It’s been that kind of winter. Just before Christmas, all the excessive food consumed was ok because we were “leading up to Christmas” and it was getting nippy. During Christmas, well, duh. And after Christmas how could you justify throwing out perfectly good brandy cream, ...
Last week was a tough one. The wheels of the crazy carriage were well and truly spinning at never before seen speeds _ work was at an intensity level where all sorts of nuclear buttons were being pushed, the house and its menacing trifecta of clutter, laundry and kid crumbs was threatening to ...
I don’t know about you but bad meatballs really piss me off. If they’re mushy like reconstructed toothpaste, hard as floorboards or packing the flavour equivalent of a washcloth, they have the potential to get me sulking, angry at the cook, for a whole day. This means I have often ...
A couple of weeks ago I decided to take a one day break from the rat race and have a grown-up meal with my partner at an actual restaurant. Afterwards, buoyed by the experience of having delicious food that wasn’t cooked in stop and start mode while the 3 year-old threw Lego into the pot, ...
It’s here. Valentine’s Day. The day most of us love to hate and hate to love. I’ll admit it, I’ve been a hater for pretty much forever. Red hearts, plush toys, overpriced flowers, the naffness of it all and the pressure to show someone you care when that should not come ...
It doesn’t really matter what you get up to in the kitchen. As far as your kid is concerned he’ll eat what he chooses, when he chooses, no matter if it’s Michelin quality food, 34 day-old hard peas he found by the skirting board or raw potatoes dipped in chocolate milk. But ...
Sleep. That thing that happens to you in the night, sometimes mornings and weekend afternoons. You go to bed, close your eyes and wake up 8 hours later with no clue what just happened. You’re no early bird but sometimes on weekends you’re up by 8am, which is positively ...
Lady Gaga has a potbelly. Seriously, she does. As in her belly could fit into a pot. Like this one in my son’s play kitchen. You can fit a lot of visceral adiposity into that pot, as well as the brains of the people who think Lady Gaga, whose waist circumference mirrors that of a […]
It was the end of a long day. My eyes felt like puddles of burning flesh and my head heavy, like a container of voodoo dolls being pierced every other second by a vindictive despot. Tolerance was nearing below basement levels by the time I got on the tube. Cue in your public transport classics: ...
My feeding chair is bright and yellow with cute white chickens with red beaks. It was more expensive than the Ikea one you considered buying, remember Mother? You had high hopes for this high chair _ visions of slightly messy but wholesome meal times, filled with giggles and the occasional ...
