighs and biceps weak as baby starlings i nearly didn't make it home tonight.
• Two pump classes, two different venues. I am a jim slut today
• Tired. If i fall asleep in the spa, perhaps someone might rescue me.
• is feeling pretty and may buy something with ribbons; something that clinches.
• hot chili, warm cuddles & a cool movie.
• ginger jam on buttered toast, homework for them, expresso for me. Am not in the right mood for baking.
• has to sack one of her santas.
• pumpkin buckwheat noodles and yesterday's chicken stock: my very own Noodle in a Pot.
• has an embarrassment of Father Christmases
• dropped part of her crumbly hazelnut cookie in the washing up bowl. Does that warranty having a second?
• Father Christmas (with a dodgy hip) has found me a stand-in santa! I have yet to find out whether he has his own whiskers.
• my well-meant & fervent sun salutations have not worked.
• Father Christmas has blown me out. Damn it. I need a man with whiskers, soon. I can provide a cushion.
• is on the phone to Father Christmas
• apparently Father Christmas just had a hip replacement, but should be back on his feet in a couple of weeks time.
• Mrs Christmas answered the door. She is tall and slim with a pretty grey elfin hair cut, wearing a red skirt and lipstick.
• today i knocked on a stranger's door and asked to speak to Father Christmas. He wasn't in, but i left a message.
• there's a hottie warming my bed. A hottie in a red fluffy jacket, begging for my cold toes.
• hot wine, because it helps.
• is pot-roasting meat loaf in a smidgen of chicken stock with bay.
• lost: fingertips
• forgot to buy lemons to add zing to hot ginger wine. I shall improvise ..
• hindi squats to Counting Crows. Am finally warm again, and bouncy.
• is home again, scuffed and a little raw from top to tail
• licky sticky
• my Kenwood is making smoke. Is this right??
• is pleased to announce a bake orgy happening here; as many cakes made as possible in the next 3 hours, or until the butter runs out.
• our supper table is lively with a guest. Calibre of jokes on offer: "doctor, doctor, i feel like a dog." "Sit!"
• my fingers are so cold i am fearful of touching myself.
• in 45 minutes i will have hot cake in my hands

oversight

Much baking is happening, but mostly old favourites.

*

I can't believe i left gigi behind. Not only gigi, but my little bullet vibe and my glass dildo too. I shall have to use my fingers instead.

the beginning

I don't do knitting, but i enjoy tying knots. Do you know what this might become?

£11.99

I made a vital purchase today.

My children sleep better if i give them each a hot water bottle. After weeks of not sleeping myself (i use a random combination of pills, warm ginger wine and masturbation), i tried the cure for myself and am now addicted to the warm glow. The comfort reminds me of a long-ago lover who would always sleep with his feet wrapped around mine all night long. For months after we separated i used to squash a pillow at the foot of the mattress to bury my legs under, for the familiar cuddle.

Today i bought my own hottie, in a red and white dotty cover, rather than having to wait until my youngest falls asleep before stealing his fluffy red warmth from his curled toes. Tonight my hot bed is guilt-free.

Tonight i also have the scent of our sex on my fingers and between my thighs. Sweet dreams.

time marches

My little one came out of school this afternoon, took my hand.

"When you have a baby, Mummy" he begins, as if we had been discussing an imminent event, living his own reality as only a small child can do.

"The baby can have my cot" he assures me.

*

If there is anyone still reading who began at the beginning: you know how much i want (wanted) another baby. Tonight i shall indulge myself in imagining giving him his baby sister.

None

3 years later, still no regrets.

St Menehould's breast

Have you ever wondered what to do with lamb breast? They sit there on the shelf, so very very cheaply, little rolled blankets of fat and sweet meat (at least, i imagine lamb as always sweet), mysterious in their trusses and, well, cheapness.

Place rolled meat of a breast in an ovenproof dish (cut to fit, if necessary) with 2 sliced carrots, 2 sliced onions, a sprig of rosemary and a little dried thyme. Go for a snug fit. Pour over a glass of white wine and a glass of water. It is quite possible that i used a cup of chicken stock instead, depending on what i had in the fridge. Season, cover with lid or a close cap of foil and bake in a low oven (140ºC) for 3 hours, basting every 45 minutes, until meat is tender.





It smells very good at this point.

Leave to cool, removing any ribs still attached. Unroll and unfold the leaves of meat and press between two chopping boards, weighted by plates or tins. Don't be overly concerned by the fat in evidence - it will be cooked off again, under a hot grill. Leave overnight in the fridge.



To serve: slice the meat into double-finger width, single-finger length pieces. Brush with a little mustard (dijon or english), dip into beaten egg (you will need 2 eggs) and press firmly into a plate of dried breadcrumbs. This is messy, but relatively quick, and, as most of the work was done yesterday, it still seems like a very quick supper dish.

Arrange on a wire rack in a roasting pan, brush with melted butter if you wish for crispy brown crumb. I didn't bother with this adding-butter stage, feeling that there was quite enough fat in the dish already, so my fingers weren't evenly toasted, but i suspect just as delicious. Put dish in a moderate over for 15 minutes, (180ºC), then toast under a super hot grill until suitably blackened, to taste, turning once.

Serve with tartare sauce and mashed potato. And perhaps green beans.

train tracks heading south

Through a certain chain of circumstances today, i realised that it is 12 months since i spent at least every other weekend with my parents, stumbling through the free days, crying (silently, so not to scare the children) on the long journeys back to the place that was no longer a home.

Wherever it is that i am now, it is certainly a better place than where i was.

fill my stocking

Have you made your christmas wish list?

Mine comes down to two vitals: Cock (yes, I am particular) and some affection, in no specific order.

HNT/all & everything

dust bunnies

• is adding mace and maderia to beef in a stewpot.
• visited brother with cake for his birthday and found him fretting over estranged Secret Wife's ectopic pregnancy.
• fun with polyfilla
• is in a comfortable place somewhere between the soft chugga chugga of the expresso machine and the children's chatter.
• is picking apart a pomegranate. Surprisingly gratifying for a saturday evening.
• i don't drink soup from a cup either. It is wrong.
• tried to eat soup with a dessertspoon, but it didn't feel right.
• my divorce petition arrived yesterday. i have been circling it ever since, breathing deeply, and employing all available distractions
• has that dentist-clean feeling and wants to kiss
• Buffeted, but not in the 'feasted-upon' sense of the word. More bedraggled then bed-destined.
• made individual caramel custards for pudding. They have a marvelous wobble.
• was up at 4am rescuing laundry before it blew about the village. I preferred yesterday's weather.
• cherry brandy chocolate barrels: the discreet way to imbibe during a duty lunch.
• is playing hokey at the butcher's
• is accidently eating jalfrezi and chips. Tomorrow is another day.
• Mondays make me dizzy.
• has such filthy, dirty plans for tonight. Come here, little marshmallow.