Category Archives: baking

Grrrrrrr

Grrrrrrrrr. That’s me trying to convey my anger. I’ll try again. Argghhhhh. Maybe a bit too piratey. I think maybe the first one is better. Anyway, I’m angry. Not livid, just angry.  
“What is the cause of your anger?” I hear you shout. Well, let me tell you…
It was a night much like any other: a winters night. I had left my house with my family, heading to our destination. There were too many of us to fit into one car so we decided to convoy (can convoy be used as a verb?). As the monotonous drone of the wipers complemented the patter of the rain, we sat, not moving, in the local rush hour traffic. This did not make me angry. 


We arrived at the street on which we were to park and found two spaces next to each other. My dad parked behind us and we exited the vehicle. The walk was to be a short one and we had plenty of time. Although it was cold, the rain had stopped. We went to one of those crossings that have an island in the middle of the road. Drivers don’t have to give way but it is simply good manners to do so. As we approached, the traffic was at a standstill and a bus had stopped right in front of the crossing, blocking it from all angles. This was not the cause of my anger. 

The bus moved off and we went into the restaurant. We had the place to ourselves as it was an early hour. The decor was what you expect in a British Chinese eating establishment, the menu looked good and they had one of my favourite things on the drinks menu – Tsing Tao beer. As I was driving home, one bottle was all I would have. I ordered my beer and it came quickly. This is the reason for my anger. 


Why on God’s green Earth would you take the beer from the bottle (which is a container and drinking receptacle that has been chilling in the fridge) and pour it into a warm glass. Why would you take away the fizz? Why would you not ask? If I order a bottle of beer then I want exactly that. If I wanted a glass of beer then I’d order that. If it makes you feel better then give me a glass ‘with’ my bottle. In fact, I didn’t even see the bottle. It could have been any beer in that glass. Angry. 

Restaurant owners, please take note. I want my beer from the bottle. I don’t know why, I just do. 

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I’m not ready to be four

We’ve been studying World War Two in school. Don’t worry, I’m not at school, I just work in one. So to be a bit clearer: the kids I teach have been learning about World War Two. It was fun and they really enjoyed the thematic approach that we took based around the book Goodnight Mister Tom. I enjoyed it too. The kids were shocked when we learned about rationing and couldn’t quite grasp the lack of junk food and snacks. This really hit home when we looked at a birthday party during war time. The cake was made with some odd ingredients, it was shared between a group of children who had the same month of birth and the present (if there was one) was usually hand made or a hand me down.

My kids (the ones that I teach) eat no end of fast food, snacks and general rubbish. I don’t teach in an affluent area (in fact, quite the opposite) and I think this may well be indicative of that. There’s more though. They have loads of stuff. Most of the kids in my year 6 (10 and 11 years old) class have a better phone than I do, a range of tablets and computers and all that JD Sport has to offer. They don’t always get that deferred gratification of birthdays and Christmas: they have it all and they have it now. I’m not making a judgment, just a point.
birthday-cupcakes

So, why the title of this blog? It was my daughter’s birthday a couple of days ago and we had the usual phone calls from relatives asking what to buy her. We had a couple of ideas but not loads. Have we fallen into the trap of buying stuff ‘just because?’ I think so. When she watches a princess film, she puts on one of her many princess dresses. When she wants to play, she has loads of toys to choose from. I pretty sure I didn’t have that many toys at the age of 3. Of course, I could be wrong. And I’m pretty sure that my parents thought the same when I was that age in comparison to when they were. Again, I could be wrong.

The thing that did happen though that made me have that odd parent feeling of pride and worry was what she said to me just before I kissed her goodnight.

“Daddy, I’m not ready to be four.”

It was one of the cutest things she’d ever said.

She told my wife the same thing. My wife didn’t find it quite as cute. My daughter had woken my wife at 1 am to tell her.

BTW: I made those cupcakes!

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