Season of very mellow fruitfulness

Hello from casa Bath. Hope you are all well.

I realised that I harped on about the garden quite a bit earlier this year, but haven't mentioned it lately. Let's have a quick recap.

In the spring, we went all rural and planted courgettes, butternut squi, big tomatoes, small tomatoes, a pumpkin (courtesy of Tom & Barbara of Bath), onions, chillis, lupins and sweet peas. Several of these specimins were given a distinct evolutionary advantage by being nurtured indoors, in special compost, in a seed tray under a clear plastic lid. We followed their progress with great interest and even took them with us on a two-week sojurn back to Hampshire at a critical point in their development.

Here is a quick update.
Big tomatoes: there is an acutal NEST of spiders living in the big tomato plants so I haven't got too close. No
enticing orange ones seen from a safe distance, though.

Small tomatoes: more luck here, despite unfortunate sun/shrivelling incident whilst we were at Glastonbury. Got about twenty red tomatoes. Unfortunately they have diameters of only about 1cm,and are VERY mushy. Major success (given the rest of the haul).

Courgettes: two of ten plants have survived the slug/snail pit that is our garden. So far, we have had four courgettes. Second major success!

Pumpkins: Well. I am not exactly an organic gardener. Have surrounded pumpers (and courgos) with slug pellets. Garden in the sunshine is now like some sort of post-apocolyptic action set. Dead snails and slugs giving off a peculiar odour, and massive bluebottles feeding off the corpses. This did mean, however, that pumpers was spared the ravishing of the snails. The vine has grown to about 8ft long. Unfortunately however, it is being overtaken by some sort of creeping mildew which kills the leaves one at a time, about as quickly as the vine grows new ones. It is not very picturesque. There have been three pumpkins, and all have rotted and fallen off when about 2inches big (small). Not major success. Tom and Barbara, however, have a sister plant that has grown two whopping pumpkins. Our garden unfortunately overly plagued by pestilance and fungus..

Chillis: Potential massive success! Have kept them inside. Got about eight plants here plus several branches of the chilli family in Hampshire and London all going strong. Our biggest plant is five feet tall and has five chillis on it.

Onions: Pretty much a disaster. The leaves all got eaten by slugs, and then a fox moved into the onion bed, dug them up and pooed in the hole. We don't talk about the onions any more.

Pre Mr Fox: i never knew onions flowered! Ahh.

So, there you have it, the highlights of our vegetable-growing year. The best seasonal things I have eaten recently have come from my parents' garden. Every time I have seen them recently we have come away laden with bags of tomatoes and green beans and apples. Spending less time fighting slugs and repelling foxes, and more time driving up the M4 to visit the parental Eden, might be a more fruitful way to spend next summer!

Bf savaging the parental beans and toms. Note I had already eaten half a bowl of soup. I love the wedding dress shop!!! (!)

Apple crumbles (but you usually slice it..)

Right, that's it for now! Lots going on here as always. I'm about to go to the gym to hang out with the elite athletes of Bath (ahem).. see you soon!

The Marcus Diaries Part IV: Never say Dye (by hand)

For the beginning of this story, see the earlier post here.

So, we left the doomed t-shirt at the point where it was flecked with white bleached bits from the doomed toilet-cleaning exercise, and about to be rescued by the mighty Dylon. We have established that all that is available in Bath is hand dye, possibly because news of the washing machine hasn't yet penetrated the Guildhall Market.

Well, it is obvious now that things did not go well. But when I began, I was full of optimism. Don't get me wrong, Marcus is a very clever chap. He has a great many qualifications, and not satisfied with the four or so degrees and postgrad qualifications he already has, is now studying for another. However, he makes Dyloning seem SO EASY. 'Oh, let me take those trousers for you' he'll say. You hand over your slightly faded trousers (having first changed into another pair, it is not that kind of workplace). You receive updates on the trousers all week. At the end of the week, the trousers are returned to you, a deep, beautiful colour, the colour of their former selves, the colour that first drew you to them but they have since become such an old favourite that you haven't noticed them losing it (hmm, does this happen with husbands?). The trousers are freshly laundered, ironed and folded, and emerge from Marcus's special rucksack. All is well with the world and at no point has he mentioned being covered in sloshy murky water and scrubbing dubious brown marks off his kitchen work surface. So yes, when I began, I was full of optimism.

I ignored the first part of the instructions, 'Weigh dry fabric' - felt a bit mad weighing clothes.

