well, i have been tempted to drop the ball here a little bit, using moving house and fat pregnant fingers as my excuse. But I think we all agree that if I do that now, well.... an 8 month hiatus might seem short.
So just a short one to say, yes, I'm alive and in the new place, and no, I've not yet had Number 2. Though we are within 4 weeks of being due, so start those predictions rolling. Mine is for a 7lb boy on 11 July (so 2 weeks early). We've settled on names, and I must say that the male name is an absoulte corker that none of you would ever guess. And although I've always been partial to having a little girl, I've got to say that lately, I've swung to wanting a boy,- purely becuase I prefer that name. It's THAT good people (though i'm pretty sure conversations outside our earshot will question mine nad Dave's sobriety).
The house.... well.... it's amazing. I LOVED the Tabard Centre and know that it's probably the coolest place I will ever live - but this new house is a proper family home. And already life is so much easier and I feel so much happier. To wheel a pram in my front door (as opposed to going up 52 stairs) is a bliss i cant describe. To be within a 5 minute walk of every ammenity I shall ever need (train station, post office, supermarket, chemist, cinema, library, liesure centre with pool, a Primark....) is a revelation. For Fred to have his own bedroom and a wonderful backyard with lawn and sandpit to explore for hours on end.. is how a childhood is meant to be.
The actual moving into the house is a work in progress. We left a fair chunk of furniture at our old place (which we are renting out to a women's shoe designer) and much of what we have brought does not exactly fit in the smaller spaces of the new place. We are without some essentials (dining room table and chairs) and fixtures we took for granted in the last place (bathroom cabinets, bookshelves) will need to be sourced. So we are still some way off unpacking many boxes, and with baby number two beginning to take my full attention, I'm not too sure when this will happen. (perhaps when mama and papa anders get here in a couple of weeks! mwa ha ha).
Fred is marvellous. Each week gets better and better. He adds daily to his vocab and collection of bruises nad scratches. Last week, in an incident involving a potplant and a chair, he got his first (and I doubt last) black eye. It was an awesome sight to behold and one with I will exhibit when I locate the cord which connects my camera to the computer. He also has started properly cuddling me, which is just about the nicest thing I have ever experienced. It has taken Mr ActionMan 18 months to figure out that snuggling into mum for 10 minutes, with head on sholder going 'mmmmm, mmmmmm' is one of life's great pleasures. Although I'm not sure he's aware how hard it is for me to resist squeezing him too tight. Mmmmmm.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Moving Madness!
This weekend Dave and I are moving out of the Tabard Centre into our new place in Peckham (yes, THE Peckham from Only Fools and Horses and THE Peckham which 10 years ago had one of the worst crime rates in Europe... SE1 was becoming just too comfortable for us edgy types).
Anyway - as anyone who has ever moved will know, I'm in for a weekend of pain. God knows how we are going to do it, with me 33+ weeks pregnant and the size of a small elephant, a mini-monster who sits in the specific box you are packing at any one time - 'unpacking' it for you or cramming bits of apple into the holes, and poor Dave being responsible for all of the lifting. And whilst he does have huge guns - considering the number of stairs involved nad sheer quantity of books and wine (at the very least) to move - he too is in for a weekend of pain.
Anyway - will post pics of the move and the new place as soon as we are settled in properly. I'm off the email/internet for the next week and pretty busy organising all things new baby (new purchases, change in hospital and doctors etc. etc.) so realistically it will probably be at least a week.
Am very sad to be leaving this amazing apartment, have lots of memories of here - with many friends and family. It was Fred's first home.... *sigh* HOWEVER am most excited about moving to a place with no stairs nad a backyard with room for a sandpit. ANd we are renting out this place for the next year, so if Fred gets better at climbing stairs and we decide to rennovate into the loft, there is a vague (very vague) chance we might even move back here.
Anyway... BACK to packing!!! Argh.
Below are the pics of the Tabard Centre for all you people who were too lazy to come visit us in the last 3 years XXXX
(and yes, it was always this neat!)
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Not just any Sheila.
We had some bad news over the weekend that came in the ominous form of missed phone calls from my sister at a time when she should have been in bed. My Nana Anders suffered a sudden and massive stroke from which she did not regain consciousness on Saturday morning. She passed away Monday evening.
You vaguely prepare yourself for things like this and in the event join the family rationalizing it’s inevitability, appreciating the swiftness, being grateful for the lack of pain or loss of mind.… trying to pull some sort of positivity out of something which is a deeply saddening event. It’s an end I think most of us would pick given a choice - but pragmatism aside, it’s quite obvious that nothing but time is going to stop how much it hurts that you will never again see some who has been such a big part of your life. Someone who you love very dearly. There was so much more to say, so much more to do and you can’t help but feel a little bit cheated.
But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, and I know I’ve been truly blessed to have an almost full deck of grandparents until 27. But in our tiny little Anders family, where christmases, birthdays, mothers days and idle Sundays have been shared by the same seven characters for over 15 years, she will be sorely and obviously missed. As will that gingernut biscuit cake she made.
No need for comments on this one, just to take a suggestion from me that you enjoy each day you have and to love your loved ones as best you can.
xxH
You vaguely prepare yourself for things like this and in the event join the family rationalizing it’s inevitability, appreciating the swiftness, being grateful for the lack of pain or loss of mind.… trying to pull some sort of positivity out of something which is a deeply saddening event. It’s an end I think most of us would pick given a choice - but pragmatism aside, it’s quite obvious that nothing but time is going to stop how much it hurts that you will never again see some who has been such a big part of your life. Someone who you love very dearly. There was so much more to say, so much more to do and you can’t help but feel a little bit cheated.
