I took a two week break in order to spend time coughing, and this week have managed two runs (Monday 2 miles, today 2.78 miles), which feels better but I’m definitely still coughing. And it’s cold out there.
Have you turned it around and stopped making excuses?
Two parents working full time 40+ hours a week plus running around after a toddler tends to mean not much time in the evenings to do anything, so the obvious answer was to move out of London entirely and extend the commute by at least 45 minutes in both directions. Continue reading
Posted on Stroppycow’s behalf by Karen.
Continue reading
Posted by Karen on behalf of Swisslet.
A few years ago, I was inspired to start mixing cocktails by an appalling mojito served in a restaurant. Mint, rum, soda water and ice does not a mojito make.
“There’s plenty of rum in there. What more do you want?”
I knew I could do better. Making cocktails is like science, isn’t it? It’s about getting the right components together and then assembling them in the correct ratio. I don’t use any old rum, I use Havana Club, but even the best rum is pretty much useless in a mojito if it isn’t in harmony with the other ingredients, and the humble lime is every bit as important here as the spirit. In other words, mixology, for me at least, is not an art. Continue reading
I’ve made this in the slow cooker and on the stove, and both results were fine. It follows that the better the quality of beef, the nicer the texture of chilli. Beyond that, it’s all pretty straightforward. Continue reading
This recipe was a bit of an experiment. I had some stewing lamb in the fridge that needed eating but didn’t fancy regular lamb stew so wondered what shepherd’s pie made with stewing lamb rather than mince would taste like. It turned out rather tasty! Continue reading
Since getting the slow cooker, I’ve done a number of things, but the two I keep on going back to are chilli (of the con-carne variety) and sausage/bean casserole, which is similar to cassoulet, but much fartier. So in deference to the ozone layer, I’ll share the chilli one instead… Continue reading
I was going to drag you all along to Leeds Poly’s Friday night Bop, which I frequented during my gothiest phase under the influence of a Cure-obsessed Glaswegian who only wore purple. But then I remembered Esquires in Bedford, where Friday night in the early 90s was grunge night and my dancing partner was gorgeous Steve whose mix tape I am sad to have lost. All my memories of youthful clubbing are hazy, smokey, mostly dancing, happily alcoholic, and always feeling like I was catching up late to the last big thing.
I welcome you to this sticky-floored bear pit of a club, where the soundtrack is a perfect storm of all the bands Lisa mentioned, and then a bit more Pulp and Nirvana besides. We’ve grown up since drinking chocolate milk with vodka at Spiders; we’ve even moved on from downing a bottle of wine before leaving the house in our student days. In Bedford I had my first job, so I had money, which means the drinks are on me!
Lyle doesn’t divulge what he would have been wearing, so let’s assume it’s faded denim and DMs as he quaffs his vodka’n’whatever and lurks by the jukebox looking moody, which is probably down to his very own mind-altering substance: the smell of his own farts.
Everyone else is understandably at the other side of the room [this is how he gets to control the music], looking equally moody because that’s what we did in nightclubs. Back then Dr Pockless had copious curls (did I ever tell you about the time I shaved his head?) and green-and-purple DMs. I’ve heard that Ridings isn’t the nicest pint of bitter you can get, but here you go. Lisa has already eschewed the DMs for sneakers, but I’m thinking this may have been a Scotland thing because that stage definitely passed me by. Or it’s another of those latest things that I have only just caught up with. Seriously, I got my first pair of converse in, erm, 2013.
Talking of latest things, if Mike‘s doing it then it’s the latest thing Right Now. And right now he’s rising above the grunge to dance on a plinth in a bubble of 80s pop and a shiny suit. Pass that man a pilsner!
‘Tother Mike, wide-eyed with wonder at all the cityfolk, is swaying to the sound of the Charlatans and chewing the straw that came with his sol. If you need a quiet place to sit, get Clair to move up a bit; she’s found the only non-sticky bit of bench to sit on, and brought her own reading lamp. If she’s lucky, Pix will share her mug of Baileys and turn the heavy metal down.
Lager-lager-lager-shouting: pass the thunderbird!