sparkindarkness: (Default)
 Beloved: What's for dinner?


Me: beef wellington, wine sauce, sauteed spinach, sauteed potatoes and cauliflower puree. Also pate, crisp bread and cake.


Beloved:.... Marry me.


Me: I already did


Beloved: That's because I'm awesome and have super power of foresight.


Me: And saw this meal?


Beloved: Exactly.


Me: But you haven't eaten yet, it could be awful?


Beloved: if it is then I would have foreseen it and wouldn't have married you so you wouldn't have cooked it.


Me: So... if this meal is bad we have a paradox?


Beloved: Yes, the whole timeline will collapse and the world ends.


Me:... I better check the seasoning then.


Beloved: uh-huh. OR the Doctor will come and put things right and we can them ambush him and become Companions


Me: Do you think he'd take us?


Beloved: he took Pond.


Me: Gods no - I'm not getting all excited hear the Tardis arriving, running out and seeing the 11th doctor. That'd be cosmically unfair.


Beloved: then you better check the seasoning - end of the world or being stuck on the Tardis with Pond and Not!Tenant.




Thankfully for the world (and our not becoming the first companions to murder the other companions, imprison the doctor and repeatedly kill him until he regenerated into Tenant again) the seasoning was perfect.

sparkindarkness: (Default)
 Proving she is the most awkward creature in the world - this is where the cat decided to lay

Piccies ) Why lay here? Because she can knock the vase down the stairs and then look all innocent at the shards of glass. Yes I know her game! Look you can see her planning

(The vase is there because the window is open because it is HOTTER THAN THE SURFACE OF THE SUN and the wind tends to know it down anywhere

The flowers exist because of annoying F who decided that it was proof of a male household that we had no flowers. We do have flowers - in the garden. I don't see why you would want to take nature's wonderful beauty and then bring it inside to watch it die slowly. Isn't that a little twisted? So she bought us silk flowers and insisted we had to display them or she would be mortally offended, MORTALLY!)

Having been rousted from the stairs she went outside in a huff

Piccies ) And yes, those are flowers she is laid on, being crushed by her kitty backside. I can only conclude that she has a thing against flowers. She is anti-hippy kitty. She scorns your flower power. She has no time for your peace or your love.

(Yes there is an old net curtain on that tree. This is because it's a cherry tree. I like cherries. Beloved likes cherries. The birds really like cherries. The curtain is Beloved's half-arsed attempt to stop the birds and ensure we can never have nice things. The birds thank him for the nice awning he's made for them to enjoy the cherries under).

sparkindarkness: (Default)
 After a couple of weeks of doing nothing but poke obsessively at Fangs (due to current bad mooseness I’m on all hands-on-deck mode in a classic obsessive need to DO ALL THE THINGS) and poke obsessively at work and occasionally poke obsessively at various other projects (which also somewhat explains my not entire presence here or on twitter which may continue for some time), Beloved decided I needed a break and booked tickets for the Great British Food Festival; a nice day out where I could indulge all my foody leanings.


See, he can be a good one when he chooses.


Ok there were hiccoughs. No.1 was his insistence that the festival is pretty close until our Satnav informed us that the site, Shugborough Hall, which is in Staffordshire, aka FREAKING MILES AWAY. This meant getting up at yefuckinggods o’clock on a Sunday morning. (Also worth noting, yes Staffordshire is a pretty pretty county and yes those olde timey hump-back bridges are pretty – but single lane blind humpback bridges allowing 2 way traffic is a whole new form of quaint and picturesque terror).



The Good:

Food! There were so many food stalls with so many things cooked and just begging me to try! Food of all kinds, lots of local produce, lots of different cooking styles, a few odd exotics (kangaroo?). You could walk around buying and eating stuff and trying all the wonderful things. If I had even the slightest complaint, it’s that too many of the stalls didn’t embrace the idea that we want to TRY ALL THE THINGS and needed to sell food in smaller portions

Price! Ok it wasn’t cheap – certainly not the drink (but zomg! Scrumpy slushies! REAL scrumpy! And crushed ice!) – but nor was it price-gougy ridiculous that you often expect at these things (except the lemonade. I don’t care if it is home made from diamond encrusted lemons and limes, £3.50 is silly).


Produce! Ok there was the craft fare clinging to a corner (who goes to those things?) but other than that there were lots of butchers, brewers, wine makers, cheese makers, bakers et al providing a gazillion free samples of truly awesome yumminess; including some amazing infused oils and a rhubarb and Custard cordial. Rhubarb and Custard drink that is just so good. Some of these stalls were good enough that I didn’t just eat samples and buy stuff, but made a note of the company so I can find the nearest supplier (Snowdon cheese? Your whiskey cheese owns my Soul!)


