Mummy Chic

Or, how I look like a scubber* most of the time, and what shall I do about it?

So, over at Tea for Two, K was lamenting a bad purchase, and thinking about shoes. And Fay was talking about those little changes (like a hair colour change) that make you feel more like you. All of which got me thinking too.

Because I wear pretty much the same thing every single day. I have two pairs of identical jeans - one black, one blue; four identical stripy tops in various colours; and a handful of plain jumpers and cardigans. I wear hiking boots because they are comfortable and waterproof. And a fleece if its cold. All of my clothes were chosen on the basis of their functionality and cost. I look like this:

(Well, I have a head and feet in real life too).

This is in fact, so typical for my 'tribe' that it is described in Naomi Stadlen's study of modern (mostly London-based) mothers, 'What Mothers Do', thus: "Mothers are sometimes thought to lose pride in their appearance and to 'let themselves go'. Perhaps some mothers do. The unofficial dress code for mothers today seems to be plain T-shirts and jeans".

She goes on to say by the way, "No longer, as mothers, can they assume that air of cool and detached elegance, which is so greatly prized today. Instead they glow with warm and tender expressions", and, "As mothers we have reached sexual fruitfulness. Some mothers seem to feel this, but the majortiy clearly do not. Most mothers apologise for their appearances, as if we should expect to see fully groomed women in immaculate, dust-free homes. ... It's striking how few mothers feel they are beautiful and sexually attractive when they look hot and dishevelled."(pp193-194)

Optimistic, at best, I think Ms Stadlen. Slightly deluded at worst. Yes, I get that we as mothers - and just as women and human beings - have wonderful bodies that do wonderful things - and that there is beauty in everyone.

However, when your legs itch from their hair having been cultivated for months, and your greasy hair is scraped back from your shadow-eyed face, and you sit beneath the weight of the perpetual ache of your shoulders, noticing how not one single item of clothing you wear has escaped being smurred with baby slobber or snot or regurgitate, believe me, it is very difficult to feel 'beautiful and sexually attractive', or even 'fit to mingle in general society'.

It is not enough to rest upon the hope that this motherly glow of which she speaks is somehow emanating from beneath the grubbiness. I need deforesting! cleaning! polishing! shininess and pretties!

Moreover, I need sleep. But as that is not likely in the near future I would settle instead for a good pair of shoes and a decent haircut. As regards the former, it is getting too warm for hiking boots, yet not warm enough yet to dig out my sandals. I need something inbetweeny.

To which end, I have just spent the time I could/should have been doing something useful, instead browsing shoes on the interwebs...

These Bloch flats are just lovely. I've tried on Bloch shoes before and they are so comfortable I jsut kept walking round and round the shop trying and failing to convince myself that I could justify a £180 spend on such flimsy little things.

Slightly more practical but still a little bit spangly, I quite like these KG sneakers.

Or would canvas pumps with pretty bows detract from the plainness of the rest of my garb perhaps?

Must get myself to some real-life shoe shops soonish I think... Any recommendations for good pretty but practical footwear?

*I think I made this word up; it just describes how I feel best. scubby. A bit plain and a bit grubby.

Where did it go? (and will it come back)

I used to doodle. All the time. I used to write stories and elaborate, carefully-worded, fanciful emails. I used to have fantastical daydreams and nonsensical plans I half believed in.

I used to have walls covered with 'inspiration' and spend tube journeys planning my site-specific specialist dance company, or the magazine I would create, or the books I would write.

I used to always include 'creative' or 'imaginative' if pushed to complete that annoying exercise of describing oneself in three words.

Nowadays 'sensible' springs to mind. 'Pedantic' perhaps. Restrained. Messy. Busy. Somewhat efficient even. But not imaginative. Not creative. Because I neither imagine nor create anymore.

I never doodle. I make lists. There are no stories in my mind, just a constant rolling inventory of what to do and when I should do it. My emails are brief to the point of curtness.