I was marginally less optimistic when I was asked to dissolve the powder in 500ml of water, and got this:

It looks quite beautiful but equally quite disconcertingly mottled. I put the mottled stuff into a big pan and added more water and about a ton of salt, as advised.

I then read the next stage of the instructions (I am not a forward planner). 'Put unfolded damp fabric into bowl, dye for one hour. Agitate continually for first 15 minutes by squeezing the dye through the fabric and lifting out     of the solution. Stir regularly for another 45 minutes, keeping fabric submerged.'

I got a ladle and started to 'agitate'. This is what I was working with at this point:

I am not sure who in their right mind would wish to spend an hour agitating and stirring a big pan of brown. I thought about putting it in the food mixer but Dylon are very concerned that you know that the dye dyes EVERYTHING that is not steel, I was too scared to. Equally, I was too bored after three minutes to carry on. I phoned Marcus.

The most amazing coincidence occurred! Marcus had, ONLY THE DAY BEFORE, travelled to his parents' house to dye  his mother's shirt and, not having found the colour he wanted, had forsaken the machine dye for the hand dye! He did not give it rave reviews. Apparently he had spent the best part of his parental visit standing in the garden, leaning over a bucket with a big stick. To top off the glamour, the shirt had turned out a bit dodgy. I sensed he had lost a bit of faith in the Dylon.

My experience did not end well either. Marcus had put in maximum effort for little joy. When you hear that, you are not all that motivated to put in maximum effort yourself. I halfheartedly stirred the thing for a while and left it to soak. Hauled the shirt out, dripped brown everywhere, and left it to dry. It looked perfect when it was wet. When it was dry however, lo and behold, the little white spots returned.

My mum suggested colouring them in with a felt pen every time bf wears the shirt. This protocol has not been adopted and the much-loved shirt now sits forlornly at the back of the wardrobe.

The moral of this very, very long story is:  abandon all hope of hand dye. Possibly actually leave the dyeing to Marcus. He is In the Know. And he irons your clothes for you.

A holiday and a surprisingly acceptable new form of bathing

Salut chaps! Am back in the Bath after a trip to France. The place we stayed is called Seche Boue, which translates as Dry Mud. It lived up to its name despite MASSIVE thunderstorms pretty much every night. Lovely sunshine and lots of cheese and wine and bike rides.

It doesn't look sunny, but it WAS!

 Bf’s parents have a house there and it is pleasingly French. The thing is, what with me being a creature who loves baths, I am put off visiting because it has no bath. And no swimming pool. And no jaccuzi. And is far from the sea. Pas de plage, or whatever. Basically, no way to submerge oneself in water. Submersion in water is totally necessary to enjoy the day and in my opinion, an absolute must-have on holiday.

Bf has tried for some time to convince me that there is no problem, because there is a swimming lake near to the house. The thing is that like many other people, I am a bit wary of swimming in lakes.  They are murky and muddy and gloopy and occasionally a little smelly, but the thing that really gets me is the presence of FISH. And really of any other living creature.  Absolutely can’t stand the thought of them swimming around and brushing against me. EEegh. It was so hot, however, and I had eaten so much cheese, that the thought of exercising somewhere cooler than the land made me venture into the lake. And do you know what? I am quite the convert. For about half an hour I was very wary, especially as my anxieties were compounded by the fact that about a quarter of the lake was for swimming, and the rest for FISHING. Gah. However, apart from some massive scary bubbles in the middle of a calm bit of water, which I gave a wide berth to, had no fishy problems.

A corner of the garden. Isn't it just CRYING OUT for a hot tub/ jaccuzi/ plunge pool?!

 I would like to go back, and take the rubber dinghy and the big rubber rings. And my friend Jason. Jason once lead several of us on a rubber dinghy expedition down a mighty river near Tilford. He always blows up our inflatables with his tenacious lips. He is generally King of all things Joyous on Water, so he must come too.

Whilst we were away, I discovered the most adorable thing about bf. He still has his duvet cover from when he was a little boy! It’s in the house in France. I went into the bedroom after he’d made the bed and he was all tucked up under this:

Red lorry, yellow lorry.. :)

Lots of other things to tell you about France but I will wait til I’ve managed to upload some more photos (these are from my phone – the proper camera requires a cable – needy!).

So for now, we are back to life, back to reality. I took my work to France and got a lot done. However, still have about another fifteen pages of very dense text to write in an unfeasibly short amount of time. Must find myself a warm body of water to make things more bearable.. happily, I live rather close to this place!

