Seeing as it's summer (almost), I thought I'd share with you this recipe for Spanish Sangria. It's great for summer BBQ's. Just be warned, it's quite strong so go easy people...
You'll need:
Red Wine
Lemonade
Sugar
Triple Sec or Cointreau (or any orange flavoured liqueur)
Bianco Martini or Vermouth (you can use Dry if need be)
Brandy
Fresh lemons, limes and oranges, diced or sliced
A large jug, something to stir with, and some ice
Mix the Martini, Brandy, and Triple Sec in equal measures in your jug, you need about 2-3 inches of this mixture in the bottom, depending on the size of the jug.
Add a tablespoon of sugar and stir in well.
Then add the chopped fruit and give it another good stir. I use a quarter of a lemon, quarter of a lime, and half an orange per jug.
Top up the remainder of the jug with the red wine and lemonade in equal measures.
Tips:
Leave the Sangria in the fridge for a few hours before drinking it. It tastes much better when it has absorbed the juices from the fresh fruit.
Also it's better when the lemonade has gone flat. We leave the tops off the lemonade bottles off for a while first and give them the odd shake, it can get a bit messy though. Another way of taking the fizz out of lemonade is to put sugar in it, be warned though this creates a sort of lemonade fountain so sit the lemonade bottle in a large bowl if you're going to try this.
You can alter any of the quantities to your own taste but we find that these measures give it that authentic spanish flavour.
Enjoy!
Beautiful Blogger Award
Thanks to l'Aussie for my Beautiful Blogger award
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Wine Sniffers
I love wine. This is not a cultured appreciation of hints of oak or fruity flavours. I don't care if my wine goes with my chicken or fish dish. I like Ernest & Julio Gallo's White Grenache from the Californian Sierra Valley. The only reason I can remember that mouthful is because it's what I've drank for the last ten years and I'm used to putting my hand up when someone asks "Anybody want anything from the shop?"
Do I have to know the significance of "good legs" or know the origin of the cork to appreciate my wine? Er, no. Should I feel the need to sniff it every time I pour a glass? All I know about corks is that Sam likes to collect them and make little people with them. Worryingly, he has enough of them to populate a small country.
The only way in which I wish I was more wine savvy is that I should have bought shares in the Gallo family business years ago. I could have bought my own damn vineyard for the money I've parted with in honour of their fine wine.
All that remains for me to know about wine is that there is plenty of it to go around!
Click here for a free download of Gallo's Rose wine summer cocktail recipes.
Do I have to know the significance of "good legs" or know the origin of the cork to appreciate my wine? Er, no. Should I feel the need to sniff it every time I pour a glass? All I know about corks is that Sam likes to collect them and make little people with them. Worryingly, he has enough of them to populate a small country.
The only way in which I wish I was more wine savvy is that I should have bought shares in the Gallo family business years ago. I could have bought my own damn vineyard for the money I've parted with in honour of their fine wine.
All that remains for me to know about wine is that there is plenty of it to go around!
Click here for a free download of Gallo's Rose wine summer cocktail recipes.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Stress Management!
The stress levels in this house have always been high but it's reached optimum peak recently. Stig has been off work for months now. He has had worrying symptoms for years; severe headaches, random pains, numbness, pins and needles, drowsiness, blurred vision, difficulty speaking, and what we now know (after dragging the paramedics out on more than one occasion) to be panic attacks. He has never been that well-adjusted truth be told, but this last year it has escalated to the point of taking over his entire personality.
It's amazing; when you claim to be "stressed" you can almost see what people are thinking: Just get on with it, like everybody else has to. After all; we're all stressed, aren't we? We didn't understand the extent to which a person can be affected by it until recently. Even Stig had trouble believing that all his symptoms are merely down to stress and anxiety. When you consider that he has been back and forward to various specialists and neurologists for the best part of ten years with these mysterious symptoms, it's no wonder. He has undergone a catalogue of tests including MRIs, Electrical Impulse tests, Evoked potential tests, EEGs, ECGs, the list goes on.
