Just because it's gorgeous:
Ingredients
Olive oil
Butter
Sliced mushrooms
2 or 3 cloves of garlic
Courgette, thickly sliced then quartered
Leek, sliced
Chicken Breast Fillets (1 per person)
Sour Cream
English Mustard
Quantities are flexible so you can make it to your own taste.
Take chicken breast fillets and sprinkle them with dried thyme and minced garlic. Press the coating into the chicken breasts. Fry in a large cooking pot in a bit of butter and olive oil until browned.
Remove the chicken from the pan and put in a warm oven on a preheated tray.
Add chopped mushroom, courgette, garlic, and leek to the pan with extra oil and butter if needed. Add extra thyme and garlic to taste. Fry on a medium heat until soft.
Add sour cream, (I use about a small pot for 2-3 people), and a teaspoon of mustard and stir in.
Replace chicken fillets to the mixture with any juices and leave to simmer on a low heat until cooked. The fillets should be almost cooked through when they come out of the oven anyway.
Serve with steamed veggies and new potatoes or mustard mash. Enjoy!
Beautiful Blogger Award
Thanks to l'Aussie for my Beautiful Blogger award
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Resuscitating The Brain
I have been attending college, me! The woman who never leaves the house or speaks to anyone. When I say college; it's a branch of the local college which runs basic adult numeracy and literacy courses. I didn't sit my GCSEs at school, for reasons I won't bore you with (the main one being stupidity), but I'm not completely illiterate, so I thought that I could handle a course now that the kids are older.
However my enquiries regarding an English GCSE course lead to an abrupt halt in my voyage towards further education, because in order to enrol on this particular GCSE course you need to have, of all things, a GCSE. "Grade C or above" the woman clarified over the phone. Oh well that's alright then!
So I have been attending the adult learning centre answering questions about prefixes and suffixes etc, and on Monday I sat my exam. I realise that one measly grade C GSCE is not worth getting excited about, but if I pass this it will be the first certificate I've earned since cycling proficiency in primary school. This is the first step in dragging my reluctant brain back into education. The next step is a course at the real actual college, where real students go, for a real qualification... and I'm terrified!
However my enquiries regarding an English GCSE course lead to an abrupt halt in my voyage towards further education, because in order to enrol on this particular GCSE course you need to have, of all things, a GCSE. "Grade C or above" the woman clarified over the phone. Oh well that's alright then!
So I have been attending the adult learning centre answering questions about prefixes and suffixes etc, and on Monday I sat my exam. I realise that one measly grade C GSCE is not worth getting excited about, but if I pass this it will be the first certificate I've earned since cycling proficiency in primary school. This is the first step in dragging my reluctant brain back into education. The next step is a course at the real actual college, where real students go, for a real qualification... and I'm terrified!
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Bedtime never comes
FFS! Getting Sam to bed is like negotiating the Maastricht treaty! It is made far more difficult, however, when Stig is on full form. Sam couldn't find his pyjama bottoms. Stig's answer to this was "you should have gone to Specsavers".
We then had another 10 minutes rigmarole with milk and biscuits before finally manoeuvring him up the stairs. Stig's parting shot... "Go in peace and remember; Never sit on anthills with a baggy papoose".
We then had another 10 minutes rigmarole with milk and biscuits before finally manoeuvring him up the stairs. Stig's parting shot... "Go in peace and remember; Never sit on anthills with a baggy papoose".
4am
I'm crabby. Why does everything in this house happen at 4am? Car alarms, sick children, the crescendo of Stig's ninety-decibel snoring, the list is endless. Given the regular interruptions of my sleep I think my bladder has duly synchronised itself because even on the rare nights that the house is quiet, I still have to get up to pee. Even the bloody mouse decided to rearrange her furniture at four o' clock this morning.
If the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42, then the secret to Hayes' House appears to be 4am!
