“Capsaicin stimulates brain to excrete endorphin and gives a sense of pleasure when ingested. This is the reason people get addicted to chilli” http://www.chilly.in/chilli_benefits.htm
I honestly think I am. Twice out for curry this weekend. Chilli pickle as a mid day snack. There seems to be a lot of evidence on the net that chilli is very good for you, from the high levels of vitamin C, B6, A and folic acid, being a natural antibiotic and increasing your metabolism to name but a few benefits. I wonder these wonderful benefits are countered when my chilli servings are covered in ghee ;o)
Monday 30 November 2009
30/11 Claire - Spinning class after a heavy weekend
If the next day laid up on the couch wasn’t enough of a sign that I’m just too bloody old for it these days the fact that my hangover spread into Monday should tell me loud and clear. I got up for spinning class as usual, within about 6 minutes of the class starting I was so out of breath my heart was about to pop out of my chest and my legs could barely carry my weight never mind keep up with the instructor. Needless to say I cheated most of the way through just so I didn’t embarrass myself by literally falling off the bike. Nightmare.
28/11 Claire - How grown up are we? Or not as the case may be
You know you are quite grown up when your friend’s daughter has just celebrated her 18th birthday. Oh Lord! So when we arrange a sensible evening meal out with Mica and take her out for her first Indian meal it starts out well, a couple of glasses of wine with a meal…then pop around the corner to a pub for a drink…later Mica’s boyfriend just happens to be in the same pub (I think she text him saying “help me, Mum and her mates are getting p*ssed and I need to get out of here”)… then they leave and we end up upstairs dancing to Retro tunes like we were the 18 year olds. How can we be so old and so young at the same time?
Monday 23 November 2009
21/11 Claire - Ojos to Brujo
When we decided to buy tickets for Ojos de Brujo at the Sage for Rachael’s birthday I had no idea what to expect. I had the perception of “world music” which to be fair had all been deleted from the car i-pod in the same frenzied attack as “dub, “alternative”, “reggae” etc.
We get to the sage and it’s in hall one (groan). Hall one is seated, large and clinical and it’s where De La Soul got arsey with us for being un-hip hop (what gave them this impression I do not know, I didn’t even get my disco finger out).
They start with a flamenco dancer who comes out all stompy and passionate. Then the lead singer appears, she’s clearly young with gold sparkely eye shadow and trainers but the rest of her outfit confuses me. She is weaing a Carmen Mirander style out fit with feather boa and looked just like a child who’s raided the dressing up box. It was ironic, I think, but it cerntainly made for a colour show and photos.
These guys are a large 9 piece band from Barcelona and describe them selves as hip hop with a hint of flamenco (?! But it works). They are all really talented and they didn’t get arsey and seem to really enjoy themselves and the atmosphere. Maybe my hip hop appreciation is more European than Stateside!
We get to the sage and it’s in hall one (groan). Hall one is seated, large and clinical and it’s where De La Soul got arsey with us for being un-hip hop (what gave them this impression I do not know, I didn’t even get my disco finger out).
They start with a flamenco dancer who comes out all stompy and passionate. Then the lead singer appears, she’s clearly young with gold sparkely eye shadow and trainers but the rest of her outfit confuses me. She is weaing a Carmen Mirander style out fit with feather boa and looked just like a child who’s raided the dressing up box. It was ironic, I think, but it cerntainly made for a colour show and photos.
These guys are a large 9 piece band from Barcelona and describe them selves as hip hop with a hint of flamenco (?! But it works). They are all really talented and they didn’t get arsey and seem to really enjoy themselves and the atmosphere. Maybe my hip hop appreciation is more European than Stateside!
15/11 Claire – Here’s to reunions
Sometimes you get a feeling of nostalgia and need to get back to your roots and today I made the first step by meeting up with my brilliant old mate Rob. Rob and I were at school together, his best mate was my first boyfriend, and we went drinking together when we were allowed in the pub… you get the picture. We lost touch when I moved away from Easingwold when I was 20, managed to get back in touch again about 5 years ago only to lose touch again.
The longer you leave it the harder it is to make that step to get in touch but stuff it, in these days of multimedia communications it only takes a text message or friend invite on facebook to say Hi. It’s really easy. I sent Rob a text, luckily he still has the same number and here we are… having Sunday lunch in Alne with Ian and Rob’s girlfriend Claire. I stop myself from writing new girlfriend just because I have not met her before, they have been together 5 years!
