I am a whizz in the kitchen; nothing ever, ever goes wrong. I never ever tell fibs either. Just this week I decided I would make a batch of shortbread as shown on the BBC recipe website:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/shortbread_1290
Now I don't know about you but when a recipe calls for butter I just look to see what I have in the fridge. I don't normally buy butter as it doesn't spread easily and it rips the sandwiches to pieces. I did have some value spreadable butter in the fridge though. I thought this would make a good substitute as it would be easier to beat to a fluffy mixture with golden caster sugar. The recipe called for caster sugar but I only had golden caster. Are you starting to get the idea now?
So I beat the sugar and butter together using the electric mixer, not the spoon as recommended in the recipe. The mixture didn't go white and fluffy, it went yellow and curdled, but I figured once the flour was tipped in no-one would know the difference. So I sieved the flour, stirred, and formed a soft crumbly dough. I then cut out approximate shortbread finger shapes. They all came out different sizes and a bit wobbly but other than that they looked really shortbread-y.
The raw mixture left in the bowl tasted really good, so I was looking forward to bringing out my tray of crisp golden biscuits. Oh, and the recipe said to sprinkle with icing sugar, so I opened the box and chucked liberally. So here comes the science bit. I put them in the oven on the top shelf (should probably have chosen the middle shelf) at gas mark 5 for 10 - 15 mins.
Two things went wrong. Firstly the shortbread fingers decided they didn't like being segregated, so like that old Pepsi advert where everyone stands on a hill holding hands and singing, they joined hands with neighbours above and below. They were also oozing more excess oil than Jimmy Carr's hair. All of that by the way counts as the first thing that went wrong.
Secondly, and this is quite inexplicable, they came out of the oven a peculiar shade of blue/green mould. I thought I must have sprinkled them with black pepper or some other dark powder. I placed the hot baking tray on the kitchen worktop and in my usual mature fashion I set to scooping the whole lot up into a pile and chucking into a carrier bag. Hissy fits R us. To this day I cannot work out where the blue/green hue came from. I did wash my hands before preparation, I promise.
So now exploding chick peas. This takes real skill. I boiled up some chick peas thinking I'd make a good wholesome curry. I heated up some oil before gently adding onions and thin raw carrot slices, assuming this would make a great base. Doh. The carrots refused to soften while the onions turned black and crisp. Never mind, I figured the chick peas would transform the whole thing into a uniform brown and I'd add some yogurt for extra flavour and creamy texture. Nah. The mixture turned a nasty shade of diarrhoea tan; the kind you see after eating a bad curry funny enough.
For my piece de resistance I transferred it to a ceramic mixing bowl and into the poor unsuspecting microwave. After a few minutes of pinging and popping I opened to find what looked like horse dung spattered over the interior. The microwave door looked like a Tracy Emin exhibit.
So who's for dinner? Bring your own chickpeas.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
Friday, 22 March 2013
Delivering Happiness
Once a month I deliver library books to local elderly residents in my small town and the outlying areas. I go to my local library and choose a selection of written and audio books to take to clients. The clients I see are elderly and don't get out of the house much, if at all. They rely on the home library service for entertainment, stimulation and friendship.
I often laugh at the reaction I get from clients when I choose books that are slightly outside their usual remit. They ask me to choose books which are a bit different sometimes, different from the stuff they usually read. And they love their bloodthirsty murders and saucy romances, I can tell you. It's not all Catherine Cookson by any means. They love their historical novels, cowboy stories, murders, romances, thrillers, you name it. I think the only books they don't go for are horrors. Try as I might I can't get them to read Tales Of Mystery And Suspense by Edgar Allan Poe.
But I often think the books are of secondary interest to the clients. What they enjoy most is the talking. We sit and have a laugh about my latest calamity or what so and so did at the lunch club. They often tell me tales of wartime, which I find fascinating. The clients are aged probably between their late 60s and 90s, so their reminiscences provide me with a fascinating oral history I wouldn't find elsewhere. They are generally in poor health but they never complain. We sit there in stitches sometimes.
As this is a voluntary role there is no time pressure and I am happy to sit and talk to the clients for as long as they can put up with me. Sometimes they'll mention something that worries them and I will try and find the information they need and pass it on to them. Working at the CAB means I have access to a lot of information, which I am happy to provide to the clients if they need it.