I sat down at a cafe the other day and 'allowed' myself to doodle. But nothing came. My mind just wanted to list what I need to sort and what I could make for dinner. My university notes were never more than about 10% comprehensible - they always became covered in nonsense and drawings. I used not be able to stop it, and now I can't start it.

Oh you could still say I was 'creative' I suppose. I mean, I create dinners out of really peculiar fridge contents sometimes. And I invent nonsense songs on the spot as I potter around with the baby. And I have little craft projects to do (but they are much more about relaxation and an activity for me than 'creativeness').

I miss it. I miss that bit of my brain.

Is it just being a parent, I wonder? Half my brain eroded by sleep deprivation; the other half crammed full of constant things to do.

Or did it start when I left my dead-end job (and my colleagues there - fellow idling amateur writers/designers/dancers/musicians) and fell into accountancy, somewhat accidentally. That intense training does rather warp one's thinking.

Either way, I do hope at some point that it will come back.

That's the way to do New Year's Resolutions!

They are so tempting. The allure of a shimmering mirage of an upgraded you. The moreish taste of self discipline and pointless achievement. The chance to luxuriate for a little while in the possibility that this time you might change.

But I have learned my lesson. I've done resolutions in the past. I've got all enamoured with them, believed in them, and then forgotten them or ignored them hastily and reverted to type.

I flirted with them this year. I let the ideas pop up in my head. I thought, 'I'd like to: grow vegetables - finish a knitting project that actually works - send people presents on time - eat hardly any sugar - create delicious veggie dishes and fruit-based puds every night - wear grown up night gear - change the bed every fortnight - have always stylish hair - be nicer to people - give more to charity - network at work - go on date nights - stop watching shit tv - crochet a blanket - keep house plants alive - go to yoga once a week - meditate every day - take brilliant photos - not leave the house looking like a bag lady - sort everything before it becomes a pile - stop having miseries - read more - blog regularly - keep things clean - write real letters to people............................

And then I walked away from all that in the comfortable knowledge that it will never happen. And I thought, 'Let's make this achievable!'. And brief.

I resolved to go to the dentist.

I haven't been since 2001 - keep meaning to but I have a particular talent for not actually getting round to doing things that are quite easy but non-urgent and sound to me like a bit too much effort.

And... I went! Slightly freaked out by the young and glamorous lady dentist - I thought they were all old men. But she was lovely and only found one little spot that needed a filling (my first ever). So yay.

The silly thing is, I know this resolution thing is quite arbitrary, and well, kind of a cheat, but even so I keep getting this satisfying feeling of achievement. I'm done for the year!

If at first you don't succeed, as the saying goes...



(....lower your standards, or cheat)

January's almost over!

Which is good, because whilst I do try not to wish time away too much, January is almost always a terribly miserable month. February is never much better, although at least it keeps itself to a more reasonable 28 days. I invariably start wishing I could hibernate around this time of year.

January started especially miserably for me with a bout of flu. I'm not normally a panicker when ill, but I have to admit to serial temperature taking and a little bit of the 'what ifs' over swine flu fears. Much easier to get sucked into the panic when there's a baby around is my excuse. It really wasn't all that bad - I managed to go out for a steak and chips lunch on day 2 so I was hardly on the edge of disaster.

Anyway, happily all in the past now, and what with that and then a trip back home to see the parents, I suddenly realised it's the 19th already which made me feel quite chipper.

Some very brief updates:

Sleep training - Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha. 'Training'. Yep. I think I'm on something like day 40 and well let's just say all is not going as planned. Still, I'm actually quite okay with how things are at the moment so just going to be grateful for that and not stress it.

Reading - Nighttime wakings have allowed me to work my way through the entire archives of another blog - or two in one really - I've been following Fay's post-baby Baby and Wool. for a while but went all the way back to the beginning of the pre-baby Dreaming of an Aga . It really is nice to go through a whole blog start to finish and get a better sense of the story of things and it was a joy to go through craft projects, vegetable growing, house moving and baby growing with Fay. I got all inspired to make heirloom quilts and fabulous baby dresses. Then remembered I'm not so good at finishing projects and should probably just stick to the usual targets of keeping myself and babe relatively sane, clean and well-fed. Big believer in keeping things relaxed and achievable.