Rob spends most of the afternoon saying “do you remember so and so” and I reply “erm, no” seriously what’s with my memory? A misspent youth I think. The important thing is that I remember Rob and what’s really lovely to see is that he’s not really changed. Yes we’re older, yes we are a little more sensible (at times) and quite grown up but inside he seems to be the same great, lovely guy from school that I remember. I won’t be losing touch again!
The longer you leave it the harder it is to make that step to get in touch but stuff it, in these days of multimedia communications it only takes a text message or friend invite on facebook to say Hi. It’s really easy. I sent Rob a text, luckily he still has the same number and here we are… having Sunday lunch in Alne with Ian and Rob’s girlfriend Claire. I stop myself from writing new girlfriend just because I have not met her before, they have been together 5 years!
Rob spends most of the afternoon saying “do you remember so and so” and I reply “erm, no” seriously what’s with my memory? A misspent youth I think. The important thing is that I remember Rob and what’s really lovely to see is that he’s not really changed. Yes we’re older, yes we are a little more sensible (at times) and quite grown up but inside he seems to be the same great, lovely guy from school that I remember. I won’t be losing touch again!
Sunday 15 November 2009
14/11 Claire - A party… in a house… a house party… it could be messy ;o)
As you start to grow up you begin to think that some events are a thing of your youth and a house party is one of them. I mean, we do have people around to our house, and we visit others, but usually this involves a select few (we can only fit so many around the table), a meal and perhaps only later reduces to the drunken debauchery usually associated with a party. I must say I was dancing on my kitchen table at my last “dinner party” but I digress.
So a house warming party, with a large number of people all drinking, dancing and playing a horn (I’ll come back to that later), was very reminisant of house parties of old.. except we are all much older ableit not necessarily wiser.
Owen’s made a great job of decorating his new house, it’s all glistening white and shiney wooden floors. Personally I’d have partied whilst there was still brown/orange 70’s carpet down… just in case. He was the perfect host by supplying copious bottles of wine, party nibbles and a gazebo in the back garden for the smokers.
It started off all sedate (no one turns up on time for a party) and polite (meeting Owen’s new girl) but quickly descended into dancing, shouting, loud music and a musical instrument that sounded like an air horn being played repeatedly by numerous people at about 1am. Fortunately, his neighbour on one side had been to the party early and had since gone to Sunderland after a, the boys seemed to think, booty call. The neighhour on the other side was on night shift, her partner had been invited but didn’t show. If he was pissed off at the noise it was perhaps better than joining us to hear it first hand.
To be fair the bit of the party that was post Metaxa brandy (Jamie, it’s lovely but lethal, I know, I know… I’m sorry) is a blur… I have a vague recolection of Rob and I getting into Owen’s inactive fireplace in an arty fashion, read into that what you will. I have no recollection of telling the “legendary Ben Oakes” that until that evening I thought he was the boys imaginary friend since I have known them all for years yet this one friend I had never met… and, if I am honest, I still think he was a hired actor!
So a house warming party, with a large number of people all drinking, dancing and playing a horn (I’ll come back to that later), was very reminisant of house parties of old.. except we are all much older ableit not necessarily wiser.
Owen’s made a great job of decorating his new house, it’s all glistening white and shiney wooden floors. Personally I’d have partied whilst there was still brown/orange 70’s carpet down… just in case. He was the perfect host by supplying copious bottles of wine, party nibbles and a gazebo in the back garden for the smokers.
It started off all sedate (no one turns up on time for a party) and polite (meeting Owen’s new girl) but quickly descended into dancing, shouting, loud music and a musical instrument that sounded like an air horn being played repeatedly by numerous people at about 1am. Fortunately, his neighbour on one side had been to the party early and had since gone to Sunderland after a, the boys seemed to think, booty call. The neighhour on the other side was on night shift, her partner had been invited but didn’t show. If he was pissed off at the noise it was perhaps better than joining us to hear it first hand.