Country life II

Just to add to what I was saying before re the benefits of country living:

• Nobody has torched, broken, robbed or injured anything in my street or town.

This is something that I am very grateful for (my house is utterly un-riot-proof) but it is just a matter of chance that we haven't been affected. Had we been at either of our previous two addresses in London this past week we would have been right in the heart of it. My heart goes out to the people who have lost things dear to them over the last week. The UK has enough to deal with without its own people turning on each other.

It must've been terrifying to be in the police this past week. What a fantastic job they and their families have done to stay calm and strong and restore some peace.

The Marcus Diaries: Part III

About two months ago, we had an unfortunate incident where bf was cleaning his favourite thing (the loo) whilst wearing his favourite garment (a brown t-shirt). Bleach flicked at him from the loo brush. Possibly due to his line of work, he does not take well to fluids being flicked at him. He was upset. Particularly upset when he realised that the cleaning of the favourite thing had caused the inadvertent destruction of the favourite garment. Small white bleached spots had appeared all down the front of it.

Now, we are currently saving all the money in the world for things such as wedding rings and honeymoon food. Buying a new favourite brown t-shirt (from bf's favourite - and rather pricey - shop) was not an option. I thought - What Would Marcus Do? And of course I knew, instantly. Even before I had asked the question. Dylon Dylon Dylon.

I went to the hardware store. Lots of watering cans, but no dye. I went to the chemist. Lots of hair bobbles, but no dye. I walked into town. Lots of tourists. Instinctively wanted to go to Woolworths. Sad! Went to a fabric shop. No dye. Went to the market. Dye!! BUT. Bath is a very nice Georgian city. News of the Washing Machine does not appear to have reached the Nice Georgian City. It was therefore Dylon hand dye. I thought: Dylon! How wrong can this go?!

I will tell you later about the Saga of the Hand Dye. When I got to the speckled-water stage above, I had to call Marcus for expert advice.

Country life

I know I live in a city. It does feel very countrified though, compared to Woolwich. I was lying in bed last night thinking about how life has changed since we left London. I have also changed. Am less anxious generally. Pleased about that! Here is a list of things that are different.

• The kitchen has more than one square foot of work surface. We can cook actual meals.
• Seating 10 people round the dining table is achievable and cooking for them does not involve balancing roasting trays on top of dishes on the floor.
• The dining table is a permanent item and does not need to be dragged into the middle of the living room to extend a flap when there are more than three people trying to eat
• Guests sitting at the dining table do not have to sit on piles of cushions on the sofa a la booster seats
• We own two sledges and have enough storage that I do not see them, stub my toe on them and curse them every day
• We own two sledges!
• I am interested in what the weather is doing as this affects what I might want to do
• I have eaten a vegetable from my garden
• I have a garden!
• We went to Glastonbury and got home within 45 minutes
• We went to Glastonbury and left our two front sash windows open about a foot each
• We went to Glastonbury and left our two front sash windows open about a foot each, got home within 45 minutes and NOBODY HAD STOLEN ANYTHING!
• The neighbours know our names
• The neighbours smile at us
• The neighbours do not seem to be selling packets of anything to people who roll up in cars with blacked-out windows
• I see bf a lot more :o)

There are downsides, but there are definate upsides to being in the bath!

Take care chaps

Short Fat Wendy

It has been wet in the Bath recently. Wetter than one would expect, even for a Bath, in June. Due to the inclemency, bf and I have been unable to indulge in our new evening activity of running into the garden, extracting our bikes from the reluctant shed and cycling off to drink cider somewhere leafy. We have watched all of the West Wing DVDs that we own and as such, are now forced to Make our Own Entertainment.

About ten weeks ago, I was seized with an urge to make a fabric bird. I am not sure where this urge came from. I suspect it may have been subliminally implanted as a result of a sewing box that I got for Xmas from bf. The sewing box sits in the corner of the living room (it is frankly too huge to fit in any cupboard) so I see it every day. I think that this seeing it every day germinated some sort of very dormant and very slight creativity.

(Just to go off on a tangent, I am not sure why bf gave me, a person whose previous ‘sewing box’ was a small tin containing two reels of cotton, one black and one white, plus numerous hotel sewing kits, a sewing box big enough to hold two large cats. I am not sure why he gave to me for Christmas but in hindsight I should have recognised this as a Sign. He also gave me slippers and a frilly apron, and two weeks later we were engaged).

