Ugh. Today has not been pretty. Happy new year to you I say, and pass me another paracetamol. And a nurofen. And a blanket. And some tea and sympathy while you’re at it.
I’m not complaining mind you… it’s entirely my own fault. Young ladies who begin NYE with a long shot of sambuca then move on to down several glasses of posh fizz before, during and after a leisurely dinner and then get stuck into the JD followed by a couple of bottles of wine deserve everything they get, more’s the pity.
And it was a v fun night. El and Lee came up from doughnut city and we all got dolled up (Lee wouldn’t let me cover him in glitter though) and legged it over to Amy’s (she also lives in Finsbear). The flat was warm and inviting and smelled of vanilla candles. And once I got my sleeves rolled up it smelled of chicken frying with garlic and onions and herbs and tomatoes as well. Amy’s cool friend Kath was staying and all got on like house on fire (thank god for lovely people and booze to oil the wheels).
We ate at about 9 and when we’d drunk the place dry we upped sticks and went along to the Old Dairy, which is a big dark rambling gastropub that serves nice ales too if that kind of thing floats your boat. And it’s totally RAMMED! 4 deep at the bar except for one cheeky corner into which we insert ourselves immediately.
Flick meets us there.
Cue normal story of talking to strangers, stopping El and Lee having a major fight for absolutely no reason (aside from the fact that booze makes you fighty sometimes I suppose) and turning down drunken bearded bartender (propositioned us all) and a slightly oily doorman who is deaf to protests of, “er, I actually have a fella. I do not require your services and no i am sure that you would not, in point of fact, be the best I’d ever had”. Ti sends me the sweetest text ever and when I show the ladies they all projectile vomit all over the porch where we had congregated to smoke illicit cigarettes.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1… WOOP WOOP! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!
And after that it all gets a bit hazy to be honest. I think the pub closed at maybe 3am… and we didn’t get in until half 4…. No one else seems to be able to account for time spent so it must remain a mystery. Amy and Kath bugger off back to hers with a gaggle of tiresome boys, Flick goes to get the metro and the remaining three of us stagger back to mine, where we get giddy by turns blowing up the airbed (a single, thank the heaves) and then drink very cold vodka with pineapple juice, extract the myriad clips I’d put in El’s hair and slip peacefully into a coma…
Awake this morning at 10. oh sweet jesus H Christ my head my head. There’s a road drill battering my temples and something seems to have crawled into my mouth and died. Am I still drunk? My hips are aching and the world seems awfully bright (even with the blackout blinds down). It’s raining outside. I can hear it hammering on the panes and every drop is magnified by this monster hangover. Gradually the other two awake and we all grope for the painkillers and sink thankfully back into unconsciousness once more.
We’re straight out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – the grandparents to be exact. I have an online date with my boy who’s out of hospital and only has manflu to contend with now, poor lambkin, so I tap away for an hour while the other two carry on snoring.
Oh shit it’s 3pm and we haven’t actually opened the blinds yet. It’s going to be dark before we step outside. Still raining too. Ugh.
Don’t need to describe the afternoon I think – smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, a couple of spliffs, an easygoing movie and then it’s time to pack up and walk to the metro to see my friends off. It really isn’t the kind of rain you want to go out in. It’s the other kind, the kind that throws itself out of the sky and splashes where it lands. It’s rain that means business, and currently its business is turning London into a muddy, wet soup.
Well now, what do we need? Wellies! Pink ones! I feel like a farmer with my baggy jeans tucked into them. Lee says only a farmer of magic mushrooms – farmers don’t normally have hair to match their boots. Big rainbow umbrella for the others and we slosh out into the street and from there to the metro and say our au revoirs. I miss El so much since uni – we talk rubbish, sing songs, go out on the town, laugh like drains, shop like women possessed and really really get off on cooking seriously nice food. But like all good friends it doesn’t matter if it’s a week, a month or a year since we last saw each other – it’s exactly like it were yesterday, and that’s a bloody powerful thing to have in my book.
