Weight(y) Matters

Hi. I have lost weight. I am aware of this as it is my body that has diminished in size and I do spend the vast majority of my time inside my body. There really is no need to point this out, certainly not in the way that I have encountered in the recent weeks, maybe even months.

I used to be fat. I wasn’t always fat. I have been various different sizes during my nearly 35 years walking this lovely earth. I have been a “normal size”. Then I was overweight. Then I was skinny. Then overweight, then small again, then slowly getting fatter until I decided to do something about it.  Now I am no longer fat. Regardless of my weight or size, there have always been people who seem to think it appropriate to comment on it. These are mostly people meaning well or people who may not realise the impact of their flippant comments but can I please just address one and all of you when I say there is no need for you to comment on weight lost or gained. To anyone.

Granted, my weight loss right now is noticeable. Shedding 30% of your body weight tends to show. I am pleased and proud of myself for the hard work that I put in and that paid off but listening to comments about my weight is never something I want to be subjected to. Nobody should be. You may mean well by exclaiming “Wow, you’ve gone to nothing!”. I am aware. The pounds didn’t magically vanish overnight and I am not in a state of shock trying to figure out why my trousers won’t stay on me all of a sudden. Step aside, Captain Obvious, I’ve got this.

When I first started losing weight, all the comments on my appearance were positive. As I continued to lose weight, the tone changed.

“Ooh, don’t you think you’re losing too much?”

“Have you stopped eating altogether?”

“Turn sideways and we won’t be able to see you!”

“Be careful now, you don’t want to overdo it”

“Are you sure you’re not ill?”

That last one really baffles me. Really. What if I was ill? How would you feel if I turned around and told you I was seriously ill and that was why I had lost weight? Bet you’d think twice about blurting out the first thing that crosses your mind. Sometimes I think that is said only in search of juicy gossip but then that’s awfully cynical of me, isn’t it?

To the commenters exclaiming that I “must’ve stopped eating” , let me assure you, that is not only physically impossible, going against every survival instinct years or evolution has hammered into you, also something I would never be able to do because I love food. Maybe you’ve never seen me destroy a three course dinner but rest assured, if you’ve seen me eat, you know what the likelihood of me ever letting go of that pleasure good food gives me is.

I mentioned this on Twitter this morning and discovered these seemingly well meaning people are everywhere. No matter what the person’s size, there’s always someone out there to pass comment on it. And make assumptions. If you’re fat, you’re lazy, eat badly and sit on your arse all day. And apparently it’s ok to point this out. If you’re slim, you’re unhealthy, don’t eat and are about to collapse from exhaustion. Apparently it’s okay to point this out, too.

I feel amazing. I have more energy, I love the way I look and I can run a decent distance without wheezing my lungs out. To achieve this, I eat so I don’t pass out while exercising. It really is that simple. On the days I don’t exercise (and this may shock some people) I also eat because that’s what you need to do in order to stay alive. The fact that you don’t see me eat doesn’t mean I don’t do it. There are a lot of things I do that you can’t see. For example, I shower every day. You don’t see me do it, yet I do it and nobody has questioned my personal hygiene habits purely on the basis of the lack of visual proof.

What annoys me is the assumption these people make that it is perfectly acceptable to pass a comment on someone’s weight or appearance. Not everyone welcomes it, no matter how positively you mean it. I daresay most people would feel awkward having someone you don’t even know that well making a comment about how you look. I, for one am touchy enough when it’s coming from someone I love. Just don’t say it unless the person you’re talking to has explicitly asked you to comment on their weight. Even then it may be best to avoid commenting altogether. Weight is a touchy subject.

Even if it is “just words”, you are invading my personal space with your comments and opinions. Just like a touch, when unwanted, it is uncomfortable. I work with people, a lot of people. I can meet and chat to hundreds every day. Not one has passed an unwanted comment. It’s the ones who know me superficially who seem most keen to point out there’s less of me than there was a few years ago. Again; I am aware. There has been a few leery ones. The really uncomfortable ones where a man (yes, always a man. I’m only stating a fact, not hating everyone with a penis) decides he needs to inform me that due to my weight loss I am now more or less attractive to him than I was before. Yeah. I really don’t want to know. I really, really don’t need to know that you may spend a moment thinking about me in a way that is in no way related to what I do for a living. I’m not saying I don’t do that about people I meet but at least I have the common sense to keep these thoughts to myself.

Now, if you find yourself just itching to pass a comment on someone’s appearance, here’s a few you can try instead:

                “You look great”

                “ I like your top/jeans/shoes/hair/scarf/eyes etc..”

                “What a lovely smile”

                “You look happy”

If talking to someone you’re not all that particularly fond of, add sarcastic tone to the statements above and you’re good to go.

Getting There

Let's talk about exercise for a while, shall we? Yes, really. Exercise and being healthy, to be more exact. I know, if we were to rewind back in time to about 2 years ago, even I would be laughing. Yes, me talking about exercise and healthy(ish) living.

I posted this photo on Twitter and Facebook recently. Just shows you where it started and where I am now. Actually, I may be a tiny bit further than the "after" photo since it's six months old now but you get the idea. On the left, I'm singing at my brother's wedding in September 2012. On the right, I'm posing for a mirror selfie at home in March 2014.

So, what happened in between? I wish I could tell you. If I had a simple answer, something that set it all in motion, I'd bloody bottle it and make my millions faster than you can say "Run, fat bitch, run!". Something did click in my head, though. Some people might put it down to the fact that I turned 30 in 2011 and all that but I'd like to think that had only a little to do with it.