Cooking demonstrations, a local chef gets up on stage and cooks and shows us how; these probably needed a bigger tent because they were popular. We caught 2. The first was really excellent – funny, clever and informative. Ok what he cooked wasn’t complicated, I’ve done it before, but he had ideas and techniques and hints that I hadn’t.



The second one was also pretty fun to watch – but he was far more ambitious and not nearly as good at explaining what he was doing or why (like the first chef would tell us what oil he was using and why). It was hard to keep track since he did 3 dishes simultaneously and he rather liked more obscure ingredients (and don’t you just hate chefs who can’t cook a meal without special braised antelope horn or mermaid pubic hair?) He seemed much more interested in promoting himself – to an extent where I was rolling my eyes and muttering at the guy to get over himself. Still it was good to watch and fun.



The Bad:

There was a shuttle bus taking you from the car park to the site, but it wasn’t clearly labelled. More to the point, no-one was warned that the site is actually an incredible hike over 10 squillion fields. A sign would have been nice “Here is the bus. If you don’t want to take the bus, have 3 hours to waste and are experienced in cross country hikes – by all means walk”.  The walk is especially fun because there are hedges that block vision, and each time you reach one you THINK you’ve made it – and then there’s another field in front of you.


SHADE! It was probably the hottest, sunniest day of the year yesterday* and the only real shade available was in crowded tents displaying things which were even hotter than the outside due to the crush of people. There was a lot of seating (and more places to sprawl on the grass) but it was all in full sunlight. I’m amazed there weren’t people dropping like flies from the sunstroke


Crowds! ZOMG SO MANY PEOPLE!** (To be fair, lots of people but few queues or blockages)


Live Music! The singer was… moderate. And, being of moderate talent, he should really really really leave Adele’s songs alone.



I am willing to declare this day a success, but now I need to sleep for a month. And eat all the things.



*Beloved is currently unable to MOVE from sunburn. And he even, for once, acceded to my demand that he must must must wear suncream. And that there is no way his Scandanavian skin tone was ever, ever going to tan; sunlight was not something his genetic line has ever been exposed to. But even with precautions he’s suffering today. Even I’m feeling warm along my arms



**Which is why I am currently unable to do almost anything because I had a full blown ZOMG CROWDS splodey brain which is bad and I will talk about elsewhere because I don’t want my bad brain chemistry overshadowing what was a good day and a good thing

sparkindarkness: (Default)


Trying to get an even keel and settle I spend the whole day with Beloved trying to find some kind of balance in my brain. When there’s a knock at my door.

Now, controversial it may be, but I have absolutely no compunction about call screening or not answering my door when I’m not up to it. And after some Unfortunate Incidents, people don’t get keys to my house any more, no no they do not.

So I was quite content in ignoring this banging when we heard yelled:

“I know you’re in there.”

There was a pause while we both considered who this could be and how irritating the visit could be. When we heard:

“If you don’t answer I will lay siege to this place! I shall tumble the walls and salt the earth to the sound of gnashing teeth and the lamentations of your women!”

Ah F. Yes it could only be F. You can’t ignore F. F won’t be ignored. Ever.

Beloved:  F, I don’t think we have any women to do any lamenting.

F: What, Sparky wouldn’t be able to cook for me. That would make me lament!

Beloved: Does that make you our women?

F: I tend to think of myself more as a wench. Don’t you think I’m an excellent wench?

(someone outside answers)

 Beloved: F… are you asking out neighbours to rate your wenchiness?

 F: Your next door neighbour thinks I’m a Grade A wench I’ll have you know!

 Sparky: ye gods, let her in before we have to move.

 Alas, even the Awesome Wenchiness (her words) can't work miracle cures, but at least extreme emotions are not without basis with her around.


sparkindarkness: (Default)

Being under the weather I couldn’t face cooking – odd I’m not nauseous or not hungry, but I am hellaciously exhausted.

Which is a problem – because there’s WANTING to eat, yet not being able to cook and facing… Beloved’s offer to cook instead.

There follows the sudden moment when I desperately try to think of what is in the freezer – surely there must be something ready made? Something I’ve already cooked that Beloved just needs to defrost and warm up? Something he can’t ruin too much? Maybe…

It’s like a scene from a horror movie where the protagonist is desperately trying to remember if they’ve locked all the doors, or think of a way out or where there’s a weapon and in a panic they just can’t remember and the monster – the horrific ghastly monster – is just getting closer!

And I have to remember exactly what I’ve frozen – I mean, I know I HAVE frozen meals because I always do… but if I say “yes I fancy lasagne” and it turns out that I haven’t frozen a lasagne, Beloved will then attempt to make a lasagne. The very idea makes me want to cower in terror.

I could say “go see what I’ve frozen because you cannot cook and will kill us all if you try!” but then he will INSIST on cooking to prove that he CAN cook and then he will EAT whatever he cooks and declare it delicious even though it’s a complete and utter lie and the toxic slop can’t even be fed to the cat without us being arrested for animal cruelty. Then I go without food and have to put up with Beloved making himself ill.

