to the Cotswolds for a few days, for an inevitable orgy of wine, hearty walks, homecooked food and splendid company. Hopefully it will distract me from the fact that I've had no word from Lovely G for almost a week. Update when I'm back.
is what I have made so far, presents-wise, this festive season:
7 bags of mini gingerbread stars 7 bags of milk chocolate coated fudge 7 bags of chocolate covered hokey pokey 3 kilner jars of cranberry and chilli relish (oatcakes to be made nearer Christmas)
and now I am off to make a batch of crumbly chocolate fudge. A cooking addict's work is never done. I thought I was doing quite a good job of making stuff, until I watched Kirstie's Homemade Christmas yesterday. It was a joy to behold - Kirstie Allsopp is divine and she shares my penchant for ribbons and reindeer prints, but I'm now feeling pretty inadequate for not bothering to make soap and teddy bears from scratch. Maybe next year...
was my first Christmas party of the festive season. The theme was awful Christmas jumpers, so there was a spectacular array of vintage 80's offerings, ranging from the knitted to the appliquéd to the actual homemade - good efforts all round. One attendee had actually glued one of those fabric advent calendars with little pockets for chocolates to the front of his crew shirt. The pockets were filled with Celebration chocolates, wrapped in bits of paper with forfeits on them. My forfeit read, "Pull a cracker" - i.e. have a kiss under the mistletoe with another unsuspecting partygoer. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it wasn't a party of the pulling variety, and the majority of the men were either (a) married, or (b) gay. And besides, my heart belongs to another cracker. Lovely G has been sending me pointless texts, which gives me hope that he might quite like me - the logic being that he'll send an unprovoked text saying something like, "having fun?" just for the thrill of getting my sparkling and witty reply. OK, maybe not, but I have hopes. Fingers crossed.
ok, tried the fudge again with this recipe. The good news it, it is more or less solid. The bad news is, it is not crumbly, AND I managed to slice open two of my fingers when grappling with a can of condensed milk. Domestic goddess my arse. My hokey pokey, however, is going from strength to strength. I've started covering the broken up pieces in melted milk chocolate and then leaving them to set on greaseproof paper. They come out like delicious little Crunchie bars.
In other news, have just returned home from a Christmas party in London - more on that in the morning though - time to sleep.
... and failed massively. Very disappointed - not least because I have just used up more than 500g of perfectly good sugar. Will have to try again tomorrow. If anyone can give me a fail-safe recipe for good, crumbly fudge or butter tablet, I will be forever in your debt! I want to make it work so I can give it to people for Christmas wrapped in iridescent cellophane and ribbons!
Well, Salzburg is just beautiful. The men aren't bad either - I shared a tequila-fuelled snog with one in a club called Bricks. Just what was required after a bit of a drought in that department. Fun fact: Austrians have cinnamon-covered orange slices instead of lemon with their slammers.
Now feeling totally saturated in festive cheer, thanks to the glut of Christmas markets and even some actual snow, but just to pile it on, I went to Sketch yesterday for an obscenely decadent afternoon tea, followed by sausages and mash and Love Actually. I would throughly recommend a visit to Sketch, if only for the futuristic lavatories. Oh, and the terrific petit fours.
Have had a few texts from Lovely G since I returned, but am still clueless as to whether or not he is keen. Hoping to meet for drinks before long. Will update with any developments.
... is an increased reluctance to take risks when it comes to affairs of the heart.
After a string of catastrophic dalliances with (on-the-surface) nice, normal men who then turned out to be alcoholics, workaholics, peeping-toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits and perverts (thank you, Bridget, for summarising my disastrous lovelife right there), I'm emotionally exhausted. Because as soon as you do that crazy thing of being honest about your feelings for someone, you become the vulnerable one. If I didn't pick such wildly unsuitable men, this might not be a problem; however, after years of jumping in feet first, I'm starting to take a more careful approach.
The thing is, the boy I currently have my heart set on (let's call him Lovely G - just to differentiate him from Repellent G, the very worst of the aforementioned emotional fuckwits) is unlikely to be one of the heartbreakers. I've known him as a friend for a couple of years and he is almost certainly one of the goodies. But even so, my instinct to protect myself is what's stopping me from laying my cards on the table. I don't want to put myself in a position where I might get hurt, even though, if it all goes right for once, it might be worth it in the end. So, to conclude, I have no idea how to do this.
Anyway, all of this is going to have to go on hold until next week, because I'm going to Salzburg for a long weekend. When I get back, Lovely G will finally be back from his own holiday and something Good might happen - I suppose we'll start with tea and cake and see where it goes from there? Is that how grown ups do things? I'll have to wait and see. So long! Farewell! Auf wiedersehen! Goodbye!