Anyway, that winter I made the most of my free time. I walked. Just walked because it didn't require anything more than the runners I already had and the comfy trackie bottoms I was wearing to arse about the house in. I also took full advantage of the miles of car-free paths at work. I can tell you there's nothing more frightening than walking down a country road around here when you know around the next corner there could well be a predatory car hurtling towards you, its next victim. In short; roads here are narrow and people drive like lunatics.

Food-wise I really got into 5:2 diet.5 days of eating normally, 2 days of restricting your calorie intake to 500kcal per day. Worked for me, since there were days at work when I'd only eat very little if anything at all and eat only once I got home. On the fasting days I never felt hungry, the day after I only ever felt lovely and light and full of energy. I must say I've talked to people who've had terrible experiences with the same diet so I am only speaking for myself when I say it actually works. It made me take a good look at my relationship with food and actually minding what I put into my body. Saying that, I still eat rubbish. Just in moderation.

Back to exercise. I never liked exercise unless it was for a purpose. I didn't see being healthy and fitter as a purpose until now. What started as walking soon progressed into jogging and running. And to my surprise I actually loved it! I loved the feeling of setting off on my lap knowing that with the music in my earphones and the steady beat of my feet on the road would help me clear my head of whatever might be floating about in there. It didn't always feel great, there were days when I would've rather been just about anywhere else but the knowledge of that floaty, happy, endorphin-induced bliss at the end of it was enough to keep me going.

There's one particular run I remember vividly and it's that one I conjure up in my head when I need motivation. It was a perfect setting. February this year, dusk. I was on the last quarter of my lap, I had just cleared the small incline and was on the terrace of a Victorian castle. The castle to my left, to my right a lake, its surface like a mirror. Beyond the lake mountains growing darker as the sun was setting. In front of me a wooded path and beyond that more mountains. Biffy Clyro's 'Biblical' was blasting through the earphones. I had found my stride.In that moment, I'm fairly certain I could've ran all the way home.


So, that's where I was and that's where I need to get to again. Sadly my joints have aged with me and my poor battered knee has decided to remind me that what happened when I was good 15 years younger than I am now, will come back and bite you if you don't look after yourself. Patellar dislocation or a wandering kneecap, as he's also known, has me off running and jogging for a while. So I'm walking. Walking and wishing I was running instead. Hopefully in another six months I'll be able to tell you I'm back on first name terms with my stride, but for now I'll remind myself that I was there once, I'll get there again. In time.

Duvet Days

It's been raining heavy for what feel like weeks now. I'm sure it's not actually weeks but nonetheless, that's what it feels like. Outside everything is saturated, soggy, sopping wet. The rain is like a relentless morse code tapping on the roof, pausing every so often to catch its breath, showing a glimpse of a blue sky and a ray of sunlight coming through before picking up where it left off. It's the perfect weather for a duvet day.

I managed a solid eleven hours of sleep on Monday night. I woke up on Tuesday my body sore from spending too much time horizontally, but my head fantastically clear compared to my state of mind over the few days preceding that. I blame the full moon, I never sleep right for about a week and find myself wondering what the hell is wrong with me until I realise it's out lunar companion in the sky messing with my sleep pattern.

Lily having a duvet day

I didn't venture far yesterday. Only as far as the shops to pick up a few bits I needed to make butternut squash soup. That was after I had chased one of the cats around the house to give her a tablet. For the first few days I was able to stick the tablet in her mouth and wait for her to swallow it. She soon copped onto this and somehow developed an ability to hold onto the tablet until I let her go, after which she spat the tablet onto the floor by my feet and ran off. My next tactic was to wrap the tablet in some salami. his worked a treat until she realised what was going on, and ate the salami around the tablet and proceeded to bat the tablet around the kitchen floor until it ended up under the fridge out of reach to both human and feline paws. Currently I'm wrapping the tablets in ham. When she sniffs out this ruse, I'm at a loss. What next?

Soon-to-be soup

This weather is perfect for duvet days, lazy days, days spent on the sofa by the fire with a good book. I love cooking on days like this, too. The warmth in the kitchen wards off the rain, and cooking with no deadlines and no time limitations can be very therapeutic. It's proper me-time. Just me and my ingredients, hands in the mixing bowl, measuring ingredients, binding them together, feeding more than just hungry bellies. Yesterday it was meat loaf with hidden boiled eggs inside (I think I got that one from Nigella). Blueberry pie with custard for dessert. All gobbled up by the fire, under a blanket big enough for two. Bliss.

Blueberry pie

I haven't set foot outside today, still waiting for it to stop raining for long enough to put the bin down. The road outside looks more like a river right now, so I have no immediate plans to venture outside any time soon. I have a loaf of bread in the oven, the whole house smells beautiful. I'll make myself a cup of strawberry tea and curl up on the couch beside the cat and read another few chapters of The Fry Chronicles.

Happy, rainy days.

In Dublin

I think I mentioned in a previous post that I was heading up to Dublin for Hotel And Catering Review Gold Medal awards. The awards were on Tuesday night, so we headed up bright and early at 6am(!!) to catch the early train from Westport to Heuston. The time it takes to drive to Dublin from out here in the schticks, you're better off catching the train and sitting back and relaxing for three and something hours rather than booting it down the motorway.

We were staying in the Hilton, which is a short walk from Heuston. We only fired our bags into the rooms and headed out again to lunch at the Avoca in Monkstown. The food was beautiful and they have their interior design and product displays thought out down to a T. The very friendly maître d' showing us to our seats had an outrageously fantastic, twirly, Poirot-like moustache. We had between us crab meat salad, caesar salad with a half a rotisserie chicken and Spanish meatballs with couscous and pita bread. The food was bloody gorgeous. We had a quick snoop around the food market, as we do a lot of same kind of things for takeaway as they do, and came back home with plenty of ideas.

