I have a new summer fad and it is homemaking ice lollies.
The moulds and lids were from Poundland, six to a tray, each lolly being appox 100ml.
With pal Mulley of Mulliver’s Travels, first up was green tea and strawberry.
Recipe: (per tray - we made a big bowl and kept it in the fridge.) 400ml juice, 200ml green tea (steeped with two bags for 3-4 mins), frozen berries.
Bonus: it tasted a bit like Arizona.
For seconds - green tea and mango.
Recipe: (per tray, we again made a massive bowlful, eating them faster than we could freeze a new batch.) 450ml tropical juice, 150 ml green tea, frozen mango bits.
BETTER THAN A SOLERO.
Of course, my caffeine dependence was bound to step in at some point…
Recipe: 1tblsp brown sugar and 1 tblsp honey (or whatever you like, to taste - I was worried about the coffee freezing bitterly and in my head, lollies should always be sweet) dissolved in 450ml strong brewed coffee, 150ml almond milk.
GOOD MORNING BRIGHT EYES.
Side note: I didn’t mix in the milk, just tipped it on top of the coffee in the mould to get a cloudy effect. So artsy!
Bloody love lollies.
Bandeau sounds like Spandau, so of course I was humming Gold to myself whilst making these skirts.
I wanted something super-simple and very easy to wear in the humidity. No buttons, no zips, no fitted waists, no fabrics that could get stained with sweat or ice cream. Luckily - one of my housemates had just the skirt and we’re the same size, so I traced it exactly.
There’s the skirt body, as well as a separate waistband which is double-layered.
I only needed half a metre of fabric for each skirt, so it turned out to be a cheap project, too - less than £5 each.
I chose cotton jersey sensible colours; black, navy, and black and white stripes, so I could wear my new skirts with the brighter printed shirts I keep making myself, and keeping them muted enough for wearing to the office.
I got the jerseys from The Cloth House, 98 Berwick St.
The stripy one is slightly less stretchy than the other two so I won’t be cycling in that one after all.
I’m so pleased with how they came out that I’m going to save up all my bits of change, and alternate going to the bookshop with making myself a treat.
I read this by Hugh Muir on The Guardian, and my immediate answer is: yes.
I feel like I bang on about it a lot: I grew up in rural, farming Cumbria and I’ve got an accent. Not quite the accent, I left 8 years ago and it’s lost some of the grate, but I still sound undoubtedly northern. I haven’t got audio files of myself, but I go on my friend Sam’s movie podcast sometimes, you can have a listen to it if you want here and here.
It’s flat vowels, dropped t’s, over-pronounced r’s, and weird slang; ratch, scrow (rhymes with now), hoss.
So even though there are bigger fish to fry, and in the grand scheme of things it could be so much worse, here’s a big ramble about how I feel about my accent.
Weeks ago, I saw this fabric and had to buy it. I like travel, I like mail, and I like bright colours; ideal!
I reused the front and back bodices of the boxy self-drafted Palm pattern from last year, but didn’t have enough fabric for sleeves, a collar, or any facing so on a technical level it’s not quite as finished as I would have liked, but from the outside you can’t really tell!
Ta da: a summer shirt that doubles up as a checklist of places to visit!
Sometimes at night
I watch the
mice moths cross the kitchen floor my bedroom wall
I used to think they came from the
But they come
in under the pantry door from my underwear drawer
I get so close I can touch them all
On the nights I wait up for your call
asks doesn’t ask if we’ve seen ‘em She’ll set traps they aren’t bothered, but and i just spring mash ‘em
My roommates say we should kill them all
But they’ll stay up with me and I agree, I hate them
you never call I feel them crawl
On those nights
you never call they lay eggs in my flour until I cry
Comparatively, moths are not the worst pests, but they do eat holes in my clothes and soft furnishings (a taxidermy foxtail I was given as a gift was the first thing to go), and fly into my ears when I’m asleep, and lay eggs in my flour - the thought of which makes me want to vomit. And I haven’t seen them eat any of the aphids that are blighting my windowsill spinach.
Here is what I plan to do this weekend. Hell, I’ll even dry the lavender myself. But I’m not very happy about it.
In one of my Norwich houses, we had to keep sugar in jars one summer (proto-Pinterest) because of ants and earwigs, and in my Toronto room there was a mouse I’d named Gary because I wanted a pet - but you can’t really name moths, and now I’ve got a blood smear up the magnolia that won’t all the way wash off, and people don’t really take them that seriously like I’m complaining about misunderstood butterflies. When they’re batting into the lightbulb, they’re not gross, just an inconvenience. The consequences of moths unchecked can be on a par with other insects when it gets to infestation levels, and themselves are a symptom of the damp problem we’ve got.
So even though my carpets aren’t wriggling yet, I hate you, moths - and as soon as my sweaters start squirming I’m going to set everything on fire.
I am sentimental about all of the snowmen I have ever lost. I let them melt and as a child I was sad and it never occurred to me to bottle any of what was left.
Sweat, tears, lakes, ponds, and holy water are displayed with a brief introduction, the stories often highly personal. The receptacles interesting too; jam jars, plastic bottles, glass vials, film canisters.
