The Story, part I (repeated)

Once there was a girl, she was planning a wedding. It was to be a relaxed affair but oh so stylish and very intimate. She and the boy would only invite people that they truly loved, that they couldn't image getting married without. It would take place out doors, or so they hoped, and prayed, and hoped some more. But they lived in Scotland you see? And in Scotland it rains, all year round. So although the wedding was to be in August it would be foolish to plan a wedding outside. But the girl was a fool and would not be swayed from her plans of an aisle of the sweetest smelling grass and a summer barbecue in a stone clad courtyard bordered on one side by a rambling old castle and the other by a cottage country garden. The flowers were just too pretty and the air too fresh, she would not be married indoors, oh no. But just in case the Gods had other plans for her, indoors was the sweetest room, painted with blue skies and white clouds and maybe even there was a cherub or two, she forgets now.

The girl was young, 22 when she got engaged and although her friends were so very happy for her they were living lives very different from hers and she felt embarrassed to talk to them about weddings. Shades of ribbon, weights of card and registries of gifts seemed so very odd to her. She was not the kind of girl who had dreamed of her wedding all her life. Perhaps she had hoped that in the future there might be a man she would would love so much that marriage would not seem a terrifying prospect and perhaps she had even thought of what heavenly delights she might wear on such an occasion, but the thoughts were fleeting. She was not sure that she even believed in marriage and once she had found a man the more people told her she should marry him, the more stubbornly she denied any desire to.

Then one day, once the talk of shoulds and the right thing to do had died down she realised that maybe, just maybe she did want to marry this man. That maybe as she was already planning a whole long life with him that marriage wasn't so scary after all, that it was quite a nice idea really. She remembered the hopes she had indulged in on the special occasions, before the talk had started, that perhaps he would ask her. But she knew that she had made herself quite clear over the last 12 months, she did not want to get married, he knew that. She had told him the whole idea was nonsense, why should they get married? Oh what a pickle she found herself in. She knew he would never ask her, she had well and truly scared him off that one. There was only one thing for it, she would have to ask him herself.....


Please tune in next week dear readers for part II of The Story of the Boy and the Girl.....

Kitchenwares...

I'm aware that for some people being given homewares for birthdays or Christmas is just unacceptable, like being given a hoover or an ironing board or anything else that suggests the only thing that the giver thinks you are interested in is cleaning (or cooking). But I love kitcheny bits and inspired by my recently purchased heart shaped measuring cups I thought I'd share a few of my favourites with you...

This vintage inspired milk bottle and glass set is gorgeous. Its blue tinge is beautiful and who doesn't get a small thrill from drinking from a glass with a barnyard animal on it?



A retro red fire extinguisher. For those of us who do this when we bake...







We were given a Le Creuset version of this red heart shaped casserole dish when we got married. I love the Staub version's pudgy little shape and the handles though.




Sophie Conran casserole. You would be forgiven for thinking that I really like casseroles. I don't particularly but I do love a pot with a lid.



I adore all of Nigella Lawson's kitchenwares. I want to fill my house with them, bake volumptuous delights and maybe rub them against my face a little. The jugs, not the baked goods. Cakes are for eating, not face rubbing. Unlike crockery of course.



Who could deny themselves a little canoodling with this sexy teapot?




A chestnut pan. It turns out I don't really like roast chestnuts, they have a weird texture. But I suspect that they might be delicious in baked goods and the whole fire thing looks fun.

I bought these last week when I found them in Urban Outfitters, desperate for some cup measures so I could stop fucking up the American recipes I've been trying to convert to grams. Two days later I discovered that the British Heart Foundation are selling the same one, cheaper, with all the proceeds going to the BHF. I was a little annoyed with myself.




And the best for last. I adore this pouring bowl and this picture. It sums up everything I want from a kitchen - scrubbed wood, simple but textural crockery, lots of cream and obscure overpriced ingredients.



Images from Cox and Cox, Amazon, The British Heart Foundation and The Dining Store. And the glove was me.

December 1st...

December 1st - World Aids Day.


Image courtesy of Rhyt


In 2007


2 million
people died from Aids


a quarter of a million
children died from Aids


2.7million
people were newly infected with HIV


33million
people were living with HIV/Aids



Photograph: © Paolo Pellegrin/Magnum Photos and via The Guardian.

As HIV/Aids decimates the developing world its prevalence in the west increases among every gender, sexuality, nationality and age group.


Aids is killing thousands of people daily and the numbers are just getting bigger.


You should know all you can about HIV and Aids, you never know when you might find it affecting someone you know.

Cranberries and confusion...

