We need to go drinks shopping

Santa approves...

Stone cold sober I stand by the gut feeling that I had last night about the word 'mentholyptus'. I'm fairly sure that it's a word to describe sweets that help clear your nasal passages when you have a cold. However last night when I used it, it was met with derision and disbelief; heathens.

Very limited resources...

Anyway regardless of the provenance of the word, I used it as inspiration during some desperate mixology last night. The event was birthday, we were alcohol limited and the time was extremely advanced. Basically we should have known better than start some serious cough pastille alchemy.

My flatmate seems to think that Dr Brown's Universal Tincture was a success. I suppose it depends what you were trying to cure. Certainly I would beware claims that it assists with the maximising of memory. But I have a vague recollection of it being fragrantly medicinal in a pleasant way.

Tincture!

Take 4 measures (or so) of cherry brandy , a measure each of sambucca and cointreau, a dash of orange blossom water, a good handful of fresh mint and shake vigorously over ice. Strain into 2 martini glasses and top with apple and elderflower juice. Pop a sprig of mint into the glass.

My chap also contributed to the mayhem with a little concoction of his own. As he was sober the preciseness of his measurements mean that his drink is absolutely failsafe. It was smooth and delicious, with a fabulous flavour.

Oooo, mmmm

Take 2 shots milk. Add 2 of sambucca, 1 ammaretto, 2 spoons instant coffee... shake over ice and pour foamily into glasses, add ground coffee sprinkles to decorate and enhance.

There was a lime based one, then a shot type one and lots of dancing. I think my flatmate really enjoyed her birthday!

So much green is must be healthiez

Easy like a Sunday Morning

Summer, my dears, has finally arrived at Contrary Towers. At least for a while. Which is why I'm sitting out on the balcony wearing as little as I can get away with without scaring the bejesus out of the French couple that live next to us. Or scandalising the local community with a flagrant display of leg.

If I go out I'd better change...

Anyway. As Clare's boyfriend said on Friday night, I've been a bit of a social butterfly this week. This was all unexpected but goodness has it been a giggle. The week started quietly enough, too quiet really. I was visiting chez Nearly-Ex to spend time with the children over a weekend that may or may not have included my age incrementing in the most frightful manner. Mostly I survived this and even - rather shockingly - managed to have a giggle. I know! Go me...

By the time I jumped on the train on Wednesday morning I'd definitely had enough and really needed to do something different. I had, after-all decided that being fed up was, frankly, becoming really quite tedious.

And that would never do.

Fortunately Wednesday was the last in the month and the Science Museum were doing one of their fabulous lates events. If you've never been you should go, all the fun of the museum with no children about, teh winez and interesting themes. This months being sex and sexuality. What could possibly go wrong?

Having roped in my friend Ray I promptly went for a nap, it was going to be a late evening and nappage was not so much a luxury as a singular requirement. Zzzzzzzzz. Incredibly, after a mad quick change and shower I managed to make it to Mile End on time to rendezvous. Unfortunately there had been a double presumption which lead to me sitting at one end of the platform with him some way away. At least I started off on time... Not that this was a problem, there was loads of time and my intention had been to get to South Kensington and quaff an iced latte. Which is what we did. Obvs.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the queue at the Museum for the 18:45 opening was, well, impressive. Apparently sex and sexuality is an interesting topic.

Who knew?

The tone was set when we were offered bracelets to indicate sexual preference. Red if you liked girls, blue if you liked boys and green for both. I, being utterly contrary, was obviously green. Oh, there was also black, which I think meant you liked sheep.

Next stop was to see the thrusting connecting rod of a stationery engine that was obviously all steamed up. What I didn't know was there was a Science Museum photographer snapping pictures. And they managed to catch me and my poor compagnon dé soirée as we looked on. The first I knew of this was when Clare, squealed on Twitter that it was me! Such a fabulous memento of the evening.

The rest of the evening was filled with the delight of chatting about things we saw as we wandered the museum.