But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, and I know I’ve been truly blessed to have an almost full deck of grandparents until 27. But in our tiny little Anders family, where christmases, birthdays, mothers days and idle Sundays have been shared by the same seven characters for over 15 years, she will be sorely and obviously missed. As will that gingernut biscuit cake she made.
No need for comments on this one, just to take a suggestion from me that you enjoy each day you have and to love your loved ones as best you can.
xxH
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Aldeburgh, Suffolk
In a last minute flurry of activity we booked a small cottage in Suffolk for the long weekend just gone. And it was awesome. The town was cute, the cottage beyond our expectations, the sense of relaxation was just what we called for. The weather? Well. Pretty appalling actually. The first day was the text book example of an idyllic English summer day, but the two that followed were the more realistic illustrations. It rained and blew a gale non-stop. Which was unsurprising seeing as Dave and I are yet to go on a holiday together where the weather is not against us (seriously). But this poor weather was - in a way - a blessing as in my current sloth-like state, there is nothing more appealing to me than snuggling up in a cottage and watching movies. Dave braved taking Fred to the beach once or twice whilst I braved the comfiest bed I had ever slept in, a cup of tea and my book. We ventured out to the local shops where I wrestled with the touring nanas for a little wooden train set and had coffee and carrot cake in the cute local cafes. We had thought we would go out for dinner one night but the fabulousness of our cottage and the food we were able to source form the local shops made that seem the less appealing option. Below are a few photos (all taken on the nice day as we seemed to forget we had the camera the next two days).
Totally cute!!! 'Rosemary Cottage' was on the quiet main street about 50 yards down from the shops (with insufficient curtains, Fred was waking up at 6am each day - meaning that one unlucky parent was responsible for dashing this distance through the rain with Fred to retrieve coffee and croissants, whilst the other got a well deserved sleep-in.... The unlucky parent being me on both days, of course! The morning Dave got up with Fred, he was unable to function above pressing play on the dvd player... till the point he could no longer keep his eyes open and crawled back into bed after enduring baby einstein 'world animals' three times. Bless.)
Yummmy cafe/grocery store where we bought spinich and asparagus. And a hot chocolate. We came to the conclusion that the area surrounding Adelburgh must be the asparagus growing capital of the world as every second shop or farm had a sign hawking them. ANd dear god were they yummy! 
Bookstore where Dave and Fred bought me a copy of 'The Black Prince' by Iris Murdoch... completely unaware that i was reading anothe rover her novels (the sea, the sea) in bed, at that moment! 
In a town that boasted a number of fish and chip shops, this one just across the road from us was KING. At the alloted 'frying times' a line would form outside the shop, at least 30 people deep. Convinced they must do the greatest fishnchips known to man, Dave braved the weather to return home with parcels for the both of us one lunchtime.... Really shit chips. Nice fish.. if you avoided the greasiest batter ever created. We'll just put this one down to another example of the english being clueless. 
Even comfier than it looks 
Cutest (and best stocked) kitchen ever. I could have, and did, lick the counter-tops. 
You know you are out of central London when you have a...backyard! And yes, the cricket was playing from the beautiful old radio on hte table there.
The other direction, looking towards the kitchen.
Another angle of the backyard... It's been a long time since we've had a patch of grass to release Fred onto.
Speaking of the monster - here he is! All edible and naked and ready for his bath.
The amount of water the splashed out of the sink during this awesomely fun bathtime soaked three handtowels!
Lucky I had an Arga (!!) to dry the towels next to. I've never cooked with one of these beasts before, and must admit to preferring the immediacy and certainty of gas/electric - but insofar as making the little kitchen toasty during those blustery days and heating the house all night long, it was awesome. Country living indeed.
Lamb from one of the local farms (in fact, all the meat and veg were local and we agreed by far a couple of the nicest dinners we've had in England) and rosemary... from the backyard (it's not called Rosemary Cottage for nothing people! THough they could have called it 'Rosemary and Lemon Thyme and Mint and Basil COttage, but doesn't quite have the same ring'
As you cna tell - LOVED this past weekend and getting the place for a rate cheaper than a hotel was an absolute find! Unfortunately it only had one bedroom and with Number Two due in July it's unlikely we will go there again :(
Saturday, May 24, 2008
you can have 5 minutes of my time.
Well, just a short one, seeing as I'm in the midst of packing for a trip to the Suffolk coast (about 2-3 hour drive north-east of London) where Dave, Fred and I are going to be spending this long weekend. It was a last minute decision, booked yesterday and I'm pretty damn excited. So too must Dave be as here will be the first weekend in forever he will won't have to endure my complaints about how booooring our weekends are and how we only ever do the same same same stuff in London.
In fact, it's been a pretty amazing weekend so far as last night we went and saw Chris Rock (an american comedian) play to a packed O2 Arena and it was pretty awesome. I'd not been to that venue yet and never to see such a big stand-up comedy act. He was on for almost 2 hours, and after I got over the two Essex lasses sitting behind me hysterically laughing at EVERYTHING he said (wait for the punch line at least you twats), we had a really nice night. It was great - an excellent occasion for a fatty like me who would be unlikely to handle something like a concert.
