101 Reasons why I cannot be trusted

  Went to the registry office this week to publish the banns of marriage with the Boy. After providing all his details about himself, he was asked by the Registrar to give my full name and age.

I got the giggles that I was not allowed to answer.

A swift look from the Boy and I controlled myself.

Due to a long-unremedied error on my passport, the exchange then went as follows:

Registrar: And the bride's date of birth?

Me: 12 September

Registrar: Oh...it says 2 September on your passport...?

Me: Oh... um... whichever suits you.*

Registrar: Well, which is it?

Me: Tedious explanation which I won't bore you with.

The Registrar sighs, accepts my explanation and fills in my correct date of birth. After reading out the legal ramifications of the forms and the need for care, attention and avoiding prison sentences for incest and treason, she asks me to check the licence.

At which point, the Boy realises that I am not the age that he stated. I am, in fact, a year older.

I never could do maths.

The two marriage licences are destroyed and we have to start all over again.

My giggles have now reached a critical level.

Ten minutes and much glaring from the Boy later, we narrowly escape from the registry office with our licence and £60 worse off.

We are awaiting postal confirmation that all is well.

I am not holding my breath.

*Note to others. If you find yourself in a similar situation in the future, provide detailed corroboration of your birthday. Do not think it will be helpful to allow the Registrar to choose for you. They will think you are illegal. Or lying. Or stupid. Or all three.

** If this isn't an excuse for another showing off of the bling, I don't know what is...

A Valentine's Triumph

Bless him. One of the few times that the Boy enters the kitchen with grand designs is February 14th. For better or worse, he had the afternoon off clinic on that day so had a full 8 hours preparation time to brace himself for the culinary onslaught. Three supermarket trips later... and I came home to...

On the table, we had candles, a menu and delicious delights.

  

In the kitchen, a small hurricane had managed to decimate each and every pot, bowl and utensil that I own.

Mushroom and garlic flan to start and home battered calamari with watercress salad, pan fried potatoes and grilled tomatoes.

Bless the Boy. He was rightly proud and I was rightly full.

Love it or hate it?

Really can't decide...

Love the print

Hate the cut

Love the pleating detail

Hate what it would do to my chest

Love the colour

Hate the length

Votes please...

Weekends and lovin'

The sun came out last weekend and showed St A off in all its brilliant glory. We fed the ducks who had by then realised that spring was beginning to sprung.

 

 

 

The Boy came up with the goods with a newly planted and installed hanging basket that will certainly last much longer than the sad little roses that wept on supermarket shelves...

 

  

 

 

 

Valentines dinner was a triumph over adversity and involved three trips to the shops... Images and carnage to follow...

A week in the kitchen

The Boy has been on nights. It's been a rather chaotic time. The food must be good enough to last the night but mild enough to wake up to and be the 'breakfast' of your day. Oh, and it must be cooked between me getting back from work and the Boy getting out of the shower...

Queue stews, bakes and macaroni cheese.

Just what you need for the frostiest days of the year...