So I declare I will cook. A creative lie helps allay suspicion – cooking helps me relax, cooking will take my mind off things, cooking will be good for me! Ha - better for me than poisoning at any rate

Except exhaustion means I don’t do the sensible thing and go rooting in the freezer early enough to defrost and I eventually roll into the kitchen only when too hungry to do anything else (and Beloved was making threatening moves in that direction).

I could have ordered take away, but Beloved lived on it while we were away and looked faintly green at the suggestion.

So… cheese. Screw it, cheese, crackers, fruit and bread (that which is still fresh). We always have immense amounts of cheese lurking in the bottom of the fridge, in the salad crisper to make sure anything green and leafy and healthy is aware that this is a calorie loving household and not to get too comfortable.

Ok not the most involved of meals but we love cheese and eating up some of the vast stock isn’t a bad thing. Except... the brie

 I don’t know where this brie comes from but we always have this massive wheel of brie. Now I’m not against brie, we both quite like brie. A little brie now and then is a good thing. A little – so why do we always have this huge great wheel of cheese that could feed half of France? I would accuse Beloved but I can’t see him getting enthusiastic enough about brie to buy this – if it were cheddar or wensleydale, yes – but not brie. Maybe we have a crafty cheesemonger who can manipulate him into inundating us with unwanted French cheese? Beloved swears it’s not him and I know it’s not me – so if no-one is buying brie where does it keep coming from? Do we have a secret brie mine? The brie elves visit? Or maybe it’s breeding….

 Then there’s the eternal stilton. Now this, I do know where the Eternal Stilton comes from. My uncle – who has given us out own bodyweight in stilton every damn Christmas ever. He does the same with everyone, I don’t think he has ever given anyone a gift that wasn’t a metric fuckton of stilton. His kids first birthday? Stilton. Wife’s anniversary? Stilton. Daughter’s wedding? Stilton! I think he must have shares in the dairy.

 Sure it’s nice in a few recipes – but how much strong blue cheese can you just eat? It’s not like you can put it in sandwiches!

 Even if we liked stilton, this package is too much. No-one likes stilton this much. It’s not actually possible to like stilton this much. Eating this much stilton would actually kill someone. It doesn’t help that it’s in a ceramic container so doesn’t rot and reach a point where it can be thrown away – especially since, as it’s blue cheese, it doesn’t really go off anyway

 But it does get more… pungent. It is now locked in its little ceramic box and… we dare not open it. And if we dare not open it, we cannot check it to see if it is time to throw it away. But the ceramic lid fits really tightly. It’s sealed, I think.

So it remains, in the cheese drawer. Tightly sealed. Watching. Waiting. One day it plans to escape.

 And then may the gods have mercy on us all.

sparkindarkness: (Default)


So Beloved has, after a pause to try and lull me into a false sense of security, launched his counter strike.

Oh it was subtly done I will give him that.

I’m there working away on Vital Worky Type Stuff when Beloved saunters in

Beloved: Dragon Age 3’s supposed to be released this year

Sparky: I know, already looking forward to it

Beloved: Do you think it’ll continue the other games?

Sparky: Maybe – but even if it doesn’t I bet you can import game files that will have an effect like Origins to DA2

Beloved: Do you have game files ready? It’s been a while

Sparky: Should do.

Beloved: Ha, so long as you remember what you did and don’t have to do the whole thing again

Sparky: I think I do.

Beloved: At least there isn’t a Mass Effect 4, you won’t be disappearing for a month again.


{conversation goes of in a tangent in which chickens are mentioned, repeatedly. Because he’s never allowed to forget the chickens. Ever).  He wanders off and I’m left alone


Sparky: *working on the Vital Worky Type Stuff*

Sparky Brain: Draaaaagon Age

Sparky: I’m working

SB: Are you working on Dragon Age?

Sparky: No, work. Concentrate brain

SB: I am concentrating. On the best mage build – is it just me or is an all primal mage pointless? Sure you get the achievement bu-

Sparky: Stop! Stop! Stop! Work!

SB: Fine I’ll work

Sparky: Good. *focus focus focus*

SB: Alistair…

Sparky: Stop it.

SB: Alllllistair…

Sparky: Stop it, stop it right now. WORK damn it. *focus focus focus*

SB: I can’t believe you’re doing this when Thedas is being consumed by a Blight. How heartless are you?

Sparky: I am NOT doing a Dragon Age marathon!

SB: Bets?


Beloved: oh, Dragon Age. How long after I left did you start playing?

Sparky: You did that on purpose.
Beloved: *smug look*


I must now spend time plotting revenge again. He cannot cannot cannot be allowed to win. And yes, this will escalate. And no, I do not care if the entire world is consumed in nuclear fire, I WILL HAVE THE LAST LAUGH!


sparkindarkness: (Default)

So Beloved and I are having a brief little tussle.