In fact - after having not gone out in an evening since we had the wonderful Grandmas of Adelaide at our disposal - we seem to have had a flurry of social activity of late. As the previous weekend we went out to The Orrery, a Terence Conran restaurant on Marylebone High Street for Dave's birthday. It was no Fat Duck (not that anything ever could be), but it was a really nice night (especially my truffle risotto mmmmmm) and lovely to be spending time with just Dave which didn’t involve the mundane daily life questions such as whether I had remembered to buy the light bulbs today (NO. I'm cooking baby instead).
Anyway - must get back to packing seeing as Dave doesn’t know where the fridge is. I've started a few random blogs I hope to get up in the next week (yes, yes, there MIGHT be an Alien vs Predator review in there for you lot). In the meantime I will leave you with the latest photos of my baking frenzy. Last weekend I made Dave a Pavlova for his birthday... not that there was any left for him to eat.
In fact, it's been a pretty amazing weekend so far as last night we went and saw Chris Rock (an american comedian) play to a packed O2 Arena and it was pretty awesome. I'd not been to that venue yet and never to see such a big stand-up comedy act. He was on for almost 2 hours, and after I got over the two Essex lasses sitting behind me hysterically laughing at EVERYTHING he said (wait for the punch line at least you twats), we had a really nice night. It was great - an excellent occasion for a fatty like me who would be unlikely to handle something like a concert.
In fact - after having not gone out in an evening since we had the wonderful Grandmas of Adelaide at our disposal - we seem to have had a flurry of social activity of late. As the previous weekend we went out to The Orrery, a Terence Conran restaurant on Marylebone High Street for Dave's birthday. It was no Fat Duck (not that anything ever could be), but it was a really nice night (especially my truffle risotto mmmmmm) and lovely to be spending time with just Dave which didn’t involve the mundane daily life questions such as whether I had remembered to buy the light bulbs today (NO. I'm cooking baby instead).
Anyway - must get back to packing seeing as Dave doesn’t know where the fridge is. I've started a few random blogs I hope to get up in the next week (yes, yes, there MIGHT be an Alien vs Predator review in there for you lot). In the meantime I will leave you with the latest photos of my baking frenzy. Last weekend I made Dave a Pavlova for his birthday... not that there was any left for him to eat.
Friday, May 16, 2008
in control of nothing.
Over 10 years ago I watched the movie Edward Scissorhands. And unlike every other girl my age, I absolutely hated it. Not because I didn’t emotionally connect with it - on the contrary - because I did so too much. And because my brain let me down. Somewhere up there, in the mass of grey, a bunch of cells forgot to send the word to another bunch of cells that the fact it was snowing meant that yes, Edward WAS alive, and that NO he had not killed himself as a result of the small town’s cruelty. So until a year or two back when Miss Verity insisted that we watch the film again (despite my screaming protests) I had lived with this misconception and was therefore immensely surprised to see that an obvious and key plot development in the final few moments had escaped my attention. And in fact the film is quite lovely (although it would have been better if the small-town, bigoted jock-boys had been thrown into jail or in the very least decapitated).
A similar thing has just happened to me.
I have just finished the What is the What by Dave Eggers – an author whose catalogue I have read most of, and a book I had asked for and received this past Christmas from Dave*. It is the story of Valentino Achak Deng, one of the ‘Lost Boys’ displaced by Sudan’s civil war during the 80s and 90s. I enjoyed the book immensely; it was page-turning and eye-opening. However prior to reading the novel I read a review in the Sunday Times about how the book’s real-life protagonist had died as a result of an assault whilst living in the USA, just after the book went to print. So it was with heavy heat that I soaked up his story. His triumphs and tribulations made all the more tragic by the tragic end to his life. Upon the book’s conclusion, I did my normal thing, and looked it up on the net, seeing what others had thought, reading interviews with the author etc. etc. And it was to my great surprise to learn that Valentino is still alive and kicking. Not murdered. Alive. Breathing. Doing amazing charity work. And I should have felt joyous at this news, but instead I felt cheated. And that maybe his story was a little less poignant… which is completely unfair as his journey and thoughts deserve nothing less than our full admiration.
So I blame my brain. It obviously is faulty and I’m making inquiries into trading it in for a better model.
*I am so terrible about buying or coveting books. If I’m within 100metres of a bookstore, I feel a huge gravitational pull that results in lost hours and piles of books I’m unlikely to read in the next year (3 for 2 Dave!! 3 for 2!!!!!). In fact, a while back Kym Kelly suggested that I do a blog entry on my (rather anally arranged) bookshelf. I thought about it for a few days but after statistically analyzing the percentage of books I had actually read, decided that some serious reading needed to be done before that blog entry saw the light of day. As their ain't nothing impressive about a bookshelf that only… say… 55% of the content has actually had its’ spine cracked. I mean, one could conclude that I only have Vickram Seth’s A Suitable Boy on there solely to impress, I mean HAHAHA… HA.. who would… do.. mmmm… ha?
And while I’m talking about cows, I just thought I would relay an interesting insight into ME. Grand Designs is one of the very few shows which Dave and I will both agree to watch (the apprentice and jonathan ross being the ONLY other two) and whilst Dave quietly enjoys the infinity pools and sleek climate-controlled cellars, I normally find myself choking on my earl gray over the amazing libraries then collapsing into a kicking and screaming heap on the floor informing Dave that I WANT ONE.
