Ginger. Aaaaargh! It is a term I have loathed for most of my life, since it became clear to me the stigma attached to the label. It is now arguably one of the words I most use in my life. What a turnaround. I decided to use it in my blog name, in an attempt to grasp my USP, and perhaps to finally, once and for all, embrace the millstone it has become around my neck.
When the Huffington Post asked me, a 37-year-old married father of two, if I wanted to enter a cooking competition to win a trip to Hong Kong with a 25-year-old girl I'd never met, it was a real no-brainer. I'm confident that in no way would my wife go ballistic if I jogged off to the other side of the world leaving her with two pre-school kids to look after, so I signed up on the spot.
Few things convey the arrival of the festive season as well as the smell of spices; from cinnamon to cloves to nutmeg, these scents are synonymous with Christmas. Unfortunately, cold and flu season goes hand in hand with the winter festivities, with December and January being the months when infections are most prevalent.
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.
It's international Redhead Days festival in the Netherlands next month and as a ranga myself (to use a slightly insulting-but-hilarious Aussie term) I think it only apt to comment on this clearly special event, created for the clearly special amongst us (apparently we make up just 1% of the world's population - most of whom are probably in Scotland).