 We have a doorstop in our kitchen. And I hate it.

 Firstly, you have to understand I like my barriers. I hate open plan. I like my walls. I like closed doors. I like curtains drawn. I like a house to be made of lots of little boxes that can be nicely sealed away from the outside world. And a door’s default state should be CLOSED.

 I also cook. I don’t want the door open when I’m cooking, smoke and grease and cooking smells permeate the house and sink into the soft furnishings. This is common sense.

Beloved leaves doors open. This annoys me, I’m constantly closing them after him and plotting revenge

 But in the kitchen? He uses a doorstop. WHY?! Why would you want to prop the door open?! He claims it’s because he often has to leave the kitchen with hands full of plates and pots. This is not an excuse, the door is easily opened and he does that maybe once a day. But he uses the stop, which I have to fight with and kick across the floor several times a day. And the times I’ve stood on it in bare feet

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it

 And now I’ve thrown it away

 An hour before the binmen came. Beloved couldn’t rescue it. We now don’t have a doorstop.


 I emerge victorious from the field of battle, battered and with sore feet, I did prevail and the doors are now closed.

 Beloved is now amused. Beloved is plotting revenge. I will be ready for him.

sparkindarkness: (Default)

Been a bit of an inactive week. partly because I've been low on energy and willingness to care about things and equally low on inclination to do stuff. I have a Bad News Round up lurking but I keep putting it off - so it keeps getting longer as more Bad News pours in. I may split it or tackle it in one marathon when I have the energy, strength, time and will to do so.

Partly due to the epic Supernatural re-watch I did for Fangs so I could review the latest season. torn between loving the show and hating the inclusion.  Still love Castiel though

Birthday week meant a nice restaurant Friday - I love this restaurant, it's just damn good food, michelin quality with minimum chefy damn nonesense and without the ludicrous prices (don't get me wrong, it's not cheap by any stretch, but it's not £25-for-sausage-and-mash-you-must-be-on-drugs expensive. You pay for the quality you get). Kind of like Michelin quality if Michaelin were run by Yorkshiremen instead of the French (you wouldn't get stars you'd get roses and an argument over the colour. And the highest praise would be "eee, that's grand." Or "champion").

I was a little bemused by my meal (cajun cod followed by cajun surf and turf) which was absolutely gorgeous but... not very cajun. Or maybe I'm just over-associating cajun with spice. Still, was nice.

 We may go again next week out of some sense of obligation and vague worries that the restaurant was empty. Could be because it's the first day of fair though. Still, this area just has no close local restaurants, not decent ones, this is the only one and I'd hate to see it close.

 And yesterday there was much booze because it Was Needed...

Beloved was going to make a cake but it was decided this would be a Bad Idea.

Didn't have many friends round but then, I kind of didn't want to - I needed some Us time, more people is always more stress.

On the subject of Us time, the family, in the ongoing push from Disapproving Homophobic Aunt to bring me back into the fold in some kind of perverse gesture of reconciliation, flocked around expecting to be part of some kind of celebrations. Didn't answer the phone, didn't open the door, left it locked with the key in the lock. No doubt there will be much ructions from this, I intend to ignore it. The hermit is not to be disturbed.

*returns to hermitting*

sparkindarkness: (Default)
I am fairly used to dinner guests. Partly this is due to Beloved’s constant inviting of people (which he SOMETIMES deigns to tell me about in advance) and partly due to several friends who are now accustomed to filling their bellies at my table (especially F. who brings doggy bags and will send her menu order in advance) and, of course, my habit of making enough food to feed not so much regiments as legions (as evidenced this weekend with the paella for 12. Now, to be fair, my paella pan is from Spain and advised by a truly expert paella maker, a Spanish grandmother, who didn’t understand why anyone would want a small paella pan so I’m not actually capable of making less).

And since I like to cook, I’m generally fine with that. But there are rules.

{Lafayette Mode} You come in my house you’re going to eat my food the way I fucking make it!{/Lafayette Mode}

So, if I am serving steak, filet or a beef joint, it will not be served well done, it will be cooked properly. If you want excellent beef “well done” you may feel free to chew on some shoe leather. And I shall mock you for it. Or you could eat the actual beef and have your palate educated.

(Yes this applies to Beloved too and his distressing need to reduce perfectly good beef to charcoal – which means he regularly takes his steak back to the grill and mangles our roast by trying to take the slices of meat around the edge of the joint)

There is no salt or pepper on the table. Ever. This is for a reason. I have seasoned the food. I always season my food. Are you saying my food is underseasoned? Are you suggesting my food is bland? Are you? Because I’m sat here with these nice sharp implements and would very much like to know. Oh and may I compliment you on your incredible sense of smell – because you can somehow tell my food is unseasoned WITHOUT EVEN TASTING IT!