Oh – have I mentioned that I have been baking of late? (Having never baked anything in my life before). See the sponge cake below. In you FACE, Nigella.
A similar thing has just happened to me.
I have just finished the What is the What by Dave Eggers – an author whose catalogue I have read most of, and a book I had asked for and received this past Christmas from Dave*. It is the story of Valentino Achak Deng, one of the ‘Lost Boys’ displaced by Sudan’s civil war during the 80s and 90s. I enjoyed the book immensely; it was page-turning and eye-opening. However prior to reading the novel I read a review in the Sunday Times about how the book’s real-life protagonist had died as a result of an assault whilst living in the USA, just after the book went to print. So it was with heavy heat that I soaked up his story. His triumphs and tribulations made all the more tragic by the tragic end to his life. Upon the book’s conclusion, I did my normal thing, and looked it up on the net, seeing what others had thought, reading interviews with the author etc. etc. And it was to my great surprise to learn that Valentino is still alive and kicking. Not murdered. Alive. Breathing. Doing amazing charity work. And I should have felt joyous at this news, but instead I felt cheated. And that maybe his story was a little less poignant… which is completely unfair as his journey and thoughts deserve nothing less than our full admiration.
So I blame my brain. It obviously is faulty and I’m making inquiries into trading it in for a better model.
*I am so terrible about buying or coveting books. If I’m within 100metres of a bookstore, I feel a huge gravitational pull that results in lost hours and piles of books I’m unlikely to read in the next year (3 for 2 Dave!! 3 for 2!!!!!). In fact, a while back Kym Kelly suggested that I do a blog entry on my (rather anally arranged) bookshelf. I thought about it for a few days but after statistically analyzing the percentage of books I had actually read, decided that some serious reading needed to be done before that blog entry saw the light of day. As their ain't nothing impressive about a bookshelf that only… say… 55% of the content has actually had its’ spine cracked. I mean, one could conclude that I only have Vickram Seth’s A Suitable Boy on there solely to impress, I mean HAHAHA… HA.. who would… do.. mmmm… ha?
And while I’m talking about cows, I just thought I would relay an interesting insight into ME. Grand Designs is one of the very few shows which Dave and I will both agree to watch (the apprentice and jonathan ross being the ONLY other two) and whilst Dave quietly enjoys the infinity pools and sleek climate-controlled cellars, I normally find myself choking on my earl gray over the amazing libraries then collapsing into a kicking and screaming heap on the floor informing Dave that I WANT ONE.
Oh – have I mentioned that I have been baking of late? (Having never baked anything in my life before). See the sponge cake below. In you FACE, Nigella.
fred being ever so 'helpful'
a big thank you to beth (and her boobs) for whipping that cream.
yep, it's clean.
cooling rack? BANG!!
lesson : baking paper = not edible.
it tasted as good as it looked.
knife not really necessary seeing as I ate the whole thing in one sitting
mmmmmmm.
mum, you are the best most domestic baking goddess ever in the history of the universe.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Where’s your Fred at?
Well I don’t know about any of you, by my little Fred is on the verge of walking. At the tender age of 7 years old it looks like we will soon be able to answer that oft-asked question ‘is he walking yet?’ in the affirmative. Which is a ridiculously cute sight to behold seeing as Fred is the smallest 16 month old in the world. Ever. To see this tiny, skinny little man take unsteady strides across the room whilst dribbling excitedly is right up there in my top 5 ‘don’t eat the cute baby’ moments.
He’s quite a vocal little chap with his first word being ‘ball’ followed closely by ‘stairs’, ‘toast’, ‘duck’, ‘moon, ‘panda’ and ‘otter’. Blame Baby Einstein for those last two. These animals have been introduced to him on the ‘Neighbourhood Animals’ DVD… and I often wonder the devastation that will be inflicted when it dawns on him that Pandas and Otters will never be a part of our neighbourhood. But then I don’t worry too much as it no doubt pales in comparison to the emotional damage caused by a mother who begs him to ‘EAAAAT, Please Eat’ three times a day and a father who is unable to talk to him with out reducing every work into ridiculous babble (e.g. ‘Monkey-Munk, lets go-sie change-sie a nappy-nap and put you in the bath-ie? Yes? Yes?).
In the past month there has been a serious challenger to throwing the ball as ‘most beloved recreational pastime’. And that be in the form of books. Which (besides the stubbornness and quick-temper) is probably the first sign my personality coming out in Fred*. There is nothing that will quell Fred’s bleating like a good book; there is very little cuter than seeing him try to drag a book larger than himself, across the room, to throw demandingly at the closest adult. And if you caught him in those quiet times when he is flicking through one on his lonesome, happily babbling away as he ‘reads’, I’m sure your heart would bleed like mine. It’s a killer.
(*Yes, Yes – we are aware that Ball vs. Books = Dad vs. Mum …AND that this could be a ‘phase’ and he will probably be smoking a crack pipe by 5 and never open a book again).
