Home cooking

This evening I sat around waiting for the nice restaurant staff to take my order. Nothing happened. The flatmate told me to get cooking and in this way I realised I was no longer on holiday.

Being a charitable type I decided to treat her to a holiday salad special with a dessert. As we are still determined to be healthy and there were lots of lovely things in the fridge, I got out the griddle pan and olive oil, herbed salt and turned on the extractor fan. This was going to get hot.

I sliced courgettes, aubergine and cut yellow/red peppers, brushed them with oil and singed them thoroughly in the pan. I placed the now striped veggies in a hot oven to continue softening. Once I was ready, I took them out, added chopped spring onions and tossed everything in oil and white wine vinegar and sprinkled the lovely herbed salt I'd brought home from Ston's salt beds. I assembled the salad of tomatoes and sliced gem lettuce, warm griddled veggies and crumbled over feta, adding olives to mine for luck. Seriously yummy.

The dessert had been a long time in the planning. When I tasted the prošek (proshek) at the vineyard, I imagined a honey and wine marinade with baked peaches/nectarines and this stayed with me. So when I found some fragrant, quite ripe nectarines today I knew exactly what I wanted to do with them.

I quartered and slung them on the hot griddle pan. Whilst they were burning, er... I gently warmed Montenegran honey with a good splash of the prošek. Once this had melted, I poured it over the soft nectarines which I'd transferred to an oven proof dish. I popped them in the warm oven whilst we were eating the salad. They were juicy, slightly tart, sticky and utterly delicious. Would have been perfect with a cool creamy creme fraiche.

But we were being saintly. And we sat and ate outside and watched the sky turn pink. Just like being on holiday and the flatmate even loaded the dishwasher.

If you want to have a go at the dessert, use a medium sherry or Marsala to replace the Croatian wine.

Best of diets, worst of diets

It was the best if diets, it was the worst of diets, it was healthy breakfasts, it was foolish lunches, it was the epoch of sensible, it was the epoch of hash browns, it was the season of snacking, it was the spring of hope, it was the summer of despair, we had everything for dinner, we had nothing for breakfast, one of us is going to heaven, the other is... Actually. Scratch that last bit, that really is incredulous.

I'm sure Dickens would be turning in his grave at the deviant distortion of the opening lines in a Tale of Two Cities. Obviously I used this introduction, or similar, sometime ago when we first started the diet. But this week it seems apt.

Steak and peppers. Not chips.

If you've not been paying attention I'll give a summary. My lovely flatmate went on holiday. I stayed at home. She calimari and fruit. I ate steak. Twice. She barely touched the winez. I may have had an evening of debauchery. Really, it was not ideal. I definitely let things slip. Didn't walk enough and generally did things I ought not do.

At least I didn't eat blue ice cream.

So it was with some trepidation I got on the scales... 89.8kg. Eh, wait a minute, that's the same as last week. My flatmate? Well, after tiddling around at the top of the stairs trying to think of a reason to get on, she did... 69.3kg which is slightly up on her last official weigh in, but heh, she has been on holiday and I think that's allowed. Plus, she'd already had a cup of tea before standing on the judgement device.

So we've pretty much stood still, but that's better than the alternative. Time to get back in to the diet.

Last day

Here I am on the last day of my holidays. What have I learned?

1. Croatia is truly stunning and exceptionally cheap. Get here before they join the euro
2. Do not book 3 early morning trips in a row. It is stupid. Early is bad enough at home
3. Do not attempt to diet on holiday but eat as many of the incredible tomatoes, melons, plums and grilled corgettes as possible
4. Fat British people eat too much cake and they are really disgusting sunburned. Lose weight porky, no excuses!!!
5. Though it's nice to go away by yourself, some form of human interaction is required. Turns out no woman is an island and I have literally and metaphorically been on one
6. Fish, of the live variety, are brilliant
7. European maps are crap
8. Watching the folly of other people is endlessly entertaining
9. Even if you can't see/hear the insecty bitey bastards, use repellent anyway...
10. Do not do aquarobics in a teeny bikini. Nipple poppage is certain
11. I think the Pillar of Shame is an excellent idea and should be reinstated
12. Blue icecream is plain wrong

So all in all it has been nice. But next time I'm taking someone with me; flatmate, I'm looking at you :)

Boys in blue

Things are going down in Lopud Tow...er...villag...er... in Lopud 'collection of houses, a bar, small dog and a white cat'.

