Older but apparently not wiser

I remember this one time, when I was about 7, my parents took me to London. Whilst we were out sightseeing they let me eat my own weight in cachi (come on I was 7 what did I weigh like 4 kilos or something?) About an hour later I vomited over tower bridge (not for the last time in my life by the way) and complained of terrible stomach cramps. My father, ever the drama queen, insisted I be taken to hospital because I was ‘obviously suffering from appendicitis’ (obviously). The rest is a blur but as I still have an appendix I’m guessing it was the cachi.

You’d think I’d learn from this experience right? Erm sorry that would be a no. Today I’ve already consumed about 2 kilos. So bad is my addiction that earlier I literally sneaked down to the fruit and veg shop to top up on supplies and I’m currently lying to stef about how many I’ve eaten just in case he wont let me have any more. I’m probably going to manage to fit another in before bedtime….hang on though, what’s that, oh no help I think I’m beginning to feel a slight rumbling in my appendix. (roll your eyes please)


Wishfull thinking

You’ve got to admire the Italians for their optimism. This week I saw 2 workmen repainting the zebra crossing on a newly resurfaced road.

apparently preservativi doesn’t mean preservatives in Italian

I’m breaking my silence to tell you that this week we have been mostly eating conkers. They are actually quite nice especially with a glass of Novello, fresh wine that you have to drink now because, as I discovered much to everyones amusement, it doesn’t contain condoms.

100th post

I have sod all to say this week so here’s something to look at until I find my edge.

The latest in a long line of chocolate cakes

All about B Girl….

Her super new language skills get better everyday. Today she is mainly focussing on ‘bimbo’, not that kind of bimbo mother, it means baby boy in Italian. At this rate her first sentence could very well be ‘gucci bimbo’, work that one out.

She is going through a fingers stage, by which I mean she has her grubby little fingers in everything, including drawers. Usually you can tell when this happens by the loud wailing noise coming from the room she has managed to break into.

She is very into chocolate. There is nothing better than giving your baby chocolate and watching her fat little cheeks puff up with joy. I’m sure this against the rules of being a good mother but it’s just too difficult to resist. Anyway I’m aiming for a no-banned foods kind of house. I’m convinced this is a better route to a healthy attitude to food (after years of not being able to eat pork pies in the house and then stuffing myself with them the moment I left home).

She is just learning to climb, which is sweet and funny for about 5 seconds until you realise that wow, great, now she could crack her skull open at any moment.
In fact danger seems to be to a magnet for B Girl, paper clips and lighters are her number one choice of toy and if she’s silent for more than 1 minute you can bet that she’s trying to wedge her head into the kitchen cupboard which (oh you’re joking, shit no) she has just worked out how to open.

Awwww isn’t it lovely to watch your children growing up.
Hey do you mind? make some room people I’m having a bit of a magic moment here.

B Girl can now say "cuddle", "down", "gucci" and "karma karma karma karma karma karma chameleon"

So this is the first ever cake I have been paid to make and it’s shit.

I am unhappy for the following of reasons:

1) The top is rubbish, I messed up the icing and then had to re-cover the beautiful glass like surface with another layer of chocolate.
2) I am sick to death of making chocolate cakes.
3) The said Daria is two years old and her mother insisted on a dark chocolate cake?? Whatever.
4) This took me two cocking days and there’s 1/2 kilo of chocolate in that cake and how much do you think she’s paying for it? TWENTY EUROS.
I might as well be paying her to take it away. Actually, come to think of it, I probably am.
5) Stef is not speaking to me because he’s had to look after B Girl non-stop for two days.
6) B Girl is not speaking to me because she’s had to spend two days non-stop with Stef.
7) I am sick to death of making chocolate cakes.
8) I am sick to death of making chocolate cakes.

I’m now going to smoke a fag and then clean my house. Oh Joy.

Black is back (or whack)…

This is just for you mummy!

oh my god the wedding is tomorrow

All I’m saying is that I’m no longer blond. I’m no longer even half blond. I know you wanna a picture but you’ll just have to wait, right now I’m knee deep in ganache…

Royal icing sucks

OK cookies are off. Partly because every time I make a batch Stef eats them before I have chance to practice icing them, but mostly because I cannot do royal icing. It was driving me insane trying to cover those fucking cookies (believe me that word is in order here).
So I’ve now resorted to my original idea of petit fours, even though they said they didn’t want petit fours. I’ve taken an executive decision because I don’t believe anyone could say no to these…

Oh and Judith who said anything about intertwined initials? Thank god you’re not here putting your crazy ideas in their heads.

God give me strength

We’re having that row again, you know the one where the Italian says “if you go out with wet hair you’ll catch a cold”
and I say “bollocks”
Quickly followed by “if you swim after eating you’ll die”
“absolute fucking nonsense”

I really struggle to cope with the fact that my intelligent boyfriend believes this shit, and also that he thinks taking antibiotics can cure a cold and eating half warmed through chicken is a good idea.

What is it about Italians that they cannot accept basic scientific facts? And, since they show such blantant disregard for medical science, why aren’t they all dead?
Stef will later insist for the 8 millionth time that Italian cheese is better than English cheese and then he will be.

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