To be fair the bit of the party that was post Metaxa brandy (Jamie, it’s lovely but lethal, I know, I know… I’m sorry) is a blur… I have a vague recolection of Rob and I getting into Owen’s inactive fireplace in an arty fashion, read into that what you will. I have no recollection of telling the “legendary Ben Oakes” that until that evening I thought he was the boys imaginary friend since I have known them all for years yet this one friend I had never met… and, if I am honest, I still think he was a hired actor!
12/11 Claire - A little mouse with clogs on
Great! A day in London, a delayed train, Ian in Sheffield, a live mouse running around the kichen and two cats too stupid to see it. Nice.
I try the obvious mouse catching technique… hold the cat by the waist, thrust cats head towards area mouse is hiding, cat picks up mouse in teeth, chuck cat and attached mouse into the garden. Great plan however the cat seems oblivious to the mouse 10cms from her nose and turns to me, feet dangling freely, as if to say “Hiya, had a good day? I’ve missed you… Meow..”. This is the cat that is a country killing machine and brings in stuff every other day to eat… what is it about indoor hunting that seems to pass her by?
Ian calls within a couple of mins of me spotting the little critter so he kindly talks me through my options
1) Don’t feed the cats, go into the lounge, shut the door, go to bed and assume the cats will find it and catch it overnight
2) Catch the mouse with a bowl and release back into the garden
Is he ****ing joking? Then between my bouts of hysteria he says “sorry love, can I call you back later… my meal’s just arrived”. Yes, I decide, he’s taking the piss.
So, I need to move the cat beds and the sheepskin rug they sit on top of as the mouse is clearly now underneath. My cunning plan for ensuring that this act doesn’t result in mouse running over feet is to lie, belly down, across the kitchen table. I can reach down from this position and grab the edge of each of the beds and the rug, move them and not be anywhere close to the floor in case of a mouse escape attempt.
As I lift the rug in one corner with two fingers not only do I see the live mouse running behind the snowboards balanced in the corner but they have also left me a dead mouse under the rug to deal with. Great. The dead mouse gets flung out of the garden and in this time I see the live mouse taking tentative steps out of it’s hiding place. Right time to move, be a brave girl and do something about it. I take a large clear measuring jug, climb back onto the kitchen table and lie across it, reach down towards the mouse and quickly drop the jug upside down on top of it. Hoorar. Now, what the hell do I do now? Ok, piece of card, under jug, jug back the right way around, into front garden… and release!
Clinton seemed to have a new found level of respect for me after this, he followed me around making lots of loving meow noises, aw.
My mistake… he just wanted me to get the Whiskers out!!
I try the obvious mouse catching technique… hold the cat by the waist, thrust cats head towards area mouse is hiding, cat picks up mouse in teeth, chuck cat and attached mouse into the garden. Great plan however the cat seems oblivious to the mouse 10cms from her nose and turns to me, feet dangling freely, as if to say “Hiya, had a good day? I’ve missed you… Meow..”. This is the cat that is a country killing machine and brings in stuff every other day to eat… what is it about indoor hunting that seems to pass her by?
Ian calls within a couple of mins of me spotting the little critter so he kindly talks me through my options
1) Don’t feed the cats, go into the lounge, shut the door, go to bed and assume the cats will find it and catch it overnight
2) Catch the mouse with a bowl and release back into the garden
Is he ****ing joking? Then between my bouts of hysteria he says “sorry love, can I call you back later… my meal’s just arrived”. Yes, I decide, he’s taking the piss.
So, I need to move the cat beds and the sheepskin rug they sit on top of as the mouse is clearly now underneath. My cunning plan for ensuring that this act doesn’t result in mouse running over feet is to lie, belly down, across the kitchen table. I can reach down from this position and grab the edge of each of the beds and the rug, move them and not be anywhere close to the floor in case of a mouse escape attempt.
As I lift the rug in one corner with two fingers not only do I see the live mouse running behind the snowboards balanced in the corner but they have also left me a dead mouse under the rug to deal with. Great. The dead mouse gets flung out of the garden and in this time I see the live mouse taking tentative steps out of it’s hiding place. Right time to move, be a brave girl and do something about it. I take a large clear measuring jug, climb back onto the kitchen table and lie across it, reach down towards the mouse and quickly drop the jug upside down on top of it. Hoorar. Now, what the hell do I do now? Ok, piece of card, under jug, jug back the right way around, into front garden… and release!