Mostly we didn't go to the organised events, though did stumble on Bingo, which was mad, and found the board where people could express something about who they were. At the end of the evening we found ourselves on the top floor and saw another talk was on. This time by a surgeon on some of the issues to do with being transgender, what the process is (in simplified terms) and how big a deal it is. I'll not go on about this too much, but all I will echo is something said by the surgeon and which I've said a thousand times.

It isn't a choice.

And with that the lates drew to a close and we headed out in to the cool evening air and headed back East. Via the Merchant of Bishopsgate in Liverpool Street. Call me Ms. Irresponsible. Two large vodkas later and  the evening was perfectly rounded off. Unsurprisingly I found Clare had tweeted that:

My #flatmate is a dirty stop out

But I could live with that, I was, after all, out late on a school night and being kicked out of a bar because they wanted to close. Oops. I would get my own back the next night...

Thursday was quiet, I managed to be only a little bit late for work having had to catch up with what's been going on, it had been quite a while since we'd been able to have a morning chat and I managed to ease myself through the day with a sense of aplomb that largely masked my wanting to crawl under the desk and snooze for England.

The evening was definitely quiet and, as I've previously written I decided steak was the only way to deal with getting back in to the Contrary lifestyle. And mash. Obvs.

It obviously worked. The next morning I looked almost bright eyed and bushy tailed! Which was good as I had (a) a lunch date and (b) an evening out to look forward to. Having not been out in a while I was a little worried about whether I would wilt with tiredness. I would cross that bridge when I got to it. Or slump in the back of a taxi sobbing about how awful it is to be 46. One or the other.

So I scrubbed up, crawled in to a favourite works-for-everything black dress and went bouncing off to W1 for a morning of looking like I'm moderately clever.

Astonishingly, again, I wasn't late. I got to Ping Pong in EC4 with ample time to spare and relaxed in to the lively chit chat that I'd been so looking forward to! And it was fab. I've not been before so was glad to be with an old hand. I loved the food, ate too much and relished the meandering conversation about food, life and even a little politics. I really can't wait to do this again. On top of this... The sun had come out. My optimism and returning joie de vivre was obviously enough to convince the sky fairy that it was about time to shine some warmth on this fair city. St Paul's churchyard was packed as office workers basked in a UVA induced delirium. How wonderful.

The afternoon passed quickly, I actually finished what I intended to do and, at the stroke of 5:30 the Boss and I headed off to the underground for the shortish journey to The Old Bank Of England, for that is where the evenings entertainment would take place. Now it's been a while saw all my friends together and it was wonderful, a really good evening. Even better the Boss had managed to secure a table outside when we arrived. Of course, as you might expect I semi-disgraced myself by becoming terribly tiddly, outrageously flirty (so my Clare told me the next morning) and throwing white wine over somebody (unintentionally). As the evening drew to an inevitable close I found there were just two of us left, so I stumbled out on to Fleet Street hailed a cab and we pootled to Contrary Towers for a late night cup of tea.

The next morning, other than finding a trail of clothes stretching from the door to my bedside, saw me leaping in to action to make bread. I say leaping but, really, it was a bit of a late start, not the usual dough mixing at 6am. Oh well.

As the day progressed we chatted, I painted my nails, Clare tended the plants in the Contrary Garden and generally all was well in the world. Knowing we were going out later I took the opportunity of her boyfriend turning up to slope off to bed for an emergency nap, otherwise I was in serious danger of passing out from lack of sleep.

The evenings entertainment was a dance preview at Richmix in Shoreditch. I've not been there before and was delighted to discover would entail a new bus journey! I really need to get out more. So we hopped on the 309 and made our way to Bethnal Green where - you'll not be surprised to learn - I proved what an airhead I am by exclaiming over there being a green. I know. With one more bus we arrived, collected tickets and went to wait for "Tempered Body Dance: It Goes Here Now" to start.

The dance itself was pretty spectacular, a fascinating way to try to express the science - and in a way folly - of genetic modification - using a very dynamic and physical medium. Do I sound pretentious or what?! What was truly fascinating was before the dance though...

We had arrived in a middle-class ghetto of pretentious twaddle.