My clients live quiet lives in lovely Suffolk bungalows but of course they do miss out on a lot of human interaction. I try to imagine how I would feel if I couldn't get out and about, and how much a friendly visit must mean to them. I have gained so much from doing this work. It enables me to practice my interviewing skills in a home environment and I can try out my latest jokes on a captive audience.
If anyone is interested in volunteering for their local home library service I'd say go for it. You'll make new friends and you'll make a difference to the lives of some wonderful people.
I often laugh at the reaction I get from clients when I choose books that are slightly outside their usual remit. They ask me to choose books which are a bit different sometimes, different from the stuff they usually read. And they love their bloodthirsty murders and saucy romances, I can tell you. It's not all Catherine Cookson by any means. They love their historical novels, cowboy stories, murders, romances, thrillers, you name it. I think the only books they don't go for are horrors. Try as I might I can't get them to read Tales Of Mystery And Suspense by Edgar Allan Poe.
But I often think the books are of secondary interest to the clients. What they enjoy most is the talking. We sit and have a laugh about my latest calamity or what so and so did at the lunch club. They often tell me tales of wartime, which I find fascinating. The clients are aged probably between their late 60s and 90s, so their reminiscences provide me with a fascinating oral history I wouldn't find elsewhere. They are generally in poor health but they never complain. We sit there in stitches sometimes.
As this is a voluntary role there is no time pressure and I am happy to sit and talk to the clients for as long as they can put up with me. Sometimes they'll mention something that worries them and I will try and find the information they need and pass it on to them. Working at the CAB means I have access to a lot of information, which I am happy to provide to the clients if they need it.
My clients live quiet lives in lovely Suffolk bungalows but of course they do miss out on a lot of human interaction. I try to imagine how I would feel if I couldn't get out and about, and how much a friendly visit must mean to them. I have gained so much from doing this work. It enables me to practice my interviewing skills in a home environment and I can try out my latest jokes on a captive audience.
If anyone is interested in volunteering for their local home library service I'd say go for it. You'll make new friends and you'll make a difference to the lives of some wonderful people.
Saturday, 16 March 2013
The After Effects of Being Bullied
I was bullied by someone in my life, someone who ought to have known better. Coming from the left side of the political spectrum, I rather naively thought socialists don't do things like bullying. I thought all the talk of equality and respect for women would carry through to home life. Sadly in my case I was wrong.
I will not go into specific detail here as nothing I say will be new to most people. The physical and mental abuse went on over several years and affected not just me but my immediate family members. I am no longer in that situation and have moved on in any ways, both physically and emotionally. My confidence took a severe bruising but it gradually repaired itself through going to work and volunteering.
One aspect of the mental abuse has stayed with me though. I used to be questioned, interrogated even, about an apparent mistake such as a slip up in the household budgeting. I would be asked why did these figures not add up, why, why why? He seemed to think the use of repeated and aggressive questioning would eventually illicit the correct response. In fact what happened was my brain would shut down to the point where I could not think at all; it would be like looking at a blank wall. I could not even guess at an answer, I couldn't remember how to guess.
I don't know if it was my mind's way of dealing with stress but it really did not help in that situation. I would then be told I was ignorant; being deliberately argumentative or provocative. The simple fact was I could not answer the question because I did not know how to. My mind would not let me attempt an answer. This may have stemmed from the fact that whenever I did answer a question it was invariably wrong. Whatever answer I gave to a question, I should have given a different one. I suppose in the end my mind decided the best thing was to say nothing at all.
Although I am now happy and settled I still suffer the after effects of close interrogation. Even when alone, if I read something that requires a degree of working out there are days when my mind simply switches off. I see the words or numbers in front of me but they are just shapes and my head doesn't know what to do with them. Fortunately it doesn't happen very often and I have learnt not to try and fight it. If I get a blank I just walk away and work on something else.
My work brings me into contact with people who have gone through similar experiences. I empathise and I never judge. So why didn't he, she, just walk away? It's not that easy. When your confidence is crushed you forget how to plan or make decisions. You simply can't do it.
I will not go into specific detail here as nothing I say will be new to most people. The physical and mental abuse went on over several years and affected not just me but my immediate family members. I am no longer in that situation and have moved on in any ways, both physically and emotionally. My confidence took a severe bruising but it gradually repaired itself through going to work and volunteering.
