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!

Just A Bit Tired

I'm still here, on the edges of the blogosphere. I seem to be drowning in things to do and stuff that requires my attention and I'm finding myself increasingly tired and irritable.

Skimming through blogs, having a quick read and feeling guilty when I haven't posted anything noteworthy in what feels like ages. Work is quite stressful at the moment and it's definitely taking its toll. I work, I come home, I eat and go to bed. Repeat times 4. Days off are equally packed with things. I don't know how I have so many things to do but alas, it seems to be the case.

So I am letting you know I'm still here and I have jotted down a good few ideas for upcoming posts. All I need now is time to sit down and make them comprehensible to the rest to you. Mr S. is taking me out for some quality time together today. Might even go to the cinema or something else normal people do on their days off. Having said that, we'd both be quite happy to vegetate on the couch while watching some so-bad-it's-good-telly. But it'll be nice to get out of the house, won't it?

How to Bathe a Cat

I came home from work on Saturday and I was absolutely freezing. Not sure why, but I find that once I catch a chill, it's very hard to get rid of it. Gulping down two mugs of Earl Grey did nothing to warm me up and I could've given a limb or two in exchange for half an hour in a proper, Finnish sauna. Opting for the next best thing, I drew myself a very hot bath. The kind where you get out of it lobster red and glowing. After adding enough Radox to knock out a hippo, I slipped in.

Submerged in the bubbly tub, I started to thaw out. I was quite relaxed as it was, but had prepared to get even more relaxed by bringing in a glass of wine and some quality reading material (Donald Duck). I knew I had left the bathroom door ajar, because after about 10 minutes of blissful bopping about a little furry face appeared beside my head. Our cat Lily had decided to come and see what was taking me so long.

Two little paws on the edge of the tub she reached in to sniff the bubbles. She looked at them and then at me, perplexed. She's more used to sitting in the empty tub, staring at the tap, waiting for me to turn it on so she can drink from it while I brush my teeth in the mornings. After another brief glance, Lily sauntered out of the bathroom.

About fifteen minutes later she was back. Again, staring at me, trying to figure out what it was that I was doing. And, more importantly, why wasn't she included in this activity. She jumped on the side of the bath and went sniffing the bubbles again. By now, she had become to ta conclusion that the tub was, in fact a new bed, and the bubbles had to be my new duvet. She decided to jump in.

Needless to say, the realisation that she had in fact jumped into a bathtub full of water, resulted in the cat shooting out of the bath and the bathroom faster than anything on four legs I've seen before. I swiftly followed, seeing as a dripping wet cat roaming around in a house full of gadgets isn't an appealing idea. I followed thw wet paw prints into the kitchen and onwards to the living room, where there was a cat-shaped puddle in the middle of the carpet. She had continued onto out bed, which had a puddle in the middle of it now, before proceeding to nurse her bruised kitty ego under the bed.

Sulky cat

She looked well and truly pathetic, trying to lick herself dry. In one quick manoeuvre I had the car wrapped in a towel and firmly in place between my knees. Towel-drying a cat is harder than you'd think, so I had to bring out the hair dryer. After a while Lily seemed to be almost enjoying the experience. In the middle of it all I burst out laughing at the thought of someone seeing me sat in the middle of our bedroom floor, the drenched cat wedged between my knees, giving her a blow dry. You couldn't make it up.

Mr. S seemed to think Lily was extremely well styled and felt softer after the ordeal. The week didn't necessarily improve for poor Lily, as she too great exception to being de-wormed. At least I didn't have to shove tablets down the cats' throats as I opted for the de-wormer that you squirt onto the nape of their necks. Tom is always an easy patient, just purring away to himself when I treat him. Lily on the other hand, usually tries to make a break for it which is why she gets wrapped into a towel before the procedure. The things I do for them. Madness.

