We have been looking at houses to buy. Again. Oh my goodness, again. C is already completely frustrated with me and my overly excited search. I used to be idealistic about property buying – I genuinely had visions of finding a beautiful Victorian property with floorboards, fireplace and cottage, yet spacious feel, long garden… Then going for a coffee at the 30s NYC coffee house down the road, near the outstanding nursery and happy, wholesome school and large, clean park, with Phil Spencer, and you know – buying the house. He’d confirmed that there was NO damp, no scary things and the vendor was overjoyed at us purchasing their house. How rosy!
It’s not like this. It’s a sellers market and every minute counts. We also have things to contend with; freelance, baby, being called ‘dependants’, childcare being frowned upon and the buy to let buyers. However we have a deposit, we pay an extortionate price for our rent already and we don’t have a truck load of debt. We just want a nice family house please, thank you. *Look up to sky and to Right Move.*
Regardless of the pain parts and our plus and minus’ next to our (non-married – is that a minus?) family name, I am still super excited. I may be embarrassing to C, wanting to put in offers on every house – thousands and thousands below the asking price (when they are going for thousands above) because I love the thrill of a bargain (ahem) and can ‘see’ the potential – but I find reason. I know that we will find the right house for us. With the extra rooms, garden, period features, possibilities of extension up and round, work for us to do but not too much… House, you are out there!
And my heart – when I think of Alba and I creating her little room ❤
Us on the day we moved to Bristol – Nov, 2008. We had only been to Bristol once before. I have clearly put out some odd bits here. That lampshade in the background was a shocker, but the mirror was a beaut. Francois was yet to be created.
Quality time has been obscured. Here is my to do list. Most of it revolves around food, but I’m not apologising for this. I plan to get all this ticked off in two weeks.
1) Go for a meal together somewhere.
2) Go to the secret bar and drink cocktails behind the thick velvet curtain.
3) Eat pancakes with bacon and maple syrup from Tart.
4) Go to a swing dance class.
5) Make macaroons (as inspired by Bluebird Vintage blog)
6) Cycle to a country pub.
7) Plant vegetables.
8. Go for a walk in the woods.
9) Make Moules Marinière. Then eat.
10) Go to an exhibition.
11) Charlie go surfing.
Firstly I put in 125g instead of 25g of sugar. Scrapped the mix. You can not extract sugar from flour, even if it has only just been put in. Second batch. I forgot to sieve the flour. Then realised in retrospect the flour looked weird anyway. Is it our dampish kitchen striking my flour? Third batch. I had only plain flour in a jar, and that could be self raising actually, because I didn’t label the jar when I decanted it. SO I whacked some bicarbonate soda in for good measure. Considered making them cheese scones. Then changed my mind as I’d already got the Cornish clotted cream and luscious jam. This led to me forgetting to put the sugar in at all. Cooked batch two. They looked like pancakes. Cooked batch three, after putting in some dried fruits. And so the third are floury… I think. As of course it was essentially a savoury mix. Then looking at the kitchen filled with flour, pancake scones and sugar explosions, there was cooking devastation everywhere. OH DEAR. Why do I rush these things? I am not a terrible cook, I just want to get it done, and I think I should be doing something else. But when I rush, of course, it all goes wrong.
BUT! This time, somehow – I pulled it off. Despite pre-warning the knit foxes of the potential hideousness (should try to avoid doing these disclaimers), they loved it. The third batch weren’t floury like I had thought. They went down well…Charlie scoffed the last three when he made a pit stop back home before flying off again to Scotland, so I don’t have one for my tea today (thanks love), but whatever: CELEBRATION of SCONE! (Note: I know that they aren’t necessarily difficult and I have made many a cheese scone, but annoyingly I have domestic goddess LACK paranoia).
Does anyone else have these anti-domestic goddess issues?
So here is me icing my cake:
And here is the dirty, dirty, heaven beast:
And HERE is the recipe. A friend showed me this recipe. I made mine a bit differently to her’s (as always seems to happen in my cookery life), but I think we both agree the sour cream makes it extra mmmm. x
(Try not to scroll down too fast – I don’t want my cake being overshadowed by the pearly one below. Tres possible/definite.)
Charlie got some good work news yesterday. Massive respect to the curly topped one. I tried to bake him a Nigella cake but my scales have been destroyed ever since I dropped them in the sink and broke the plastic bowl bit that sits on top. I discovered they were infact totally broken only last night. Which is a shame. They are entirely unreliable. I’m pleased that I finally have seen the scaled light however, because now I can blame it on my bizarre blueberry muffins the other day. They were NOT crumbly – which for me is as essential as the chewy cookie. Non? It’s bad enough having a lopsided cooking oven… My baking prowess is being HINDERED i tell you.
So the oven was on and I was ready to bake but it was over before it started. Charlie came home with a (screw top?) bottle of Prosecco and we adopted the kitchen table discuss/rant position. My FAVE. Cake = forgotten. But he is working late tonight so I will make it now – after I have found some scales from ta shops. So.. in a bit.
When he gets home, rather than seeing me typing away – mehhhh – He will get CAKE and THIS (video)… That’s nice isn’t it? Yeeeeeh.