Leap
Hi there! You look great. I have almost too much to
spill – there may be dribbling.
February started with bronchitis and ended in a new job; like Dickens, but with Netflix and Kleenex Balsam.
Not only were the lovely team at Papercraft just heartwarmingly nice about me leaving, but mega editor Jenny created two gorgeous fabric birds, inspired by (and frankly much better than) the tinfoil birds I made ages ago. So cute!
Even better, Jenny’s taken time out from her rigorous schedule of being fabulous and interfering with moose to post a free template for those birdykins, so you can make ‘em yourself. I know, right? Thank you Jenny! Now it’s time to take a long, hard look at your own boss and shout ‘Hey boss! Where my birds at?’
So now I’m working on the fantabulous The Making Spot, Future’s all-newish craft website. Whee! Quick, click over there and wonder at the amazing jumpers. Do it!
In other news, the boy turns 32 tomorrow, and will celebrate by working late, late, late. C’est la vie des Phins. I have no idea if that French is correct.
Goodnight, lovely peeps x
February started with bronchitis and ended in a new job; like Dickens, but with Netflix and Kleenex Balsam.
Not only were the lovely team at Papercraft just heartwarmingly nice about me leaving, but mega editor Jenny created two gorgeous fabric birds, inspired by (and frankly much better than) the tinfoil birds I made ages ago. So cute!
Even better, Jenny’s taken time out from her rigorous schedule of being fabulous and interfering with moose to post a free template for those birdykins, so you can make ‘em yourself. I know, right? Thank you Jenny! Now it’s time to take a long, hard look at your own boss and shout ‘Hey boss! Where my birds at?’
So now I’m working on the fantabulous The Making Spot, Future’s all-newish craft website. Whee! Quick, click over there and wonder at the amazing jumpers. Do it!
In other news, the boy turns 32 tomorrow, and will celebrate by working late, late, late. C’est la vie des Phins. I have no idea if that French is correct.
Goodnight, lovely peeps x
|
Theories! Get yer Sherlock theories!
22 January 2012 @ 13:27Filed in: TV | Not-a-Whocap
Contains
spoilers for series 2 of Sherlock.
Everyone loves Sherlock, right? Of course they do. Let’s relieve our shaky Sherlock withdrawal symptoms with some idle speculation about those thrilling final scenes in The Reichenbach Fall. It’ll be fun!*
*Disclaimer: Fun not guaranteed.
Shoddy synopsis
Sherlock’s shiny-haired nemesis, Jim Moriarty, carries out a series of bonkers crimes (Lovely box of Mercury Street? Pass me a purple one!) designed for Sherlock to solve quickly, prompting the police to suspect Sherlock himself of being a master criminal. Meanwhile, Jim’s been undercover as an undercover actor (stay with me), selling his ‘story’ to a tabloid reporter who can’t wait to out Sherlock as a massive fraud. Crikey! Sherlock gets arrested on suspicion of, um, everything, then poor Watson gets arrested for assaulting an officer, then they both run away and it’s terribly exciting.
Anyway, stuff happens and Sherlock and Moriarty end up on the roof of St Bart’s hospital. Moriarty says that he wants Sherlock to be seen throwing himself off the building. And if he doesn’t, Watson (no!), Mrs Hudson (eep!), and Lestrade (…whatever) will be killed by masked gunmen. Sherlock foolishly points out that he could force Moriarty to call off the gunmen, at which point Moriarty takes the surprising step of shooting himself in the head. Fair play.
The only way out is down! Watson arrives at the scene just in time to receive a phoned-in suicide note from Sherlock then watch him throw himself off the roof. Woe and suffering abounds.
Later, Mrs Hudson and Watson visit Sherlock’s grave and relate their deep sorrow/thoughts on fridge hygiene. But wait, who’s that watching them? It is Sherlock! Who is totally alive!
What an awesomepants episode. Do watch it now if you haven’t already. Done? Good.
Cake or death? Or bin lorry?
Did Sherlock really fake his own death? If so, how? Let’s look at the evidence:
Exhibit A: Molly fakes
This one seems straightforward; prior to his rooftop deathfest showdown, Sherlock asked lovely morgue technician Molly to help him out. So it seems likely that either she provided a Sherlookalike corpse for identification and burial purposes, or she faked a death certificate for him. Nice work, Molly.
A stunning breakout performance from Molly’s cherry-motif cardigan. Bravo!
Exhibit B: The doppelgänger effect
Or was there a living Sherlock double in play? The kidnapped girl recognised hishunky
chiselled face immediately. Hmm.
OMG cheekbones squee!!!1!!
Exhibit C: Mind over (brain) matter
Sherlock insisted that Watson stand in a particular spot to witness his suicide. A spot where, usefully, he couldn’t actually see Sherlock hit the ground.
Stand where I tell you, Watson! Now dance. Dance, I say!
Also, when Watson ran towards the scene of the brainsplatter, a bike ran him over, rendering him woozy and confused. Dude can’t catch a break.
Think once, think twice, think possible concussion.
Exhibit D: Bin lorry of doom
If you’re going to jump off a roof, survive and flee the scene quickly, then leaping into an open-topped bin lorry is surely the way to do it. This little lorry was parked right next to the body, pulling away seconds later.
A bin lorry that’s just visited a hospital: only marginally more welcoming than solid pavement.
Exhibit E: Helping hands
Wow, those paramedics certainly got there quickly! And look at all those people ‘helpfully’ keeping Dr Watson away. Perhaps the body is an alive-Sherlock, splattered with gore by his faithful homeless pals. They don’t seem keen on Watson taking Sherlock’s pulse.
What’s so funny, Smiley McSmilersons?!
Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock. Smooshed detective.
Exhibit F: What the papers say
My initial feeling was that Sherlock had chucked Moriarty over the edge, dressed in his clothes. We clearly saw Sherlock’s face on the ground, though, so it doesn’t feel plausible. But! You’d think the papers would splash with Sherlock AND Moriarty dead? Old Jim doesn’t get a look in.
I shall not…clown.
That’s all I’ve got. What do you think? Feel free to share your theories in the comments below! Sherlock-related theories, I mean. I’m not really interested in crop circles or Paul McCartney.
Everyone loves Sherlock, right? Of course they do. Let’s relieve our shaky Sherlock withdrawal symptoms with some idle speculation about those thrilling final scenes in The Reichenbach Fall. It’ll be fun!*
*Disclaimer: Fun not guaranteed.
Shoddy synopsis
Sherlock’s shiny-haired nemesis, Jim Moriarty, carries out a series of bonkers crimes (Lovely box of Mercury Street? Pass me a purple one!) designed for Sherlock to solve quickly, prompting the police to suspect Sherlock himself of being a master criminal. Meanwhile, Jim’s been undercover as an undercover actor (stay with me), selling his ‘story’ to a tabloid reporter who can’t wait to out Sherlock as a massive fraud. Crikey! Sherlock gets arrested on suspicion of, um, everything, then poor Watson gets arrested for assaulting an officer, then they both run away and it’s terribly exciting.
Anyway, stuff happens and Sherlock and Moriarty end up on the roof of St Bart’s hospital. Moriarty says that he wants Sherlock to be seen throwing himself off the building. And if he doesn’t, Watson (no!), Mrs Hudson (eep!), and Lestrade (…whatever) will be killed by masked gunmen. Sherlock foolishly points out that he could force Moriarty to call off the gunmen, at which point Moriarty takes the surprising step of shooting himself in the head. Fair play.
The only way out is down! Watson arrives at the scene just in time to receive a phoned-in suicide note from Sherlock then watch him throw himself off the roof. Woe and suffering abounds.
Later, Mrs Hudson and Watson visit Sherlock’s grave and relate their deep sorrow/thoughts on fridge hygiene. But wait, who’s that watching them? It is Sherlock! Who is totally alive!
What an awesomepants episode. Do watch it now if you haven’t already. Done? Good.
Cake or death? Or bin lorry?
Did Sherlock really fake his own death? If so, how? Let’s look at the evidence:
Exhibit A: Molly fakes
This one seems straightforward; prior to his rooftop deathfest showdown, Sherlock asked lovely morgue technician Molly to help him out. So it seems likely that either she provided a Sherlookalike corpse for identification and burial purposes, or she faked a death certificate for him. Nice work, Molly.
A stunning breakout performance from Molly’s cherry-motif cardigan. Bravo!
Exhibit B: The doppelgänger effect
Or was there a living Sherlock double in play? The kidnapped girl recognised his
OMG cheekbones squee!!!1!!
Exhibit C: Mind over (brain) matter
Sherlock insisted that Watson stand in a particular spot to witness his suicide. A spot where, usefully, he couldn’t actually see Sherlock hit the ground.
Stand where I tell you, Watson! Now dance. Dance, I say!
Also, when Watson ran towards the scene of the brainsplatter, a bike ran him over, rendering him woozy and confused. Dude can’t catch a break.
Think once, think twice, think possible concussion.
Exhibit D: Bin lorry of doom
If you’re going to jump off a roof, survive and flee the scene quickly, then leaping into an open-topped bin lorry is surely the way to do it. This little lorry was parked right next to the body, pulling away seconds later.
A bin lorry that’s just visited a hospital: only marginally more welcoming than solid pavement.
Exhibit E: Helping hands
Wow, those paramedics certainly got there quickly! And look at all those people ‘helpfully’ keeping Dr Watson away. Perhaps the body is an alive-Sherlock, splattered with gore by his faithful homeless pals. They don’t seem keen on Watson taking Sherlock’s pulse.
What’s so funny, Smiley McSmilersons?!
Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock. Smooshed detective.
Exhibit F: What the papers say
My initial feeling was that Sherlock had chucked Moriarty over the edge, dressed in his clothes. We clearly saw Sherlock’s face on the ground, though, so it doesn’t feel plausible. But! You’d think the papers would splash with Sherlock AND Moriarty dead? Old Jim doesn’t get a look in.
I shall not…clown.
That’s all I’ve got. What do you think? Feel free to share your theories in the comments below! Sherlock-related theories, I mean. I’m not really interested in crop circles or Paul McCartney.
Welcome to the world of tomorrow!
02 January 2012 @ 15:06Filed in: Recipes
Hello, happy new year! I'm writing this in TextEdit
because I have a new computer that doesn't have my
bloggy-bloggy software on it. And if there's one thing
I've learned from associating with techno-boffins it's
that you must always write in TextEdit if you're
planning to paste something into a website. ALWAYS! If
you use Word, then you'll break the Internet and
society will collapse and you'll inadvertently publish
some code that triggers a nuclear attack on Rockall.
Use TextEdit to write your blog posts. Just use it! Or
Notepad. That works too.
Anyway, things went downhill like a lardy bobsled after we last spoke. The boy and I caught a horrible virus that made us wheeze and simmer for weeks on end, operating a tag-team coughing rota that meant no one could sleep and everyone hated each other a bit. While this was happening, we each had to meet our mag deadlines and deal with some tedious passport-related drama and a flat inspection, so once again it hasn't been the jolliest of Decembers.
In happier news, I had a birthday. Thank you everyone who sent lovely cards and gifts, you are clearly awesomepants. Chris gave me some stylin' half-height Hunter wellies and fancy BeneFit make-up that smells like watermelon. Nice. I will make him take a photo of me modelling these items. This is my sixth birthday noted here at the Ribble. See? 26, 27, 28, 29, 30. I get older, my hair gets bigger, and I keep going back to Pizza Express.
In Christmas food news, the chilli jam seemed to go down quite well with the Tap! gang, and we made two batches of mince pies so delicious that they make me want to cry. The mincemeat tastes nothing like shop-bought stuff. You can taste all the individual fruits and spices, and it's much less sweet. Check out the recipe in Delia's Happy Christmas for next year.
Here's our iced cake. The stars look a bit like starfish.
And I made two half-cakes to give to our parents. To make up for the missing halves, I created 'magical' woodland scenes.
Cheers to you! x
Anyway, things went downhill like a lardy bobsled after we last spoke. The boy and I caught a horrible virus that made us wheeze and simmer for weeks on end, operating a tag-team coughing rota that meant no one could sleep and everyone hated each other a bit. While this was happening, we each had to meet our mag deadlines and deal with some tedious passport-related drama and a flat inspection, so once again it hasn't been the jolliest of Decembers.
In happier news, I had a birthday. Thank you everyone who sent lovely cards and gifts, you are clearly awesomepants. Chris gave me some stylin' half-height Hunter wellies and fancy BeneFit make-up that smells like watermelon. Nice. I will make him take a photo of me modelling these items. This is my sixth birthday noted here at the Ribble. See? 26, 27, 28, 29, 30. I get older, my hair gets bigger, and I keep going back to Pizza Express.
In Christmas food news, the chilli jam seemed to go down quite well with the Tap! gang, and we made two batches of mince pies so delicious that they make me want to cry. The mincemeat tastes nothing like shop-bought stuff. You can taste all the individual fruits and spices, and it's much less sweet. Check out the recipe in Delia's Happy Christmas for next year.
Here's our iced cake. The stars look a bit like starfish.
And I made two half-cakes to give to our parents. To make up for the missing halves, I created 'magical' woodland scenes.
Cheers to you! x
Jarring up for dark days
Since August, life in the Poringe has fallen apart in a
painful but dignified kind of way. Holidays have been
abandoned, weekends lost, episodes of Doctor Who
missed. Tragic.
I’ve done what every good Scotswoman does when faced with adversity: I’ve made a massive amount of food.
Look! Here are lots of jars of mincemeat:
They don’t look very appetising, but each jar is filled with fruit, zest, spices, sugar, treacle and brandy. Mmm! I made this back in September, because it needs to mature for a good while before it’s used.
Next up, Christmas cake! I was feeling cocky and decided to use a much more complicated recipe than last year; there was a lot of whisking and soaking and warming and blending. Also, it took four and a half hours to bake. Crazy. I made the cake in early October, and now it lives in the cake stand and sucks up a few spoons of brandy once a week. It’s like a quiet but needy pet.
This weekend, I made sweet chilli jam. It’s good with cheese toasties, sausage rolls and other cosy lazy lunchfood. These will be Christmas presents for the lovely Tap! team, who’ve worked like demons all year long.
That’s it! When I’m stressed, I find an afternoon in the kitchen is pretty relaxing. I also like the ancient tradition of boiling, baking and jarring in the autumn. In centuries gone by, mincemeat, chutneys and dense fruitcakes were a way to preserve harvest fruits through long winters, providing much of the calories and good cheer required for dark days in the Northern hemisphere. I especially love that my modern mincemeat recipe held on to a medieval memory; the fruit sealed in beef suet to stop fermentation.
Next up is my birthday, then Christmas. Cake for everyone!
x
I’ve done what every good Scotswoman does when faced with adversity: I’ve made a massive amount of food.
Look! Here are lots of jars of mincemeat:
They don’t look very appetising, but each jar is filled with fruit, zest, spices, sugar, treacle and brandy. Mmm! I made this back in September, because it needs to mature for a good while before it’s used.
Next up, Christmas cake! I was feeling cocky and decided to use a much more complicated recipe than last year; there was a lot of whisking and soaking and warming and blending. Also, it took four and a half hours to bake. Crazy. I made the cake in early October, and now it lives in the cake stand and sucks up a few spoons of brandy once a week. It’s like a quiet but needy pet.
This weekend, I made sweet chilli jam. It’s good with cheese toasties, sausage rolls and other cosy lazy lunchfood. These will be Christmas presents for the lovely Tap! team, who’ve worked like demons all year long.
That’s it! When I’m stressed, I find an afternoon in the kitchen is pretty relaxing. I also like the ancient tradition of boiling, baking and jarring in the autumn. In centuries gone by, mincemeat, chutneys and dense fruitcakes were a way to preserve harvest fruits through long winters, providing much of the calories and good cheer required for dark days in the Northern hemisphere. I especially love that my modern mincemeat recipe held on to a medieval memory; the fruit sealed in beef suet to stop fermentation.
Next up is my birthday, then Christmas. Cake for everyone!
x