Cooking - I made this splendid cake for my blogoversary back in December. (A little late obvs, but the blog didn't seem to mind). Not a recipe to post, as it's just your bog-standard Victoria sponge, but my gift to you is the genius idea of sandwiching it with Nutella, Dulce de Leche and chopped nuts. I'm not really a cream and jam person. This was heavenly, and felt like a cake truly worthy of a celebration. I meant for it to have three layers, but I only have one cake pan so that would have been a bit of a mission.

Mmmm.

Sleep training and blog-love

Sleep training... doesn't that sound lovely? Conjures up images of perfecting the starfish position, getting in some warm bath and hot cocoa preparation and testing for the perfect flannel pyjamas. Preparing for the spooning finals, the afternoon nap contest, the tricky snoozing on a plane competition...

Sadly no. I'm talking screaming, shushing, patience-testing such as a saint would fail. The baby, obvs.

Our little one, despite being an evening screamer for her first three months, did, rather cleverly we thought, decide to settle into an 8 hour routine from about 8 weeks - she dropped off after a feed or a scream around 10 and woke us at 6. Ideal - one of us got to work on time; the other got to have a leisurely breakfast with baby and boy. We got into bed before we fell apart from tiredness.

Sadly, late nights began to pique her curiosity and she started only going down for the night around midnight, after a lot of feeding and screeching and wide awake playfulness.

I got into bed a week ago and said, "I can't take any more of this". It was the point at which I knew I needed A Different Tactic. So, time to turn back tail between my legs to the Baby Whisperer, whose book I had thrown against the wall weeks previously because it infuriated me with its calm 'just do this and the baby will do this' ridiculousness. But it had a plan for getting the baby to settle in the cot, and in the absence of any other, it now seemed the time to get serious and try...

So, for the last 6 nights we've been picking up and putting down in a darkened room for our evening entertainment. I liked the plan. I didn't feel mean putting her down by herself because I could cuddle and calm as soon as she got upset. And in between I got to lie down and immerse myself in blog land.

And it worked. Well for a few nights it did anyway - one night she even went straight to sleep with barely a whimper. Then last night I stuck out 20 minutes of trying to calm my wiggly little noise machine in the dark before I gave in and brought her downstairs to distract her with lights and TV (quiet immediately!). So we'll see what happens as we try to keep it up, BUT...

...there is one small problem, in that for the last several nights I've been working my way through the complete archives of a blog I came across the other week, which I was absolutely loving (the wonderful Mwa's Lost in Translation). It was like reading a good book, going 'oh yes, I so get that' the whole way through, then finding out your favourite character has come to life at the end. And it was like getting to know a new and fabulously funny and frank friend, chatting with her late each night.

But then I read my way right up to the present and there's no archives left. So now I need something new to keep me going whilst we pick up and put down some more tonight and doubtless nights to come. I'll trawl around a bit until something captures my imagination I think, then do another whole-archive read - it's nice getting to properly know a blog(/blogger) rather than just flit in and out.

Which brings me to my second post topic - this has been making me think about this blog and what I want from it. I wanted it to be a kind of notepad for me to refer back to - good recipes, ideas I'd had for when I eventually get this completely pipe dream cafe up and running (i.e. 2nd of never), projects I'd finished, pretty things I might want to buy or just look at. That kind of thing.

And for some reason I didn't really want it to be about personal stuff, mummy and baby stuff, 'musings'... Not quite sure why. I liked reading those kinds of blogs, I just didn't feel that that was what I wanted to do.

But now I think perhaps I do. And besides, I choose what I cook primarily on how easy it'll be to clean up nowadays, and I knit at a rate of about three rows a year so there's not going to be much of interest on the foody/crafty front.