Clinton seemed to have a new found level of respect for me after this, he followed me around making lots of loving meow noises, aw.
My mistake… he just wanted me to get the Whiskers out!!
5/11 Claire - Remember, remember 5th of November…
It’s Ian’s birthday! After a leisurely day off work, while the birthday boy worked at the kitchen table, we head off at 3pm to a secret location that he knows nothing about. Well I say that he knows nothing about it but he knows we are going away and that swanky food will be available as this is the theme of all of our birthday surprises.
We are starting to run out of michelin starred restaurants in the North East that we haven’t visited but there are a couple and the Box Tree in Ilkley is one of them. It’s not a hotel, just a restaurant, so I’ve booked us a small B&B a couple of mins walk away for convenience.
Fancy frock and tarts trotters on we wander down at 8pm for slap up meal. Now, I say wander like we sauntered, elegantly across the road toward our destination however this is not the case. You may recall my lack of heel wearing over recent months. Well, heels and tights is a double hazzard. Feet slipping out of my trotters due to a lack of friction grip whilst still being a little unsteady in a four inch spike must have been a sight to behold. Fortunately the rest of the evening was seated so I didn’t embarrass myself by looking drunk before the evening started.
I digress. The Box Tree is a really lovely place, the lounge is beautifully decorated, although the dining room a little plain, but the food was excellent.
We started with an amuse bouche of celeriac and whilte truffle soup, Ian then had scallops and I had a fois gras and ham hock terrine as our starters, we both has venison as a main and a cheese board instead of a dessert. Pretty much each course except the cheese had a layer of truffle or truffle oil which I do like. I was offered a very sweet wine (like a dessert wine) to go with the terrine starter. The venison was cooked, for fear of sounding like I am on Master Chef, to perfection. Then the waiter brought out a large tray of different cheeses that we could try any of.
Two strange things from the evening.
Ian not having a dessert!
Cheese without port!
I can’t explain Ian’s lack of dessert and this is possibly the first time in his life he’s not eaten something sweet after a meal.
As we’d both had a different (white/sweet) glass of wine with our starters we had loads of Malbec left when cheese arrived and if we had tried to just neck it in order to fit in port we’d have been even more wellied than we were already. And to be fair, I woke up at 2am in bed still in my clothes and still holding my belly so perhaps that was a good call :o)
We are starting to run out of michelin starred restaurants in the North East that we haven’t visited but there are a couple and the Box Tree in Ilkley is one of them. It’s not a hotel, just a restaurant, so I’ve booked us a small B&B a couple of mins walk away for convenience.
Fancy frock and tarts trotters on we wander down at 8pm for slap up meal. Now, I say wander like we sauntered, elegantly across the road toward our destination however this is not the case. You may recall my lack of heel wearing over recent months. Well, heels and tights is a double hazzard. Feet slipping out of my trotters due to a lack of friction grip whilst still being a little unsteady in a four inch spike must have been a sight to behold. Fortunately the rest of the evening was seated so I didn’t embarrass myself by looking drunk before the evening started.
I digress. The Box Tree is a really lovely place, the lounge is beautifully decorated, although the dining room a little plain, but the food was excellent.
We started with an amuse bouche of celeriac and whilte truffle soup, Ian then had scallops and I had a fois gras and ham hock terrine as our starters, we both has venison as a main and a cheese board instead of a dessert. Pretty much each course except the cheese had a layer of truffle or truffle oil which I do like. I was offered a very sweet wine (like a dessert wine) to go with the terrine starter. The venison was cooked, for fear of sounding like I am on Master Chef, to perfection. Then the waiter brought out a large tray of different cheeses that we could try any of.
Two strange things from the evening.
Ian not having a dessert!
Cheese without port!
I can’t explain Ian’s lack of dessert and this is possibly the first time in his life he’s not eaten something sweet after a meal.
As we’d both had a different (white/sweet) glass of wine with our starters we had loads of Malbec left when cheese arrived and if we had tried to just neck it in order to fit in port we’d have been even more wellied than we were already. And to be fair, I woke up at 2am in bed still in my clothes and still holding my belly so perhaps that was a good call :o)
Wednesday 4 November 2009
02/11 Claire - Music Industry Trust Award
Well, imagine my surpirse when I received an email from one of our suppliers inviting me to the Music Industry Trust Award ceremony at the Grosvenor House Hotel in London. In the words of my little sis, “whoop! whoop!”