A walk is required to blow away the cobwebs else sleep will be more than usually hard to maintain (my brain refuses to shut down for long periods of time, even at times of total exhaustion. This is sodding annoying). The streetlights are reflected in long lines on the wet road and the sound of water mingles with engine noises. Splash through the puddles and have a good long think about what I want to do with my life (am doing this a lot at the moment, what with such a major change towering up in front of me in 3 months) and how the hell I am going to achieve it. I reckon you could sum up my one new year’s resolution as “carpe diem”. Am not bad at doing this anyway… but it’s time to stop drifting and pull finger out and socks up and get out there and take the bull by the horns (if you’ll pardon all these mixed metaphors) and start living again rather than this party girl life and soul thing, which is fun. But tiring. And ultimately unrewarding when push comes to shove…
And there you have it.
But before I sign off I want to give you this recipe, which is the proverbial two fingers to new year’s resolutions and never successful diets…. This is my take on my aunt’s take on the ultimate chocolate fudge cake. I made it for Team Joe wedding and the mixture converts very nicely to cup cakes too…
Preheat oven to 180C
For the cake you’ll need…
7oz SR flour
8oz caster sugar
Pinch of salt
2 heaped tbsp dark sour proper cocoa
40z marg
2 eggs (remember to start with them room temperature is my advice), beaten with 5 tbsp evaporated milk, 5 tbsp water and 1tsp good vanilla essence
Sift together flour, sugar, salt and cocoa (you have to do this or you will seriously end up with horrible lumps. Don’t leave it out!)
Rub in margarine
Stir in the egg mix and beat the mixture well (lots of air bubbles)
Pour into 2 greased deep 7” tins (or a bunch of fairy cake cases if you’re feeling that way inclined)
Bake for 35 mins
And for the naughty naughty chocolate fudge icing you’ll need…
2.5oz marg
2tbsp cocoa
8oz icing sugar
3 tbsp hot milk
1 tsp vanilla essence
Melt marg over a bowl of hot water, or if that’s too much hassle just do it in a biggish pan (the icing sugar and cocoa get EVERYWHERE I warn you now) at the lowest heat on the hob.
Stir in cocoa etc – milk last – over pan
Take the pan off the heat and beat until smooth and thick (not long)
And there you have it. Bloody gorgeous and a good reason to get up in the morning and have a slice for breakfast.
I’m not complaining mind you… it’s entirely my own fault. Young ladies who begin NYE with a long shot of sambuca then move on to down several glasses of posh fizz before, during and after a leisurely dinner and then get stuck into the JD followed by a couple of bottles of wine deserve everything they get, more’s the pity.
And it was a v fun night. El and Lee came up from doughnut city and we all got dolled up (Lee wouldn’t let me cover him in glitter though) and legged it over to Amy’s (she also lives in Finsbear). The flat was warm and inviting and smelled of vanilla candles. And once I got my sleeves rolled up it smelled of chicken frying with garlic and onions and herbs and tomatoes as well. Amy’s cool friend Kath was staying and all got on like house on fire (thank god for lovely people and booze to oil the wheels).
We ate at about 9 and when we’d drunk the place dry we upped sticks and went along to the Old Dairy, which is a big dark rambling gastropub that serves nice ales too if that kind of thing floats your boat. And it’s totally RAMMED! 4 deep at the bar except for one cheeky corner into which we insert ourselves immediately.
Flick meets us there.
Cue normal story of talking to strangers, stopping El and Lee having a major fight for absolutely no reason (aside from the fact that booze makes you fighty sometimes I suppose) and turning down drunken bearded bartender (propositioned us all) and a slightly oily doorman who is deaf to protests of, “er, I actually have a fella. I do not require your services and no i am sure that you would not, in point of fact, be the best I’d ever had”. Ti sends me the sweetest text ever and when I show the ladies they all projectile vomit all over the porch where we had congregated to smoke illicit cigarettes.5… 4… 3… 2… 1… WOOP WOOP! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!