And sauces? I will put out sauces if they go with the meal. Some of these sauces will be home made and awesome. I’m sorry, you want ketchup? Is that for the burger? That home made burger which has been perfectly put together with lean mince, breadcrumbs, egg and a blend of herbs and spices to create a truly sophisticated taste? Is this the burger you wish to overwhelm with generic, salt and sugar filled chemical red goop? No? Jolly good. No, I’m just taking this large butcher knife to clean, don’t worry about it.

It is also unwise to ask where I bought the food. I will tell you where I got the ingredients, however, since it is well known by people putting their feet under my table that I even bake my own bread I may experience an involuntary reflex wherein I beat you repeatedly about the head and shoulders with a serving ladle if you compare my food with the plastic, chemical laden, wood pulp filled, salt saturated, insect laced stuff you buy ready made. You will have to excuse the bruise, I assure you it’s quite quite accidental and in no way linked a burning desire to kill you. No, not at all.

No-one would call me an unreasonable human being (not twice anyway). And by following these simple rules everyone can enjoy their dinner with a minimum of lawsuits, screaming and blood on the table settings.

sparkindarkness: (Default)
Since Beloved has been doing his gardening thing still, I found myself rather over-run with salady-type things.

And since I have been to the fish market, I have lots of tasty swimmy things. Decisions, decisions

Stuffed squid with salad! Hey let’s make it a crab salad, a crab nicoise salad. Oh and we’ll use those prawns and steam some razorclams I want to tryu this wine. And bread of course, that’ll go well with creamy muscles and…

….some hours later..

Sparky: Finished!

Beloved: *gape* what did you do?

Sparky: Cook dinner.

Beloved: Which regiment is actually visiting?

Sparky: So we may have some left overs…

Beloved: We need a whole new kitchen to store these left overs.

Sparky: The cat will eat some

Cat: *is daunted*

Beloved: I’m going to call some emergency dinner guests.

Sparky: That MAY be a good idea.

I’m beginning to think there are some people who sit by their phones every night hoping I’ve gone on a cooking frenzy, by how quickly they responded. You’d think I made a habit of it…

F: *bursts into the room* Fear not good citizens, the appetite is here to save the day!
Beloved: You have a costume…
Sparky: With a cape.
F: And elasticated trousers *stretches them* see? Saves me having to undo the top button for extra gluttony
Beloved: Ingenious
F: And it has a satchel for doggy bags.

Ok… maybe I might, just might, have done this once or twice in the past. But that doesn’t make it a habit.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
There are some things that are never good, some things that are guaranteed to cause panic.

And one of those things is a phone call at 4:00am. That nearly always means something is on fire or someone has died. Or, well, in my case, it means I'm on call and someone needs me to turf out to the police station and/or swear at them and tell them to say nothing until morning and I've had some sleep. I'm told the latter is unprofessional. I say professional and 4:00am are mutually exclusive concepts.

So when the phone rang this morning I was pertubed, even more so when I recognised the voice not of my work place, but of one of my many cousins, I was concerned and ready to give condlences (he lives in California, leaping into action is a somewhat limited option).

Cousin: Sparky! I need your help

Sparky: Don't worry, take a deep breath, I'm here (what? My family's prone to excessive panic). What do you need?

Cousin: oh... I just wanted you to help organise a few things for our trip

Sparky: Your trip?

Cousin: yeah, we're coming home in October for a few weeks, thought you'd be the best person to organise it, being all legal and all (Not that he needed legal help, but he had forgotten whether he was a British citizen or not. As may be guessed, he's not well known in the family for his intelligence)

Sparky: Is there a deadline or something?

Cousin: No... I thought this would be a good time?

Sparky:... What time do you think it is?

Cousin: 8:00 by my watch

Sparky:... I mean here.

Cousin: Lunctime?

Sparky:... We're 8 hours ahead of you. Not behind, not unless the Earth started rotating the other way.

Cousin: Oh... so what time is it?

Sparky: 4:00. In the morning.

Cousin: Ah...

Sparky: You might want to think twice about crossing the Atlantic. I can reach you on this side. *hands up*

Which is annoying.

But what is more annoying? Is Socks, the cat, noticing this.

Socks: You are awake. That means you should be stroking me *nuzzle nuzzle*

Sparky: Go away cat, I'm alseep

Socks: Such lies you tell. *nuzzle nuzzle*

Sparky: Beloved wants to play *picks up cat* *deposits on Beloved*

Beloved: *has anticipated and burrowed under the covers until only a few square inches of blond hair are visible* *produces very unrealistic snore*

Socks: *returns to me* Stroke me human *nuzzle*

Sparky: If the cat keeps me awake all night I'm going to be grumpy and make everyone around me suffer

Beloved: You're at work today, not my problem.

