Tag: mindfulness

Scratching the Itch

On By broken biscuits1 Comment

Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Not quite a tongue twister but definitely a typing twister. Try it!

See! Told you! Not easy is it?

Being blessed with Celtic genes, I feel like an honorary “ginger” (Note to reader, and just to be clear, I’m not ginger but my skin might as well be). For all things buzzy and bitey, I’m the jam sandwich, sitting on the yellow picnic blanket of Summer.

Researchers have got particularly excited by the whiff of socks whilst trying to discover why some mosquitos seem more attracted to certain people. It would seem that through the simple whiff of our odour, which is dictated by our genes (go figure!), mosquitos will make a “buzz line” for certain people. In simple terms, something in particular people’s DNA produces a specific smell which mosquitos are attracted to – the antithesis of Old Spice or Lynx if you will!   My Mum doesn’t get bitten, my Dad does (they’re both Scottish).

And as we approach this time of year, I know that putting up a fight is futile  and that one way or another they’ll be heading my way after various battles with citonella candles, Jungle Formula Repellant and nets for a veritable Nyotaimori!

Last Christmas I bought my husband a back scratcher for his stocking (I know right?! Insufferable romantic!) He normally uses a wire coat hanger to scratch his back which makes me wince (so yeah, see how this was a romantic gesture).  It has a cat on the end and lives by the side of the bed for any midnight scratching needs. It has a telescopic arm so you can really get into the deepest arch of the back where normal non-inspector gadget arms can’t go! I think he likes it, but occasionally I catch him using the wire coat hanger, for old times sake I presume?

One particularly warm Summer, about 5 years ago,  my ankle started to balloon. I mean not just that “you’ve been on your feet all day” swelling but impressive elephantesque “where the hell has your ankle gone” swell. Despite the pain, I continued to itch it. And scratch. And itch. No harm in a little itch. I had an itch and I wanted to scratch it. Come on, who the hell doesn’t scratch an itch???? Now don’t come over all Mumsy on me with your, “Hands off! The more you scratch it, the more it will itch!” You know you would do the same.

Except, of course, if it’s your private parts – it’s defintely best to leave them alone. Once I  worked in a restaurant where the chef would cock his leg and scratch his balls …. constantly. I hope it was just a habit and that by now, if it was as a result of a horsefly or some STD, that it’s been treated. But yup chefs and maybe medical staff are best keeping their hands off an itch in public!

But anyway, back to the summer of the itchy and scratchy show …. the cycle of scratch, itch, scratch, itch became the new normal and in a state of delusion I managed to hobble to a Summer Fair where I could only sit under a tree wondering why I had come. A friend  took one look at me and then my ankle and told me to go straight to A&E. A strong dose of antiobiotics and proper telling off about scratching the itch later made me feel so utterly stupid and I swore to myself I would never itch a bite again!

So here we are, many years later, and I’m learning about the effects of dopamine.

I’m in the early days of flirting with an Alcohol-Free lifestyle and am truly fascinated about all the unchallenged assumptions we live by. Basically it’s all fucked! We’ve right royally put the dis into functional as a society when it comes to our understanding of happiness. It’s simply all messed up!

Dopamine! Oh the heady heart racing butterfly inducing  PROMISE OF HAPPINESS. Go Get It! You want it! Then do it again and again and again regardless of the disappointing outcome each time. Of course next time it will be different right? Despite the odds stacked against it! Odds which stay the same each time, may even get worse.  

Anyone who is sober curious will relate to the fear of sober socialising. How’s it possible?

I’m attending a hen do and a wedding within the next month. These will be major trigger events and I’m doing a lot of thinking about it. I’ve tried to unpick what exactly is the trigger. Am I worried that I will drink again? No! Isn’t that weird!? But I don’t want to feel the triggers …. I want to out smart them … I WANT TO BAMBOOZLE THEM – to not let them even have a small effect. Because it’s all lies. Dopamine (in these modern times where we aren’t hardwired simply for survival) is the menacing adult version of Noel’s House Party’s “Fibber”!