Monday, 12 April 2010
NASA Pants
Leggings are "in" again. "Fat people shouldna wear leggings" says Billy Connolly. I agree with him in principle. I mean; no one wants to see elasticated, shiny material stretched to within an inch of it's life across the vast expanse of my thighs and picasso arse (NB: Picasso Arse: "The effect of a fat person wearing leggings, under which knickers that are far too tight; thus creating the effect of four buttocks").
Having corrected the knicker issue, I estimated that between the top of my knee-high, extra-wide calf boots, and the bottom of my long slouchy top; about 4.5 inches of leggings would be visible. Podgy though my knees are, I thought this might be tolerable. Especially if I only venture out in the dark.
We have a tendancy to rename things in Hayes' House. For example; those see-through mesh-type knickers have been renamed "Bee-Keepers", because they bare an uncanny resemblance to the protective material that bee keepers wear, you see? And if there was ever a thing that was crying out for a new, non-1800s name, it's those dressing gown / house coat type things. They are now known as "Shlompers", because we shlomp around in them.
Hence, in true Hayes' House fashion, leggings have become "NASA Pants", because they feel like you're wearing memory foam which, rumour has it, was invented by the lovely people at NASA. That's the only way I can describe wearing a good pair of leggings. They're fabulously comfortable, just like sinking into my memory foam bed. So any fellow thigh-fearing women, I urge you; even if you never go out in public, free yourselves, sod the cellulite, and get some NASA pants!
I'm wondering now if I dare actually try skinny jeans... Somebody stop me!
Having corrected the knicker issue, I estimated that between the top of my knee-high, extra-wide calf boots, and the bottom of my long slouchy top; about 4.5 inches of leggings would be visible. Podgy though my knees are, I thought this might be tolerable. Especially if I only venture out in the dark.
We have a tendancy to rename things in Hayes' House. For example; those see-through mesh-type knickers have been renamed "Bee-Keepers", because they bare an uncanny resemblance to the protective material that bee keepers wear, you see? And if there was ever a thing that was crying out for a new, non-1800s name, it's those dressing gown / house coat type things. They are now known as "Shlompers", because we shlomp around in them.
Hence, in true Hayes' House fashion, leggings have become "NASA Pants", because they feel like you're wearing memory foam which, rumour has it, was invented by the lovely people at NASA. That's the only way I can describe wearing a good pair of leggings. They're fabulously comfortable, just like sinking into my memory foam bed. So any fellow thigh-fearing women, I urge you; even if you never go out in public, free yourselves, sod the cellulite, and get some NASA pants!
I'm wondering now if I dare actually try skinny jeans... Somebody stop me!
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Areithi Cymraeg?
My husband has always had a bit of an obsession with foreign languages. I grew up in Wales so he constantly harasses me for translations. When a new lad started at the place where Stig works, and Stig discovered that the said man was welsh, he couldn't wait to try out his new found lingo.
The resulting conversation didn't go to plan...
What Stig tried to say was "Are you coming for a brew you c***?" Cool but friendly despite the use of the C word, and this offer of friendship may have been welcomed if it weren't for the fact that what he actually said was "I'm going for a brew with myself, you hairy caterpillar". The welshman now avoids him like the plague and has a faintly worried look whenever Stig enters the room.
This afternoon Stig has discovered a translation website. A very useful little tool where you type in what you want to say, then choose the language in which you want the phrase to be repeated back to you. I have been subjected over the last two hours to Stig's take on the German accent, shrieking phrases like "Where is the toilet, I've shit myself".
I'm taking notes for my appointment with the divorce lawyer.
The resulting conversation didn't go to plan...
What Stig tried to say was "Are you coming for a brew you c***?" Cool but friendly despite the use of the C word, and this offer of friendship may have been welcomed if it weren't for the fact that what he actually said was "I'm going for a brew with myself, you hairy caterpillar". The welshman now avoids him like the plague and has a faintly worried look whenever Stig enters the room.