To be fair to him, it is quite a brilliant sewing box. I think I have a picture of it. If I do, it will be here:

I didn't have a picture, but Google did.

Anyhow, back from the tangent. The fabric bird-making urge. I googled around a bit and came up with this fantastic Wendy the Bird pattern from the fantastic Lollychops: For those of you who are interested, I decided to make the ‘short wide Wendy’ version.

I had lots of fabric samples left over from when I was panicking about having to buy a sofa/curtains a while back (happily this was averted by renting a house from a man who seemingly upped and left in the middle of the night, leaving practically ALL of his possessions here for us to use..). I found the samples. I opened my massive sewing box. I took out my tiny sewing tin and opened that. I got out my black thread, and pinned the Wendy shapes to the fabric (the massive sewing box pleasingly came ‘complete’ with two massive pins). I tacked it on with giant stitches.

She had me at hello.

Next, I cut around the pattern to make Wendy-shaped bits of fabric. Then I hand-stitched the bits together (using backstitch, remembered from school) apart from a bit by her tail, turned her inside out thru the hole in her tail, and hey presto! floppy wendy!

Next, I ran upstairs and looked for an old cushion that I could decimate in the name of Wendy. I found the one that used to sit on the chair that bf sat on for years to do his revision. He has done all his exams now, so no more revision cushion required! It was also in a pretty bad state to be honest. All tattered and worn. So I chopped it open and pulled out the stuffing, and Wendy sprang to life!

At this stage Wendy was plump but could not see. I had a look in my Granny’s old button tin and found a couple of buttons from an old Topshop top. Really I should’ve looked a bit harder as Wendy’s eyes are slightly crazed. But here she is! Short Fat Wendy (as she is affectionately known)!

Flushed with success, I thought I’d make a Wendy for my Mum. Also made out of curtain samples. This one is called Mandy. Her eyes are more normal:

I can't help thinking Mandy looks rather gormless.

Then, we had an inaugural visit from my friend Steph (her of the my-friend-Steph-who-loves-men-in-historical-costumes fame). Steph spotted Wendy and I gave her a pattern. Steph took the pattern home. Steph’s domestic god boyfriend spotted the pattern. Steph’s socks got sacrificed. I am delighted to introduce Matilda!

Matilda is flying the flag for the rainbow birds.

Matilda is as you can see rather more evolved than either Wendy or Mandy. Wendy and Mandy are flightless due to my lack of patience in attaching wings. Matilda however has the world at her feathertips.

I do hope this has inspired you to have a go at a bird next time it rains. A fabric one I mean. May I suggest teatowels and old pillowcases, if you are not the sort to have bits of fabric lying about the house. It is very satisfying indeed. And if you do make a bird, send me a pic and I will add it to my Hall of Fame (bgarrr!)!

See you soon chaps J

Gratuitous shot of Bath, from a non-rainy bike ride out to the west last week!

Perils of the library

So I used to write this blog whilst on the train. However, I recently discovered a library full of joyous books RIGHT NEXT DOOR TO WHERE I WORK. This means that I am now absorbed in my favourite trashy fiction for the entire journey. The entire should-be-one-hour-but-is-in-reality-1.5h-though-we-don't-admit-it so-you-can't-bring-yourself-to-accept-it journey, thank you First 'Great' Western. I have recently taken to affectionately calling the train company 'First Late Western', and something a little shorter when I'm really angry with them. Anyhow. Gives me more time for reading so that is nice!

The train that I get from the little station where I work is a little tiny train which goes into the main station where I change to get back to Bath. There are some eccentric characters there, and some very smart gentlemen as well. Here is a picture of my train neighbour yesterday; I am sure I don't need to tell you which category he falls into.

I hope you have some good plans for the weekend. We are going cycling with my parents and some of bf's family. A bit like Enid Blyton, possibly. There is a large range of ages and fitness amongst both the people and the bikes so it should be good fun! I will tell you about it after the weekend.

Finally, look, here is a really beautiful plant that I gave to my mum and dad the other day. I had never seen anything like it. Little golden pouches which glowed and swayed in the sunlight and had dustings of red on them. Ahh.

See you soon!

Exam.. done!

Hullo chaps! I have missed you. I was doing a statistics exam. It had questions which contained phrases like 'Suppose that X has a binomial distribution B(100,0) and that a prior for 0 is beta (5,3). State the posterior for o, giving the values of any parameters'.

I kept thinking about things I wanted to write on here, but had to crush them and think about posteriors (distracting) and probability density functions (strange). So I am very pleased the exam is done!