And the triggers are really quite innocent. It’s strangely not the bottles of wine in our fridge which make me want a drink (they don’t) but let’s start with something as simple as a marquee!!!! Throw in some bunting  and floral centrepieces on the tables and we’ve got a serious trigger situation on our hands! Then the small talk and omg toasts and speeches …. How will I stay away from the cheap champagne!???? And I haven’t even mentioned the sound of champagne popping! Crisp white linen tablecloths and polished wine glasses. I’m starting to sound like a very messed up Maria: “These are a few of my triggering things!” But it all screams “DRINK ME!” ….neon and flashing, bells and whistles!  And of course as a bijoux woman, “Drink me” promises even more  – growing larger in a crowd ….

So, back to the itch …. You know it’s still there! Can you feel it? Go on! Scratch it! Just the once, just a little one! But we  know that the scratching only leads one way! Never has scratching an itch stopped the itch! But god just thinking about scratching it ….

I’m also certain that whilst I’ve changed my mindset about drinking and have committed to being liberated from alcohol, I may still be drawn to the rabbitholes. I haven’t changed who I am, I’ll still get bitten by the mosquito but I don’t have to itch the bite.

So,  I will take my “Ninja-Arse-Kicking-Inner-Alice” to the hen do and wedding and play it forward: if I drink it and grow too tall, I can’t get through the door, too small and I’ll be chased by the cat.  The only good outcome is to cut out the middle man, cut straight to the direct source of happiness – friends, family and, above everything else, love. I’m going to get trading standards to shut down alcohol and its cowboy travel operation. Cut out the middle man to happiness where it takes your money, your passport and your time to then cancel the holiday at the last minute – leaving you grounded at the airport with only the glossy travel brochure in your bag and useless foreign currency in your pocket. It’ll be independent travel to happiness for me now!

Are you a Ninja Alice? What are your rabbitholes?

Whilst we’re considering the hazards for Summer Sobriety, remain mindful of simplicity. And with a few ingredients, create your own controlled chaos – a beautiful mess, An Eton Mess:

Eton Mess:

Make the most Perfectly Unprecious Meringue:

2 large egg whites

100g caster sugar

Method:

Oven on very low (100 degrees C)

Whisk whites until start to stiffen

Whisk in 50g sugar until glossy and thick.

Fold in the rest of the sugar.

Put mounds of meringue onto baking parchment and cook for 1.5 hours.

Break meringue loosely up and mix with double cream and summer soft fruits.

Go Choose Your Tree!

On By broken biscuits1 Comment

“The best time to plant a tree was 40 years ago. The second best time is today!”

Teresa May – oh Teresa May – where should we start? Brexit means Brexit?  Her “Dancing Queen” revival of her “Maybot” African dance moves and the “terrifying” supervillain laugh. In case you’re feeling nostalgic for the eyeball-peeling vision …. go google it!

Yup it’s a fair cop isn’t it!

But then it was reported that Teresa May, “wields hardcore walking poles as she rambles through Swiss Alps” (Mirror 12th August 2016). Behave yourself – no –  this isn’t a euphemism for some politician’s kinky, yet very clean and well organised, fetish, but quite simply (and innocently) a form of exercise: Nordic Walking. On this private holiday, the poles weren’t just to provide her with support in her “strong and stable leadership” but as part of a lesser know activity popular in Scandanavia. Nordic Walking curious? Check out http://www.nordicwalking.co.uk.

So today, I stride out of the closet… as a Nordic Walker. It’s time to share the enjoyment and benefits of this activity even if Strava doesn’t recognise it as anything other than regular walking! Walking without poles? Losers!

When neighbours see me with my poles I get the standard yawnsome comments: “Expecting snow love?” “Lost your skis”!  One neighbour once sympathised with me for my use of the sticks relating it to his instability to navigate the walk from his coach to fridge (due to age and alcoholl!). Any attempt at explaining the benefits and enjoyment of Nordic Walking would be lost on them! So I stride on, imagining my poles as extensions to my arms – a Carnival 4-legged stilt walker – a freakish vision but effective none the less.

Nordic Walking is a tried and tested form of exercise, excellent for all the things we should be paying more attention to. You name it, it does it! It’s a no-brainer! What’s there not to love about it? (not necessarily a rhetorical question – enter comments section stage right!)

Usually the rhythm of  Nordic Walking distracts me from thinking too deeply (or perhaps this is exactly what deep thought is?) and I’ve found, through practice, that, as with meditation, over the hour  it comes and goes in phases. Generally, random thoughts are excluded and focus is dreamy but recently, as my senses have regrown (why thank you sobriety!), a smell, sound or sight will trigger a childhood memory.