Well, that’s enough about Fred. More about ME (it being my blog and all). I’m doing well. I have officially entered the third trimester and can see the end in sight…. which is causing me no end of stress!! And no, not for the obvious reason (ie. The world of pain I will enter) but rather because there is absolutely no stability, no certainty in our lives at the moment. We are desperately trying to sell out house in the middle of a ‘Credit Crunch’ and move into a rental property in a extremely competitive market where anything viable is snapped up in seconds…. All the while the clock ticks and Number Two gets closer and closer to introducing him/herself. I have drawn a line in the sand and told Dave that we must have moved by the end of the first week of June. I am so large and so exhausted already that I don’t feel like I can handle the stairs on this house much longer or the rigorous cleaning required to put your house on show … let alone having the strength to move house when the time comes. I have aches and pains I cannot remember in my last pregnancy and the added demand of ‘Monkey-Munk’. So Dave and I find ourselves touring the prospective new neighborhoods all weekend and I spend my days online looking at property or talking to agents. No doubt it will all come together – it has to – but right now I just can’t help but bite my nails.
It of course does not help that Dave and I do not see eye-to-eye in what sort place we want to move into (surprise, surprise). I seem unable to understand the value of an extra few thousand pounds a year and he seems unable to understand my terror at spending a London winter stuck in a room that is 3.5m x 4.2m with two children, manky carpet and stenciled wallpaper.
Watch this space.
This is me being a proper Aussie cooking ANZAC biscuits this past weekend. I burnt them slightly and made them too thin, but it’s the first time I have ever made biscuits and that fact that Fred enjoyed them has to say something.
He’s quite a vocal little chap with his first word being ‘ball’ followed closely by ‘stairs’, ‘toast’, ‘duck’, ‘moon, ‘panda’ and ‘otter’. Blame Baby Einstein for those last two. These animals have been introduced to him on the ‘Neighbourhood Animals’ DVD… and I often wonder the devastation that will be inflicted when it dawns on him that Pandas and Otters will never be a part of our neighbourhood. But then I don’t worry too much as it no doubt pales in comparison to the emotional damage caused by a mother who begs him to ‘EAAAAT, Please Eat’ three times a day and a father who is unable to talk to him with out reducing every work into ridiculous babble (e.g. ‘Monkey-Munk, lets go-sie change-sie a nappy-nap and put you in the bath-ie? Yes? Yes?).
In the past month there has been a serious challenger to throwing the ball as ‘most beloved recreational pastime’. And that be in the form of books. Which (besides the stubbornness and quick-temper) is probably the first sign my personality coming out in Fred*. There is nothing that will quell Fred’s bleating like a good book; there is very little cuter than seeing him try to drag a book larger than himself, across the room, to throw demandingly at the closest adult. And if you caught him in those quiet times when he is flicking through one on his lonesome, happily babbling away as he ‘reads’, I’m sure your heart would bleed like mine. It’s a killer.
(*Yes, Yes – we are aware that Ball vs. Books = Dad vs. Mum …AND that this could be a ‘phase’ and he will probably be smoking a crack pipe by 5 and never open a book again).
Well, that’s enough about Fred. More about ME (it being my blog and all). I’m doing well. I have officially entered the third trimester and can see the end in sight…. which is causing me no end of stress!! And no, not for the obvious reason (ie. The world of pain I will enter) but rather because there is absolutely no stability, no certainty in our lives at the moment. We are desperately trying to sell out house in the middle of a ‘Credit Crunch’ and move into a rental property in a extremely competitive market where anything viable is snapped up in seconds…. All the while the clock ticks and Number Two gets closer and closer to introducing him/herself. I have drawn a line in the sand and told Dave that we must have moved by the end of the first week of June. I am so large and so exhausted already that I don’t feel like I can handle the stairs on this house much longer or the rigorous cleaning required to put your house on show … let alone having the strength to move house when the time comes. I have aches and pains I cannot remember in my last pregnancy and the added demand of ‘Monkey-Munk’. So Dave and I find ourselves touring the prospective new neighborhoods all weekend and I spend my days online looking at property or talking to agents. No doubt it will all come together – it has to – but right now I just can’t help but bite my nails.
It of course does not help that Dave and I do not see eye-to-eye in what sort place we want to move into (surprise, surprise). I seem unable to understand the value of an extra few thousand pounds a year and he seems unable to understand my terror at spending a London winter stuck in a room that is 3.5m x 4.2m with two children, manky carpet and stenciled wallpaper.
Watch this space.
This is me being a proper Aussie cooking ANZAC biscuits this past weekend. I burnt them slightly and made them too thin, but it’s the first time I have ever made biscuits and that fact that Fred enjoyed them has to say something.
Friday, April 18, 2008
because thats the way i roll
A few months ago (dear god! are we almost in May already?!?) me and two of my canadians, Graeme and Buffy, went to see David Mamet's 'Speed-The-Plow' at the Old Vic near Waterloo Station. This is the theatre for which Kevin Spacey is the Director and this particular play starred Keyser himself and a personal fav of mine - Jeff Goldblum. It was awesome, they were awesome - Conclusion: theatre is awesome.
There is a theory which says that people start to look like their pets, a theory which could be applied to me and Dave (Dave being the animal of course. Think of him as a little Jack Russell). Although I like to think of myself as someone who enjoys an evening watching the stage, I must admit that the last few times I have been in that situation*, I have found myself checking my watch towards the end of the first act or searching the program for a finishing time at intermission. Not for lack of actually enjoying what I was watching, but rather because my attention span is increasingly Dave-a-sized, meaning that it's not too far off that of a rather excited puppy. So it was refreshing to see such a sharply-written play, starring such fabulous actors.. which lasted a blinding hour. Perfect!!