So, not promising anything because anytime I decide what this should be, or how often I should post, or whatever, it's pretty much a guarantee that that won't happen, but just saying, perhaps I'll open up a little and share a bit more minutiae and mind-noise here from now on.

Making friends

It's strange, this new mummy club I now belong to. It reminds me a little of the first days of university, or secondary school. There's this whole new group of people I'm slowly getting to know and I feel like I'm sussing them out, trying to work out which ones I like, which ones like me, which ones will turn into friends.


It's a long time since I made any new friends. I've been content at work to have friendly colleagues. I have just a handful of truly close friends, with whom I have rich, deeply treasured friendships, all many years old. I am not a facebook friend collector, and I don't make friends easily - I take a long time to relax into really knowing someone, and find maintaining flimsy acquaintances effortful and tiring.



I also really prefer to have one-on-one friends. People who, like me, prefer a simple two-person conversation to the complicated chatter of a large group. I like groups, but I often feel a bit like a spectator in multi-way conversation; or if I enter into it I can find it unsatisfying; cut-off comments all mixing in a big, quickly moving pot. I prefer to take my time and talk and listen and engage; something it's much easier to do with just one or two others.



So now, there are all these groups and opportunities to meet mums. And we have ready-made conversations because we are all obsessed with the weight and intake and output and colour and sound and world of our offspring. And we like to compare and contrast and take comfort from others.



Frantically we skip from how many poos the little ones produce, to swimming lessons, then post baby blubber and cranio-sacral osteopathy*. We share tales of woe - perineal breakdown, multiple attacks of mastitis, infected stitches, babies who won't eat, or gain weight, or sleep. Dates and times are slung through the air - Mabels Monsters, Rhyme Time, Baby Bounce, Mummy and Me Yoga*. We discuss what to wear to a wedding when you're breastfeeding and how to get baby passports and what pushchairs you can take on aeroplanes. We compare slings and prams and clothes and babygyms.



It is wonderful, having this resource of fellow experience. And honestly, all of the mummies I've met are quite lovely. I've seen none of the competitiveness that is parodied in that mum-lit genre of books and columns, and although there is often a barrage of advice or 'well I've read that...' in response to quandaries, people try hard not to be judgmental or too opinionated.



But I'm getting a little weary of the hecticness of chatting in big groups and the need to be polite and thinking all the time about whether you could offend someone with your thoughts or opinions.



I can't wait until I click with someone; until I reach that point where I know I can call someone up with a stupid question, or issue a solo lunch invitation without it seeming a little weird. I'm sure amongst all these lovely women there must be someone with whom I forge strong bonds, but I don't know yet who it will be (almost all of my good friends I have been sceptical of, dismissive of, intimidated by or downright appalled by on first impressions).

I guess it will just - like so many things - take time. At least now I am old and wise enough to know to not get disheartened and to just keep pressing on being sociable and enjoying what I have - after all I am very lucky to have these networks so ready-made and easy to access.


And of course, maybe none of them will become my friends, maybe several of them will. That's the fun of being at the start of something I guess - we don't know what will be. We just have to wait and see.

*yes I know, it is North London we're talking about here!

Autumn

We walk a lot, baby and I. I've got the zero to ready-to-go thing down to a number of seconds now. Sometimes some fresh air and a change of scene is exactly what's needed to change grizzly and potentially explosive to calm and potentially (hopefully!) sleepy.

When the weather's like it is right now - sweetly crisp and floodlit with cold sunshine - then it's a glorious treat to be able to meander round London's fine green spaces.

Watching others enjoying the seasons.

Looking down on my lovely vast city from a calm, green vantage point.

Rugged up in scarves and mittens, enjoying the cold night air.

(Hampstead Heath by day, Primrose Hill at night)

And then...

That last post was scheduled. About the time it was posting here I was meeting the little person who'd been growing inside me for the previous nine months.