After a few more stops in foodie places, we headed back to the hotel to get ready. Our timing was perfect to allow a nice bath and time to put our faces on. It was a black tie event, so we did have to look the part. Moving from one four star location to another, the awards night was at the Burlington Hotel. Pulling up in the taxi, all you could see were people dressed to impress, huddled under the awning for a quick smoke.

We were ushered into the function room, which was set up to accommodate all 360 of us there for the awards. A few familiar faces in the crowd, quick hellos this way and that and then seated for dinner. I was positively surprised by the fact that there weren't a stream of speeches before dinner, or indeed, after it. The menu was as follows:

Cornets of Smoked Salmon with Red Onion Cream Cheese, Mini Blinis, drizzled with a Lemon Oil

Fillet of Beef, Dauphinoise Potatoes with Green Beans, Sauteéd Wild Mushrooms & Pearl Onions, Brandy Peppercorn Sauce

Strawberry Sorbet, Passion Fruit Bavarois, Strawberry Tart

I loved the smoked salmon, but the blinis were very bland. I wonder whether they had bought them in ready made or maybe used the wrong kind of flour to make them. I understand I am biased as my father makes amazing blinis, so maybe my expectations were too high. But then again, it was a Hotel and Catering event. My beef fillet was beautifully pink in the middle, and the wild mushrooms were presented in a filo pastry cup, but my colleague sitting beside me got her beef completely overcooked. 

The desserts were a platter of minis of all three listed above, and while they were perfectly tasty, they weren't anything out of the ordinary. Our pastry chef who was there with us, dissected each bite and came to the conclusion that the tart base and pastry case for the sorbet weren't proper pastry, rather than a ready mix you pour into pastry moulds and bake. 

The service ran like clockwork, I do find myself often paying attention to things like that, and I must say that for all of us to get our food more or less at the same time was down to great organisation. We were told at the start that they had fed hundreds of people on the Sunday before the awards after the Mayo-Donegal match. 

The wine, however was beautiful and it was the prefect lubricant to get the proceedings started. There were in total 17 categories and between three and nine finalists in each category. Each of the tables had a plaque for each of the finalists to take home, it was a honour to even be nominated, according to someone's maths we were in the top 3% in our field by just being up for an award. Not too shabby for a first time entry, I thought. 

Sadly, we didn't win out category, which was won by last year's winner in Co. Clare. I smell a road trip south in the horizon sometime soon, I want to know what they're doing to scoop up the award two years running. We'll try again next year, for sure. 

After a long day I was delighted to engage in my best impersonation of a starfish in the middle of my massive hotel bed. I think I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow. 

Coming Soon...

Wow. That summer came and swept me away with it like a tornado took Dorothy. It was a busy one, at work and otherwise. Main memories are of laughter, friends, great food and even better company. I will dig out some photos and tell you about some of it soon, I promise.

I'm just back from my brother's wedding. It was beautiful, the happy couple made the day their own and I can honestly say everyone enjoyed themselves. We cried, we laughed, we danced, we caught up with relatives and enjoyed the fabulous food. More on that later, too.

Our three kitties are still around, and even our poorly patient Molly, is getting slowly better. She has food allergies and after a lengthy stay at the vet's for tests and tlc, she is on the mend, noticeably so. Perseverance and lots of pets.

It's starting to feel like autumn now, dark evenings, movie nights, candle light and lit fires. Woolly socks and glasses of red wine in good company. I do quite like this time of the year.

Work is still keeping me busy. We've been shortlisted for a Gold Medal award and are heading to Dublin for the awards ceremony on Tuesday. I'll report back about that sometime next week.

So, all of this to come. Stick around, folks!

Home Cooking

I was reading this post by Johanna(it is in Finnish) about home cooking and baking, and it got me thinking. Johanna is a Finnish lady living in USA, and her daughter had come home from her friend's house asking if they could bake some cupcakes, she had gotten a great recipe for them. Johanna read the recipe, which read: "take a packet of cupacake mix. Bake the cupcakes. Decorate". To her, and to me, this doesn't count as baking. She had chosen to show her daughter how to make mocha squares. From scratch.

Sundried tomato loaf

I'm just wondering are there really that radical cultural differences when it comes to home cooking? When I was in school, home economics was taught to show us how to cook simple meals, how to clean, wash up and do laundry properly. I still have my old home ec book from year 1994 and I still consult it regularly to find out a basic recipe for something I want to put my own twist to.

Chicken pasta

A friend of mine, who spent a year in USA told me how the mother of the family would consult her vast cupboard of ready meal mixes, choose the one that hadn't been cooked the night before, added water, threw the whole thing into the oven and served it with shop-bought mixed salad. And that was home cooking. My friend went to make mac and cheese for the kids, from scratch and watched the kids' amazement when she went for an actual bag of macaroni, and grated some real cheese and made the sauce from scratch as well.

Scones

There seem to be two clans of home cooks. The ones, who are more than happy to stick a frozen pizza into the oven and call it a day, and the ones who are the Nigellas and Gordons of their own kitchens. The latter one whip up three course meals on a daily basis and up the ante to four or five courses when they're throwing a dinner party. Which is often. Where is the happy medium?

Breaded pork chops

You know, the nice, simple home cooked meal enjoyed by the whole family around the same table at the same time. I grew up on that, and maybe that's where my love for cooking stems from. My mother makes the best meatballs and mashed potato and macaroni & mince bake. I've yet to find someone to rival my dad's fishcakes and fillet of pikeperch with fried potatoes. The fish in our house was what dad would catch. We ate a whole lot of venison, as my dad would hunt moose, and at the christmas table the was always a pot roast of game birds. Tasty, simple and all the more appreciated when you knew the effort gone into making it for you. Not to mention the vegetables grown in our own garden.