It could turn nasty. And get out of hand. Sand could get in the bikini...

That's right, as I was heading to the ferry this morning an event of enormous depravity was advertised.

Tonite Beach Party!

The local constabulary had clearly caught wind of this momentous event and had despatched two of its bravest rapid response members over to the island to assist young ladies in the preservation of modesty and keeping maintaining sand free cracks.

As it was of clearly of utmost importance, the yummy young men in deep blue had been popped on the best municipal ferry money could buy. Oh, a rusty bucket then? I looked for the addition of flashing lights but I was disappointed. Furthermore we chugged along at the same old rate of knots. Slow.

Did they not know they carried Croatia's finest?

Anyway as the old tired farts climb into bed, it is comforting to know that the youngsters are well supervised. Of course it could be that the white cat was stuck up a tree, or a boat had been seen without a licence, a golf buggy had overturned or something of that ilk.

Who knows, perhaps they were the strippers but their equipment seemed real enough. Gutted to miss the party of the season. Zzzz

Escape from London...

One and a half miles, as the duck flies, from Contrary Towers there is an event this evening. Which will be why I'm 82 miles away, by said duck and Clare is around about 1,000 miles away. And she has orange sauce waiting.

It's not an animosity towards the inevitable stunning sporting achievement, but more a feeling of weariness of a level of hype that is reaching rabid proportions. As I left London late this afternoon, the insanity was becoming increasingly apparent. Masses of people wandering aimlessly, copy of tube map in hand, in a vague hope that all would be well. Simultaneously, travelling the other way, the way I was going, was those that wanted to actually escape.

I know I'll be back Sunday evening and will have to deal with the ongoing daily agony for a couple of weeks,  but I could at least get away briefly.

Central Line. Empty.

The strangest part of the day was this morning, I actually chose to go to Notting Hell, not to see a client, but to pick something up in between calls. Mile End was amazing, a modern Marie Celeste, empty platforms, empty Central Line trains, empty District Line, empty Hammersmith & City Line. Weird.

District Line. Empty.

Some hours later, at a little after 3, I was back, it was even quieter. There was me and one other person on the carriage. At 3:02pm. The afternoon. London. Huh?

It really was the lull before the storm.

Hammersmith and City... WTAF?

I do hope that all goes well. I do hope it's a roaring success and the country as a whole doesn't look ridiculous. And that there really is a legacy that makes this insanity worthwhile.

And above all that I hope that after the games we won't hear Boris every 2 minutes at the stations.

Good luck London, I'll see you on Sunday evening.

Gold and blue

I've never seen so many beautiful men and women in my life. So this is where they all are...Budva, Montenegro.

It's basically a Russian Blackpool with lots of gold (jewellery, shoes, anything), loud music and the tiniest bikinis and bottoms you've ever seen. There were men who had six packs of the taut tummy type. No I didn't take any photos. Perverts. But why in English resorts are all the young people fat and frumpy?

I had some blue icecream. Thought about buying some tarty shoes. I dread to think what dreams I'll have on the way home...

There was even some Clare/other human interaction today. I nattered to a lovely Ukranian librarian (I had to act out in charades style 'legal librarian') and a chatty German lady. All the Brits are loved up couples and not talking to anyone.

Heading back into Croatia now via Tivat, Porto Montenegro, a ferry and Herceg-Novi. Fancy, the only car to be pulled over at customs was an Albanian merc...

Some unexpected evening.

Every now and then something happens that makes you smile. This week I had such a moment when I was told, very surprisingly, that I'd been drawn as one of the winners of a pair of tickets for the Volupté Lounge on the edge of the City. I've never been before, though my flatmate has been to their Afternoon Tease. Which doesn't surprise me at all.

The only tricky problem was that of how to get there. The nearest tube is Chancery Lane. On the Central Line. On one of the hottest days of the year. Poo.

You see I don't do heat, I will suddenly melt for no apparent reason and then cool down as quickly and getting in to something red and frivolous for the evening was guaranteed to bring on a case of the melties.