So suddenly in a new world of baby. It did feel like stepping through a door and leaving behind the old life; things I used to think and do occur to me as though I dreamt them. Now she's here it's like she's always been here, she was always meant to be here, nothing else could have happened.

So, in short:

it's a girl

she weighed 8lb3

and had a lot of hair

ten fingers ten toes big lungs

birth was: objectively - quick, straightforward and very good; subjectively - just horribly painful and distressing

the first few weeks - bleeding, aching, lactating, learning, waking, feeding, marvelling, lots of crying, lots of lovely peaceful moments, everything new and fragile and wonderful, freezer meals, first few forays out, dad at home taking care of me and her and everything

then - days on our own, honing pram skills, healing up, meeting other babies, learning how to do everything one-handed, learning how to relax and trust it'll be okay, cooking, washing, feeding, changing, trashy tv, gaining weight (her), back in the biggest jeans (me)

now - smiles! 8 hour sleeps! finally feeling like emerging from immersion in this real now baby world and blogging a little again...

(PS Although I love reading about other blogger's babies, I feel a little weird about putting my baby out there on the internet for some reason, hence the foot picture. I don't intend to turn this into a baby blog; hopefully as I get back into cooking and crafting and cafés and thinking about things other than baby, I'll have enough else to write about!)

"Holidays"

Yesterday was my last day in the office. So I'm now on what B likes to refer to as my 'holidays'...

I had been counting down the days for the last month or so. Work was manic right up to the end, with normal deadline pressures compounded with various 'people-problems', so I couldn't wait to be shot of it. Which is a little bit of a shame, to be leaving with a bad taste in the mouth as it were, but now only a number of hours on I feel quite a long way away from all that, which is nice.

And also a little weird. I was so looking forward to leaving work I wasn't expecting to feel any difficulty adjusting to being at home, but as I left the office yesterday it was like I only just realised that that meant I wouldn't be going to work for quite a while. And it felt bizarre.

Still, I have plans for how I'll fill my days so I'm sure I'll settle in just fine pretty shortly; there's heaps of admin, household, little nitty gritty things I'd like to get sorted, and I'm going to make sure I make the most of the last days I'll have to act like a lady of leisure with as many lazy lunches and meet-ups as possible. And possibly I'll have time to blog a little more!

Hibernation

I haven't been posting much recently. I haven't been replying to many emails either - even the normal work banter. Or going to lunch, or calling people, or getting anything done in the evenings apart from eating...

It's a kind of hibernation, like I'm curled up somewhere inside of myself, not letting too much of the outside in. Not to get through winter, but to get through work! We're very busy and I'm getting tireder and I feel like I have to put all of my energy into getting through the days in a reasonably balanced manner - getting stuff done but not over-working and stressing it. And this means that everything else falls by the wayside a bit.

Thank goodness next week is my last five-day week. Then - hooray! - an extra-long weekend, and then I just have four shorter working weeks, and I'll be done with work (of the office variety) for a year.

So, should be more posts soon. In the meantime, hope everyone (UK) is enjoying the weather FINALLY acting like summer's on its way... Glorious glorious sunshine this morning. Can it possibly last?...

I would like to...

1. Make my own sourdough starter and bread
2. Do more crochet
3. Start composting
4. Get some nice houseplants (and keep them alive!!!) - succulents I think
5. Do yoga teacher training (one day!)
6. Get better at making *good* clothes purchases

I'm copying Wife in the City's neat little list of things she would like to do, because I liked it.

These are my preoccupations currently. What are yours???

Bump update

I never intended to put much pregnancy stuff on this blog. In the beginning there was very little I wanted to talk about, I just felt sick and a bit grumpy and that seemed to be the sum of pregnancy for a couple of months. And I really wanted this to be a spot for cooking, craft, cafés and all that jazz, and I didn't want to muddy it too much with personal stuff (I'm not what you'd call a 'sharer'...).

However... As the bump has grown so too has my interest. I've lost the nausea and the grumps, started picking up on my reading and research - both hard copy and online - and there's several little things I thought I might like to share, so I'll interrupt what - let's be honest - is not much of a coherently-themed blog anyway to go all preggo for a minute.