The exam was on Thursday and I was totally exhausted on Friday. Could not concentrate at work so took the work home with me and sat staring at it blankly at home instead. I am happy to report that the exhaustion was temporary and by Friday evening I had written about some bacteria AND made a pavlova and about twenty kebabs for the massive BBQ we had that evening.

I attempted to decorate the table using things I found in the cupboard and the garden. Many of these were the result:

I was moderately pleased. Not quite channelling Westminster Abbey on April 29th but a better job than anything we could have foraged from any of our previous gardens.

Bf prepared for the BBQ by chopping the hedge to make space for people. Hedge was previously unruly in manner of bf's hair so this was a great improvement. Luckily hedge trimming is Manly Activity requiring Power Tool and Safety Goggles so he was quite keen to do it.

Trimmy McPhee

On Saturday we went to the Roman baths. This was very exciting. We had baths in Bath and then went to the baths (bf had a shower actually but that is not quite so pleasing or themed)! SUCH a good day. I last went to the baths with my parents when I was about eight years old. I remember them being ok but a bit smelly and not that fascinating. This time, however, I was enchanted! They have done SUCH a good job with the renovation and really brought them to life. There's a really good audio tour where a learned-sounding lady babbles about the history and archelology, and then Bill Bryson does a 'reflective' bit which basically consists of going 'wow, isn't it old, imagine what it was like, wow, oh, they'd have all been naked, wow'. This is quite nice to listen to as it a) makes you stop and absorb the place and b) if you are already thinking something along the lines of 'wow this place is old', it makes you feel clever for thinking like Bill Bryson.

There are projectors which run videos of Roman people wandering about the baths wrapped in towels (poor Bill), and a reconstruction of what the front of a temple that was on the site would have looked like, using bits of 2000 yr old stone carving that they have dug up, along with lights and projections to add the missing bits and colours. Absolutely incredible.

The most memorable bit was when bf and I just sat down at the side of the biggest bath. It was a slightly chilly day and the breeze wafted the warmth from the water over us. It was very atmospheric. There was also a man who was dressed up like a Roman who said he was a trader from the Germanic Homelands or something, but spoke with a Welsh accent. I think my friend Steph would have liked him, she generally seems to be interested in all types of men in themed costumes.

You can't swim in the baths because they're not very clean. This in itself is interesting. My work is all about bacteria and I was desperate to know what the funny growths in the water were! They were gently gyrating and looked pretty cool.

Little growths under the water. What are you?

Righto, bf has just called and he is on his way home after being on call. I must go and get the meat pie in the oven! Am practicing for being a wife.

See you again soon. I feel a Marcus Diaries coming on...

Eggsellent.

We have had a lovely Easter and managed (worryingly quickly) to relax and forget all about statistics, medicine, clinics, tiny molecules, bacteria, exams, damp/leaky house, PhD, wedding planning etc etc. Bf and I went to stay with my parents and spent most of the weekend with them and my aunt and brother. Many games of swingball were had, and much lazing in the sun occured. On Easter Sunday we went to Pangbourne for lunch by the Thames and wandered through the water meadows. Lots of boats drove(?!) past as we were eating scotch eggs. I am not sure if I would like a boat. You seem to have to sit there looking serious pretending to be serious boat type (+/- peaked boat hat) whilst everybody on the towpath stares at you and says things like 'bet that one cost about £300k. You'd have to be on it every week to make that worthwhile eh. Oh no, I don't like it. Looks a bit small and there's no outside space to speak of...'. On other hand, is probably very handy indeed for getting about in comfort in event of large flood. But having boat for contingency purposes in event of biblical flood not overly economical. Anyway I digress.

We had taken a BBQ with us in the hope of having sausages (bf loves sausages. He does have a nice soul though, so is not like my old boss and therefore is acceptable). Sadly there was a giant sign which said 'NO BBQs', with a strategically positioned police car sitting right next to it, complete with very pale and possibly not sun-loving policemen (it's true what they say, he looked about 15 to me..). The policeman was hovering some distance away from where a group of people had set up a giant monster BBQ. He told us that it was not actually illegal to possess the BBQ, but the moment it was lit, he would have to extinguish it and report the name of the responsible lightee to the PARISH COUNCIL! We decided it was just too risky to um, risk. Luckily, it turned out my mum had brought a small foil parcel of cooked sausages in her bag (is possibly only woman in world who brings contingency cooked meat to meat-cooking events. I have many things to learn.).