He can feel like he's having a heart attack, or be completely numb down one side, or have sudden, sharp shooting pains anywhere in his body without warning. He has fits and passes out when his blood pressure suddenly drops, headaches that are so severe they interfere with his vision and speech; it's both amusing and embarrassing when people think he's pissed. He constantly moans that he is "shaking like a shitting dog". It's rare that there isn't a part of him which isn't tingling, twitching, or numb. Imagine having pins and needles for ten years...
Added to this is the sleep apnoea, which makes him sit bolt upright in the middle of the night, clawing at his chest like a man possessed whilst gasping for breath. The first few times this happened I thought we were being murdered in our bed, and I have the grey hairs to show for it. I'm now used to these histrionics, but trying to hold a serious conversation with someone who's face is doing the highland fling is never straightforward.
There was constant fear in the early years. Brain tumor? MS? Parkinson's? All sorts of theories were mulled over and tested for by the experts. Finally I told him that if he had anything that serious, he'd have dropped dead by now; it's been that long. Then we met his most recent consultant, who is fabulous. Our first appointment with him was such a relief for me. He sat across the desk from us and told me all about my husband. He's impatient, highly strung, can't handle just sitting and doing nothing, remembers about 20% of what has been said to him, always fiddling, can't relax, always thinking etc, etc, it continued. For the first time in ten years, someone who knew exactly what we were dealing with.
I came out of there feeling fantastic because we finally knew what the problem was, and it wasn't going to kill him or turn him into a dribbling, quivering wreck (well actually I may have been wrong about the latter!). Stig, on the other hand, was horrified and thought the man should be struck off for malpractice. He just couldn't accept that all this was down to stress.
That was a year ago. Now he knows, and it has been rough. For a while he was a different person to the lovely, idiot man I married, and not in a good way. But things are coming good, and we're learning to handle it better, he has drugs and therapies, and I have a bit of my Stig back.
I post this not to whinge, but it has struck me that more and more people seem to be suffering in similar ways. Every other person we speak to is or knows someone who is off work, on medication, or completely burnt out. It's been said that one in four people will suffer mental health issues at some time in their life. That seemed to be most likely depression at one time. Now it seems we're all so highly strung and stretched to our limits living modern day life. Maybe we all need to learn new strategies to cope with it.
I can come and write about my family life on my blog, take the mickey out of them when they have narked me, make jokes, and feel better, maybe that's my therapy. We all need something and the journey for us at the moment, is finding out what that something is.
It's amazing; when you claim to be "stressed" you can almost see what people are thinking: Just get on with it, like everybody else has to. After all; we're all stressed, aren't we? We didn't understand the extent to which a person can be affected by it until recently. Even Stig had trouble believing that all his symptoms are merely down to stress and anxiety. When you consider that he has been back and forward to various specialists and neurologists for the best part of ten years with these mysterious symptoms, it's no wonder. He has undergone a catalogue of tests including MRIs, Electrical Impulse tests, Evoked potential tests, EEGs, ECGs, the list goes on.
He can feel like he's having a heart attack, or be completely numb down one side, or have sudden, sharp shooting pains anywhere in his body without warning. He has fits and passes out when his blood pressure suddenly drops, headaches that are so severe they interfere with his vision and speech; it's both amusing and embarrassing when people think he's pissed. He constantly moans that he is "shaking like a shitting dog". It's rare that there isn't a part of him which isn't tingling, twitching, or numb. Imagine having pins and needles for ten years...
Added to this is the sleep apnoea, which makes him sit bolt upright in the middle of the night, clawing at his chest like a man possessed whilst gasping for breath. The first few times this happened I thought we were being murdered in our bed, and I have the grey hairs to show for it. I'm now used to these histrionics, but trying to hold a serious conversation with someone who's face is doing the highland fling is never straightforward.