Mince & rice pasties

That's what I'm calling out for. Normal, homecooked food where you're not left wondering what kind of E-numbers and other nice chemical surprises may lurk in your next meal.

All the photos above are my own creations. Homemade. From scratch.

Light Dinner

I'm only trying out blogging on my phone so bear with me.

I cooked up some sea bass last night and it turned out very tasty.

I coated the fillets in a mixture of plain and rye flour flavoured with sea salt, pepper and dill. I whacked the fillets onto a hot pan with plenty of butter. About four minutes on either side, and half way through cooking the second side, I squeezed in some lemon juice and a generous glug of white wine. Once the fillets were cooked, I added some capers to the buttery pan and hey presto! I got myself a sauce.

Served with mash flavoured with herb cream cheese, carrots and parsnip. All washed down with a nice Italian Pinot Grigio.

Enjoy!

The Return

I wonder if I have any readers left? After a three month, self-imposed hiatus, that is. It was only supposed to be a little break and I would apologise for my absence had it not been so gloriously relaxing as it was. I all honesty, I probably would've been back sooner, but the weather. Man, oh man, the weather. It's been so typically non-irish, I've simply had to stay outside and enjoy it.

Sunset after a hot day

I've discarded all blog-related activity, and only dipping into Facebook and Twitter on my phone, leaving my laptop sitting on my desk gathering dust. It's been liberating. See, I started to stress and feel guilty for not blogging more often. I know, it's silly, it's only a blog and I hardly have thousands of followers hanging onto my every word, but still. I'm a worrier, I feel responsible for things I'm not necessarily responsible for at all. It's just me. But I have managed to teach myself to ignore those niggling feelings of guilt.

Taken at 10.30pm

On my Twitter travels I've met a namesake who lives in Sligo. Another poor Finnish woman lured here by a crafty Irishman. I've also met Jane, who lives on the other side of this little bay of water. On a clear day I could wave from my front porch and hope to be seen in Mayo.

Jane, I know you're out there!

I've enjoyed doing very little, lazing about and generally making the most of the summery weather. Barbecues, beers and merriment. Our collective midriffs are starting to move away from the six pack and edge towards a keg instead. I better dust off the old exercise bike again.

A light snack

I've felt old and young in one night, attending a friend's 21st birthday party. I've laughed until I was sore and stayed up until 7am on a very cold night it Dublin. I've attended an art exhibition opening, where I fell in love with one of the pieces, which is now hanging on our dining room wall. I've been going where the mood has taken me and put my "responsibilities" on the back burner. I've successfully recharged my batteries.

Tom surveying his kingdom

There is on piece of Really Big News. My favourite (and only) brother is finally getting married this September! We are all beyond excited, and you may expect plenty of wedding related blogging in the next few months. I will obviously need a dress, and I have decided on one, which unfortunately currently only exists in my head. I want a dress to match my prettiest shoes. Thankfully Teresa has been some sort of a wizard in spotting the right colour/style dress online, so I have nominated her as my personal online shopper.

Relax

So, that's it. It's raining here now, so I shall do a bit of hoovering, bit more reading and get the seabass out of the freezer ready for dinner. I'll see you around!

No Mistletoe, Just Wine

Apologies for my absence. It's been a busy run-up to Christmas this year. Buying and sending presents, cleaning, shopping, prepping food, filling the freezer and all that goes with it. Oh, and the little thing called work, as well. With Mr S being gone over to the neighbouring island, I was kept busy on my days off getting everything ready.

Work got wrapped up nicely last Sunday and we headed off to Galway to our Christmas party. It was a successful night all round. Lots of happy smiles, plenty of good food and more than enough wine and other beverages. Having said that, my decision to wear magic knickers under my party dress (eBay purchase, for 15 euro) somewhat hampered my ability to enjoy the food to my stomach's full capacity. The famous knickers were bought in Penneys and I really wonder why would you spend any more than the €6.50 I did on them? I mean, I've seen them go for well over €30 in some shops, but these ones worked a treat and even after a wash and a spin in the tumble dryer they seem to be holding onto the magic just fine. I'll report back after the next time I decide to suck everything in and not eat for a night.

We had time to do some shopping on Monday after the party, I got a lovely coat in a¦wear (that I can't seem to find online to show you), cream tweed with a faux fur collar, €37.50 down from €80. A colleague got a coat in Oasis for €62 down from €125 (website says original price was €95, I wonder what that is all about?), apparently now is the time to shop for a nice, comfy coat.

Then, Tuesday night, it finally happened. Mr S came home!! Those were the longest five weeks of my life!But he's home now and we're both on holiday! I'm not going back to work until next Tuesday, Mr S will potter about at the hotel doing a few bits and pieces there but not until after Christmas.

I spent all day yesterday baking. I need to have my Finnish Christmas treats, and Mr S is more than happy to go along with that, to be honest I think he'd be equally happy with a pizza on Christmas day than a massive feast. Anyhoo, I made the traditional little star pastries (puff pastry with plum marmalade), gingerbread biscuits, mince beef and rice pasties and mince pies with a twist. The twist being that we don't really eat raisins, so I made the mincemeat filling using fresh and dried cranberries, apple and liberal amounts of port and brown sugar.

Everything is ready. The tree is up, decorations dotted around the house. Presents wrapped and under the tree, cards posted and received. There's food and wine in the house, all is peaceful and quiet. Let Christmas come!

To all of you and yours, a very happy, peaceful Christmas!

Home Alone

Hello, there! You may or may not remember my anti-social experiment form two years ago. I'm more inclined to think that you many not, so feel free to refresh your memory here. Done? Okay, then.