Blogs

For personal stories, I've really been enjoying That Wife . Beautiful photos and very open, eloquent, fascinating and funny posts covering all aspects of her pregnancy (stretchmarks, incontinence, perineal massage and all). In particular, I nodded along with her thoughts on taking risks whilst pregnant, found her birthplans really useful and interesting, enjoyed the week by week shots (have become completely fascinated by other womens' bumps!), and was introduced to the idea of having a birth photographer (not for me, but those photos are amazing aren't they?). (update - since I started writing this post TW has now had a beautiful baby boy! absolutely amazing photos on her site)

Project Subrosa finished with the whole pregnancy part a while back and is now well into motherhood. I've really enjoyed her insights and sharing too and in particular was shaken up recently reading this on postpartum depression, or the 'baby blues', which is beautifully written and seemed to be a very valuable and important thing to have read.

From the personal to the professional, I've recently gotten into a couple of midwife/doula blogs.

Stand and Deliver - lots of interesting information and food for thought on this blog by Rixa, who is a doula and has written a doctoral dissertation on the modern unassisted birth movement. Also a great links list which I am delving into slowly.

Helping Mothers Give Birth Joyfully Without Fear - from a doula and childbirth educator in Israel - is another blog I've found lots of interesting posts on.

Books

I haven't done an awful lot of reading yet, but these are those I've read so far:

Up the Duff by Kaz Cooke - I read this during the early stages, and it really suited me then. It's light-hearted and silly and made me feel comforted talking about silly thoughts and icky things in a comic manner. Early on I shied away from anything too 'involved' so this was perfect for easing me in. It goes week by week with a fictional diary and some information and I still like to flick to the appropriate week every now and then to get a little nugget of information to informatively share with B ("it can hear us now", "it's all hairy and red now" etc.)

The New Experience of Childbirth by Sheila Kitzinger - I just finished this and really thoroughly enjoyed it. Throughout my second trimester I've got progressively more and more happy and excited about what's ahead, and this is a really positive and helpful book that has helped me put down some more solid knowledge about childbirth and think about the psychological aspects of pregnancy and childbirth. I like that she is writing from a position of a lot of very varied experience and I really like that she emphasises 'preparedness' - of body and mind - rather than putting an emphasis on a particular style or method of birthing. Very helpful.

I've just started also on Ina May Gaskin's book of childbirth. If I do another bump update I'll do a brief review then.

Shopping

I was impressed recently by a new-mum colleague who hasn't brought a pram yet because she uses a sling all the time. It looks so comfy and easily manoevrable. I'm hoping the baby and I both take to slings, as this would be a great option for a big city. Big Mamas Slings has a great range.

I want to try out cloth nappies, but the choice is completely overwhelming, so I'm planning on going to a 'Nappuccino' event, where various different types are demonstrated and sold. They arrange afternoons all over London.

For maternity wear, I've found Mamas and Papas to be very good. Everything I've bought from them (so far, two bras, two pairs maternity tights and two dresses is the sum total of my bump wardrobe) has been a big success. I tried some maternity jeans from Topshop, but they seemed to be all style over substance as they didn't actually stay up - not sure they'd quite worked out how to make elastic top work! So I returned those and will stay away from high street maternity ranges in favour of specialist shops I think. Hoping not to buy much more now.

Other

I've been going to pregnancy yoga at Triyoga twice a week most weeks since 13 weeks and absolutely love it. There's a lovely warm and communal atmosphere, you get to chat to other bumpy ladies a little, and the movement and exercise always makes me feel really good. Definitely recommend for those in the London area.

The bump

And finally an update on my belly - this is the bump at 25 weeks. I can see what my yoga teacher means about needing to sort out that dip in my spine. Must tuck that tailbone down! (and yes, btw, that is a sporran on the wall - B is Scottish and it was hanging around the house so I hung it there one day, as is my style of 'tidying up' - i.e. just kind of moving things around - and it's stuck there ever since.)