This afternoon Stig has discovered a translation website. A very useful little tool where you type in what you want to say, then choose the language in which you want the phrase to be repeated back to you. I have been subjected over the last two hours to Stig's take on the German accent, shrieking phrases like "Where is the toilet, I've shit myself".
I'm taking notes for my appointment with the divorce lawyer.
Sunday, 4 April 2010
The Outer Limits
I'm having trouble finding any other words apart from "weird" and "bizarre" to describe this weekend and the events leading up to it. No; aliens haven't landed in our street, nor has Robbie Williams come to his senses and dumped that pretty girl in favour of running away with me (the day will come Ayda; be warned). Something even more surreal has happened at Hayes' House. Jamie Lee met her half sister for the first time this weekend.
Up until recently, I hadn't seen my ex husband, Dan, in almost ten years. We have heard news of each other at times via friends and relatives but very little actual contact. Then we moved back to our home town three years ago. It was inevitable then that he and Jamie would meet given that Dan often visits family here.
Sure enough, when we told Jamie that Dan would likely be in town from time to time, it wasn't long before she asked if she could meet him, and there it was; the moment I have known would come since before she was born.
Dan came to see us to discuss how we would all handle it. It was very weird (that word again) sitting in our living room, reminiscing with both my current and former husband; those two have known each other a lifetime. Dan met Jamie that weekend and despite the weirdness it went very well.
Normally issues with extended families and step-kids are ironed out at the beginning of a relationship, not ten years in. Now there's this whole other family that we have a connection with. In some ways it was the most natural thing in the world to see the kids playing together this weekend. They seem to take everything in their stride, thank god!
There is a similarity between Jamie and her sister that I can't quite put my finger on. It's strange chatting to Maisie because she's a part of my little girl. She's cute and smart and the two of them are getting on brilliantly so far. The kids all seem a little confused as to who's related to who, but I guess that's to be expected and will come with time. Considering the past has kind of snuck up and bitten us on the ass; I think we're all doing a great job of being very grown up about the situation, even though my head keeps whispering; "weird! weird! weird!"
Up until recently, I hadn't seen my ex husband, Dan, in almost ten years. We have heard news of each other at times via friends and relatives but very little actual contact. Then we moved back to our home town three years ago. It was inevitable then that he and Jamie would meet given that Dan often visits family here.
Sure enough, when we told Jamie that Dan would likely be in town from time to time, it wasn't long before she asked if she could meet him, and there it was; the moment I have known would come since before she was born.
Dan came to see us to discuss how we would all handle it. It was very weird (that word again) sitting in our living room, reminiscing with both my current and former husband; those two have known each other a lifetime. Dan met Jamie that weekend and despite the weirdness it went very well.
Normally issues with extended families and step-kids are ironed out at the beginning of a relationship, not ten years in. Now there's this whole other family that we have a connection with. In some ways it was the most natural thing in the world to see the kids playing together this weekend. They seem to take everything in their stride, thank god!
There is a similarity between Jamie and her sister that I can't quite put my finger on. It's strange chatting to Maisie because she's a part of my little girl. She's cute and smart and the two of them are getting on brilliantly so far. The kids all seem a little confused as to who's related to who, but I guess that's to be expected and will come with time. Considering the past has kind of snuck up and bitten us on the ass; I think we're all doing a great job of being very grown up about the situation, even though my head keeps whispering; "weird! weird! weird!"
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Stig of the Dump
How do I even begin to explain to you the calamity that is my husband? He is the best person I have ever met. He's so damn likable, probably because he's so laid back although he's been completely stressed out recently. No wonder really, living in our house.
I met Stig ten years ago when I was pregnant with Jamie and my first marriage was failing. He was going through a similar thing and from this grew a friendship unlike any I'd ever had. We learned the lessons of divorce together and how not to conduct a relationship, so it seemed only natural that we would end up together. If I'm truthful I knew within weeks of meeting him that there was something there, for me at least.