(*not to be interpreted as more than three times in the past three years in London)
We went as a surprise for Buffy's 22nd Birthday, and it delighted Graeme and I, NO END, to pretend to her that we were going to see Alien vs Predator: Requiem. To the point where the the hours of analysis as to whether it would be a triumphant Alien or Predator have taken a deep-seated hold of my imagination, and I find myself embarrassingly keen to watch the movie. So with Dave away in India this weekend, I think a post in the next week detailing a few epic Predator battles is on the cards (I can feel the traffic on this site increasing 10 fold in anticipation).
Anyhoo, here's a post-show photo of Graeme and I with the Speed-The-Plow Brochure at The Stage Door pub behind the theatre (source: Beth Conacher). Although a decidedly hideous photo of myself, I cant help but love it due to the subtle but hilarious manner in which I am flaring my nostrils. In fact the series of photos taken from this night were pure comedy gold and involved such classics as coins in eyes, mock punches and homey-g poses. Those privileged friends of Buffy can see them on her facebook.
There is a theory which says that people start to look like their pets, a theory which could be applied to me and Dave (Dave being the animal of course. Think of him as a little Jack Russell). Although I like to think of myself as someone who enjoys an evening watching the stage, I must admit that the last few times I have been in that situation*, I have found myself checking my watch towards the end of the first act or searching the program for a finishing time at intermission. Not for lack of actually enjoying what I was watching, but rather because my attention span is increasingly Dave-a-sized, meaning that it's not too far off that of a rather excited puppy. So it was refreshing to see such a sharply-written play, starring such fabulous actors.. which lasted a blinding hour. Perfect!!
(*not to be interpreted as more than three times in the past three years in London)
We went as a surprise for Buffy's 22nd Birthday, and it delighted Graeme and I, NO END, to pretend to her that we were going to see Alien vs Predator: Requiem. To the point where the the hours of analysis as to whether it would be a triumphant Alien or Predator have taken a deep-seated hold of my imagination, and I find myself embarrassingly keen to watch the movie. So with Dave away in India this weekend, I think a post in the next week detailing a few epic Predator battles is on the cards (I can feel the traffic on this site increasing 10 fold in anticipation).
Anyhoo, here's a post-show photo of Graeme and I with the Speed-The-Plow Brochure at The Stage Door pub behind the theatre (source: Beth Conacher). Although a decidedly hideous photo of myself, I cant help but love it due to the subtle but hilarious manner in which I am flaring my nostrils. In fact the series of photos taken from this night were pure comedy gold and involved such classics as coins in eyes, mock punches and homey-g poses. Those privileged friends of Buffy can see them on her facebook.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
I lie! I lie!
OK. So I spent a bit of time yesterday on updating this blog (parts of which had been languishing since the mid-80s) and re-introduced the 'What I'm Reading' picture on the right. And to be honest, The Road by Cormac McCarthy is not actually what I'm currently reading. Truth beknownst, I finished it almost three weeks ago. BUT it just happens to be the BEST book I have read in a long time and a book I just can't. get. out. of. my. head. I think about it so much, I might as well be reading it still. So I thought it only fitting that on my return to the blogosphere I give it some dues for a few days. Big it up for the few of you out there who actually still look on here and coindicently find yourself between books and in need of a recommendation.... Not likely, eh? Ahhhhh bugger it! The TRUTH is - like EVERYTHING on this blog- It's for me! All me! I'm my number 1 fan and no-one delights in seeing what I'm up to more than MEEEEE! So if I log in here and see that I'm reading The Road then it will make ME happy. Because even though it is by far and away the bleakest novel I have ever read (though strangely uplifting) I am very sad at the fact that having read it, I will never get to discover it again.
So if you get the chance, read The Road. It's short, captivating and beautifully written. It won the Pulitzer Prize in 2007 (A Big Deal) and was one of hte few books selected that year for Oprah's Book Club (Even Bigger Deal).
Here's a photo (or three) of Georgia and Pete getting 'papped' in Adeliade recently. Whilst G is obviously a stand-out, it's Pete's expression I find increasingly amusing..
more than i can chew?
it dawned on me today that when Number Two comes along, there is some expectation that I begin a new blog for him/her. Not particularly from any of you lot as I'm pretty sure you stopped looking at these blogs a long, long time ago - but from myself. As a first-hand knowledge holder of what it's like to be in 1000 less photos than your bigger sister, it wouldn't really be fair to Number Two to not give them a blog. Which leads me to conclude that I might need surgery to remove that finger.
that being said, it has dawned on me during the writing of this post that I am sick to death of referring to this miracle of love in my belly as 'Number Two'. It seems cruel and altogether far too amusing. Not in a scatalogical way, but in an Austin Powers way. Tee Hee. So I think we should all help me convince Dave that the envelope which details Number Two's sex should be opened (And no, holding it up to the light doesn't work). His email is david.ligertwood@essentiallygroup.com
Doing this would also save me a lot of time in looking through those baby names books. As naming Fred was hard enough, we simply cannot find enough names we like - let alone agree on - to whittle it down to a final list or two. Middle names are sorted, last name is a given, but inspiration for that all important first name eludes us. Which has given rise to some rather amusing conversations these past couple of months. For example, we have considered calling him/her:
Pip Ligertwood (by far the male name which we find most amusing)
BigBird Ligertwood (... and the oscar goes to 'BigBird!!')