Apocalypse Angst

Have you seen that film 'The Road' yet? Based on the Cormac McCarthy novel, it follows a man and his son as they journey through the bleakest possible imagining of a future earth. It's relentlessly grey and desperately despairing. My boyfriend thought it a great film, I just couldn't cope with the grimness; 'why would anyone want to live like that?' I thought, and the whole way through I was tensely willing for the relief of death for the two main characters.

Anyway, there's a scene in it where they find some food in a bunker and they can finally feast. They're eating tinned prunes by lamplight and it must be glorious after such deprivation that they have had. But they know it's going to run out and there'll be nothing again.

I was eating tuna and salad last night and for some reason I was suddenly struck by the feeling that that tuna was like the man and the boy's tinned prunes. That it came from a cupboard which would soon be bare, and whilst I sat there happily eating the stocks would be falling and falling and soon there would be none, with whatever horrors come with that.

It hasn't helped that I've been reading Straw Dogs by John Gray, which is a really interesting and thought-provoking book, but also very bleak. It argues fiercely against any ideas of progress, of the human race bettering itself, finding a way to live within its means, because, it says, the species is not a 'thing', it is just the name for all us individuals en masse. And if you look at individual humans they are not made to be like that, to work out the way to a better future for everyone and to follow it.

It likened us to an infection that the earth has. It pointed out that population growth can be a survival strategy (e.g. for Kurds and Palestinians). Claimed that we were animals and nothing more.

And I think because I've brought about the future birth of another human being, all this was weighing on me more heavily than normal. 'What kind of world am I letting you in for?', I thought, to that little thing inside me, happily ignorant in its amniotic bath.

And then I listened to programmes on how children see awful things on the internet, and watch TV in beds so much they get diseases from sleep deprivation. And how young children use mobile phones, and the crashing newness of the world this one will know as How Things Are shocked me too. I wanted to move to the country and pretend it was the 19th century. Whittle reeds or something; cut off the outside world. And wait for the apocalypse.

I am feeling slightly better today. Less hopeless and pessimistic. I reflected on how almost everyone at every stage in history probably felt this fear of the future and a clinging desire for the supposedly simpler past. I guess it just means I'm getting old. I stood in line at the supermarket and pretended it was 2050 and I was wistfully dreaming of when I stood in line at supermarkets and everything was simple.

Sure, there are very real problems linked to overpopulation and our plundering of our resources. And new technology can be difficult to negotiate. But, I'll cope with the latter when I come to it, and as for the former, I'm convincing myself again that it's better to be delusionally optimistic and feel like I am doing something by recycling my tins or buying less clothes or whatever, than to be nihilistic and panicky about it and think it all hopeless.

So, vent over - next, back to baking...

(PS - it helps that I read this review of Straw Dogs which lets me see how biased and absurdly negative it is http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2002/sep/07/highereducation.news2)

New kitchen!

We've spent the last two weekends moving house. First, just the essentials came across and we revelled at how we echoed in the big new space like pinballs in a giant game. Then we spent a day packing and a day shifting boxes into a van, out of a van and into our lovely new space (I of course didn't do much lifting or shifting - bizarre to be incapacitated when you don't feel as though you should be...)

So, there's still a lot of unpacking to do. We are amazed and slightly disgusted by the acquisitions we've amassed. But the kitchen stuff is all in its new cupboards and I have already been baking. We've gone from having a tiny kitchen with no windows and very little space, to having this:

There's space! Light! Lots of surfaces! Loads of cupboards! Chairs and a table! I've been listening to a lot of Radio 4 and pottering around. Knitting at the table whilst potatoes bake; taking the time to wash up as I go along; spending all evening in the kitchen - that kind of thing. It's absolutely lovely.

This chocolate sandwich cake I baked yesterday, as a celebration of having all the baking stuff finally moved in. It's nothing spectacular - I won't bother giving you the recipe as I don't think it's worth it, but it comes from my newest cookbook, which produced some super scotch pancakes a couple of weekends ago - I will post the recipe for these soon.

