Sunday

I'm waiting for my chicken with green olives to cook. And while I do - blocking out the shrieks from the children fighting in the other room - I'm sitting down for the first time today.

Up early, having had Ed coming in and out of our room through the night telling us he couldn't sleep; the pouring rain punctuating my early morning sleep. To the park DESPITE the pouring rain to imbibe a little fresh air. And then back home. To the supermarket for a quick shop and then home in time put on a loaf of bread to cook in trusty breadmaker and to make promised biscuits with Martha in honour of our friend coming for the afternoon.

Said biscuits made and quickly consumed through the afternoon mostly by Ed, while my friend and I attempted to catch up through the cacophony of Ed, Martha and Hattie 'playing' (read 'showing off').

Friend leaves for the peace of her house and I start to make chicken and green olive casserole (yum I hope). I stack the dishwasher, get lovely loaf out of the bread machine and peel the potatoes for mash.

It's not even half past five yet. I'm exhausted and there's still the delightful bedtime routine and the ironing of the shirts and uniform. What the hell happened to lazily reading the Sunday papers and actually having a REST? Having kids happened - that's what.

Damn

Damn - I was being so good. And now I've just eaten a (big) ciabatta with goat's cheese and tomato and am just about to finish the last of the Christmas stollen with my cup of tea. I've been rushing around all morning having had only half a cup of coffee at 7am this morning. I know, I know.... I should eat breakfast. That might prevent me feeling ravenous by lunchtime.

The gym must be resumed without delay.

Cooking and Cooking and Cooking Some More

And now to more prosaic matters. The cold cold weather and crazy snow has had the same old effect on me - I've been cooking like a dervish.

We've lit our woodburner every day for the past week - the warm, sauna-like heat a balm for the terrors which hit us when we venture out of the door. It's a military operation getting the kids to school or buying a pint of milk. I've given up entirely on the car for the time being.

And I'm cooking. I've made my jars of pear chutney, ready to give to people as Christmas presents. A certain skint state has forced presents of economy this year - but corny though it is I've had much more pleasure from my rows of beautifully sterilised, prettily lidded and labelled jars, than I have from lining up bought gifts in previous years. And there's still homemade lemon curd and honeycomb to be made for the same lucky recipients.

And I have been cooking my way through the latest Nigella Lawson book as I threatened to do. Today we're having meatloaf - not something I've really thought to cook before, being English through and through. But this looks delightful with slices of egg running through the middle, and bacon wrapped around the top. Not a vegetarian's idea of heaven, I'll agree, and certainly not the lightest of meals it's true. We don't eat that much meat ourselves - but there's something about the snow that makes me want to snuggle right down with food and warmth and forget about other more aesthetic pleasures.

I'll let you know how the meatloaf turns out.

No Results and Nigella

Well - no results I guess means good results?

I'm still feeling under the weather and inexplicably really feeling more than a little low, but I did haul my ass to the gym yesterday so I'm pleased about that.

I've just bought Nigella Lawson's new cookbook, 'Kitchen', in an attempt to cheer myself up. It's truly lovely - maybe I should cook my way through every recipe in the book a la Julie Powell and Julia Child - but don't worry, if I do I won't blog about it! I might just mention the odd delightful concoction.

Damn! Hattie's just woken up too early from her afternoon sleep after a crazy hailstorm which clattered in a very un-necessary loud way on the slopy loft roof and velux windows. I could hear it on the baby monitor which we still use because she's two floors up when I'm downstairs. Shall I ignore her sporadic cries of 'mummeeee' for a while as well?

Quick cup of tea I think.

Rain

It's raining and raining and raining up here in Scotland. It's the kind of rain that you'd take a deep breath to go out in even waterproofed from head to toe. So we've kind of been cooped up today. Consequently I cooked - and now we've all eaten far too much spaghetti bolognese and apple and strawberry crumble. Strange combination know but hey we're in the middle of nowhere you know and I had to use the fruit I had. It tasted good.

Now Roger's making me watch a programme on the Normans - actually it's quite interesting but after the fuss I made about it I'm determined not to admit that.

I think we'll have to do some exercise tomorrow whatever the weather. Or maybe I'll just get stuck into my book for a while longer.

Saturday Evening

I'm waiting for my 'Jamie Oliver' stuffed peppers to cook. They smell good so that's a start. Am fancying a glass or two of wine tonight as well...

The kids are (finally) tucked up in bed after being exasperating and tiring in a Saturday sort of way if you know what I mean.

Tomorrow we're going to check-out campsites in the Yorkshire Dales to prepare for our first week of the summer holiday. I'm hoping the trip will be more successful than our Easter visit to the Lake District when - to sum things up - we were very COLD in our frosty tent.

Football and Wine

Oh.... I'm neglecting my blog at the moment. I'm trying to write lots of different stuff, find time to use my new breadmaker and do all the other myriad things which seem to soak up time. I have a whole novel to read before my book group meets on Tuesday! Hmmmm!

And the football! As I write, Rog is glued to the boring and very very loud England vs. Algeria match. Apparently it needs to be so loud so that he can hear the commentary. But all I can hear is the awful trumpet things - voovoozalers (I have no idea how to spell that word). I really dislike football - or rather I can tolerate it for about 5 minutes and then I want to scream. But in the interests of marital harmony I won't scream - even if we weren't able to go out tonight (yes, we had the rare offer of a babysitter - can you believe it?) because of the football.

I think I'll open some wine - alcohol is possibly the only way forward.