Sparky:A ha! You're awake *deposits cat on him again*

Beloved: Talking in my sleep *unrealistic snores start again*

What is more vexing is that insomnia has robbed me of sleep all damn week. And now, the first night with actual sleep? The universe hates me.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
When it comes to actual snail mail, I tend to leave it for a while. No-one sends me letters – that isn’t a pitiful Gabriel Garcia Marquez title (I hated that book, we had to read it in Spanish at school) , no I just do everything online. So a fair amount of my post is junk mail (or, recently, religious pamphlets) or things that aren’t urgent. So I collect them, dump them on the coffee table and have a look through them when I have the time or inclination.

This is a habit which, for some reason, vexes Beloved even more than my ruining Star Trek for him.

So, with the cat being unusually active, he decided to encourage her to play with one of the junk letters. She was very much amused for almost an hour – which amused Beloved a great deal despite the shredded paper

Of course the cat thinks this is great fun and has taken to hooking any post off the coffee table and proceed to shred them across the living room floor. And, of course, she doesn’t know what post is junk mail and what isn’t. She also has great fun scattering the itty bitty pieces of paper

He is proud of his ability to teach an old cat new tricks

I am proud of my restraint in not murdering the pair of them
sparkindarkness: (Default)
It was Sunday, it was early (opinion is divided as to how early. I think it was “You’re shitting me O’clock” Beloved believes it was “virtually night time!” I think I’m right – if it were nearly night time my aim would have been better) when I was rudely rousted from my bed, forced to get dressed and bundled in the car with a flask of coffee and a bread roll.

I drank the entire flask of coffee. And we stopped at a coffee shop for a giant cup of coffee to go. And an iced coffee that I drank right after that. At this point I was capable of polysyllabic communication and realised a) we were out of coffee! STOP! And b) where the hell were we actually going and why?

“You’ll see!” was the only answer, with an annoying about of chipperness. I was to “enjoy the ride.” And apparently “enjoying the ride” means I’m not allowed to pull out the kindle and read.

After a moment of driving (and watching for a coffee shop) beloved has paroxysm of delight because he can see… the SEA! I do not even slightly understand Beloved’s fascination with salt water.

We arrive at the beach and he throws off his shirt and runs to cavort in the sea (salt water does not go near my hair. Ever) under the blazing sun (seriously, it was ridiculously hot) while I drop in at a local chemist and ask for SPF 9,000,000 sun cream and some aftersun for the inevitable and flop down on a blanket on the beach (to keep away that horrible horrible sand. I hate sand) with my kindle. Beloved eventually flops down to dry in the sun and I get to slather a thick, creamy substance all over his half naked body. (He protests, as usual that he wants to tan. Every year he tries to tan. He has the skin tone of Edward Cullen. He cannot tan).

While I am, grudigingly, inclined to admit that a day on the beach (so long as one can avoid the evil of sand and the vileness of salt water) eating ice creams and drinking coffee isn’t the worst way to spend the day (but ye gods it was hot) but I put my foot down at picnicking on the beach. Sand and food do not mix.

So, after using the blanket to protect the car from Beloved who was now salty, slimy, sandy and sweaty (despite vigorous towelling on his part to convince me to let him come near me while being all manky. See, this is why I can’t get behind the sexiness of the beach – sure there’s eye candy but it’s yucky as well) and moved more inland to green and pleasant pastures.

After I grudgingly accepting that we weren’t, necessarily, going to be inundated and overwhelmed by ants, wasps, flies and snarks, we unloaded Beloved’s picnic. Which contains all the excess food we’d BBQed on Saturday, fresh bread, butter and other baked lovelies and pickles. And no cutlery. Ah Beloved. (Did you know it’s quite easy to spread butter on bread with a credit card?)

I have conceded that actually being outside isn’t entirely awful all of the time. Just most of the time. And if he wakes me up before 11:00 on a Sunday again I may kill him
sparkindarkness: (Default)
So Beloved is flicking the TV channels while I read and occasionally say sarcastic things about what’s on screen when this happens:

TV: flood warnings across the region, the wettest April on record..

*channel flick*

TV: drought conditions continue, all people are asked to conserve water

*channel flick*

TV: could be as severe as the floods 3 years ago when…

*channel flick*

TV: hose pipe bans may go into effect in the region. Drought…

*channel flick*

TV: flood

*channel flick*

TV: drought

Beloved: Ok… I think they’re arguing now. Who do you think will win?

Sparky: Well one better – I refuse to have a drought and flood at the same time, it’s bad management. I refuse to accept being menaced by both lack and over-abundance of water at the same time – that’s just greedy. They can pick one menace and stick with it.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
So I'm toiling away in the kitchen cooking a Sunday dinner for Beloved and several guests when they announce they havew taken steps to help me.

They have shopped

Shopped *crack of thunder*

And they have bought... frozen yorkshire puddings. Here I am, bowl full of perfect batter in the fridge, in Yorkshire no less, and they bring frozen yorkshire puddings into my house.