Today I passed this tree

and noticed a clear path up. It was a perfectly climbable tree.

What’s that I hear? DON’T DO IT!!!!!? MOVE AWAY FROM THAT TREE!!!!

My children all climbed trees and whilst other parents often winced and told their children not to follow mine in their scuffed footsteps, I strongly believed that they should be allowed the freedom to assess risk and make choices in this context. Watch a child climb a tree! Are they reckless? No! You will notice they test branches out, they map a route, plan and communicate with one another on the way up. I would be naive of course not to acknowledge that sometimes this can go wrong. We’ve had the grazed knees and even the broken arm as a reminder. But oh the joy to be “The King of the Castle” once in a while.

So there I was today, having an urge!!! More often these days it would be an urge to pee but today it was to climb that tree. Right there. But I didn’t ….

Instead I took a picture or two to capture the moment …. I mean, isn’t that what we all do in place of the actual experience …. the instagrammable photo is surely “proof” of the experience!? Right?

Anyhow, it was nice to imagine climbing that tree, mapping out my route. Clearly seeing the first foothold, then second, then third … what joy. At my age imagining was as good as doing I think and I’ll take that.

And on with my Nordic walk I went.

So today … go out and choose your tree!

And then enjoy these Cinnamon Buns on me:

Ingredients:

200ml warm milk

2.25 tsp active yeast

50g granulated sugar

1 egg + 1 egg yolk

100g melted butter

550g bread flour

1tsp salt

100g brown sugar (either dark or light)

2tbs cinnamon

50g softened butter.

Method:

Put milk, yeast, granulated sugar, egg and melted butter into mixer bowl and stir.

Add flour and salt and mix.

Knead for about 9 minutes then cover with clingfilm and teatowel.

Leave in warm place for 1 – 2 hrs.

Roll to 10″X15″.

Spread butter leaving a small margin on sides.

Sprinkle the cinnamon and sugar.

Roll into a log tightly and cut 1″ sections.

Place into a greased pan, cover and let rise again for 40 minutes.

Bake at 180 degrees for 15 mins.

Whey-Dreaming!

On By broken biscuits1 Comment

Do you remember the childhood pastime of lying in a wildflower meadow, daisy chain in one hand and masking the eyes from the sun’s glare with the other, whilst finding pictures in the clouds: “Look! It’s a dog!  A castle! I see a wizard….! Look! Look! Do you see the ice-cream cone”?  In those heady days, we only found images depicting the soundtracks of our happy youth not the necessary reality.  The term for this activity, pareidolia, sounds more like an irritating tropical disease rather than an innocent way to spend a summer afternoon with friends, where a case of the giggles was the only thing at risk of catching. 

I was thinking about this the other day, whilst on my daily dog stomp. Walking through the woods and instead of my mind dreamingly drifting over the sea of bluebells, I was drawn to the faces in the trees. Pareidolia – I had it bad! But unlike those days in the never-ending summer holidays, the images were of nightmares not Disney. Adulting seems to have put a more sinister and disturbing flavour to this pastime and the more I tried to shift my eye away from it, the more images to be found. 

I’m guessing that the ancient art of reading tea leaves is a line of pareidolia. I’m guessing too that this exists purely because us humans are desperate to make sense out of everything. And this in turn brings to mind the saying, “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t talking about you!” so too, just because it’s random, doesn’t mean there isn’t a pattern! 

So I’m sitting here nursing a cappuccino, trying a whimsical spot of pareidolia with the froth.  And it turns out that, rather irritatingly, it’s not that easy to just magic it up on demand. However, the froth of the coffee and thought of those childhood skies does make me wistful for simplicity and on to probably one of the most impressively simple favourite recipes in our home:  Ricotta Gnocchi otherwise known here as “White Clouds”. The texture, flavour and visual is exactly what it says on the tin. 

White Clouds (Ricotta Gnocchi):

250g ricotta

2tbs grated parmesan

50g plain flour

Mix together and season with salt and cracked black pepper. 

Roll into a long log about ½ “ thick.

Cut ½” pieces.

Put into salted boiling water.

Remove with slotted spoon as soon as the gnocchi bob to the surface.

Serve with pesto or tomato sauce.