Do you have any family traditions? My family have a few. Is funny how they seem normal to you if that's what you grew up with. Am not sure bf thinks is all entirely normal but he is very accepting. I in turn am fairly accepting of his familial tendency to eat cold meats, gherkins and hummus for breakfast.

At home, every year, we decorate hard-boiled eggs the day before Easter and then bash them together one at a time on Easter morning. The holder of last egg to crack wins. There is no prize, the glory is more than enough.  As the 'children' in the family (ie me and my 23 yr old brother) have aged the decoration has become more elaborate than the spots and stripes of old. Last year we had egg-heads of all the family. They were startlingly realistic but as you probably don't know my family, I won't share them as it will a) be meaningless and b) possibly mean that every time I refer to someone you imagine an egg version of them, which would be mostly inaccurate.

This year's eggs had a wider a-peel (hard boiled..) based as they were on the upcoming Royal Wegging. Have a look below. Bf is a genius and drew Queen and Charles. I am less genuis and drew Wills and Kate. Brother, like me, has talents in other areas, and drew Harry and Camilla. What do you think?

Wedding Party: L-R Prince Charlegg, Camillegg, Williegg, Kegg Middleton, Heggy and Queen Egglizabeth. Oh and a simnel cake in the background. Never had one before. Nice. Not too Xmas cakey considering the overlap in key ingredients.

Nestling at the fridge after-party. Spot the lemon. And Faceless Man!

My family are very original when it comes to Easter eggs.

I hope you have a good week this week, at work or at play. I'm at home tomorrow as my work is closed - will be revising for my stats exam but hopefully sitting in the sun while I'm at it! See you later!

Three lovely things from today

A few interesting and pleasingly pictorial things today. Firstly, a vegetable update: my, how much they've grown! They were only yay high last time we saw them. Etc.

Here are a squash (in front) and courgette (shy, hiding behind). And a coffee pot and watering can. Squash has a purple pipe cleaner crutch as legacy of a terrible accident that befell - literally - it on the way back from its vacation at my parents' house. This plant was actually the sole survivor; many others were lost in a nasty coolbox-falling-sideways-out-of-the-car accident and it was touch and go for a while. But to look at him now, you'd hardly know.

I find it interesting watching things grow. Who knew for example that their first leaves are different from all their other leaves? Well, my mum says she knew that from her biology a-level but who ELSE knew?! Not me! They're called cotyledons. And what a good word that is! The cotyledons seem to shrivel up and die as the normal leaves get established. You can see them at the base of the stem here. They were quite juicy looking when the plant was young.

Squash and courge - six weeks old on Saturday. Party time!

Secondly, a fashion spot. Now, having just moved from London to what I consider to be 'the countryside', I am finding many differences in my daily exposure to clothes on the trains and streets of Britain. But today's spot is not a new thing. Oh no, these beauties are not unique to the South West - although if they were I would be more forgiving. If they were for example some sort of brilliant development in agricultural / farming technology (eg cloven hoofed appearence means they don't scare the cattle..), I would think them a little more excusable. But alas, I believe they first appeared last year in Heat on Danielle Lloyd, and toward the end of the summer people were wearing them in London. I don't know what they're called and refuse to google it but they are a sort of combination between a boot and a flip-flop. Perhaps they are called boot-flops. Or floots (which is also a good word but not as good as cotyledon). Whatever their name, their appearance is questionable and their practicality even more so. I find them quite yuk. But I am fully aware that if enough of them start to appear, they will begin to look normal, and then even desirable (ref. appearence of skinny jeans - crazy horrid things on the back of the bootleg 90s, but now entirely normal. Oh but we're back to flares again now, which look weird...). And then I will buy some. Such is life.

Floots, boot-flops, whatever, at the station. The two-way colour combo makes them even more desirable doesn't it?!

Finally, the best thing - have you tried a magnum double caramel?! AMAZING. I have always been a Feast girl personally. Magnums a bit too dull and vanilla-ee. But this one.. oh my god.. TWO layers of chocolate sandwiching a gorgeous gooey layer of caramel.. lasts for ages and tastes divine. Woop!

More nice things from the garden. I think you can just make out the double layer of choc and the gooey caramel bit. Mmh. I have just realised it looks a bit like mucus. It's not! It's lovely!!