Stig is like a big, daft child most of the time. He can be heard moving from room-to-room in our house, shrieking oddities and laughing at the children; whistling or reciting weird old folk verses for what he thinks is comedy value, and coming from him it is. His sense of humour is bizarre and his story telling ability is legendary, in that he has none. Stig's stories never fail to draw you in. That's because he always starts with the best bit of the story and everything after that is a series of disappointing, insignificant details. His most infamous ever ending to a story is
"...and then it went dark".
That in itself has become classic Stig humour.
He loves nothing more than conspiring with my best friend on a Sunday afternoon when she and her son come for dinner.Usually the target of their mischief is me. Sometimes I take it in good humour, other times I could quite happily throw the pair of them out of the house. I love that he is so close to Kel, I often tell them that if I die first, they have to get married. Both of them seem horrified by this prospect though, and I guess her man wouldn't be too happy about that either.
Stig has broken most of the bones in his body. It'd be quicker to list the injuries he hasn't had. But in true Stig fashion he's done these things in the most creative ways. He once dislocated his hip by crashing into an unsuspecting cow whilst parachuting. He has also dislocated his jaw - whilst yawning. The image of him driving to hospital with his mouth firmly wedged open, dribbling profusely throughout the twenty mile drive, will never cease to amuse me.
Stig does posses a surprising level of brain power for a neanderthal. Five years in college to qualify as an aircraft engineer was hard going at first but he got there with flying colours in the end. Boys with toys!
He can fix almost anything and find his way to, or from, almost anywhere whereas I am lost by the time we get to the end of our street. He is the inventor of Slug Wanging (don't ask!) and a regular participant in sliding down the stairs on a duvet. Sometimes I think the kids are more mature than we are. There could be books written on the adventures of Stig, but half of them would be unpublishable.
I met Stig ten years ago when I was pregnant with Jamie and my first marriage was failing. He was going through a similar thing and from this grew a friendship unlike any I'd ever had. We learned the lessons of divorce together and how not to conduct a relationship, so it seemed only natural that we would end up together. If I'm truthful I knew within weeks of meeting him that there was something there, for me at least.
Stig is like a big, daft child most of the time. He can be heard moving from room-to-room in our house, shrieking oddities and laughing at the children; whistling or reciting weird old folk verses for what he thinks is comedy value, and coming from him it is. His sense of humour is bizarre and his story telling ability is legendary, in that he has none. Stig's stories never fail to draw you in. That's because he always starts with the best bit of the story and everything after that is a series of disappointing, insignificant details. His most infamous ever ending to a story is
"...and then it went dark".
That in itself has become classic Stig humour.
He loves nothing more than conspiring with my best friend on a Sunday afternoon when she and her son come for dinner.Usually the target of their mischief is me. Sometimes I take it in good humour, other times I could quite happily throw the pair of them out of the house. I love that he is so close to Kel, I often tell them that if I die first, they have to get married. Both of them seem horrified by this prospect though, and I guess her man wouldn't be too happy about that either.
Stig has broken most of the bones in his body. It'd be quicker to list the injuries he hasn't had. But in true Stig fashion he's done these things in the most creative ways. He once dislocated his hip by crashing into an unsuspecting cow whilst parachuting. He has also dislocated his jaw - whilst yawning. The image of him driving to hospital with his mouth firmly wedged open, dribbling profusely throughout the twenty mile drive, will never cease to amuse me.
Stig does posses a surprising level of brain power for a neanderthal. Five years in college to qualify as an aircraft engineer was hard going at first but he got there with flying colours in the end. Boys with toys!
He can fix almost anything and find his way to, or from, almost anywhere whereas I am lost by the time we get to the end of our street. He is the inventor of Slug Wanging (don't ask!) and a regular participant in sliding down the stairs on a duvet. Sometimes I think the kids are more mature than we are. There could be books written on the adventures of Stig, but half of them would be unpublishable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)