I am never happy. No, I don't mean I'm a depressive. I think I was depressed for about 2 months back in 1999, but other than that have been lucky on that front. I'm just never happy with my lot. I have this constant suspicion I am missing out on things. I have to try everything once. It's a recipe for disaster. Like poor impulse control in infants.
I have never ever hankered after a daughter. Obviously if one had appeared then I'd have loved her and been very happy indeed. But one never did. And I now find myself in the curious position of being a mother of three sons, still under 35 and yet about to sell all the unisex baby bits on eBay. I'm getting rid of everything.
Traditionally in Mauritius we make this with corned mutton which has a much stronger flavour and Iove it but I love corned beef as well and in the UK this is readily available and easier to get hold of. To be honest with you I love most tinned things, sardines, mackerel, anchovies and I suppose it's mostly out of nostalgia
These cupcakes are something I made for the school fayre. They sold out pretty fast, I'm sure due to their white chocolate dribbleness. The other cakes I made did not sell out fast. It was very stressful watching them sit, lonely and ignored. I won't be making anything other than these for the school fayre, ever again.
We're back from our summer hols. We went to Suffolk. Southwold to be precise. We always holiday in Suffolk; it's my attempt at creating childhood memories the boys can bore their own kids with. I regularly irritate them with rose tinted tales of crabbing in Cornwall. It's only right I allow them the same pleasurable adult pastime.
My Nanna was a bespoke tailoress. She has tried to teach me to sew and knit over the years but I seem to have haberdasher's dyslexia. I miss stitches, misunderstand patterns, forget crucial knots and stages... These days, this is as close to sewing as I get and my are they things of beauty. Dainty button-shaped biscuits, zesty, pretty, rich and beautiful.
I'm not a Mum who treats sugar as the devil. I have a very sensible (well I think so) theory that by saying something's off limits you create all kinds of both negative and exciting connotations. Dieting, giving up smoking, stopping dating unsuitable men... by saying it's off limits all of a sudden we all want it more. So this recipe is a welcome surprise.
I am reaching the terrified stage. I've done the hypno birthing course. I've re read all my birthing books. I'm trying to keep my feet up. But there's no getting away from the fact I'm basically scared. I don't especially like giving birth. For me, it hurts that bit too much. Admittedly my second son's birth was a positive experience overall. But it still bloody hurt.
Is quiche not the perfect, universal crowd pleaser? It seems whenever I make it for a gathering it's Hoovered up way before everything else. I think it satisfies the angel and devil in all of us. Egg rich protein guaranteed to fill us up until the next available meal slot, combined with decadent cheese and cream.