I was going to have to catch a cab. The problem here being I would have to first get to a decent road. In a scarlet dress and heels. In broad daylight. In a deeply conservative (religiously speaking) area. Oh joy.

Fortunately I had recollections of seeing an app called Hailo. Hmmm. A quick download and register later and I was set, it was pretty funky, no, really funky, telling me when I could have a cab by and letting me pay by card. Handy.

As the time approached and I finished my last call of the day I did have a moments anxiety at depending on a piece of technology, especially with my reputation for epic lateness. Anyway... I got a face on, raided my flatmate's jewellery box, pulled on said red number, heels, picked up my teeniest I'm-going-home-after-this bag and virtually hailed a cab...

There was a slow whirring... A moment of “errr” and then suddenly it told me Jim was on his way and told me the cab registration number. Cool. All I had to do was wait outside! Which would have been less stressy if the local neighbourhood urchins weren't out in force. Grr. My calm outlook was momentarily rocked. Quite a lot.

So Jim arrived. I could track his progress on the map and when he got there I found I could have waited indoors as he would have waited a few minutes. Hey ho, you live and learn. As a first experience it was brilliant. And I didn't have to worry about having enough cash as, of course, I'd opted to bill my business account.

Some time later I arrived at the agreed meeting spot to find my date and chaperone for the evening, once again my lovely Irish gentleman friend stepped up to provide suitably amusing entertainment, wit and a teeny twinkle. Which isn't a euphemism.

First half, Emma and her boys...

When we got to the lounge it was still relatively early so our table wasn't quite ready, the lovely girl on reception showed us the bar and explained she'd come and find us when ready. Time for a little vodka and tonic then. Just in case of malaria. Obvs. I liked the bar, it had a similar feel to Harry's Bar in San Francisco, a place I spent too much time in the late nineties. Great for people watching and yet intimate enough to talk quietly.

As promised, the nice girl came and found us and took us down in to the lounge proper. Now this I liked and she seemed to be bringing in most people like this, a very controlled building of ambience. It very much had the eclectic, slightly eccentric feel of a traditional nightclub, small, compact, low lighting, intimate. Trouble was as I was carrying my I'm-going-home-after-this bag, I didn't have my reading glasses. Fortunately my Irish friend had his. But the lighting was so low he couldn't read the menu. In that case we'll have the beef.

As food was ordered we got talking with a couple of guys also on the winners table, one of which had been meaning to come for ages and hadn't quite got around to it. So none of us knew what to expect, which makes a nice change.

Second half, sparkly dress!

The main entertainment for the evening was the delectable Emma Divine, singing a mix of classics and her own work. Interspersed with the singing was a little light burlesque from Beatrix Von Bourbon. Even the pianist got in on the act by singing one of his own witty ditties, “Ladies prefer a cad”. At which point my gentleman friend starting protesting a suspicious amount...

It was a really good mix, the musicians were all very accomplished, slick and looked like they were enjoying themselves. The highlight of the evening though had to be Emma, her voice was amazing, especially when you consider how tiny she is. An incredible dynamic range and control with all you'd expect from nightclub jazz with a twist of the blues. And of the things we'd talked about that evening this we all agreed on.

I believe she is in the process of producing an album and I for one will be keeping an eye out for it and will definitely be planning to hear her sing live again.

The evening finished quite late. And I may have had a teensy bit too much vin rouge as I can't quite remember how we managed to be in a cab rattling towards St Katherine's Dock. Hmmm. I do remember getting out of the cab though. I was probably gassing, that usually distracts me.

You know how I mentioned the I'm-going-home-after-this bag? It didn't work. I'm just glad I had powder and lippy to effect a repair job in the morning for the walk of shame home. Which I didn't do.

Yet again I pulled out my trusty phone and used Hailo. This time my driver would be Oliver. The trouble was, owing to the O word, Wapping has been effectively divorced from the rest of civilisation and the only way he could get to me was over the St Katherine's Dock bridge, which had been raised, so my wait was a little while, but he called me twice to keep me updated. Which really, really impressed me. A lot.

I can thoroughly recommend Hailo. And I am definitely going to see Emma Divine as well as visit the Volupté Lounge again.

Which, I think you'll find, is also a recommendation.