Butter chicken curry

On this day four years ago I met a very nervous Lovely Boy outside White City Station. He was going to cook me dinner for the very first time. We hadn’t kissed yet, we hadn’t flirted, we’d just spent time in our respective heads wondering and undoubtedly over-thinking.

Those who know LB know he’s not a braggart – unassuming, quiet, enthusiastic, gentle and genuine, yes – but a show off? Uh, no. So when he offered to cook me his butter chicken curry and told me it would be the best butter chicken curry I’d ever eaten I was intrigued.

Redefining memorable.

So. Mexico.

I don’t really know where to start. We’ve been back for a couple of weeks now – in fact it’s fucking February already – and I still haven’t quite got my perspective right on the whole thing.

Did I love Mexico? So very much. Hospitable people, gorgeous weather and the kind of beaches that knock the air from your lungs with their almost hysterical beauty.

Our hotel was the stuff of dreams – sea views, a large, languorous bed replete with princess mosquito nets, an authentic ocean soundtrack and an unpretentious, respectful architecture that nestled into the surrounds.

Was it the holiday we’d dreamed of? The holiday I’d spent months planning and even longer mentally packing for? In a word, no.

Good evening Westleton

Greetings 2013. I write in a brief window between vacations – let’s hope the year continues as it has begun. 

We’re only just back from five truly lovely days gallivanting through rural Suffolk and are now staring down two days of work before we fly to Mexico to celebrate Lovely Boy’s fortieth birthday and the small matter of our first wedding anniversary. Bring. It. On. I’ve been mentally packing for weeks (ok, ok months) and am giddy with anticipation about all the margaritas, guacamole, ceviche, Caribbean surf and sunshine and general down time with my LB that lies ahead.

And Suffolk was the perfect opening act. Even without the sunshine.

The girl who ate Christmas

I’m still digesting.

Christmas 2012 – Lovely Boy’s and my first together in London and I think we did it in style.

It’s been a strange experience sticking it out in London this December, when in all December’s past 

I’ve been itching to get home for a Sydney summer with the family and all but counting down the minutes until check-in at Terminal 3. That itch is still resolutely itchy but because I couldn’t scratch it this year I’ve been distracting myself with Christmas craft. And god has it felt good. I honestly wasn’t sure how I’d go, playing the long-game this winter, but really, even in confessing to a bout of tears yesterday, I’ve surprised myself at how well I’ve handled the cold and the lack of family distraction (though there’s still January, February and March to get through so plenty of time yet for a toy drop.)

Christmas party pratfalls

We had our work Christmas party on Tuesday night.

It was, genuinely, a lot of fun. I have the bruises to show for it.

FEAST

Oh the joys of an English winter. First the collective germ-sharing that is public transport dishes up a London-wide epidemic of stomach viruses and "vomiting bugs" (oh delightful) and then, when the immune system is down and out, along comes snot & co. to really amp up the already considerable gross factor.

All of which is a very whiny, long-winded way of saying, I'm currently at home with a box of tissues and a nose that's running at Olympic speed. The stomach bug has gone now thankfully but I wasn't much up for eating last weekend, which was totally inconvenient given we went not to a feast but The Feast on Sunday.

Carols at St Martin-in-the-Fields

The weekend festival of festivities continues today. Still wilfully ignoring my stomach bug, not least because this afternoon we're off to Feast, a pop up Christmas banquet in an old disused building in Islington where food will clearly be unavoidable... The terrible teenage girl in me would see this set of circumstances as a fortuitous silver lining but I'm an adult and so I'm pretending otherwise. Actually, the down-to-my-last-10-pounds-before-payday adult that I really am sees it as a shocking waste of money.

But enough with the slightly impolite discussion about stomach bugs and what happens when you feed them...

Christmas markets and frozen toes

Anyone who knows me knows I love a good market - flea market, antique market, food market, craft market - I love them all. Mostly because they encourage my unadulterated love of treasure hunting, or "looking for tat" as my lovely husband calls it.

The chance then to re-visit my old (and still favourite) neighbourhood on Wednesday night AND to pay a visit to the Columbia Rd Christmas markets while I was there was too good an opportunity to pass up...