No pain, no gain!

I went out for a trot yesterday, incentivised by the fabulous weather and the fact that I simply have plenty of free time and haven't been using it wisely enough. My foot has been hurting on and off since the Spring. At one point it was agonising, so I switched to being in flats permanently and it got a lot better. Fact is, I have been squeezing my wee tootsies into high heels since I was about, oooh, 11 years old. Nothing was ever too high and I was also pretty adept at walking normally in them, so much so that I have done many a hike across London in 4 inch heels to little ill effect. Until now. I suppose it's like smoking and drinking really. You get away with it for years then when the time is up, the adverse stuff starts to make you wake up and smell the coffee.

Being 5 foot, 2 inches (on a good day!!) I wore my heels like an armour - never let anyone look down on me, oh no - and getting used to flats was strange at first. My fit flops have been worn to death all summer and I can honestly say that they have saved me from more serious podiatry issues. However, interviews necessitate heels, not least because my best and smartest shoes just happen to be high, but also because I feel more assertive in them. After a handful of outings in the last few weeks, the foot has been playing up again, so that will basically teach me.

Anyhoo, couldn't keep moaning about it and sitting at home, so decided to simply get my trainers on and see how I got on. Not bad, actually. Made it to Greenwich Park up some steep hills, trotted round there and headed home in a pretty good time. I didn't feel shattered, just well travelled, when I got back and the foot seems fine. Even today, my calves are sore (no surprise there) but eveything else is holding up well. Am having a break today to rest the muscles, but am definitely off out again tomorrow, especially whilst we enjoy our very late, but much appreciated, summer.

Today is actually my 5 month anniversary and I am feeling very positive about this milestone. I know 6 months is halfway, but I kind of feel I am nearly there and want to celebrate already! Impatient, I know, but there was a time when 5 months of sobriety would have sounded impossible to me. If K's eyes can stand it (he's having a bit of a hard time with them this week after having a doctor poking at them on Monday) we plan to head up town this evening for a wee drinkie with his brother in law's brother. It's P's birthday and his sis and brother in law will be there too, so it would be nice if we could make it. On our fast-dwindling resources, it's times like this that I appreciate being teetotal. A glass of sparkly water or two is a darn sight cheaper than what I would have previously consumed. Also, being sober, we will leave before the witching hour rather than hailing a cab in the early hours at great expense. I need to start my baking, now I think about it, as I shall be taking muffins along rather than a bought gift, and will need to craft some sort of pretty bag/box for them. I made a lemon polenta cake yesterday, which is yummy, but a bit scorched on the edges thanks to my oven (I think it's having its time of the month cos it's being less reliable than normal this week :-)) so I won't be able to pass that off as his cake!!!

Next week is October, and I am very conscious that I have just 2 months thereafter until the big day. Woooo! I have looked at dresses (thanks to my dear friend G who hauled me into some shops last weekend in Greenwich to look at all the options and my lovely friend A who traipsed down the Kings Road with me on Weds eve for some window shopping) and I have more idea than I did have. It's hard to get excited whilst my head is full of securing a new job, but I do intend making an effort over the next few weeks to get some sort of plan together. I have always been guilty of leaving things to the last minute as adrenaline seems to spur me on, but other than booking the essential stuff, I have been very slow in getting myself organised for what is the most important day of my life! Operation Wedding starts now :-)

The fruits of my labour!

Well, as I have mentioned before, baking has been my saviour these last few weeks, and I have rediscovered the joy both of smelling a cake in the oven (not licking the bowl, I may add which is a filthy habit practised by gluttons) and seeing the pleasure that other people get from home-baked goods. It really has put all my previous gift-buying into perspective. Friends are far more appreciative of a slab of sponge or a muffin or two in a pretty bag, than anything off the shelf that I have sourced (what a wank word that is; must stop using it) from Selfridges or Heals or wherever. God, I sound evangelical, but seriously, my opinion about money, profligacy, value and worth has changed radically over the last few months.

Anyway, as a result, I thought I would share my favourite recipe so far with everyone as it seems selfish to keep it all to myself. It's one of the easiest I have tried in terms of getting it right and has, so far, only met with compliments. Not one for weightwatchers but hey, life's far too short to refuse a bit of cake. Plus, I promise that if you give it away, your friends will be eternally grateful!!!