It was a good job that we'd decided not to have a cocktail before going in, otherwise we would't have been able to contain the giggles at some of the things we heard going on around us. Anyway, fabulous dance and I hope to see it again when they do a full production.

Before we started on the serious matter of trying a new cocktail venue we headed to Brick Lane Beigel for munchies. And it was epic. I've heard of it before, but never been. The hot salt beef and mustard filled beigel was, simply, to die for. It was fabulous. And seriously filling. The place is something of a legend, open 24 hours and has a constant stream of people from all strata of society. If you're in the area and you've not been then go!

To finish the evening we headed to the Redchurch for cocktails. Neither of us had been there before, but what a find! Really, I loved it. It was just the right level of dark seediness that suggests a warm intense evening of debauchery, giggles and discovering new delights. We started the evening with both of the current specials, I have no idea what they actually were because the barman was stupidly good looking, perfectly toned and had my hot flush klaxon screeching at 11.

Anyway.

The night moved on a pace, a couple next to us were going for the world snogging record, much to the amusement of the staff and all onlookers. We moved on to dry martinis, which were beautifully smooth, now this is high praise indeed, I'm a huge fan of the Duke's Bar which does the best martinis anywhere and this was more than a perfect substitute and coupled with the raw and raunchy atmosphere I was more than happy. Next we went for something different, I just wish I could remember what the names were! By this time we'd moved on to having table service by the wonderful and bubbly young lady that was hovering and helping. This was good as by now the bar was heaving and it was much easier to be waited on then stand at the bar fanning myself over the sight of perfect forearms...

Our head mixer...

Finally, all good things come to an end and we were collected by Clare's boyfriend who had kindly volunteered to be out taxi home. For more cocktails...

The only problem is we were a bit short of the usual base drinks so - inevitably - we had to concoct. And this is what Contrary Towers does best...

With a lasagna we'd frozen from the last lasagna night slowly cooking in the oven the head mixer got to work... Oh my!

As ever Clare came up with some fabulous concoctions, this time created around sambucca, cointreau, cherry brandy and some other things. I really wasn't paying that much attention. And the newly planted mint plant discovered just how short life in Contrary Towers can be if you're edible!

It was a fine way to go.

It wasn't all flagrant consumption though. In the name of science a new tincture was developed that should cure most ills. Or at least make you not give a stuff about said ills. Or forget them.

I present Dr. Brown's Universal Tincture...

It was wonderful and I do hope Clare can remember what she put in it! Not to be outdone, said boyfriend decided to make us something. This may have been to stop me putting on the wax pot as I'd been threatening to do... *cackles*

Now I have to say this also needs to be written up, we really had no idea what he was making - the milk was a surprise - but oh my the results were, simply epic. A truly delicious and smooth drink...

He can come again.

Finally it was way past 2am and having invited somebody to come for fresh lasagna on Monday (though I doubt he will) we decided the dancing, giggling, chatting and generally saying how fab we all were had to come to an end... It was time for bed.

Inevitably there is an epilogue and here it is. This morning I managed to further sleeps before emerging at about 9am. A quick cup of tea and chat with Clare's boyfriend who was heading off and then time to consider what I would have for breakfast. Seriously, all I think about is food. The only thing to have after that much debauchery is eggs. Fried. And some of my perfect bread toasted.

Oh how healthy I am.

It's a quiet day in Contrary Towers, I'm yet to see my lovely flatmate, but I do know she's still alive. I do hope she gets to see some of this glorious sunshine.

And what about me? Well, I'm tired, which isn't a euphemism, and other than obviously looking very drained I think I have largely survived.

More importantly I've had a fabulous few days and truly enjoyed the company that I've been lucky enough to keep. It's always a joy to make new memories, but even more of a joy to know that there are more to come.

Time, my darlings, for lunch.

Healthiez

So I ate half a cow on Thursday night, it was very nice and I felt today I ought to redress the balance. Especially as I had lunch with a dear friend of Dim Sum and wonderful conversation yesterday.

Shaped for the second proving...