Amy Ligertwood II
Colon Ligertwood
Johnson Ligertwood
David David George Coutts Ligertwood
Jesus Ligertwood
Adolf Ligertwood
Which whilst a bit cruel, probably ain't too far off the genuine list of names that Dave wrote out for consideration:
Leroy Ligertwood (which sadly, we both actually liked....)
Reggie Ligertwood (at which point I suggested Jughead)
Larry Ligertwood
Hank Ligertwood
Gordon Ligertwood
From which we can conclude that a) Dave won't be naming Number Two andb) Dave is in denial at possibility of him having a daughter.
Anyway - all this being said, this is probably the full extent of name-chatter I will put on this blog seeing as we have also decided to keep our final choices to ourselves. It's no fun when you tell someone a name you are genuinely considering and they 'veto' it (as though it's their decision!!). We figure that when the day comes and we all tell you, y'all be to be too polite to do anything other than tell us how clever we are!
Did I mention that it FULLY snowed last Sunday. Like fluffy snow for hours and hours? And that last Sundy it was my Birthday! That it SNOWED on my BIRTHDAY. Pretty special (considering i haven't seen snow in London since last winter). Lesson: God thinks Heather Anders is SPECIAL.
This a photo of me and Fred at Doonie and Kate's wedding chosen for no other reason that I look pretty.
that being said, it has dawned on me during the writing of this post that I am sick to death of referring to this miracle of love in my belly as 'Number Two'. It seems cruel and altogether far too amusing. Not in a scatalogical way, but in an Austin Powers way. Tee Hee. So I think we should all help me convince Dave that the envelope which details Number Two's sex should be opened (And no, holding it up to the light doesn't work). His email is david.ligertwood@essentiallygroup.com
Doing this would also save me a lot of time in looking through those baby names books. As naming Fred was hard enough, we simply cannot find enough names we like - let alone agree on - to whittle it down to a final list or two. Middle names are sorted, last name is a given, but inspiration for that all important first name eludes us. Which has given rise to some rather amusing conversations these past couple of months. For example, we have considered calling him/her:
Pip Ligertwood (by far the male name which we find most amusing)
BigBird Ligertwood (... and the oscar goes to 'BigBird!!')
Amy Ligertwood II
Colon Ligertwood
Johnson Ligertwood
David David George Coutts Ligertwood
Jesus Ligertwood
Adolf Ligertwood
Which whilst a bit cruel, probably ain't too far off the genuine list of names that Dave wrote out for consideration:
Leroy Ligertwood (which sadly, we both actually liked....)
Reggie Ligertwood (at which point I suggested Jughead)
Larry Ligertwood
Hank Ligertwood
Gordon Ligertwood
From which we can conclude that a) Dave won't be naming Number Two andb) Dave is in denial at possibility of him having a daughter.
Anyway - all this being said, this is probably the full extent of name-chatter I will put on this blog seeing as we have also decided to keep our final choices to ourselves. It's no fun when you tell someone a name you are genuinely considering and they 'veto' it (as though it's their decision!!). We figure that when the day comes and we all tell you, y'all be to be too polite to do anything other than tell us how clever we are!
Did I mention that it FULLY snowed last Sunday. Like fluffy snow for hours and hours? And that last Sundy it was my Birthday! That it SNOWED on my BIRTHDAY. Pretty special (considering i haven't seen snow in London since last winter). Lesson: God thinks Heather Anders is SPECIAL.
This a photo of me and Fred at Doonie and Kate's wedding chosen for no other reason that I look pretty.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
an example of bad blogging
in an effort to get back into all this im going to do a stream of consciousness thing.
i can crack an egg whilst holding a baby on my hip. That means I'm doing it one-handed, people.
i tried to figure out what I wanted for my birthday this year and came to the conclusion that I want nothing. Seriously. Normally id dribble over the prospect of some new clothes or shoes but when your body is steadily inflating to the point of mu-mus and orthodontic sandals, whats the point? Mind you - I can always depend on a few of my obsessions for guidance such as CDs (elbow, hot chip) or a book (cormac mccarthys blood meridian). BUT - I literally dont want or need anything else... I just cant think. Maybe a tart tin as id like to start baking tarts. Or a MacBook Pro. Hahahahaha.... No harm in putting that out there. Oh or a book of babysitting vouchers. Or Mary Poppins. Oh dear god, I would kill for Mary Poppins.
London is seriously awesome. Its nice to be back. Yesterday was 17 degrees and the fact that summer is around the corner is enough to make me wet my pants a little. Well, lots of things these days make me do that(like laughter) , so its not saying much. Mind you being the size and speed of a pregnant whale during the heat is not something I am looking forward to.
The return itself to London was a nightmare. Not only did Fred power-chuck on the flight home (aint nothing quite like sitting in the smell of vomit for 14 hours) but we returned home to find the painting of our flat only half finished and therefore everything we owned piled into the centre of one room and covered in dust. Which would have been deal-able if three of our windows hadnt shattered in a mini-hurricane that swept through London when we were away, thereby allowing the minus 3 degree weather to freely circulate the flat. Which, again, would have been deal-able if the boiler was working. Yes, we had no heat and it was a public holiday and no services were up and running. So in our bleary-eyed jet lag all we could do was go to bed. Suffice to say, that first night of us all huddled under 3 duvets in the middle of the room was a long one. Tears were definitely shed.