I find myself in the same situation as I'm typing away right now. Mr. S has gone off to England to do some work on his dad's house. He went last Sunday. Today is Wednesday. I'm already a little bit bored of being home alone. Saying that, compared to two years ago, I'm working a full five days a week rather than the three I was doing back then. Today and yesterday are the first two days I have had off since he went.

The house has been cleaned top to bottom, all the washing has been done and dried outside (I'm determined to use less electricity), I've thrown out loads of magazines and newspapers I was holding onto for lord knows why etc. etc. I find I can be very productive when left alone and in need to fill my time with something other than TV.

I'm saving my visitation rounds for later. For all I know, Mr. S may be gone for four, five or even six weeks. He has promised me he'll be home for Christmas, but that is all I'm working on at the moment. Last week we bough a chest freezer (I know, exciting, right?!). Mainly because I've been nagging to get one for what seems like forever but what probably is a few months. Seeing as we're here for Christmas, I want to start prepping things well in advance rather than facing the horrible Christmas Shop sometime during the few days before the big day when every shop is packed, people are cranky and there's no parking anywhere!. Seriously, it was like that in Galway last Wednesday and I pretty much promised myself that if I have to go there again, I'll head out at 7am and have everything over and done with by 11am.

So, I've been baking and buying things to get ahead of the game. The freezer is looking nice and full with cakes, pastries and breads. I also got a few bottles of wine which I stashed away discreetly to wait for the holiday season to be upon us. I already know where I'm getting my Christmas ham (we don't eat turkey) and I've picked the place to put our Christmas tree.

Just in case we get another bloody Big Freeze this winter and I won't be able to leave the house, I'm safe in the knowledge that it'll take me quite a while to eat my way through the contents of the freezer, even if I have Mr. S to help me. Which reminds me, I must bake another loaf of rye bread. You know, just in case.

The Joys Of Packing

I have once again brought out my battered and much travelled suitcase. The cats were very interested as to how they might gain access inside the case. Lily in particular knows that the appearance of The Pink Thing is always followed by the absence of a Food Bringer/Belly Scratcher. She needn't worry this time, Mr. S is staying home so the two furballs won't have to encounter the horror that is The Strange Food Bringer.

Excuse me? How do I get in here?

I am going home (Finland) for the first time since last October and can barely believe it's been a year. I got my flights very cheap from Aer Lingus. A quick look at their site now and it would seem that I really did get a bargain; same flights now would set me back about €100 more than they did in the beginning of September. And what's more it's a direct flight. I normally fly with Scandinavian Airlines because they fly throughout the year whereas Lingus only flies between March and November, but all of the SAS flights include a stopover in Copenhagen, Oslo or Stockholm. Saying that, shopping at Copenhagen airport is bloody fantastic!

So, anyhoo... I need to decide what to pack for two weeks while leaving room for stuff to bring back home (Ireland). Stuff like salmiakki sweets, rye bread and some moose meat. Normally on the flight back to Ireland I'm hoping and praying my bag doesn't get chosen for a random security check. Packing for Finnish autumn weather is tricky to say the least. You could pack your summer and winter wardrobes and still find yourself woefully unprepared for the weather conditions. I have been religiously checking the weather at my parent's town and have decided to bring layers that'll keep me warm and dry but at the same time I'll be able to peel stuff off in case it gets warmer.

I am ridiculously excited to get going. I finish work on Monday, and I'm catching a bus from Galway to Dublin 1am that night. Travel up to Dublin, check in, four hour flight to Helsinki, grab a taxi to the train station, four-something hours on the train to Eastern Finland and the final leg of the journey in the car with my parents for an hour. I'm looking at a little over 20 hours of travel in total. Better charge up my iPod! I'm lucky enough to be able to sleep on planes and trains; all I need is my earphones in and my trusty megascarf which doubles as a blanket. Sorted.

I have very little planned for when I actually get there. Catching up with friends and family, eating my body weight in Finnish foods, relaxing and recharging my batteries. Not having had more than a few days off together since last christmas has taken its toll. I feel tired and drained but knowing a two week break is just a few days away will be enough to get me through until Monday evening.

Autumnal

I won't lie to you, as much as I love summertime, this right here is my favourite time of the year. It's not cold yet, but you can feel it lurking in the background. Like today, it's +18 and (kinda) sunny, a nice mild day, in Ireland this classes as summer weather. But there is a definite feel of the autumn just around the corner. Just venture outside at night and you feel it. Fresh, cool, earthy. It's there. It's on its way.

This, to me, means a roaring fire, candles, comfort food and red wine. I tend to turn inwards, spend a lot of time inside my head. Summer for me is the time to go out, spend time with your friends, make the most of the long evenings and not worry about not getting enough sleep. Autumn is me-time. It's cosy time.

Saying that, I'm not a complete hermit just yet. Last Monday was the last Monday the majority of us would be around for a night out before heading back to college. Sure, there's a good gang of us staying put, but we wanted to make sure we got one night out with all of us there. Our lovely local, Paddy Coyne's pub started doing food a few weeks back, and having heard great things about the food there, it was an obvious choice. Obvious choice because that's where we spend our Monday nights anyway.

Through word-of-mouth 11 of us gathered around the long table. The food was great, well priced and in generous portions. Haddock, chicken and steak dotted around the table, a lot of sampling went on and the general verdict was that it was indeed very delicious. They somehow talked us into having dessert as well (really twisted our collective arm), and in the interest of getting the big picture, we ordered all three available. Chocolate orange mousse, Baileys cheesecake and fruit crumble. Needless to say, we were stuffed.

Evening continued out in the beer garden until 1am with conversations ranging from cannibalism to the Rose of Tralee competition to hairy men. After doing a killer week at work, it was the perfect ending, especially as I was safe in the knowledge I didn't need to get up early the next day; something I took full advantage of the next day and didn't get up until 11.30. It was bliss.