Having done my usual Saturday morning bread bake, a little late this week owing to ebullient last night (apparently) I thought I could do something on toast.

And make use of what's left in our depleted fridge... I've not done the weekly shop yet. There will be trouble!

So:

Baked bread. Obvs.

First bake your bread ;-)

Take a frying pan, add a lump of butter, thinly slice a leek and fry with the butter, cayenne pepper, soy sauce and slice red and green peppers for a few minutes until softened. Slice some bread and toast. Next add some shiitake mushrooms, throw in the pan and fry a bit longer. Turn the toast over. Add a dash of Worcestershire sauce, throw in a last bit of oregano and ground pepper.

Finally butter the toast, carefully portion the contents of the frying pan on to the toast and tear of some bits of mozzarella cheese.

Eat.

A fab, quick and dirty lunch!

Breakfast at Contrary's

It's Sunday in Contrary Towers and we were both planning on being ever so diligent. I was going to clean my bathroom, walk along the tow-path to the Tesco in Bow to buy tights and then do some work during the afternoon. Clare on the other hand was going to go running and then spend the afternoon translating 15th Century german. As you do.

Which is why we spent most of the morning discussing every subject under the sun including the travel implications of a UK exit from the EU. And what that mean vis wandering off to Italy for a touch of food and come sta tuo padre
Eventually though Clare went running and I disappeared in to my bathroom to do the long promised deep clean. It wasn't as much fun as I'd convinced myself it would be. Post diligence I started thinking about heading down the tow-path, but, as ever, my lovely flatmate had a better idea.

Let's go perfume testing in Canary Wharf...

Now this was an excellent plan, I could still buy tights and maybe a refill for my bedroom scent. Perfect. The perfume testing, it has to be said, turned in to a bit of a giggle fest. By the time we reached the mini John Lewis above Waitrose the 417 different scents we'd tried were obviously making us giddy with, well, giddiness. Especially funny being the fact that every time I found a perfume I thought I liked I would test and discover it just didn't work on me. And we were running out of skin to test the perfumes on. *sighs*. In the end we decided to hit the coffee shop, clean our arms and try again post coffee...

Which lasted right up to the point when we saw the Waitrose recipe suggestion card for Scotch Egg Pie. Oh yes.

This always happens. We thought it looked nice, but decided we'd have filo pastry instead of puff. To be healthiez. And with this a plan was formed. Waitrose, then Boots, finally Tesco and home to cook whilst Clare wrote. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, nothing. We ignored bits of the recipe, substituting Heck 97% sausages for sausagemeat and thought we should use the last of the wholegrain mustard. Fab. So, the recipe...

• 7 eggs (6 for the portions, one for gluing and glazing)
• one pack of Heck 97% sausages
• 8 sun dried tomatoes chopped as finally as I could be bothered
• 6 spring onions slice really thinly
• 30g of grated Parmigiano Reggiano
• A decent hand-full of parsley and thyme from the Contrary Garden
• A pack of frozen lazy arse filo pastry
• The remainder of a jar of wholegrain mustard
• Cayenne and ground pepper

I put six of the eggs on to boil for ten minutes or so then sliced the skins off the sausages adding those, the parmesan, spring onions, chopped tomato, parsley and thyme, cayenne and ground pepper all in to one big bowl and blended them together. Once the eggs were cooked they were cooled for a bit.

Assembly...

Having whisked the remaining egg, I divided the meat mixture in to 6 even sized balls. One sheet of filo was taken, folded in two and then a teaspoon or two of the mustard was spread about. I took a meat ball, halved it then spread it flat on the filo and mustard. Next an egg was placed on the top with the remainder of the mix.

Folding was done carefully... One corner right over the top of the egg and mix until it almost fully wrapped the egg and mix, next the opposite corner, a dab of egg and a push down before being repeated with the final two corners. Once done I gave it all a bit of a gentle squeeze to shape the lower meat mix. Finally the pastry was glazed with some of the egg.