There was constant fear in the early years. Brain tumor? MS? Parkinson's? All sorts of theories were mulled over and tested for by the experts. Finally I told him that if he had anything that serious, he'd have dropped dead by now; it's been that long. Then we met his most recent consultant, who is fabulous. Our first appointment with him was such a relief for me. He sat across the desk from us and told me all about my husband. He's impatient, highly strung, can't handle just sitting and doing nothing, remembers about 20% of what has been said to him, always fiddling, can't relax, always thinking etc, etc, it continued. For the first time in ten years, someone who knew exactly what we were dealing with.
I came out of there feeling fantastic because we finally knew what the problem was, and it wasn't going to kill him or turn him into a dribbling, quivering wreck (well actually I may have been wrong about the latter!). Stig, on the other hand, was horrified and thought the man should be struck off for malpractice. He just couldn't accept that all this was down to stress.
That was a year ago. Now he knows, and it has been rough. For a while he was a different person to the lovely, idiot man I married, and not in a good way. But things are coming good, and we're learning to handle it better, he has drugs and therapies, and I have a bit of my Stig back.
I post this not to whinge, but it has struck me that more and more people seem to be suffering in similar ways. Every other person we speak to is or knows someone who is off work, on medication, or completely burnt out. It's been said that one in four people will suffer mental health issues at some time in their life. That seemed to be most likely depression at one time. Now it seems we're all so highly strung and stretched to our limits living modern day life. Maybe we all need to learn new strategies to cope with it.
I can come and write about my family life on my blog, take the mickey out of them when they have narked me, make jokes, and feel better, maybe that's my therapy. We all need something and the journey for us at the moment, is finding out what that something is.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Never Say Goodbye
Do you have any of those "friends" who you just can't get rid of? I mean the ones who sit in your house for hours and hours, then just as you're considering self-harming they say:
"I really should get going"
Oh the relief! It's shortlived, however, because it then slowly dawns on you that this was no more than an unlikely glimmer of hope because, lets face it; they're not going anywhere for at least another two hours.
Why do people do that? I mean if you want to stay; stay, if you want to go, just leave. But why pretend that you've no idea how long you've been here, or that you haven't noticed that I'm having a nervous breakdown thinking of all the things I was supposed to get done this afternoon.
It's always the people who I don't know quite well enough to throw them out of my home. Don't get me wrong, I have tried everything short of shoe-horning this friend out of the door. I've tried running out of milk, saying I must nip to the shops (she came with me), I've tried the old:
"Yes well, I really must get on" (standard response to her "I really should get going"), but this is just met with:
"Oh don't mind us (us being her, and her dog, Jessie), you just carry on love".
Is it normal to have a friend who you feel murderous tendencies towards?
There she sits, glancing obviously at her empty coffee cup waiting to be offered another one. Three coffees later:
"Ooohh look at the time, have I really been here that long?" YES YOU HAVE!
"Well I really must get home and feed the dog"
Actually she mouths the words "feed the dog" whilst gesturing obscurely at it, because she doesn't really have any intention of leaving and she doesn't want to excite the dog with the prospect of food. The dog speaks English, you know; she understands every word.
Unfortunately the "feed the dog" comment is often followed with
"Jessie does love coming here, it's a special treat for her".
At this point I'm lucky if they leave within the next hour. Jessie might well love coming here, and I don't mind her being here either. It's a fair exchange, I think; a few dog hairs on the carpet in return for clearing some of the food debris left by the kids, but please don't stay all bloody day, and please don't think that mentioning yet another reason why you should get off your arse and leave, buys you another hour!
Eventually, somewhere in my distant future, my "friend" will address the dog directly:
"Come on Jessie, let's get you home for some dinner".
Jessie, who by now has also lost the will to live, will then cast me a "Thank-Christ-for-that" glance and drag her stagnant self to the door, hoping that this time they will actually be leaving and she may get her long-promised meal, because what her owner doesn't realise is that Jessie knows she's full of crap too.
If you recognise any of the behaviour described here, I urge you, seek help immediately, before your friends start pretending they aren't home. You know who you are!
"I really should get going"
Oh the relief! It's shortlived, however, because it then slowly dawns on you that this was no more than an unlikely glimmer of hope because, lets face it; they're not going anywhere for at least another two hours.