One aspect of the mental abuse has stayed with me though. I used to be questioned, interrogated even, about an apparent mistake such as a slip up in the household budgeting. I would be asked why did these figures not add up, why, why why? He seemed to think the use of repeated and aggressive questioning would eventually illicit the correct response. In fact what happened was my brain would shut down to the point where I could not think at all; it would be like looking at a blank wall. I could not even guess at an answer, I couldn't remember how to guess.
I don't know if it was my mind's way of dealing with stress but it really did not help in that situation. I would then be told I was ignorant; being deliberately argumentative or provocative. The simple fact was I could not answer the question because I did not know how to. My mind would not let me attempt an answer. This may have stemmed from the fact that whenever I did answer a question it was invariably wrong. Whatever answer I gave to a question, I should have given a different one. I suppose in the end my mind decided the best thing was to say nothing at all.
Although I am now happy and settled I still suffer the after effects of close interrogation. Even when alone, if I read something that requires a degree of working out there are days when my mind simply switches off. I see the words or numbers in front of me but they are just shapes and my head doesn't know what to do with them. Fortunately it doesn't happen very often and I have learnt not to try and fight it. If I get a blank I just walk away and work on something else.
My work brings me into contact with people who have gone through similar experiences. I empathise and I never judge. So why didn't he, she, just walk away? It's not that easy. When your confidence is crushed you forget how to plan or make decisions. You simply can't do it.
Friday, 15 March 2013
Bedroom Tax Protests
Saturday 16 March 2013, sees the start of bedroom tax protests in 54 towns and cities throughout the UK. These protests have largely been organised by a group calling itself Labour Left but will also be attended by amongst others the SWP, trade unionists and greens.
Dr Eoin Clarke is a driving force behind Labour Left and his intentions are good. The protests are intended to force the government to rethink its position on penalising social housing tenants living in homes deemed too large for their needs. Ian Duncan Smith has already announced a partial climbdown by announcing foster carers and parents of teenagers in the armed forces will be exempted from the so called "under occupancy charge" or "spare room subsidy" aka the bedroom tax.
The problem I have with the bedroom tax stem from the fact these homes were allocated to tenants on the basis of enough rooms for all occupants plus one spare. The councils and housing associations rented accommodation on this basis, so it is wholly unfair to penalise the tenants now. Also families are by their nature prone to change at short notice, with members moving in and out of properties as situations arise. It is therefore quite possible for a family to be forced into smaller accommodation (assuming they can find it) only for another member to return to the fold. The resulting overcrowding can lead to tensions developing, with outbreaks of domestic violence.
And whilst I fully sympathise with the anger relating to the treatment of the disabled, singling them out and demanding concessions is not going to rectify an unfair system. My worry is when these concessions are met the fury will subside and many people will still be forced to leave their homes.
Add to this the lunacy of 721,00 homes in England alone currently laying empty. It does not take a genius to join up the dots. Shelter have an interactive map on their website showing the figures for empty homes are in your own area:
http://england.shelter.org.uk/campaigns/why_we_campaign/building_more_homes/empty_homes
By all means protest about the bedroom tax but demand it be scrapped in its entirety.
Dr Eoin Clarke is a driving force behind Labour Left and his intentions are good. The protests are intended to force the government to rethink its position on penalising social housing tenants living in homes deemed too large for their needs. Ian Duncan Smith has already announced a partial climbdown by announcing foster carers and parents of teenagers in the armed forces will be exempted from the so called "under occupancy charge" or "spare room subsidy" aka the bedroom tax.
The problem I have with the bedroom tax stem from the fact these homes were allocated to tenants on the basis of enough rooms for all occupants plus one spare. The councils and housing associations rented accommodation on this basis, so it is wholly unfair to penalise the tenants now. Also families are by their nature prone to change at short notice, with members moving in and out of properties as situations arise. It is therefore quite possible for a family to be forced into smaller accommodation (assuming they can find it) only for another member to return to the fold. The resulting overcrowding can lead to tensions developing, with outbreaks of domestic violence.
And whilst I fully sympathise with the anger relating to the treatment of the disabled, singling them out and demanding concessions is not going to rectify an unfair system. My worry is when these concessions are met the fury will subside and many people will still be forced to leave their homes.
Add to this the lunacy of 721,00 homes in England alone currently laying empty. It does not take a genius to join up the dots. Shelter have an interactive map on their website showing the figures for empty homes are in your own area:
http://england.shelter.org.uk/campaigns/why_we_campaign/building_more_homes/empty_homes
By all means protest about the bedroom tax but demand it be scrapped in its entirety.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)