BUT almost 2 weeks on and things are pretty much back to normal. We've worked our arses off to get the flat ready for sale and can now sit back and relax a little bit. Was particularly challenging trying to get the windows fixed (we need council approval to use a cherry picker! Argh!) and I came down with a bug for a few days which saw me vomiting and as weak as a kitten. Here are the pretty photos of all our hard work.
i cooked minestrone (a la jamie) and rhubarb crumble last night. Both were pretty good. And I cooked so much of each that it looks like they are tonights dinner as well. And tomorrow nights.
Thats it. for now Im currently spending all my computer time looking for rental properties in Dulwich, so must get back to it....
i can crack an egg whilst holding a baby on my hip. That means I'm doing it one-handed, people.
i tried to figure out what I wanted for my birthday this year and came to the conclusion that I want nothing. Seriously. Normally id dribble over the prospect of some new clothes or shoes but when your body is steadily inflating to the point of mu-mus and orthodontic sandals, whats the point? Mind you - I can always depend on a few of my obsessions for guidance such as CDs (elbow, hot chip) or a book (cormac mccarthys blood meridian). BUT - I literally dont want or need anything else... I just cant think. Maybe a tart tin as id like to start baking tarts. Or a MacBook Pro. Hahahahaha.... No harm in putting that out there. Oh or a book of babysitting vouchers. Or Mary Poppins. Oh dear god, I would kill for Mary Poppins.
London is seriously awesome. Its nice to be back. Yesterday was 17 degrees and the fact that summer is around the corner is enough to make me wet my pants a little. Well, lots of things these days make me do that(like laughter) , so its not saying much. Mind you being the size and speed of a pregnant whale during the heat is not something I am looking forward to.
The return itself to London was a nightmare. Not only did Fred power-chuck on the flight home (aint nothing quite like sitting in the smell of vomit for 14 hours) but we returned home to find the painting of our flat only half finished and therefore everything we owned piled into the centre of one room and covered in dust. Which would have been deal-able if three of our windows hadnt shattered in a mini-hurricane that swept through London when we were away, thereby allowing the minus 3 degree weather to freely circulate the flat. Which, again, would have been deal-able if the boiler was working. Yes, we had no heat and it was a public holiday and no services were up and running. So in our bleary-eyed jet lag all we could do was go to bed. Suffice to say, that first night of us all huddled under 3 duvets in the middle of the room was a long one. Tears were definitely shed.
BUT almost 2 weeks on and things are pretty much back to normal. We've worked our arses off to get the flat ready for sale and can now sit back and relax a little bit. Was particularly challenging trying to get the windows fixed (we need council approval to use a cherry picker! Argh!) and I came down with a bug for a few days which saw me vomiting and as weak as a kitten. Here are the pretty photos of all our hard work.
i cooked minestrone (a la jamie) and rhubarb crumble last night. Both were pretty good. And I cooked so much of each that it looks like they are tonights dinner as well. And tomorrow nights.
Thats it. for now Im currently spending all my computer time looking for rental properties in Dulwich, so must get back to it....
Sunday, February 17, 2008
slowly getting into the swing...
This past week has been one of highs and lows, most of which are pretty insignificant - but then, that much is to be expected when your dealing with the thoughts of a stay-at-home-mother. Profundity in mediocrity.
Today I had a low with the realization that I am probably due to release Spawn II around the same time as Nicole Kidman. The ensuing 'bump' comparison has been enough to send me down to McDonalds to drown my sorrows in Big Mac fat. Because it has become apparent that since confirming to the world that 'Sex can lead to Pregnancy - EVEN if it's only once', that I have been embracing the 'eat as you please' ethos far too heartily. And I sword to myself that THIS time I would not be that six-month Pregnant woman to whom people repeatedly said 'Ohhh! You must be ready to pop ANY TIME now!!' Yes. Pop you head open with my bare hands. And to soothe my fears, I decided to look back to my last pregnancy photos and instead managed to confirm that right now, at week 17, I am the size I was at week 21. It’s enough to make you eat a tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream (so I did).
On the up side was reading and watching, via the glory of le internet, the whole sorry day thing. Who knows what it will actually mean in years to come, but after the dark decade of Howard, it is a delight to once again be a part of a country which is finally trying to address our history and problems within in the Indigenous communities and in a positive and respectful manner. Almost makes one proud to be Australian again.
Today I had a low with the realization that I am probably due to release Spawn II around the same time as Nicole Kidman. The ensuing 'bump' comparison has been enough to send me down to McDonalds to drown my sorrows in Big Mac fat. Because it has become apparent that since confirming to the world that 'Sex can lead to Pregnancy - EVEN if it's only once', that I have been embracing the 'eat as you please' ethos far too heartily. And I sword to myself that THIS time I would not be that six-month Pregnant woman to whom people repeatedly said 'Ohhh! You must be ready to pop ANY TIME now!!' Yes. Pop you head open with my bare hands. And to soothe my fears, I decided to look back to my last pregnancy photos and instead managed to confirm that right now, at week 17, I am the size I was at week 21. It’s enough to make you eat a tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream (so I did).
On the up side was reading and watching, via the glory of le internet, the whole sorry day thing. Who knows what it will actually mean in years to come, but after the dark decade of Howard, it is a delight to once again be a part of a country which is finally trying to address our history and problems within in the Indigenous communities and in a positive and respectful manner. Almost makes one proud to be Australian again.
A few pics from xmas day (apologies for not putting more. the new camera we bought saves the images in HUUUUGE files nad it takes a year to upload)
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