Bath Time

Being in Bath (as opposed to the bath) is a new thing. Bf and I moved down from London last year and it has required more adjustment than I expected. Lots of things have happened since we moved, some wonderful and some very sad, and along with the new house, new jobs, new people and new city it has been a lot to take in. HOWEVER one brilliant thing about living here is that we have a LOT more space (to have people to stay and to store both 1. fun stuff and 2. bf's collection of ever so learned and ever so important and cannot under any circumstances be chucked out or accidently ruined and therefore oh dear might as well be got rid of  papers). Also, and even more brilliantly, we have a garden!

If you are in the UK you will know that we are currently experiencing an unseasonal mini summer (hopefully this is a taster of what's to come and not our actual summer, that would be +++ sad!). Sunglasses, flipflops and flowing skirts have been broken out and today there was a girl on my very humid train in denim hotpants so short that you could see her bum. The train was full and she was rubbing her bum against the back of my seat as the train swayed. The man opposite had to suddenly read this morning's Metro. I alternated between terrible jealousy and mild disapproval (I am nearly 30 after all. Everyone should shop at White Stuff, no? ;o) )

Anyway, back to the domestic side of things. We ignored the garden when we first moved in and got a bit of a shock when spring came, it defrosted and turned itself into the South West's answer to Wisley. It is quite nice out there and although I still view gardening as being almost as bad as housework we have had a lovely time out there over the last few days. Lots of flash BBQs, plus bf has been enjoying lazing around in a hammock that I bought from a pirate museum when I was 12. Massive bargain! Here's a pic of the hammock, plus BBQ which I think looks a bit like it's plotting to scuttle off somewhere. It actually belongs to the landlord so perhaps it wants to follow him to France for the summer (having wintered here in the shed hanging with the hoes; not much fun to be had for BBQs in the Alps over winter I would imagine).

Now we have a garden, we have done the predictable late 20's thing of trying to grow something useful in it. Here are our courgettes and butternut squi. They are babies here; they have gone supermegagiant in the three weeks since this was taken! Oh how quickly they grow up! Am so glad I have been here for this important time! Enjoy them whilst they're small, they'll never be that little again! Boil them and eat them! Hehehe!!

The kids on holiday at my mum and dad's house. Courgettes on the right, squi on the left. The courgs grew faster than the squash. That monster one started growing about 4 days after we planted it!

Age 14 days. He has definitely regained his birth weight!

The Marcus Diaries: Part II

Hello again! Sorry about the long silence! I have been a bit busy with wedding preparations, the garden (unexpectedly gone mad with all the sun and due to many visitors required urgent taming in manner of lady who has not gone to hairdresser for a year , had an unsuccessful run-in with a home-highlighting kit and has to meet the in laws in 2hrs time), the new job and our new obsession with dashing outside, wrestling with the shed, extracting and and then attaching accessories onto our bikes.

So anyway, before I vanished I promised you pictures of the Dylon Days. My first ever Marcus And The Dylon photo is below! I used to take them at work. I sat kind of diagonally behind Marcus and he never much seemed to mind posing really. Pictured are the original and infamous trousers - with slightly prominant zip, which probably contributed to aforementioned Fade. There are a few interesting things about this outfit:

1. The shirt has been dyed, as well as the trousers. 100% of this outfit has been customised by Marcus.
2. The shirt was originally light blue with lighter blue/pinky stripes (I quite liked it). The Dylon has taken differently to the different stripes, adding a certain depth to the shirt.
3. Despite using different colour dyes, it seems to me that there is something about the two colours, possibly the intensity, which makes them look very similar.
4. Shirt has evidently been sewn with non-cotton stitching to which the dye has not been attracted at all. This lends it a dangerous line-dancing style je ne sais quoi.

There is more where this came from - but enough for now, plenty to be getting on with! See you soon!

Marcus Outfit 1. Trousers: model's own. Shirt: model's own.

The Marcus Diaries Part I: Overcoming crotch fade

'What is crotch fade?!' I hear you cry. 'What are the symptoms? Am I at risk? Is it something that comes with age, along with bald patches and saggy jowls and hairs that grow out of the top of your nose? Is there a treatment? Is it reversible? Has the Daily Mail written about it at length? What is the incidence and prevalence and, god forbid, the mortality rate?'

Well. Crotch fade walks amongst us. It is on the tube, in parks, in cinemas and in offices. To our great despair, it was in my old office. But never fear. It looks to be curable. Marcus is, as we speak, engaged in a pilot study to eradicate it from my old workplace.