And they have bought... stuffing. A pre-packed, dehydrated stuffing mix. It resembles bird food. And, of course, I have made not one, not two, but three kinds of stuffing myself.

And then... THEN... they revealed the frozen roast potatoes. With my own gems sizzling away in the oven.

As if this weren't enough to already justify me blending them into gravy - they then revealed the pudding. The frozen cake. A horrible, artificial looking, FROZEN CAKE.

The cake alone would cause even the mildest of cooks to launch themselves across the room, whisk upraised in berserker rage. And for those roast potatoes then we have no choice but to summon the horde. Yes, this outrage demands barbarians - Call the Goths, raise the Huns.

And they actually showed me their purchases while I was in the kitchen. With knives and fire in easy reach! And bladed devices powered by electricity! What reckless courage is this?!

Needless to say, words were exchanged
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Now I have many things to do this week, so it would be a bad idea to buy this game. A very bad idea, I’ll end up playing it and neglecting my huge to-do list, Beloved, the house, eating, sleeping and possibly breathing to play this game. I don’t have time for that at the moment, so I will be sensible and not buy it.

No, no I won’t.

NO. I will NOT.

Brain: buy it buy it buy it buy it buy it buy it buy it buy it

Sparky: NO! I have things to do!

Brain: More important than Mass Effect 3?

Sparky: Yes! I have work, we have to eat, the house needs cleaning.

Brain: That’s what sick days are for. And take away. And since when did a little dirt hurt anyone?

Sparky: I have stuff to write!

Brain: Mass Effect 3 will inspire you to write more. Inspiration! Energy! Enthusiasm. You can’t NOT buy this game

Sparky: Since when?

Brain: So say the rules I just made up. If I repeat them they’ll make sense.

Sparky: No, I’m not buying it.

Brain: Fine… oh, is this a credit card? Why, yes yes it is

Sparky: I’m moving it out of eye-line. There, temptation removed.

Brain: ok… but googling and checking the site wouldn’t hurt right? See, doesn’t it look shiny

Sparky: No! I’m closing the window! NOT LOOKING! No, look, it’ll be cheaper on Steam eventually

Brain: You want to WAIT!? BLASPHEMER! You can afford it. And if you can’t, Beloved has 2 kidneys!

Sparky: I’m not killing him for a computer game

Brain: He has 2! He has a spare!

Sparky: No. Common Sense Brain, control temptation Brain!

Common Sense Brain: You’re going to buy it anyway. Every second you delay it is a second you spend obsessing over it rather than doing something productive. The sooner you download it, the sooner you complete it, the sooner it stops controlling your life

Sparky: this… makes sense

Actual Common Sense Brain: No it doesn’t! You’re rationalising your temptation and calling it common sense!!!

Sparky: Hush you! Fake Common Sense tells me I must buy this now!

Brain: Wooohoooo
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Sparky: *at work doing worky things*

Colleague: *wanders into room* aaargh can you check this for me? I lost my contacts and these glasses are giving me a headache, they're too old

Sparky: *gape*

Colleague: Yeah they're hideous, can't wait til I get new contacts.

Secretary: *enters* *gasp*

Colleague: Yeah theyr'e horrible aren't they? Can you do those files?

Sparky: Murf...

Secretary: meep.

Colleague: Thanks...

Colleague#2: enters *chokes*

Colleague: They're not that bad!

Colleague#2: wurble.

Sparky: ugh?

Secretary: meeeeeeeep.

Colleague: Fine, they're horrible, I get it *sulks off*

Sparky: When did he get hot?!

Colleague#2: Magical Glasses of Hotness. Or he's drugged the coffee.

Secretary: I'm taking the rest of the day off. Going to threaten his optician with pain and death if he dares to give him contact lenses ever again
sparkindarkness: (Default)
So I had to work late today. But I started late so I had an idea. Anticipating this, I already had dinner prepared before I left – I actually had a productive morning and left Beloved detailed notes on what he had to do to ensure we had dinner. Simples, right? (and yes, I did just pick sides in the Meercat vs Opera Guy war).

So I thought.

Then I started getting texts:

Beloved: So, I’ve taken the pot off the hob, now what do I do with it.

Sparky: WHY did you take it off the hob? Put it back, top up the water and let it steam on a low heat. Did you get my note?

Beloved: I Put it back. Yes I have your BOOK. Your note has chapters. And an Index. And a Glossary.

Sparky: good, you have your instructions, follow them

20 minutes later…

Beloved: So, when do I take it off the hob? You forgot to say. It’s been on for hooooours.

Sparky: It doesn’t say because you don’t. Just top up the water if it’s boiling dry. It’s a steak & kidney pudding, it’s meant to cook for hours. Peel some spuds instead.