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Cake: 125g unsalted butter; 175g caster sugar; 2 large eggs; Zest of 1 lemon; 175g self-raising flour; pinch of salt; 4 tablespoons milk
Syrup: Juice of 1.5 lemons (about 4 tablespoons); 100g of icing sugar
Square cake tin (approx 18x18cm), lined.
Preheat the oven to 180 degrees or gas mark 4.
Method:
Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl.
Beat the eggs in a small bowl until white and yolk are combined, then add to the large bowl along with the lemon zest. Mix all until well combined.
Add the sieved flour and salt, folding in gently but thoroughly.
Add the milk and mix.
Spoon into tin (taking care to ensure that the top is level) and put in oven for 40-45 mins, or until golden and a cake tester comes out clean.
While it's cooking, dissolve the icing sugar in the lemon juice, over a low heat.
As soon as you take the cake out, puncture holes all over the top, pour the syrup on and let it soak in. Make sure there are lots of holes in the top so it doesn't all go down the sides.
Wait until it's completely cold to take it out of the tin and cut into squares.

Big day out!

K and I spent a lovely day (possibly one of the last sunny ones) on Saturday at Severndroog Castle, on Shooter's Hill. We went there for the first time a couple of months ago and whilst we loved the semi-derelict folly in the woods, we were sad to see it shuttered up and redundant.

Thankfully, I spied on a blog on Friday that it was part of the London Open House initiative, whereby us plebs can visit places normally closed to the public for one weekend of the year. It's all thanks to the volunteers who are trying to preserve and reopen the folly, that it even happens, so I wasn't about to miss the chance to see inside and climb to the top.

As it was a lovely day I packed a picnic and we spent a few hours lazing around in the nearby woods afterwards with the papers. But the real treat was getting inside and seeing what had once been a beautiful summer house, built by a loving widow in memory of her late husband, who died fending off pirates in India who were preventing the spices being sent to the UK. If anyone created something so stunning nowadays for a dearly departed loved one, they'd probably be accused of wallowing in grief and not 'moving on' rather than wanting to celebrate the special relationship they have lost.

As it was a bit misty the views from the top weren't as good as they could have been, but they were impressive all the same. So many places are like this all over Britain - crying out for funding and slowly rotting. As we walked back and passed building sites putting up those new 'grey metal, sand coloured brick and white plaster' monstrosities that pass for blocks of flat these days, I wanted to scream at how beauty and aesthtics have been totally sacrificed these days for low price and practical. We watched a programme on architecture on Channel 4 last night and it only served to remind me how things have changed.

Anyway, no point ranting and raving about this when the weekend was actually really lovely. We spent Sunday down at the river near the Thames Barrier and basically chilled out. K had an interview first thing today and I am back doing them tomorrow, so we have other things to occupy our (not so!) pretty little minds.

Right ho. Am off to do some baking now, as I am visiting my friend and her baby tomorrow and know that a new mum will thoroughly appreciate some lemon drizzle cake between feeds!

No more false starts!

C'est moi de nouveau. Sorry for the faltering resumption of my blog but I would like to commit to paper (white board?) now that Virgin Media is shite. Truly, deeply, madly awful. I am finally online with a wireless connection after an entire month of trying. We only got the broadband and netbook to cover our period of unemployment and much of it has passed with little connectivity. I have battled with Indian call centres, systems verging on ridiculous (3 days to send packaging for a lap top to be collected in then another two to collect the laptop in its box, then 3 days to fix it and then return an entirely new netbook). Hmmmmmm, me thinks I am a mug of massive proportions for tolerating that.
Anyhoo. Enough complaints. I am alive, have been interviewing steadily and have more coming up. Nothing has come off yet, but I am not despondent. Time will tell and the right fit matters far more now than ever. I have, however, spent plenty of quality time with my many and much loved friends, become a master baker and generally discovered the art of relaxation! Ooh, and stayed sober which is far, far more important than anything else. 5 months is fast approaching and I suspect 6 months will be on me before I know it.

As for cravings, well, they have crept up a bit on me of late. Nothing major, just little longings. A glass of very good red, maybe with the Sunday roast. Some crisp white wine with the thai curry I made or perhaps a cheeky glass of bubbles after a hard days interviewing. Suddenly the taste and the reasons for drinking wine are bubbling back up to the surface and taunting me. What I have to remind myself, though, is that I wasn't drinking like that towards the end and am not entirely sure that I ever did. These are the sorts of phrases trotted out in magazine restaurant reviews, not the ones
I used to have when I fancied a bottle of plonk! I would start off well, then convince myself that another wee glass wouldn't hurt, then another and on an on. The hangover the next morning would be a sharp reminder that nothing has changed, followed by the carb cravings and the insatiable desire later on for a hair of the dog. That, my friends, is the reality and I am not about to get complacent about it. Not after all this time.

Onwards and upwards!