- doing the Etape Caledonia in less than 6 hours
- growing a horseradish
- learning how to make a souffle
- running for 30 minutes without dying
- less shouting at the telly
This book was Christmas present from Le Chef.
…. of 2009.
- Horseradish. I took up eating this root in a big way. I put it on my sandwiches, on my potatoes, on cheese, on oatcakes & salmon. Also extended my wasabi (wasabi is just foreign-ish for horseradish) intake, in particular wasabi peas. Fortunately I have stomach of ox so can wolf loads of horseradish with no ill effect. This news just in: plan to grow a horseradish in my garden next year.
- Spotify. OMG it’s the best thing ever to happen to music since the iPod was invented. I even took out a subscription and can now download tunes to my iPhone and computa. I love Spotify.
- Talking of the iPhone …. the iPhone. It’s the best!
- Oysters. love them. Love them. LOVE them. But not a dozen. That’s too many and can cause the drastic-gastric.
- Lochinver. It’s North. It’s restful. And the sun always shines there except when it rains and when it snows.
- Le Chef obviously. Well I have to say that, don’t I? Although he has not extended his skills to include oyster and horseradish preparations. He will need to improve me thinks.
- No more Mr George Dubya Bush. Who?
- Appellation Wines, the new wine shop near my house. It has Cremant d’Alsace, the official Nectar of The Gods. Crement d’Alsace is the new prosecco (and prosecco was previously the new cava, which itself was the new champagne).
- Prezi for presentations. I’m always trying to make my presentations better. Prezi helps one escape shackles of PowerPoint or at least teach a different way to do things. Beware of making audience puke due to over use of zoom-i-fication tho’.
- Initial weed to veggie patch deployment of garden. Having retired the allotment, grew tonnes of potatoes in my garden and a gladioli. Next year further fine vegetable will be grown. Mibe.
Dear Bank Manager
I am very sorry about that cheque I wrote. Would be most grateful if you’d some how find some money from somewhere to honour it. No need to look in my bank account though. I suggest you speak with Mr Brown coz he is mysteriously able to magic up money from nowhere.
Monies were required to pay for my camera habit. Three new lens for my Canon, a remote control and super-fast memory card. And one of the lens is so cute and called a Lens Baby so I just couldn’t resist.
So I’ll try not to write a cheque like that again, well at least not until next time
The amazingly brilliant Gmaps Pedometer says. You can eat as much as you like. Even if the Gmaps Pedometer is half right I can still stuff myself with cake and pie and potatoes and porridge and perhaps a small vegetable tonight.
But before any high calorie content can enter my mouth I promptly fall asleep on the floor. Such is the energy draining route that Monsieur Le Oignon Sweaty devised for us as part of our Etape training.
Posted by Sandy | Posted in exaggeration / lies, kultchur, whimsy | Posted on 22-01-2009
Slips on Film Critic hat.
Beware spoilers below.
Went to the cinema. I am quite the cinematic type person now coz I am being trained at work how to do video-ing and editing and storyboarding and throwing tantrums in a Barbra Streisand stylee. My favourite thing to do is tantrum throw and edit. I am hoping to get the the letters B.S.C. (British Society of Cinematographers) after my name. Oh … eh … I already have those letters after my name. Hmmm. Aaaaanyyyway, I went to the cinema ….
… to see The Reader. With Kate Winslet, Ralph (don’t call me Ralph call me Raaaayyffff) Feinnes, Hitler Bruno Gantz and a boy. Well I didn’t go with these people to the cinema obviously, they were in the film. I was eager to go see this film coz it has Nazis in it. I do like a Nazi. Well, not really, of course. I don’t really like Nazis but I like them in films in the way that I like Daleks, serial killers and zombies. Must stop now before I put foot any further in mouth.
So …. here it is ….
Synopsis: don’t shag illiterate Nazis coz it will end in tears and a rope round someone’s neck
Cinematography: oh I seemed to have missed that so busy was I looking at Kate Winslet’s makeup
Characterisation: Miss Winslet played Nazi well (not Oscar nomination worthy though) and got deserved come-uppence. Mr Feinnes was as pained and painful as ever, Hitler Bruno Gantz didn’t do any shouting and didn’t even have a proper German access (he’s Swiss don’t u know) and the boy was the star of the show.
Was The Guardian review correct? I think three stars is more like it.
Next week: Slumdog millionnaire ……
Fast Tony bounds in to my office.
But will Obama mow my lawn?
God yes, Tony and he’ll do the hoovering too.
I get home. I wonder what we’ll have for tea.
Oh look there’s the President on the doorstep with a gourmet meal for two.
So his schedule is:
- Thursday: finish the war in Iraq and Afghanistan
- Friday: cure global warming and re-freeze the ice caps
- Saturday: do my laundry, save the banks, restore peace to Gaza
- Sunday: rest. Is he God? Probably not but ….
Yes.
Do it!
Close the door.
Turn the volume up.
And pretend to be Freddy!
Do it.
Everything will be better after.
See what I mean.
Emboldened by several kirs I marched into the skip shop and demanded, Qu’est ce le mot pour ceci? as I pulled at the waistband of CKs. Unperturbed by me flashing my pants the assistant said, Les sous vetements. I am not happy. Sous vetements is not the word (or two) I am look for. Sous vetements is surely only used to describe old men’s string vests and long johns?
My French is so poor that I am too scared and embarrassed to enquire further with a French person as to the word I am looking for, so I seek out our friendly Canadian bar man, Jean to ask him the right word. We like Jean. He keeps the Happy Hour running beyond Happy Hour for us and is mostly bilingual.
Girls pants? Like panties?
Yes, like these. I flash the CKs again.
He reaches for his iPhone. We saw him look up French words on his iPhone the other day. He’ll surely tell me the word.
But oh no. Jean turns around and asks the other bar staff. The French bar staff. No! Don’t ask them. That’s what I want to avoid. Asking the French people.
There is some discussion.
There is some sniggering.
Le string? says the other barman.
No, no, no. Not Le String.
I am mortified.
My face is bright red.
I am clearly going to have to drop my skiing trousers.
Non. Comme ça. Demonstrating that my CKs are all encompassing.
Ah … la culotte.
Culotte?
Oui ou le parachute.
Parachute?
More sniggering.
Parachute is the word for big pants for the les grandes femmes.
Other vocabulary learned
partager – to share. Useful to know when presented with a HUGE creme brule
casque de ski - ski helmet. Useful to have on head when careering downhill avec grandes vitesse.
To go up that big mountain.
In the distance.
In June.
Not on our skis though.
But rather on our new bicycles.
Perhaps not all the way to the top.
Just most of the way up.
About 2469 metres will do.
But I have been higher.
Much higher.