30 mins later…

Beloved: Where’s the sage? What oven temp for bread in airing cupboard? Putting treacle sponge in microwave- how long for? Note doesn’t say.

Sparky: Put teacakes BACK in airing cupboard, leave sponge alone. You don’t need sage – why would you want sage? If note doesn’t say DO NOT DO!

10 mins later…..

Beloved: How much boiling water should I add to this custard?

Sparky: wait, what? NONE, it’s home made custard not powder! Why are you even messing with the custard? Leave the custard alone. Is custard in the note? No? Then LEAVE IT ALONE

5 mins later…

Beloved: I’ve chopped the leeks, can I microwave them or should I get a saucepan out? Note doesn’t say.

Sparky: Leeks? We have leeks? Since when did we have leeks? Did the note MENTION leeks? No, it did not, so why do we now have leeks?

Beloved: Winter leeks in the garden. I picked them and chopped them, now what?

Sparky: Did you wash them?

Beloved: No. The note didn’t say to wash any leeks… not my fault.

Sparky: It didn’t say to pick them either! Put them in a bowl of ice water with a tiny squeeze of lemon juice TINY SQUEEZE! NOT A BOTTLE! NOT A SLUG! NOT A CUP FULL. Then SIT ON YOUR HANDS and do NOTHING unless the note tells you to.

15 mins later

Beloved: The cat’s just been sick on your computer chair

Sparky: Ugh, clean it up then.

Beloved: Sorry, the note doesn’t say to. No can do…

Beloved: *does not answer phone when called*
sparkindarkness: (Default)
So, it’s about, oh, 4:00am, everyone’s asleep when…

Beloved: Sparky! Wake up!
Sparky: Ugh, ow
Beloved: You were having a nightmare *concern face* are you ok?
Sparky: *fighting out of bad dreams* Ick… yeah
Beloved: Do you want to talk about it?***
Sparky: It was horrible. We were cut off from the internet. Completely shut down, a lifetime ban. And I appealed and thought it and took it through the courts but I couldn’t change it.
Beloved: And then?
Sparky: You woke me up.
Beloved: Your nightmare was to be cut off from the internet?
Socks: *growls, stalks off in disgust at the noisy humans*
Sparky: Yes,
Beloved: Addict. *rolls over*
Sparky: hey, traumatised by nightmare here
Beloved: Go to sleep, maybe they’ll cut off your coffee next.

***Beloved is a veteran of many many night terrors on my part. He’s learned to deal with my midnight flailing with skill and care. Though it occurs to me that it’s been a while since I’ve had full blown night terrors, certainly the sort that went on for a while.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
Our house is full of Ferrero Rocher. They’re everywhere. Drifts of the damn gold foil wrapped chocolates are migrating across the floor.

I actually thought that would be a good thing, but I’m increasingly realising that I’m not all that fond of them. Not that I don’t like them, I mean I think the ambassador chose them because few people could actually dislike a Ferrero Rocher (except people with nut allergies, I guess. I bet that would ruin his fancy party – a case of anaphylactic shock among the guests) they’re so inoffensively nul. The cucumber sandwich of the chocolate world, up there with malteasers (though you can let malteasers melt in your mouth which makes them infinitely preferable).

But that’s the the problem now, I mean if I’m going to eat a calorie loaded ball of chocolatey yummy I kind of expect better. After all, that is stomach space that could be used for bacon, right? I’d hate to be in a position to say “no, I’m sorry, I can’t have that bacon sandwich with its crisp, smoked bacon, the fat every so-slightly crunchy and the heat melting the real, creamy butter to drip oozing through the soft white bread of the still warm, freshly baked onion bread, cut with the sharp tang of a small amount of melted mature cheddar” because I’ve filled up on chocolate coated overly-nutty puffs of air.

Damn. I want a bacon sandwich now.

I’m not quite sure how our Ferrero Rocher infestation began. I recall both Beloved and I remembering that we needed to get a box for the holidays, then us both getting a big box, then us both forgetting we’d got the box among the chaos of the shopping and we got extra. And then Aunt D INSISTED she needed a box for the holidays even though we know she doesn’t like them, she insisted she did. We got the them and she said “I don’t know why you got these, you know I don’t like them” (ah relatives).

THEN at some point Beloved realised that we have so many boxes of Ferrero Rocher already that it wouldn’t take many more to be able to create the classic Ambassador’s Ferrero Rocher pyramid and then we could invite our friends to come round all dressed up, put on cheesey foreign accents, get drunk, play Nation Munchausens and repeat the Unfortunate Fondue Episode – such fun!

So Beloved proceeded to pyramid build. To which he concluded that, whether the Ambassador is spoiling people or not, he most certainly has a very very steady hand.
I concluded that he used glue – but I’m not saying that because that’s a new carpet and I’m not unleashing Beloved, superglue and round objects that roll on my new carpet.


sparkindarkness: (Default)

April 2015

262728 2930  


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags