Menopausal munching for Xmas

UnknownI have just consumed an entire Thomas The tank engine advent calendar I had bought for a friends son.

25 wee bits of shiny not very chocolatey chocolate – pop, gulp,  pop, gulp, pop, gulp , pop, gulp, pop x 25. All gone.
Well I need some comfort I have lost my voice.
A joy for my friends and family but a nightmare for me – the shouty one.

Some bright spark said go to bed and sleep until you feel better. I tried that but I can’t sleep.

I have been reliably informed that one of the side effects of the menopause – yes boys read the words and cringe – is ye cannae sleep.

If I can’t sleep. I must eat.

Lots.

Which I do and if I pause for too long

I become particularly grumpy.

Probably because my belly expands daily because I cant stop eating.

Because I’m not sleeping.

And lets face it  – comfort comes in the shape of chocolate, cheese , rum & coke. Not necessarily all in the same glass but hey ho never say never.

Hell maybe it’s just me.

The fact is I am a health freak in a dysfunctional middle aged womans body.

There.

Spleen vented I’m off for another Advent calendar.

Peppa Pig where are you?

 

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Blipfoto. Oh God here we go another time wasting extravaganza here.

Oh look another way to fritter away time.

Blipfoto.

It’s addictive.

Que Sera sera. The futures not ours to see - well it is if you subscribe to Blipfoto I suppose.
Que Sera sera. The futures not ours to see – well it is if you subscribe to Blipfoto I suppose.

But then so are booze, chocolate, dogs, wasabi peas and eggs benedict and that never stopped us.  So what the heck….here we go again.

My friend KC got hooked on this last year. She has kept it up. Posting a photo every day. Charting her year. Her life. Her highs. Lows. Sherrys, dogs, and light sponge cakes with sauce. All in all looking back an interesting slice of life. So love a bandwagon. I’m on.

First entry is a cheat. It was taken on Hogmanay but hey ho. It was the start of this year, the last time I had an alcoholic drink and therefore a moment marked. Though I am heading gin wise now…..well? What of it?

 

So my name on Blipfoto is Gogglebox. I dont’ know why other than it is the funniest TV show I have seen in years.  So www.blipfoto.com/gogglebox

Have a good night.

 

 

 

What is it about chocolate and women?

Nothing like wrapping your gums round some frankly spectacular chocolate.
I buy it to ignore.
I hide it high in my cupboard.
But I know it’s there.
I sit in my studio, I talk nonsense, get paid, leave the studio but still in the back of my brain is a niggling little ‘there is chocolate within easy reach, Alison and you know you want it’
After chewing on a few dry bits of old Ryvita I relent. I always do.
One small bite? Nope. I just horse the lot.

Too much chocolate is bad for dogs....WOWEE

Latest temptation was a small but perfectly formed selection of mini chocolate eggs I received from Hotel Chocolat. Now when I say mini I mean about quail’s eggs size. Each one was different.

Determined not to just gorge I made myself a lovely hot cup of Rooibos tea – incidentally how do you pronounce that? Is it Redbush? – I tried that but every time I thought about it my screwed up brain launched into the first three lines of Nutbush(Redbush) City Limits…Church House, Hen house…see what I mean…so I have started calling it Rooibos which maybe pretentious. If it is. Tough. It’s better than being thrown out of the house for trying to sound like Tina Turner at 8am on a Monday morning. Oops sorry digressing again.
Back now.
So cup of tea in hand I flipped open this delightful mini egg feast and – pop – selected one at random, it sat on my tongue for 1 -2 seconds before I gurumphed it down and boy what a delight it was.
As I lay back enjoying the whole chocolate is a substitute for sex feeling Teenwolf my enthusiastic eating offspring came loping in. ‘Hi Mum WOW they look good’ he blurted as his arm lunged towards the box.
Stop’ I commanded from my prone position ‘you can have one but only if you describe it for me’ Accustomed as he is to many strange requests he didn’t bat an eyelid, instead he nodded sagely, selected one and popped it in his mouth.
These are his words not mine
The Strawberry one ‘very delightful, seemingly sweeps across the tongue blissfully’

Bad photo - great eggs!

Are you taking the mickey?’
‘Maybe’ he said ‘but it was good.’
Ok have another

The Whisky one was next.  ‘Not my cup of tea, however the strong whisky taste comes through all guns blazing, it certainly zaps the senses’. Relieved he hadn’t developed an instant love of whisky he eyed up the remaining eggs. Living with a writer has rubbed off on him, I suspected as he then said – The Chocolate Brownie one. ‘It tastes as it sounds, creamy, decadent, full of loveliness. A childhood favourite place in a chocolate shell, could life be any better?
By now I was laughing so much I must have burned off loads of calories so  after locking him out of the room I ate the rest myself. They were a delight.