The first things Jacks says to me is “what to wear??” and I think “shit, yeah hadn’t thought about that”. I didn’t worry as I’d bought myself a LBD from a small shop in Yarm on Saturday but had to look up on the internet what sort of “cocktail dress” was appropriate. Big mistake! Look on the inetrnet and you see designer frocks a plenty wrapped around the likes of Kylie and Cheryl from last year… how to make yourself feel inadequate in one easy step.
Next worry is my gradually (or not as the case may be) fading tan. Off to the salan for new lashes and a spray tan. Done. Then, OMG I don’t have an evening jacket. Fortunately my sister came to the rescue with a beaitiful black feathery number.
Down to London on Monday and check into the hotel (not the Grosvenor, Orange put me up in the Quality Crown!) 2 hours before I am due to leave to ensure I have plenty of time to get ready. An hour and a half later I still have sock rings around my legs. I do feel like Bridget Jones and make a mental note to self to check my dress is not tucked into my knickers before I leave.
When we arrive at the hotel we climb out of the cab to be approached by as set of paparazzi, who then quickly realise that we are no one of interest and walk on straight past. The car pulling up behind us is Jonathan Ross and his wife Jane so they probably made a good call there. The evening is dedicated to Jonathan Ross who won the award this year. They stood behind me in the cloak room queue and I froze in a kind of pathetic “erm, no, no after you” type stance until the cloak room attendant got shirty with me for holding her up.
In the reception I’m 5ft away from Russell Brand and David Baddiel. Then Kelly Jones from the Stereophonics played an acoustic set… then, no word of a lie, George Michael gets up on stage to present the award. What a legend! There was also a performance from Brian Ferry, I’m not a huge fan but it was still good.
A later see Kelly Jones in the bar and I’ve had a few glasses of fizz… apparently I comment quite loudly about his height, which to be fair he is quite short, but perhaps that was inappropriate since he’s only 3ft away from me!
Fab night, can’t remember getting back but I did manage to drink an alza seltzer before going to bed… I am impressed with myself :o)
The first things Jacks says to me is “what to wear??” and I think “shit, yeah hadn’t thought about that”. I didn’t worry as I’d bought myself a LBD from a small shop in Yarm on Saturday but had to look up on the internet what sort of “cocktail dress” was appropriate. Big mistake! Look on the inetrnet and you see designer frocks a plenty wrapped around the likes of Kylie and Cheryl from last year… how to make yourself feel inadequate in one easy step.
Next worry is my gradually (or not as the case may be) fading tan. Off to the salan for new lashes and a spray tan. Done. Then, OMG I don’t have an evening jacket. Fortunately my sister came to the rescue with a beaitiful black feathery number.
Down to London on Monday and check into the hotel (not the Grosvenor, Orange put me up in the Quality Crown!) 2 hours before I am due to leave to ensure I have plenty of time to get ready. An hour and a half later I still have sock rings around my legs. I do feel like Bridget Jones and make a mental note to self to check my dress is not tucked into my knickers before I leave.
When we arrive at the hotel we climb out of the cab to be approached by as set of paparazzi, who then quickly realise that we are no one of interest and walk on straight past. The car pulling up behind us is Jonathan Ross and his wife Jane so they probably made a good call there. The evening is dedicated to Jonathan Ross who won the award this year. They stood behind me in the cloak room queue and I froze in a kind of pathetic “erm, no, no after you” type stance until the cloak room attendant got shirty with me for holding her up.
In the reception I’m 5ft away from Russell Brand and David Baddiel. Then Kelly Jones from the Stereophonics played an acoustic set… then, no word of a lie, George Michael gets up on stage to present the award. What a legend! There was also a performance from Brian Ferry, I’m not a huge fan but it was still good.
A later see Kelly Jones in the bar and I’ve had a few glasses of fizz… apparently I comment quite loudly about his height, which to be fair he is quite short, but perhaps that was inappropriate since he’s only 3ft away from me!
Fab night, can’t remember getting back but I did manage to drink an alza seltzer before going to bed… I am impressed with myself :o)
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