The presentation of crotch fade is as follows. (Wo)man walks into your office, wearing a pair of much-loved, well-used, dark-coloured and doubtless very comfortable trousers. Your chair is (in the most part unfortunately) at a height which means your eyes fall naturally at belt-height when somebody walks up to your desk. (Wo)man approches. Your eyes are magnetically drawn to their trousers by something that is just not quite right. And there it is! The crotch fade. Faded over the top of the zip, from years and years of being rubbed and worn in washing machines and other scenarios. Faded in a vertical line from belt to crotch.

Sometimes, crotch fade can be identified by the wearer themselves and the offending trousers relegated to the textiles bin / 'painting clothes' pile (for the day that you envisage might come where you no longer live with crusty yellowed landlordly woodchip and actually paint a wall yourself). Sometimes, the wearer is oblivious. But sometimes, although identified by the wearer, the trousers are loved SO MUCH that (s)he continues to wear them despite the fade, hopeful that it is not as bad in real life as it appears in front of the mirror. This is what happened to Marcus. Eventually, not being able to hide the magnetic attraction of my eyes to his crotch for another day, I mentioned The Fade to him. He said how much he loved his trousers. I suggested (not entirely seriously it has to be said), fabric dye. Marcus was VERY interested in the idea, which in his eyes offered sanctuary and rehabilitation for old but much loved clothing. And so, the Dylon Chronicles began.

Dylon has now become something of a passion in the office. Marcus has been known to take in clothes from his colleagues, launder, dye and press them, and return them in a rejuvinated state. This service is very popular and he is something of a dye pimp amongst the three or so people who are in the inner circle of Dylon knowledge.

I am sure you are dyeing to see some pictures. When I get home, I will post some. This you will want to see!!

Have a good Thursday, all.

The Marcus Diaries - prologue

Marcus is a great one to share an office with. Every Tuesday and Wednesday (the days he actually turned up at work), he would give me his leftover breakfast melon chunks. This continued for several months until two fateful days in a row when the melon tasted funny. He was not imagining it tasting funny. It tasted a bit like kippers.

After that, he took to buying sandwiches from Pret and eating them for breakfast. I think he liked the sandwiches more than the melon, as I never got a look in. It was an enjoyable time despite this, as we got to watch as he consumed a large lunch for breakfast, and a large lunch for lunch, whilst never becoming fat. Mrs Lemon and I could live our fantasy food lives vicariously through him as we diligently recorded our daily calories on MyFitnessPal (this particular phase lasted for about a week, although it is sometimes resurrected. With clauses, such as 'i ate that when I was drunk/tired/cross/out/bored/about to go swimming/ intending to go swimming so it doesn't count').

Marcus likes to be clean and he likes everything to be in its place, sometimes parallel to its closest object and preferably stored in the box it came in when it was purchased. He hates the underground but cannot tolerate the idea of not living by a tube station. He is very generous and will often bring in sweets and biscuits that he used to eat as a child for us to try. He grew up abroad so these things are quite novel to us. And often come in dayglow colours.

Marcus is visually very pleasing, selecting his outfits with great care. He has recently become a fan of the restorative powers of Dylon and this has greatly and literally brightened our days! The story of Marcus and the Dylon is a tale of challenges that we have all faced, overcome by Dylon and Marcus's unsuspecting landlord's washing machine. Drop by later for more!

M's desk, with pen in specialist mini one-pen-only pencil case placed at jaunty angle

Best Job In The World

I am about to leave my job and I feel rather blue. This is largely because I have the Best Job In The World. I've been in it for almost two years; long enough to know what I'm doing but not long enough to get restless and start obsessively checking recruitment websites.

Best Job In The World - BJITW - was created, advertised, directed and supported by the Best Boss In The World. In previous jobs I have worked variously for people who ignored, patronised, and/or took pot shots at their staff with a bb gun. In the not too distant past I worked for people who appeared to have no souls and a passion only for refined meat products. So it has been completely brilliant to work for someone who is very human, very kind, very supportive and encouraging and inspirational, and seems to genuinely care about his employees. Ahh...

Contributing massively to the status of the BJITW are the Best Colleagues In The World. These guys are a complete officey family with only a hint of the Green Wing about them. I will tell you a bit about them shortly. Here's a picture of Mrs Lemon, working hard, to whet your appetite. I have skillfully anonymised her (yes I am very arty) but facial appendage is the model's own...

Tomorrow I will tell you more, and may begin the Marcus Diaries. Marcus has recently discovered Dylon and has been applying it to his outfits. Academic Chic eat your heart out.. This you do not want to miss!