In a slightly belated gesture I would like to offer up these cranberries along with a wish for a very happy Thanksgiving for my American readers...

I've never known if it's a faux pas to wish somebody a Happy Whatever when the Whatever is something that you and/or your culture doesn't celebrate. Like when somebody Jewish tells you they're celebrating Rosh Hashanah or your Muslim friend mentions that their family are coming to town for Eid, do they think you're completely nuts if you wish them a happy day when you have no idea what that day actually entails or symbolises? Or is it just good manners?

Personally not to wish them a Happy Whatever would feel like not wishing someone a happy birthday (and if that birthday greeting happens to come a day late, well that's absolutely no indication of a lack of sincerity and more a sign that the well wisher might be suffering a loss of their short term memory which may or may not be an irreversible side effect of some obnoxious medication they're on, in which case you shouldn't be pissed off that your dear friend forgot Thanksgiving/your birthday but pat them on the head and tell them no one needs their short term memory anyway. Either way, they really do mean it when they say have a happy day, even if the day in question was yesterday.)

But maybe I'm wrong? Maybe you should just smile and say 'well enjoy your day' (which seems a little frosty to me.) What do you think? Are there official guidelines on this matter?

I bought my first fresh cranberries this week and I baked these scones with them. They were delicious and before I'd had a chance to photograph the end result, we'd eaten them all. I changed the recipe slightly. I used normal lemons (I've no idea what meyer lemons are. Any info people?) and used half a cup of milk and half a cup of natural yoghurt instead of the cup of double cream which not only seemed ridiculously decadent but was absent from our fridge where there just happened to be an excess of out of date milk and yoghurt (don't look so disgusted, they were cooked at 270 (400 for the Americans) degrees I'll have you know - nothing that's likely to kill you can survive being cooked at 270 degrees *coughalmostcertainlycough*).

I had no idea that this was what the inside of a cranberry looked like. I thought that they would be red and juicy all the way though, like blackcurrants. Apparently they don't taste good raw, I wouldn't know, I make The Boy taste things I'm unsure about first. I try to mask it as generosity - 'no dear, you have the first bite' but I think he knows I'm just using him.

I had my first Thanksgiving dinner a few weeks ago. Hosted by one Canadian and one American, it was an Americadian Thanksgiving, held exactly half way between the two festivals. I discovered two things; I swoon in the presence of an American accent (so exotic! Just like a film star!) And pumpkin pie is horrible. I do however like cornbread stuffing and I've been fantasising about it ever since.

Photos by me.

China and cashmere...

As if the objects themselves were not gorgeous enough, the photographs of Caroline Swift's ethereal ceramics, organic glass shapes and understated cashmere are just delicious.

The most delicate wafer thin bowls



The most elegant cashmere cardigans



The most beautiful and ethereal objects



Vases to hold, to touch, to fill with a single perfect specimen



Bone china spoons. To eat breakfast? Perhaps not. To treasure? Most definitely.



Leaves fluttering to the floor



Orange glass to catch the light



Felt packaging, to wrap precious things




Dresses of the softest Italian linen to dress the part while you live your simple, chic life. Surrounded by objects too beautiful to imagine.



All pieces by Caroline Swift, an English artist who believes in the pleasure of slow, understated, timeless luxury.

Because puppies are not the only cute...

What with all my whining about wanting a puppy you may have found yourself under the impression that I am suffering a deficit of fluffy love in my life which isn't true, I'm just greedy.

While I have these boys I really have no business coveting owls, pygmy hippos or the cutest damn puppy in the whole bloggy world...

The Bunny

Although The Boy says that 'boys' really isn't accurate, seeing how we chopped their testicles off. (Not personally, we paid someone qualified to undertake the task. It cost a lot of money, £40 per testicle but at least now they don't spray pee on the walls and hardly ever hump each other's heads)


The Rabbit

The Rabbit doesn't give me much fluffy love, in fact I'm pretty sure he hates us. But it's ok, he's gorgeous and his indignation is really quite hilarious so we tolerate the silent 'fuck you' that emanates from him all day, every day.



The Bunny however is a darling and is more than willing to lie in your armpit for hours on end, licking your shoulder and shnuffling in your ear. Which makes up for the fact that he pees on himself and the floor and shoots poop like a popcorn machine.



Occasionally The Rabbit admits that he is not in fact the supreme being and does need sustenance beyond his disdain for the human population, giving in to showing the behaviour of mere mortals - drinking, digging and eating his own poop. Did you know that rabbits eat their own shit? Adorable.



Who would have thought it of that nose?


Photos by me and The Boy.