And after that it all gets a bit hazy to be honest. I think the pub closed at maybe 3am… and we didn’t get in until half 4…. No one else seems to be able to account for time spent so it must remain a mystery. Amy and Kath bugger off back to hers with a gaggle of tiresome boys, Flick goes to get the metro and the remaining three of us stagger back to mine, where we get giddy by turns blowing up the airbed (a single, thank the heaves) and then drink very cold vodka with pineapple juice, extract the myriad clips I’d put in El’s hair and slip peacefully into a coma…
Awake this morning at 10. oh sweet jesus H Christ my head my head. There’s a road drill battering my temples and something seems to have crawled into my mouth and died. Am I still drunk? My hips are aching and the world seems awfully bright (even with the blackout blinds down). It’s raining outside. I can hear it hammering on the panes and every drop is magnified by this monster hangover. Gradually the other two awake and we all grope for the painkillers and sink thankfully back into unconsciousness once more.
We’re straight out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – the grandparents to be exact. I have an online date with my boy who’s out of hospital and only has manflu to contend with now, poor lambkin, so I tap away for an hour while the other two carry on snoring.
Oh shit it’s 3pm and we haven’t actually opened the blinds yet. It’s going to be dark before we step outside. Still raining too. Ugh.
Don’t need to describe the afternoon I think – smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, a couple of spliffs, an easygoing movie and then it’s time to pack up and walk to the metro to see my friends off. It really isn’t the kind of rain you want to go out in. It’s the other kind, the kind that throws itself out of the sky and splashes where it lands. It’s rain that means business, and currently its business is turning London into a muddy, wet soup.
Well now, what do we need? Wellies! Pink ones! I feel like a farmer with my baggy jeans tucked into them. Lee says only a farmer of magic mushrooms – farmers don’t normally have hair to match their boots. Big rainbow umbrella for the others and we slosh out into the street and from there to the metro and say our au revoirs. I miss El so much since uni – we talk rubbish, sing songs, go out on the town, laugh like drains, shop like women possessed and really really get off on cooking seriously nice food. But like all good friends it doesn’t matter if it’s a week, a month or a year since we last saw each other – it’s exactly like it were yesterday, and that’s a bloody powerful thing to have in my book.
A walk is required to blow away the cobwebs else sleep will be more than usually hard to maintain (my brain refuses to shut down for long periods of time, even at times of total exhaustion. This is sodding annoying). The streetlights are reflected in long lines on the wet road and the sound of water mingles with engine noises. Splash through the puddles and have a good long think about what I want to do with my life (am doing this a lot at the moment, what with such a major change towering up in front of me in 3 months) and how the hell I am going to achieve it. I reckon you could sum up my one new year’s resolution as “carpe diem”. Am not bad at doing this anyway… but it’s time to stop drifting and pull finger out and socks up and get out there and take the bull by the horns (if you’ll pardon all these mixed metaphors) and start living again rather than this party girl life and soul thing, which is fun. But tiring. And ultimately unrewarding when push comes to shove…
And there you have it.
But before I sign off I want to give you this recipe, which is the proverbial two fingers to new year’s resolutions and never successful diets…. This is my take on my aunt’s take on the ultimate chocolate fudge cake. I made it for Team Joe wedding and the mixture converts very nicely to cup cakes too…
Preheat oven to 180C
For the cake you’ll need…
7oz SR flour
8oz caster sugar
Pinch of salt
2 heaped tbsp dark sour proper cocoa
40z marg
2 eggs (remember to start with them room temperature is my advice), beaten with 5 tbsp evaporated milk, 5 tbsp water and 1tsp good vanilla essence
Sift together flour, sugar, salt and cocoa (you have to do this or you will seriously end up with horrible lumps. Don’t leave it out!)
Rub in margarine
Stir in the egg mix and beat the mixture well (lots of air bubbles)
Pour into 2 greased deep 7” tins (or a bunch of fairy cake cases if you’re feeling that way inclined)
Bake for 35 mins
And for the naughty naughty chocolate fudge icing you’ll need…
2.5oz marg
2tbsp cocoa
8oz icing sugar
3 tbsp hot milk
1 tsp vanilla essence
Melt marg over a bowl of hot water, or if that’s too much hassle just do it in a biggish pan (the icing sugar and cocoa get EVERYWHERE I warn you now) at the lowest heat on the hob.
Stir in cocoa etc – milk last – over pan
Take the pan off the heat and beat until smooth and thick (not long)
And there you have it. Bloody gorgeous and a good reason to get up in the morning and have a slice for breakfast.