Seeing as I only took one day off last week, I'm being spoiled by three days off this week. Today is day number three. Day one I went to the hairdresser and went to see my ever-expanding friend Marjo who's juggling an energetic two-year old while housing a new arrival in her belly. Day two was spent with Mr S, lounging around, running a few errands and general "stuff". Today is my day. I plan to watch DVDs, drink coffee, cook some pork cacciatore and possibly open a bottle of wine in the evening.

More meaningful posts to follow.

Lazy Days

I booked myself three days off this week. It has so far proved to have been a brilliant idea, even if I do say so myself. I found myself getting very annoyed at the fact that I seemed to spend one of my days off running errands, doing the shopping and generally being out of the house for the whole day. The other day off was spent firmly in the house, cleaning, washing, tidying up and such lark. Any time left over I try to catch up with friends and maybe get some me-time, but seeing as there still is only 24 hours in a day and I really do ideally need 8 hours sleep per night, it really is limiting my options.

I shared my first day off with Mr S. Few errands, bit of shopping, bit of cleaning. Our old neighbour had contacted me the day before to ask us to help her move her dog house from the old house to her new place. Apparently our old landlord had just flung the dog house over the wall to the side of the old house where Mr S and I used to live, despite her telling him she was coming back for it. Charming man. So I went up to help her move it, my little car is surprisingly spacious when the back seats are flattened. When I got home, after a tour of her new house, which is lovely, we just lounged. I tried out a new recipe for a pizza base which was a huge success. I got the recipe from one of my Twitter-friends only to realise that I'd had the same recipe in Jamie's Italy -book for a few years now, earmarked and everything. Nothing like a recommendation to get you moving, eh?

Yesterday I spent catching up with friends. Good old chats, lots of laughs, insane amounts of tea and coffee and plenty of biscuits and cake. My Finnish friend, Marjo is something short of a wizard in the kitchen. Mocha-squares they're called in Finland, I suppose the closest thing here would be a brownie, but these things are a lot lighter and more sponge-like in texture and topped with a chocolate-coffee icing. See, I'm drooling already. So so tasty!

So, my third day off is today and I am blissfully aware that on a normal working week I would be getting stuck into trying to explain to a German tourist, who doesn't speak any English, what a parsnip is. (Apparently, calling it a white carrot isn't informative enough) Yet here I am, in our office, in my comfiest (and by default, the ugliest) baggy tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, sporting a rather fetching bedhead, sipping my second cup of coffee, trawling the internet for stuff and not caring how long it takes me.

Conveniently enough, it's raining outside so I'm not likely to feel the need to go out and rake the grass we finally got cut on Monday. Or go out for a walk. Or, indeed anything that requires getting out of the house. The wheelie bin is at the bottom of the driveway, I may stretch to going out a bringing it back up. But I'll wait for it to stop raining first.

I have a stack of magazines to catch up on, the last two issues of the National Geographic on the top of the pile. I'm still reading Jo Nesbo's The Redeemer, which is proving very good indeed and nicely filling the void left by Stieg Larssen's Millenium-trilogy. I'm doing two loads of laundry, and two only, washing the sheets (I love Clean Sheets Day). I also have a pile of DVDs to watch, I'm contemplating on either having a Harry Potter marathon, or a Bones marathon. But the important thing is, I don't have to do any of these things if I don't choose to. I could quite happily veg out on the couch, listen to the radio and pet the cats. How about that for a lazy day, huh?

Absence

Oh, hello! Long time, no see. I've been preoccupied for the last few weeks, and for that, my sincere apologies. I will, however, make no apologies for thoroughly enjoying my self-imposed blog absence. During which, by the way, I didn't go anywhere near my laptop for anything other than a spot of online banking. It's handy having an iPhone, isn't it? Email, Facebook and Twitter all there, with me all the time with no need to sit down at a keyboard and type anything. For blogging, I find the iPhone just too small. I like having more room to play with when it comes to posting. I have a few blogging apps on my phone but none of them have felt right. Any suggestions are more than welcome, by the way.

Anyway, the last week of august saw my dear old brother visit us with two of his friends. Him and his friend flew over from Finland, rented a car in Dublin and headed towards the lovely west coast. Meanwhile his other friend was on his motorbike, somewhere between Cork and Mr S's hotel en route. My brother arrived around dinnertime with his friend. Friend on motorbike appeared about a pint and a half later, walking like John Wayne. 650km in one day on Irish roads on a motorbike will do that to you, I guarantee it.

The following day was dedicated to travel up north to Enniskillen via Sligo and Bundoran. In Enniskillen the lads very nearly became local celebrities when people realised the lad on the motorbike is the spitting image of Brian O'Driscoll. Newspapers were pulled out to demonstrate the uncanny resemblance. Couldn't argue with it, he does look a lot like him. Needless to say, for the rest of the trip he was known as Brian.

After a night in Enniskillen it was back to base where Brian had to follow his obsession to climb a mountain. The rest of us decided on a slightly less arduous activity of visiting our house and having a couple of drinks at the local before heading back to the hotel with the promise of heaps of mussels and prawns accompanied by nice, chilled Pinot Grigio. Brian had found his way back down from the mountain, but it was the road leading to the hotel that had him stumped. Determined, he was marching along the road in the wrong direction when a friendly local picked him up and dropped him off at the hotel. A detail Brian failed to mention until quizzed on it.

My brother didn't think there was enough lemon
on his friend's prawns

Brian deep in thought after is mountain trek

We ate (some more than others) until fit to burst, after which Brian retired up to his room. Three of us continued propping up the bar until it was decided it was far too late to be up, considering the lads were to travel to Dublin the following day. Bedtime.