A few minutes later all six were ready and were placed on some greaseproof paper on one of the oven shelves. We really should get a baking tray. The oven had been pre-heated to 200C. Which is gas mark 6 apparently. The pies were placed at the lower part of the oven for about 30 minutes and we waited...

Fortunately, they made it! A add moisture and texture I did a pan of spicy beans which is...

• one tin of baked beenz, we prefer Cross and Blackwell which they sell in chez Lidl
• a decent slug of cayenne pepper
• ground pepper
• oregano (quite a bit)

The whole lot is mixed and then cooked slowly until thick and gloopy. Nom.

As a final touch, and to make sure the plants realised nobody was getting away with it, Clare chopped more parsey as a bit of a garnish.

contrary pie

The worrying part of trying something new is knowing whether it will (a) taste okay and (b) be cooked... Honestly, it was, a really tasty way to have breakfast pie. At 17:45.

What else did you expect from Breakfast at Contrary Towers other than Contrary Pie?

All Hail Flora...

Enough is enough, tomorrow is essay day so this is why I am blogging on here. I'm seriously done with this essay and it is a prime example of how something truly inspiring and beautiful can become a drudge, which is rather sad. Like the time I had to write an essay on how a joke is constructed. The funniest joke suddenly became tedious essay fodder and I lost my sense of humour. As anyone would.

This weekend has been otherwise glorious; from waking up yesterday morning with a need to plunge my hands into damp compost, to creating a lovely simple lunch for a frazzled friend. Our balcony has remained spartan for a year out of sheer laziness but it was as if the spring suddenly demanded adulation from me yesterday. With no further questions, my lovely and I presented ourselves promptly at the sunny Temple of Flora and offered libations for greenery and containers.

I mean, with no planning and no idea what plants to buy, what could possibly go wrong? Surely all you need is soil, containers, tiny plants with pretty labels saying 'red' and the rest is up to nature. I have a couple of books on container gardening but they are written by experts so what would they know? Oh.

Yesterday ended with a friend's birthday party at a very nice tapas place and as usual when we arrived I was famished. And I may have over indulged in the dainties on offer. I consoled myself in the knowledge that I had at least done some outdoor non toe related exercise, as well as the exercises as recommended in my diet book. Not the diet from the diet book, but merely the exercises. Obviously. After collapsing tiredly and fatly in to bed, I was expecting to sleep til noon.

Other people had different ideas and were loudly daring to tiptoe carefully around the carpeted place at 6am. I mean it was *stomp stomp...* er, sorry, *rustle rustle rustle* and being the princess I am I woke up. After a tired grump for about 5 mins, I was drawn downstairs by the sunshine and lure of tea. And decided that a coffee by the river would be just the job. So by 8am we were standing by the glorious fresh Thames looking at the new architecture of the city, drowsily watching the river rhythms and exchanging pleasantries with the London Marathon police.

After a home cooked breakfast which turns out to be diet approved, my lovely and I went about our respective business. I had invited a friend over for lunch so hit the local shops before once again smacking the essay where it hurt. I kept interrupting this effort to run out and admire my new plants and check up on gently nurtured Basil who seriously resents being kept outside after warm ASDA nannying. He has threatened a culinary strike so we may end up making pesto this week. He has been warned. Although I took pity on him this evening and wrapped him in cling film for insulation.

My friend turned up with sparkles and I provided a healthy lunch of dips and crudites, as well as a sympathetic ear. So as day 6 on the diet, it wasn't too bad. With aesthetics in mind I had done an arrangement in red and green (peppers, broccoli, tomatoes, lettuce, beans) which, if the geraniums and begonias had been out, would have matched perfectly. There was an incident with a hot buttery pitta bread but I am sure that the Spring Goddess approved afternoon nap more than ate up the calories in that.

Anyway, here's to another week, soil inspired and essay free.

Diet? What diet?

So here I am again in Contrary Towers kitchen. We'd already run round the local delicatessen like a pair of idiots alternatively laughing and moaning at the women's cycling shoes, garden hose and fishing rods and the paucity of the vegetables. You can't have it all but I did see courgettes that the ditzy one had missed previously.