No here’s the good but, if you like the idea of these sumptuous oval eggy delights then I have a box to give away! I do. Just answer this question. What is it about chocolate and women? Nah that’s a bit tricky….OK how about an anagram.

Rearrange these letters to find something delicious and seasonal:

The coolest sage grace

Send your answer to alison@alisonsdiary.com and  I’ll announce the winner next Monday.  Good Luck!

Yum. Oh and just to drive your famiy as mad as I do mine, here’s Tina doing what she does best. Singing about tea with pizzazz!

Intolerance my arse.

I always think I am allergic to something. Fact is I’m allergic to bugger all. It’s all in the mind. I know it. I just can’t face up to the fact that stuffing my face with chocolate, wine and bread is going to make me puff up. And that’s not an allergy that’s life. So as I spot the latest self help book in the bookshop – How to Have a Bum Like a Pair of Walnuts in 25 minutes by R.Yoo Mintal I put down my jammy donut, wipe my fingers and reach out for it like the 100’s of other misguided woman around me. STOP.

Just the ticket. Keep face flat whilst smoking. Pre-botox.

Diet and exercise – its not rocket science but the sad fact is it’s not fun so therefore I’m not interested.

A sea change of attitude is what’s required here I know that. But at this stage is it going to happen to me? I think not.

And anyway who wants to see a 47 year old dancing around half naked on a beach?  Is it not about now it is acceptable to be seen lounging louchely in a dark coloured kafthan sporting a large brimmed hat, a huge gin and tonic and oh God a fag! Does that mean I have to start smoking again?  How I suffer for my art. The art of growing old disgracefully.

Calorific Catastrophe all in the name of Jesus.

Easier said than done Mr Sign Maker Man!

There is a time of year in this God forsaken country when all I can think about is food.

All year.

365 days a year.

Before I open my eyes in the morning I think….mmmmn what can I have?

It’s why I  get up – to slug coffee down my throat and toy with the possibilities.

1. Cereal – Get Thee Behind Me Satan.

Us in the dark after a dubious loaf, I'm the one on the left.

2. Toast – dull.  Plus I have gone off it since I found out some of the  bread we buy in the supermarkets will last for about 3 years if just left there on the kitchen unit,  thanks to the surfeit of  E numbers and preservatives that lurk within. No, the only reason I would eat it now is  to test my theory that we will glow in the dark if suddenly plunged into darkness  again ( I refer to a recent power cut during which we nearly died cannoning round the house  crashing into each other, tripping over dogs and trying to find a candle and then a match to illumintate our coal black surroundings – obviously we survived)    So anyway, as Spring has sprung and the clocks have changed,   I ignored the bread, and moved on to the cooked options.

3. Poached eggs on toast. Oh yeh the damn bread again. Poached eggs without toast?  Not an option. Although even if I do say so myself I am a bit of a dab hand on the  poached egg front  having attended Nick Nairns cookery school with my 78 year old mother.

Even seeing this makes me want to stuff it into my face

She is a great cook but the elusive perfect poached egg had escaped her repertoire for all of those decades.  So we learnt together but all of that knowledge and wonder is frankly redundant if not perched on a lightly toasted, wholemeal, vaguley homemade bread with good quality butter. Slurp.  Same goes with scrambled, boiled and don’t like fried, so no eggs then.

4. Sausages & bacon only as part of the whole and the whole is the above and that’s not happening

5. Fresh fruit- yes Ok a few sunken satsumas, a wrinkly looking apple and a very brown banana.I had replenished the fruit bowl less than 24 hours ago but my son, Teenwolf is aka the Fruit Bat. He scoffs it in such alarming quantities I have considered getting a pipe and firing it directly into his stomach like a Perigord Goose. He says he’ll phone Childline. Fair enough.

Is it any wonder they look worried really.

So  weak with hunger and desperate I  lunged into the cupboard.

A yes the big carboard box of porridge oats.  Nice. Well nice if you cook it slowly  in full fat milk before liberally sprinkling with brown sugar, nuts, some chopped fruit and cream – the equivalent in calories of  another bleedin’ Easter Egg.

Excuse to put picture of beautiful egg eating Paul Newman up. Swoon.

Bugger it.

I’ll just have the Egg.

The big chocolate Egg.

The one that I had set aside to replace the one I ate yesterday, which made me feel sick. But God it was so worth it.  1 …2…3…….

X