Some of us ate more than others

Friday morning saw my brother and Brian having their now customary topless wrestling match on the front lawn of Mr S's hotel, to great amusement of Mr S's mother. And hotel guests. And passing motorists. After a brief visit to the abbey, where Brian decided to sit that one out and my brother and his friend came up with a brilliant idea of a karaoke bus, it was time to say goodbye. The visit was brief but most welcome. The tail lights of the Astra and Honda were the last thing I saw. They all made it home, safe and sound.

Tail lights say goodbye

 Do call again!

Rainy Day

It's bloody miserable out again. I can't even see out to the sea, it's so foggy. It annoys me even more, because yesterday was beautiful and sunny and actually kind of warm and I was stuck at work all day. I was doing a manual handling course in the morning (for the fourth time in five years) and after lunch I was flat-out at my actual paying job. Well, I suppose I was paid to do the course as well but seriously, how many different ways are there to lift a box correctly.

Our HR manager, who was giving the course said you only need a refresher ever 3 years. I will hold him to that come next year when they're trying to make me do the communal box lifting exercise again.

My little Mazda had to go in for its very first NCT today. I had myself convinced, after hearing all those horror stories on people failing for ridiculous reasons, that poor little Molly wouldn't pass. I got in, handed over my paperwork and 50 euro, they took my keys, I sat down, sent a few tweets and 15 minutes later we were done. Pass, pass, pass and pass. Thank you, see you in two years. I proudly stuck my NCT disc on the windscreen and drove off.

Rainy days call for comfort food. Today's offering is cinnamon buns. My mother used to bake every Saturday. Buns, biscuits, cakes and the occasional swiss roll. Smelling fresh buns hot out of the oven takes me right back into my parents' kitchen with a hot bun and a glass of ice cold milk in front of me. And it was quiet in the house because it was Saturday. My mother minded children from our home on weekdays, so the house always seemed full, even though there never were more than four children to be minded at a time. But Saturdays and Sundays I had the house and the buns all to myself.

So, this is what I made today. And for the rest of the evening, I shall be complaining about the yeast-y buns and milk expanding in my stomach causing me to look about seven months pregnant. It's all worth it, though. Just look at them.

Sickly Sweet

Who changed the weather, please own up to it right now? I was getting all spring-y and cheery, listening to the birds singing and saying this like "Isn't it lovely and mild out?". I blink and we're hit with another bit of frost, some nice horizontal Irish rain and today icy winds teamed up with freezing cold rain and sleet. Springtime my arse.

I'm getting increasingly cranky as the wet days go on. I have been hit with a nasty bout of flu, which really isn't helping matters. I hate feeling miserable but I really am a very very bad patient. I hate feeling sick or in any way less than 100% functional, especially when I know I can do nothing to improve things. I have consumed quite the liberal amounts of paracetamol, echinacea and cough syrup but it all seems to make me more annoyed because none of it seems to be working. I did read from Dr Christian Jessen's Twitter feed that zinc has proven effective against the common cold, so off I went to buy zinc capsules. On my return I noticed that my vitamin C tablets already contained 100% of my daily zinc needs. Ho and hum.

I was feeling so cheerful until this bloody flu I wasn't even bothered about Valentine's Day and all the pink, fluffy sweetness that goes with it. Mr S and I don't "do" Valentine's. I'd love to say it's because every day is like Valentine's for us (even typing that made me be a little bit sick in my mouth) but the truth is we can't be bothered. I never saw the point anyway. In Finland Valentine's is more about your friends than your partner/lover/significant other, which I think is an idea far better than the lovers' Hallmark holiday Valentine's is in most English-speaking countries. (Anyone from somewhere else, please enlighten me on your customs.) We did share a mahoosive heart-shaped blackforest sponge on Valentine's day but that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with us being greedy sugar monsters. 

Back In To The Swing

I returned to work yesterday. Saying it was painful would be an understatement of this soon to be over decade. I had an incredible ten days off over Christmas due to bad weather and what not. I think it's safe to say that of those ten days, eight were spent on the couch watching DVDs and steadily increasing the circumference of my arse. I spent all of my first working day on my feet and my god did I feel it!

When I got home my feet and legs were aching, my back was in bits and I generally felt that if I was a horse of any kind I would be kindly led out the back and put out of my misery. The positive here was the fact that our water was finally fixed and back to normal. In other words, our landlord had finally pulled his finger out and sorted it properly. He had "fixed it" the day before to an extent where we had cold water in the kitchen and nothing else anywhere in the house. He deemed this to be enough before he took off to a funeral (=drinking session in the pub).

Being in such pain after only a days' work in more than a little worrying. I think I really need to get my ass into gear and get fitter. Because I'm getting old. And the older you get, the harder it gets. I always found losing weight and getting fit quite easy once I actually got down to doing it. Finding the motivation to do it is that much harder. Maybe I'll paste fatty pictures onto the fridge. It doesn't help that my brother and his fiance sent proper Finnish chocolate and sweets alongside lovely homemade scarves for both myself and Mr S. Maybe we'll just eat the treats in one fell swoop and be done with it.

Anyhoo, work was busy, seemingly there are a lot of people who are coming out of their cabin fever state of mind and are only delighted to get out of their houses. I'm facing into another day of this today. Right now, actually. Better get going.

I don't like broccoli...

...which stands greatly in the way of my pursuit for Better Life (vol. 317). And it's not just broccoli, it's majority of vegetables I don't like. I remember being insanely jealous of a vegetarian friend of mine in college, who managed an entire week's food shop for roughly around 10 or 15 euro. That left a hell of a lot of money to spend on drink and cigarettes. What was I thinking buying all that minced beef and ham for my sandwiches!? Well, I was thinking that I don't like vegetable so I'll just buy some processed crap instead, spend a lot more money on than my veggie loving friend and spend last four days of each month eating nothing but pasta with a drop of ketchup mixed in.