And finally, here's me in the new space, looking very pleased with myself, and showing off my little 14-week bump (which I have to admit just looks like I do normally after a big meal and sticking my tummy out!):

Let me tell you a little bit more about myself...

Sometimes I have these big pangs of regret. Especially if I'm walking across a bridge, with wind in my hair and music in my ears. I regret not taking up the place I was offered on Birkbeck's Dance Diploma, because my sodding boss said I might not always be able to leave work on time to get there. And I regret not having pursued the myriad creative dreams I once had. And not taking advantage of time and money I had in younger days to go and seek all those adventures in foreign lands that everyone else seemed to be doing.

But sometimes it seems to me perhaps 'doing' isn't so much my calling. I've often lamented being an observer, but actually I think I'm good at it. I never ended up publishing a novel before I was 18, as was my childhood plan, but I'm really good at the reading that inspired that plan. I can appreciate some lines with a kind of tangible thrill of love. I can get so caught up in worlds that everything looks different for a couple of days; even my internal narrative can be swayed by the prose patterns of whatever I'm reading.

And whilst I didn't 'do' much at university, opting for hours spent browsing bookshops and record shops rather than joining clubs or paragliding for charity, I think I really have idling down to an art. I can recall time spent in the simple pleasure of a good cup of tea, a pastry and a notepad with a huge amount of detail and a lot of fondness. I mused and sipped and wandered and wondered away most of my twenties. I spent hours sitting on benches and sofas and stools. I rejoiced in light on leaves and hidden puffs of smoke from chimneys. I loved evening sunlight on stone, I lay in parks for hours with half a baguette, a hunk of cheese and a paper, watching the grass, the beetles, the people.

I really appreciate the art of simple idling. And whilst I recognise too the importance of doing, and am really glad I have got better at doing (I got a job! I went on holidays! I did awesome courses!), I know that doing alone would be a robotic kind of life, and one that would really miss those moments of tea-aided relaxation, and cake-abetted introspection.

If I run a cafe, I'll be doing, doing, doing. But I'll be nurturing a lovely cocoon where others can choose to happily idle, dream, sit back and reflect and appreciate at their will.

Welcome!

I'm an accountant who would like to run a little cafe. A cafe where you feel at home, where you really rate the coffee, where you love the homemade cakes. A cafe whose walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and where you can buy unique and more often-than-not eco-friendly crafts and handmade items. Where you can find out about what's going on in the community, where you can sit and dream and plan and scheme. A cafe where the herbs in the salad were grown in the little yard out the back, and where the bread comes from an organic bakery round the corner, and where I greet you and am pleased to make your acquaintance.

I work from 9 to 5 every day, earning enough to sustain a comfortable north London existence. I get home and I put my bag down and get into the kitchen to listen to Radio 4 and to chop and fry and boil and bake things. It's the most relaxing and satisfying bit of my day.

I don't think I can start on the real cafe just yet. For a start there's a little person growing in my abdomen, who I am reliably informed will eat up all my time and energy when - god willing etc. - they come out of the womb and into the world. Then there's the issue of capital.

But I can plan, and practice. I can build a repertoire of failsafe recipes. I can scout around for the kind of art and objects I want in the shop. I can seek inspiration in other lovely cafes. I can elicit your opinions and I can create a little space here where I build up my dream with more and more detail. And then maybe one day it will creep out of cyberspace and into this tangible old world.

I want the cafe to be as sustainable and low impact as possible. I want the food to be healthy and delicious. I would love - though I know I'm getting really ambitious now - for it to be attached to a studio where yoga and photography and dance and painting and all sorts are taught.

So this blog will be a collection of all those things I want to pull together - the food, the green issues, the decor, the art and craft, the other activities that might take place, as well as some idle chit chat from me as I lean across the counter when it's quieter and strike up a conversation.

Welcome!