Fruit, falsies and fame

Thirteen days into Lent and I'm still being saintly and not playing Fruit Ninja.  I have found myself doing more juicing but sadly chopping up real fruit isn't the same at all.

A very poor Fruit Ninja substitute

The other half has given up chocolate and puddings.  This has led to some heated debates as to what is and isn't included.  Apparently it's alright to eat cheesecake and chocolate flavoured biscuits.  Yeah, me neither.

Opening the post today was massively exciting.  My knitted knocker arrived.  I tried to take a photograph but just couldn't do it justice.  Knitted Knockers knit or crochet prosthetic breasts in an amazing range of colours (mine is stripey!) and, best of all, charge nothing whatsoever for the service (not even postage).  What a bunch of good eggs they are!  Find out more about them and their fantastic knockers by clicking here.

Also today fame came knocking at my door.  And me, being the shrinking violet that I am, have been Facebooking and Tweeting about it all day.  So, apologies to those of you who've heard it already endless times, but I'm now writing a blog for Vita, the online magazine for the Breast Cancer Care charity.  I'll be writing one blog post a month for them for the remainder of 2014.  To see my March effort click here.  And to think you lot knew me when I was nuffink!  I'll still be blogging here though so, one way or another, there is no escape from me.

Challenges

Challenge 1

A thousand years ago (oh alright, last year) we had building work done at Discombobulated Towers which, although a lengthy and often infuriating process, resulted in me having the Best Kitchen in the World (I might be a tad biased on this one).

The only problem has been the total destruction of my garden.  The tiny garden was the only place the builders could store their materials.  So it went from something like this

to utter devastation.  However the builders finished and moved out months and months ago and yet the garden still looks like this

Ok,  he's painted and moved the shed but let's not split hairs

Given that the other-half used to garden for a living this is a very sorry state of affairs.  Initially he claimed to have gardeners block, then he told me he’d lost his gardening mo-jo (full marks for inventive excuses).  Then, just as he’d got his motivation back, the rain started.  It rained cats and dogs and rats and elephants for months and months and months.  Well now the deluge has ceased and, by happy co-incidence, the other-half has next week off work.  He has promised that I will have a garden by the end of next week.  So I’m using this blog to encourage* him.  I will post another picture at the end of next week so you can see if he’s kept his word.  Gardner’s block my arse!

*I say encourage, I mean, of course, threaten.

Challenge 2

My old chum Al is running a half-marathon in June and will be raising money for Breakthrough Breast Cancer, a charity which, among other things funds the development of new treatments.  If anyone has any spare bundles of cash lying around you can sponsor him here.

Actually I'm not telling the entire truth when I call Al an old chum.  He is, in fact, my ex-husband. Still, water under the bridge and all that.  Running a ridiculous distance for a breast cancer charity is a lovely thing to do.  Smiley face.  And of course I wouldn't dream of standing in the crowd waiting to trip him up.  Or would I?  Sinister laugh.  I only say this to encourage him*.  See, now I've planted the seeds of doubt in his mind the least you could do is sponsor him.  No pressure.  

*I say encourage, I mean, of course, threaten. 

 

 

Thoughts from on high

Scotland (yes again)

As someone with an incurable illness I have obviously given thought to all sorts of deep and meaningful matters and, after a short struggle, have achieved enlightenment.  I have generously decided to share two of my insights with you lesser mortals (if you are a fellow illness sufferer then do bear with me while I talk to our benighted chums).

Insight 1

Do not think that, while simmering porridge on the stove, you have enough time to go into the garden for two bloody nanoseconds to feed the birds without there being a huge and Vesuvius-like oatmeal disaster back in the kitchen.

Insight 2

In the event of a huge and Vesuvius-like oatmeal disaster do not think that it is a good idea to let the spillage cool before trying to clear it up.  It sets like sodding concrete.  This is a particular pain if, as in the case with my stove, the manufacturer’s instructions insist that you clean the hob with nothing more abrasive than the downy fluff from an Angora rabbit’s armpit. 

Which reminds me, I saw a TV quiz programme the other day and, when asked to name a country being with A, the contestant said ‘Angora’.  Honestly, some people.  Actually I only mock the poor woman to make myself feel better about last Friday. 

The other-half and I went along with our pals J and M to a village quiz.  J and M will be moving to the village in question soon so we were on our best behaviour in order not to disgrace them before they move in.  This meant the other-half having to concentrate very hard on not falling over and breaking anything and me trying to remember not to fart loudly in public (harder than it sounds).  Anyway all went well until the sport round when we scored a big fat zero.  As our score was called out the room went quiet there was a gasp of disbelief at our incredible stupidity and then a round of applause.  No other team managed to score zero in any of the rounds.  Oh the shame.  We did redeem ourselves a bit in other rounds though.  All I can say is thank goodness for the 80s music questions. 

Before I go, just a word of warning.  In search of even more all round fantastic-ness I will be observing Lent (which starts on Wednesday) by giving up Fruit Ninja.  There may be some tetchiness.