Pyjama Botherers

This story by the Irish Times had made it into the papers in Finland, too. Yup. The dole office in question had felt is necessary to point out to its customers that pyjamas aren't appropriate clothing to wear while visiting their establishment. I had a moment of quiet desperation. They had to point it out. The people showing up to supposedly apply for jobs, wearing their pyjamas, had to be told to smarten up a bit. Oh, mercy!

I can't really say that I'm surprised, to be honest. I've seen girls (yes, it's almost always girls) slouching about in the supermarket in their pyjama bottoms, hoodies and Uggs. (I hate Uggs, too.) It makes me wonder at what stage do you stop caring about your appearance in public? The contradiction here is, that these same girls will more than likely spend the best part of two hours getting ready for a night out; choosing their clothes, doing their hair and make-up.

Maybe it's a cultural difference, with me having been brought up in Finland, where especially this time of year going outside in anything less than four layers of thermals is simply unheard of. Was I to meet someone in their pyjamas walking down the street in Finland, my first reaction would be to check all the psychiatric wards in the vicinity to see if they were missing someone in their latest head count. Maybe I'm just unable to appreciate the freedom that comes with not caring what people may think of you when you're walking down the shops in your Primark finest. Bulls**t.

The thing is, I bloody love pyjamas. I have dozens. In different colours, materials, sleeve lengths. Dress ones, short ones, long ones, full ones, sets and singles. I have them all and I love wearing them. At home. Indoors. On the couch watching telly. In bed. The most fresh air my pyjamas get, is if I'm putting a bin out in the morning, and even then I reach out the back door and drop the bag in the bin just outside the back door. I may be seen by an occasional sheep and sometimes my next door neighbour. She is more than likely to be in her pyjamas, putting out her bin at that hour, too.

Yes, pyjamas are infinitely more comfortable than most appropriate day wear. They're built for comfort, not for style. Saying that, I am currently sporting quite fetching pyjama bottoms in grey and white checked pattern teamed with a t-shirt. I'm half dressed, but then I am at home, not out and about. Farhad Manjoo wrote about why he loves staying in pyjamas for the whole day. That's fine, you work from home! I'm pretty sure I'd be given my P45 as soon as I stepped my slippered foot in through the doors of my workplace.

And while I'm ranting, let's hear something about the dreaded onesie. It's what babies wear, right? No. There are grown people, all over the world wearing these hideous garments as pyjamas, or "loungewear", as they're being marketed. I think you could give up on normal life the moment you find yourself inside a onesie. The first time I saw one, was on Scrubs. I thought it to be an entirely fictional piece of clothing. How wrong was I? I shudder, they're horrid, and I can only imagine the stink inside one of them after you've spent a day (and a night, and a day) in one. Yuck.

Rant over. As you were.

Onesie photo from here

Scrubs photo from here

Positive Thinking

I blogged about positivity before (here) and I am sort of echoing that same sentiment again, a year and a bit later. There has been a bucket load of shit raining down lately and it's seemingly indiscriminately hitting pretty much everyone in the world. Workwise there's people being laid off, put on short time, getting their wages cut and those who manage to keep their jobs are now doing the work of three people with less money than they used to.

The whole of the economy as we know it is in deep doodie. Deficits, over spending, cuts cuts and more cuts. Placing the blame on whoever happens to be within reach of an accusing finger. Making up too many excuses and not enough ideas to resolve the mess we find ourselves in. Yes, all of us.

People around me both here and in Finland are going through some things that can only be described as pure and utter shite. Things that aren't fair, things that are causing them unnecessary stress and heartache. Things that life every so often throws your way just to make sure you're not getting too comfortable.

The thing is, I am painfully aware of all of this. Painfully aware. I have very low tolerance for negativity and wallowing in it. Misery loves company, but I most certainly am not a fitting companion. Yes, I love a good moan and a whinge every so often and then move on. Move on and focus on something nice and positive. This doesn't mean living in denial of all the things that are wrong in the world, it just means that I choose to see the light at the end of the tunnel as a ray of sunshine rather than an oncoming train.