My favourite section was the freezer containing, amongst other things, a frozen snowball.
I hadn’t been in the South Wing before, it felt like a dungeon.
Chinese Puzzle was schmaltzy rubbish but I would still go for a bike ride with Romain Duris.— Frances Taylor (@penny_face)June 24, 2014
Act 1 Scene 1 - Romain Duris narrates over a spacious, minimal kitchen: “Ma vie, it is so complicated. I have had experiences with all of these women” [pans over photographs], “lived in some of the best cities in the world” [pans over more photographs], “and yet, I have all of this excess wine [camera stops at a full wine rack]. Ma vie de vin exces, it represents le void inside.”
Act 1 Scene 2 - Romain Duris walks through London where he is researching for his new novel. It is shabby chic because as well as being independently wealthy, Romain Duris is a bohemian.
Act 1 Scene 3 - Romain Duris drinks an espresso on a pavement seating area of a cafe because he is still a bohemian. He sees Francise struggling with her bike - Romain Duris has locked his bike to hers as well as the lamp post. Romain Duris makes a small, knowing glance towards the camera. Vintage Romain Duris.
Act 2 Scene 1 - Romain Duris and Francise go for a bike ride around London, cue lots of shots of iconic London buildings that aren’t in geographical order. It’s summer so they don’t have to wear coats, which is a metaphor for his emotional baggage.
Act 2 Scene 2 - The sun sets. Romain Duris makes a note to include it in his novel.
Act 2 Scene 3 - Romain Duris and Francise drink some wine on his East End roof top, but there is still too much; it is too much wine for just two people on one night. It is a heavy-handed metaphor, but Romain Duris isn’t sure for what, yet.
Act 2 Scene 4 - Romain Duris muses over the view of the City lights in the distance. “Do you ever feel so small in this tangled, crazy world?” he asks.
"Do you want some more wine?" Francise asks.
"Maybe you don’t understand," Romain Duris replies. "Because you aren’t nearly 40.”
"Oh," Francise says. She stares out at the skyline, too.
Act 3 Scene 1 - Romain Duris and Francise cook pasta and drink some wine. The water boils over, and Romain Duris has to take the pan off the heat. The water becomes still, the spaghetti only half-cooked.
"Just like my life, tu sais?" Romain Duris mutters.
"Ouais," Francise says, even though she doesn’t, and Romain Duris was mostly talking to himself, anyway - but the ‘tu’ was significant.
Act 3 Scene 2 - Romain Duris and Francise sit on the balcony watching the rain, or sur le balcon, if you will. “Just like that time in Montreal!” Francise says wistfully, with half a chuckle.
"I wasn’t there for the first two movies of your life,” Romain Duris says flatly. He puts lime in his gin and tonic whilst she prefers cucumber. This is a metaphor as well.
"Oh, right." Francise runs her finger around her empty wine glass. It’s emptiness seems significant.
There is a pause.
Romain Duris asks,”do you want to go for a bike ride?”
Act 3 Scene 3 - Romain Duris and Francise sit on a bridge, legs dangling over above the canal. Their bikes lean against the railings.
They didn’t bring any wine. They lean their heads towards each other, resting on the central railing that separates them both. This is a visual metaphor for the emotional subtext of the film.
"I’ll be 28 next year," Francise says quietly, staring off into the middle distance.
"That’s almost 40," Romain Duris muses. It is comforting. "Let’s get back on our bikes. There is more wine to drink."
Epilogue - Romain Duris narrates, “Sometimes, life is complicated, and sometimes you just need to go on a bike ride. I’ve got more wine to drink, but maybe our lives will always have vin d’exces. C’est la vie!”
Park: Hackney Marshes
Dogs: Few. One very good looking border collie sitting on the pavement, and a Jack Russell type running along with a stick.
Notes: SO BLOODY HOT. I was worried about the heat, and it was a bit grim - I was tired from the start line and didn’t really recover (I am rubbish when it’s hot, I should probably go and live in Scotland), and got an amusing sunburn patch in the middle of my back where I couldn’t reach with the factor 30.
I didn’t want to pass out (I have never seen so many people wipe out, it was concerning) so me and my brother took it fairly slow, and in the end we were only 7 seconds (!!!) over my goal time. I was convinced we’d be much slower, proving I have no concept of speed and should have a bit more faith in myself.
Here we are with our medals!
It was nice to run around my own neighbourhood, and I liked that so many people had come to watch. One lady in Hackney Wick was leaning over her garden wall spraying people with her hose pipe, and someone else was handing out cups of water which was extremely welcome as the first water station at mile 4 had run out by time we got there. I’m not usually one for *~local pride**~ but it was great, especially to show off to my brother that Londoners are alright after all!
I would also like to say thank you SO much to everyone that has sponsored me - I have beaten my target :D
I haven’t got another race for a while (this has put me off any more summer runs, bloody hell), probably the Nottingham Half in late September (tbc), and then the Detroit Marathon in October, but training will continue after a small rest as I’d like to get a little bit faster… and it’s not like I could ever sit still, is it?