An aubergine today

Anyway tonight's diet delight was a spicy melanzane alla parmigiana alla Clare. If you're interested this is what I did.

Take a nice shiny happy aubergine and whilst it's not looking, slice into rounds about a centimetre thick, brush with oil and then bake in a hot oven til tender. It will love that.

Chop the semi dessicated remains of an onion, half a dodgy looking pepper and 4 growing garlic cloves and fry in a spot of oil til soft/safe to eat. Add a tin of chopped tomatoes, a green oxo, pinch of sugar, pepper, oregano and simmer until it looks done. If you like, add a perky new chili to liven it up a bit. Blitz into a nice sauce.

Put a quarter of the sauce in two shallow bake dishes, add a layer of aubergine, then top with the rest of the tomato sauce. Nestle some thin slices of mozzarella within the sauce, sprinkle with grated Parmesan and breadcrumbs and bake until crisp, bubbly and crispy. Throw over some green herbs for artistic effect.

Serve up one dish between two and save the rest for lunch tomorrow.

Diet? What diet?

Addendum: for ultimate flatmate snorkage and delight, cover the spare bake tightly with clingfilm and then giggle madly as the static causes the breadcrumbs to come alive and attack the plastic. Utter madness.

Croque épicéé

So: Sunday.

I'd been invited to Essex.

But first I had an old friend visiting for a cup tea and a catch-up as she was en route to visit her Mother who lives somewhere south of the river, I won't mention that again though. Actually, I have a feeling Esher doesn't count. Anyway, lovely to have an hour catch up and finally realised exactly why she didn't want to leave the car parked on the street in this part of Tower Hamlets...

After she beat a hasty retreat I reviewed my list of what the little people on twitter had suggested I needed to gain access to Essex. It was pretty much:

• Fake tan
• White stilettos
• A one piece leopard print onesie
• Blonde wig
• Faux white leather accessories
• And a taser...

Oookay. This wasn't going to go well. I can at best manage mumsie. Okay, so I was going to have to wing it.  Not only was this the first time I was visiting this part of Essex, it was also my first experience of Limehouse train station. Which is not as exciting as you might thing.

Soon though I was whizzing through the east of London en route to things that lay beyond the loving embrace of the M25. As I broke in to open countryside I realised it must be further than I realised, so I began to practice my French. After all, it helps to be able to exchange a few words with the locals. For example:

Excusez-moi, où je peux acheter faux bronzage?

At one point I was astonished to see a forest of inspection platforms, goodness knows where, but the sight of them was quite amazing, I just wish I'd had the sense to take a picture! I had the same thought when we passed the most lovely little church alone in a field by the railway line, so pretty.

As, it turns out, were the sight of yachts beached as it was low tide. I was starting to like this area quite a lot.

In time I rolled in to someplace-by-sea, where I was promptly told it wasn't the sea. Pfft. I can't see that far any more, it looked like a sea to me! I did have a moments thought of going paddling, but, being now officially late I wandered off in the general direction of the postcode I'd been given. Got to love maps on phones!

Anyway, it was fabulous to catch up with my lovely friend Clarissa and generally put the world to rights over a late lunch an a glass or four of Chateau Sur la Mer. Or something.

Eventually it was time to meander back to the station. Not only did I find it, but, given that I had a ten minute wait, I resisted going to the chip shop right by the station entrance... Having slipped past the border guards again, I was definitely developing the late evening nibbles so I pondered the problem on the way home and had a fabulous thought for how to end my trip to France, I mean Essex...

Introducing the Croque épicéé...

Take some super soft home made bread. Toast one side. Add thin slices of dirty chorizo sausage from chez Lidl, followed by plenty of the strongest cheese you have to hand. I dash of worcester sauce, a spinkle of cayenne pepper and a good grind of black pepper...

Grill.

Eat.

It's gorgous, the depth of the chorizo pokes cheekily from beneath the safe confines of the melted cheese. Definitely one for my oh-my-god-I've-got-the-nibbles menu.

Voilá, croque épicéé