I find myself feeling very much on edge when faced with someone so focused on the bad, negative things that it is all they can talk about. It makes me very uneasy, especially when it seems the person isn't looking for help or solutions but rather to have someone to wallow in the pigsty of negative thoughts and anger at the world with.

Not for a minute am I suggesting that isn't me on some days. There are times when I am fully convinced my whole life is on a downward spiral and it's everybody else's fault and I am being treated so unfairly by the entire universe that all I can do is sit in my room and sulk about it and leave dramatic posts on Facebook and Twitter about how unfair my life is. And then I step back, take a look at the teenage-y, angst ridden version of myself and I snap out of it. Too much negativity gives me a rage headache.

I've dotted this post with pictures of happy animals. It helps fight the negativity. It also helps to block certain someone's posts on Facebook and unfollow them on Twitter. Just saying.

New Year, Old Face

Hello! It's been a while - yet again. If I'm completely honest, I haven't really felt as if I had anything interesting/amusing/noteworthy to say, so I kept my golden silence over the holidays and a little bit longer. Here's a quick recap:

Christmas
Ahh, lovely Christmas. It truly was lovely. We ate, we drank, we had duvet days and generally spent a lot of time doing very little indeed. Mr. S was home after his 5 weeks at his father's place so we felt like we had to make up for lost time. I went back to work on the 27th of December to a very busy place indeed. There were a lot of people about, which helped me get back into the swing of things again. Mind you, going back to work after a very very lazy week off was a challenge in itself.

Roadkill
December is proving a very bad driving month for me. Remember last year, with the snow and icy roads I managed to mangle my pretty little car's back bumper? Well, this year, to balance things out I mangled the front bumper. And bonnet. And radiator. And few other bits. With the help of a ram in the middle of the road. That's right, a ram. In the middle of the f***ing road! It was dark as well, so didn't really see the little shit until he was on my bonnet. Thankfully I had slowed down a lot due to an oncoming car with it's beams and hazards on blinding me. The result of this little incident was a small state of shock, one dead ram and a bill from the garage totalling €2500 sent to my insurance company. Thank deities for no claims bonus protection, eh?

New Year
I was working, Mr. S was working, so we didn't really get up to much to ring in the new year. I was proud to have stayed awake until midnight, for one. For a brief moment we did entertain the notion of going out but then realised that would've involved getting off the sofa, getting dressed and actually leaving the house. We had wine, nibbles and generally a wonderful evening without being pushed about in a cramped pub by drunkards trying to get to the bathroom/bar.

Getting Older

moviedearest.blogspot.com

Yup, it was my birthday shortly after the new year as well. I'm feeling old this year, and have decided to do a Benjamin Button on my birthdays and turn 29 this year, working my way backwards until I'm 25 again, and maybe then I can start over again and try turning 30 again in 9 years time. Sounds like a plan to me. For my birthday Mr. S fed me until I was fit to burst. He knows what makes me happy.



Other News
There isn't all that much out of the ordinary happening here, if I'm honest. I'm using up my last year's holidays from work and only working four days per week for the next couple of weeks. Mr. S bailed out again for a couple of weeks, to go over to his father's and finish putting in a new floor upstairs. He's back next week. In the meantime, work has gone quiet, it is the low season after all, so we're all working shorter days. This means I've taken up knitting again and this time I'm going to tackle my greatest nemesis; the woolly sock. In my 31 29 years on this earth, I've managed to successfully knit exactly one pair of woolly socks, and that was under the extremely patient guidance of my third grade teacher. I found knitting the heel to be somewhat problematic and decided I didn't need to bother with them anymore. But how times change! After years of knitting hats, scarves and few successful attempts at mittens, I've decided to face my fears. I've gotten this far for now. I'll need to watch a few online tutorials on the subject but I'm fairly certain I'll be able to master it soon enough.

Exciting times, eh?