Why do people do that? I mean if you want to stay; stay, if you want to go, just leave. But why pretend that you've no idea how long you've been here, or that you haven't noticed that I'm having a nervous breakdown thinking of all the things I was supposed to get done this afternoon.
It's always the people who I don't know quite well enough to throw them out of my home. Don't get me wrong, I have tried everything short of shoe-horning this friend out of the door. I've tried running out of milk, saying I must nip to the shops (she came with me), I've tried the old:
"Yes well, I really must get on" (standard response to her "I really should get going"), but this is just met with:
"Oh don't mind us (us being her, and her dog, Jessie), you just carry on love".
Is it normal to have a friend who you feel murderous tendencies towards?
There she sits, glancing obviously at her empty coffee cup waiting to be offered another one. Three coffees later:
"Ooohh look at the time, have I really been here that long?" YES YOU HAVE!
"Well I really must get home and feed the dog"
Actually she mouths the words "feed the dog" whilst gesturing obscurely at it, because she doesn't really have any intention of leaving and she doesn't want to excite the dog with the prospect of food. The dog speaks English, you know; she understands every word.
Unfortunately the "feed the dog" comment is often followed with
"Jessie does love coming here, it's a special treat for her".
At this point I'm lucky if they leave within the next hour. Jessie might well love coming here, and I don't mind her being here either. It's a fair exchange, I think; a few dog hairs on the carpet in return for clearing some of the food debris left by the kids, but please don't stay all bloody day, and please don't think that mentioning yet another reason why you should get off your arse and leave, buys you another hour!
Eventually, somewhere in my distant future, my "friend" will address the dog directly:
"Come on Jessie, let's get you home for some dinner".
Jessie, who by now has also lost the will to live, will then cast me a "Thank-Christ-for-that" glance and drag her stagnant self to the door, hoping that this time they will actually be leaving and she may get her long-promised meal, because what her owner doesn't realise is that Jessie knows she's full of crap too.
If you recognise any of the behaviour described here, I urge you, seek help immediately, before your friends start pretending they aren't home. You know who you are!
Monday, 3 May 2010
Lord of the Flies
What the hell is going on with Charlie and Sam? I'm not used to all this fighting, it's is all new to me. I mean, the girls have their squabbles, but that's more of a sulky, whiny affair with a bit of crying thrown in, not an all out war.
The boys are two and five years old. Even at two, Charlie is a force to be reckoned with. They're the always first up in the morning (6.30am today) and this tends to be when the fighting starts. They get settled in the living room and proceed to shriek at each other over the TV channel, the amount of cereal they have, the volume of the keyboard (which resides in our living room - and yes, I knew this was a terrible idea when we put it there), who gets to open the curtains, etc, etc. Then the physical abuse starts. Charlie has no qualms about picking on his big brother, even though he's almost twice his size. This results in Sam yelping as Charlie slaps him away from his treasured keyboard and steals his toys.
Sam, to his credit, never retaliates, as he knows this would incur a bollocking of epic proportions, so instead he squeals like a pig at the top of his voice until I, or their father, stumble into the living room and play hell with the pair of them. There's absolutely no point in trying to get a lie in when Lord of the Flies is being played out in our living room.
Realising the error of their ways; ten minutes later they're the best of friends, conspiring together on the issue of how to get biscuits out of me. This usually involves a united front of brotherly solidarity, complete with hugs and kisses, lots of giggling and displays of unparallelled generosity with their toys.
Charlie: "You have the toy car Sam"
Sam: "It's OK Charlie, you have it"
Charlie: "Oh, I couldn't possibly"
Sam: "I insist"
Charlie: "Thank you ever so much"
Sam: "You're very welcome"
They then hug, making sure that I'm watching this spectacle.
In unison: "Can we have something nice?"
Me: "OK, seeing as you're being so good"
I distribute bananas and apples (well it is only 7am remember?) Then drag my backside back to bed with a brew.
Sam: "She's gone now, gimme my car back".
Charlie: "Piss off it's mine".
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Recipe: Creamy Chicken and Mushroom
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!
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!
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!
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