I would love to eat healthy. I know I probably should start now rather than five years down the line. But I don't like healthy food. If it really is so good for us, how come it doesn't taste better. Surely it is some kind of an evolutionary fuck up that the things that are good for our bodies, things that supposedly fight of diseases and generally make us live longer, aren't the things we crave in the wee hours after a hefty drinking sessions when our poor abused bodies are most in need of a health boost. Why don't the late night revellers flock to a steamed vegetable van instead of the one that sells deep fried meat from an undetermined animal source?

I'm sure broccoli would taste alright if you deep fried it, covered it in ketchup and stuffed it inside a burger bun. Our old head chef used to make me taste vegetables as a part of his little twisted ways to figure out whether or not your taste buds actually changed every 5 years or so. Problem was, he drowned the offending articles (in this case broccoli and it's nerdy little albino cousin, the cauliflower) in so much melted butter, the only thing I could taste was an impending arterial blockage.

With all this "food science" around, surely the boffins and Green Isle could manage to make the vegetable taste better. If they can make a deep fried potato shaving taste like a perennial 1970's dinner party starter or better yet, bacon, there must be a way to make lettuce taste like chips.

My sister-in-law has a talent for that, should she ever wish to give up her career as corporate banker, she could quite easily make a living showing notorious veggie-dodgers such as yours truly how to cook them in a way that makes them taste of things other than fertiliser. One of her famous successes must be The Aubergine. I never liked the look of them, all strange, shiny and purple like an alien egg. She slices them up, puts some red pepper slices and Parmesan on top and bakes them in the oven until crispy. My mouth is watering, yet we're talking about two types of vegetable and some cheese. Maybe it is the cheese. Everything is made better by the presence of cheese. Maybe the Americans have got it right after all. Would you like some cheese with that?

Ahem...

One measly post in the entire month of July? Shame on me. Just goes to show how easily my resolve to write something at least once a week crumbled like the last hob nob you fished out of the bottom of the packet of biscuits.

I have returned from spending time with my family, weighing a good few pounds more and having done some possibly irreversible damage to my already long-suffering liver. The wedding was a great do altogether, lasting all in all for about three days. It was great to see family I haven't seen in years but I must admit, 4 days staying in close proximity of each other did in fact confirm that I did make the right decision in moving out of the country. Some family members more so than others, but we'll leave the details open to speculation.

Booze and food. Staple summer holiday diet. I should've known where it all was heading when, on my arrival to my brother's house I was presented with a champagne breakfast. It was 8.30am on a Friday morning. In my defence, it was ridiculously hot. +32 being the average temperature in the shade for most of the time I was there. And everybody knows nothing quenches your thirst like a nice, ice cold beer on a hot summer's day. Or morning.

So in my post-holiday food and booze hangover I have resolved to start a Better Life. Vol. 317 by my calculations. In all seriousness, I am aware that largely this is due to me approaching 30, and starting to be painfully aware of the fact that I am not getting any younger (physically, that is, mentally I'm still somewhere between 13 and 18 depending on the day). More exercise, less crap food and most definitely less booze. That last bit might have to wait until the end of the summer. See how determined I am?

We'll see how it goes, but I'm starting to feel sorry for Mr S already. When I deny myself things it's usually him, who gets the brunt of my frustrations...

#1 Thing to Hit the Fan

The #1 thing to hit the fan last week was shit. Lots of it. All over the place. Last week was possibly the worst I've had in years. The worst week at work, anyway.

On Thursday the phones rang. We got summoned to a meeting with General Manager and the owner the following day. We were all to be seen individually. That's not good by any means. Not knowing what the meeting was about didn't help the growing feeling of dread. Quick round of phone calls later nobody was none the wiser and the only thing we had established at that stage was that we were all given 15 minutes for our meeting. Whatever it was it was going to be short and to the point.

Thursday night was sleepless. Imagine being hung with a noose that's just too loose to do the job properly.

Friday morning was spent consuming too much coffee and not enough food. Suffering from a caffeine overdose probably wasn't the best of strategies but in times of crisis we do tend to stick to the things we know to comfort us. One by one we went in and met the two men behind the big desk. Like being sent to the principal's office in school.

We had imagined all sorts of horrors waiting for us. We went in hoping for the best, fearing the worst. I was told my colleague was going to be made redundant and I was expected to pick up the slack, or at least some of it. Our Deputy Manager would look after the rest. We were all to do this while taking a 5% pay cut.

As the day went on, more news came. Changes we were going to undergo. Cuts in staffing levels. Savings here, savings there. "Restructuring of the business" they called it.

Some came straight out of their meeting, slammed the door and left. These including the colleague made redundant whose 40th birthday party was on that very night. Talk about timing.

Saturday was spent in disbelief. How could one person be singled out to be made redundant while the rest of us stayed? Survivors guilt, I suppose, in a way.

We swapped stories, seemingly we all got the same story. Business levels down, recession etc. We knew all that going in.

On Monday we met our financial controller. She's been with us for 22 years. She was let go as well. After being offered a different title with same duties she's performing now, only with 30% less pay. Needless to say she refused. She's leaving in 8 weeks.

That was pretty much as much as I could take. It was a culmination of an exceptionally shitty few days.

I got home that evening and talked long and hard with Mr S. I had a little cry. Then I put on some Miles Davis while Mr S poured me a huge glass of red wine. I cooked comfort food; cheese and bacon risotto with baby leeks and white wine. All seemed right in the world of me again. We'll see how long until the shit hits the fan again. Until the I'll find solace in jazz and carbohydrates. And alcohol.