Day 3, in which we eventually had our daily pain au chocolat

The children woke at 7:30 which would normally be fine but this place is in the middle of nowhere.

The previous night I had looked across the fields and trees for a sign of civilisation.  I spotted two lights in the distance, close to the horizon.  In such peace and tranquility children can sound like a group of hyenas, and ours do, especially Ethan.  Dave tried gently to ask Ethan to use his quiet voice whereas I veer towards the "Shhhh!".  Neither has any impact for more than five seconds.

So at 7:30am I'm very conscious that the only noises I can hear come from my overly loud children.

We readied ourselves for a trip to the bakery van and, on the walk through the village, I prepare Ethan and Hannah to ask for "deux baguette et quatre pain au chocolat" and to say good morning with "Bonjour Madame." and to say thankyou with either a "Merci Madame" or a "Merci beaucoup".

She had no pain au chocolat.  We hadn't arrived in time.  We'd failed.  Brunch or "coffee time" as it's known in our house, was doomed.  The only thing that could save us was a trip to the shops.

The lady at reception, when asked, had explained that the best supermarket to head for was in Bergerac.  Being independent British people armed with technology we knew better.  Had I not specifically downloaded all Carrefour locations into my TomTom? It was obvious to one and all that we were equipped for this challenge.

I asked the in-car SatNav where the nearest Shopping Centre was.  I asked the TomTom where the nearest Carrefour was.  They agreed.  Off we went.

Except we didn't go anywhere near Bergerac.  In fact we went in the opposite direction.  For 46 kilometres.  Is anywhere in France further than 46 kilometres from the nearest Carrefour?  Really?

Once committed we couldn't admit that the lady, who lived locally and knew the area well, knew better than our technology, so we forged on knowing secretly that we were making a mistake.

Eventually we arrived, we shopped, we bought pain au chocolat and we ate pain au chocolat.  We have an inkling there may be a better way.  We might freestyle it next time and follow the signs saying Bergerac.

Day 2, in which we were not caught speeding

We had a leisurely start on Day 2 but at least we had in-car entertainment for the children because of our diligent efforts on Day 1.

The journey ahead of us was only about five hours plus stops but it's always nice to arrive early.

On a previous trip to France (skiing in Morzine) we'd been stopped for speeding.  I wasn't driving.

Being stopped by the French Gendarmerie was an unpleasant experience as we were escorted to an autoroute exit and Dave was extracted from the car and disappeared. For ages.  To be honest I thought they might be taking the opportunity for a bit of police brutality but actually they just wanted to hammer his credit card.

So Dave was sticking to the speed limit, or close to it.

On Day 1 I'd come up with a little ditty to keep Dave under the speed limit.  Every time I thought he was straying above the speed limit I'd say "Be bar be bar, nick nick nick." which I know sounds really stupid. Well let's dissect it.  The "Be bar be bar" bit it is my pathetic police car impression that Dave ridicules and the "Nick nick nick" bit is my little reminder that if he continues he'll be nicked.

Dave obviously has visual access to a speedometer because we didn't disconnect the speedo on Day 1.  We also have the satnav plugged in (yes, as well as the in-car nav) and the satnav shows the real speed of the car (I should put a disclaimer in here because it might not be 100% accurate) because it uses satellites.  And the satnav highlights the speed in red if it decides you're travelling too far over the speed limit.  This relies on it storing the right speed limit data but I had just updated map information so it was sort of accurate.

Well Ethan was looking out for the red speed and every time he saw it he said (in a loud and annoying voice) "Be bar be bar nick nick nick."  And he said it again, and again, and again.  Dave asked Ethan how long he wanted the journey to be and I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that Dave said that because if Dave slowed down the journey would last longer but no....he was hinting that if Ethan carried on he'd be walking.

"Be bar be bar, nick nick nick."

Day 1, in which I am a genius

Day 1 looked promising.

We were out of bed, showered and breakfasted and we'd packing things in the car before I'd even remembered the first thing I'd forgotten.

Then I remembered Ethan hadn't written a Thank you card for his great Granny's birthday present, I remembered he hadn't done the one piece of homework he'd been given over the holidays (drawing a picture of our house), and I remembered I was going to try and find some architectural drawings, sign a contract and write a cheque.  It was all going so well.

One by one the items on the to-do list were eliminated (although frankly Ethan's effort at drawing our house was extremely pathetic and didn't even have a front door, but I was past caring) and we left on time, or would have done were it not for the fly in the ointment.

In preparation for driving across France (which, if you've not done it, is a long way) I'd bought a super duper DVD thing that attached to headrests and allows children to watch different DVDs.

We had one of these previously but it only played one DVD across two screens and we found the age and gender difference meant there were only two films Hannah and Ethan could ever agree on.  Then I mashed one of the leads in a Galaxy front seat height mechanism which was kindly replaced by Mr Argos without charge.  After some sterling service the 12V power lead lost it's metal end which, for the technically-minded among you, signals a problem as it's the metal bit that carries the electricity.   It still worked when plugged into the mains however which was a boon when Ford started producing cars with 3-pin sockets for rear seat passengers.  But eventually the discs stopped playing and we figured the player was destined for the great scrapheap in the sky, or at least the tip on Coxtie Green Road.

I'd tested the super duper player before our departure day because I knew there would be nothing more frustrating than the cries from the second row of seat "Mum, it won't play." or "Mum, how do I turn it on?" or "I can't hear anything." etc.  I knew how to attach it to the headrests using the stanchion mounts (even though I have no idea what stanchion means).  I could insert discs, get the audio coming through on the infra red speakers and adjust volume, pause the disc and anything else you could mention.  So it was a surprise on D-Day when it didn't work.

I married an engineer and, whilst I'm not an engineer, I do have a mind that works in a similar way.  We started the diagnosis and quickly hit upon issue with the 12V socket and suspected a fuse malfunction.

Five minutes late for our self-imposed departure target we headed off, mindful of the need to fix the fuse issue.  Dave drove and I assaulted the Owner's Handbook.

I suggested switching the instrument panel fuse for the faulty one as they shared the same current rating.  Dave thought we might need an instrument panel so I proffered the sunroof as an alternative swap.  The car didn't have a sunroof but I guessed the handbook was referring to the panoramic roof which is nice but not exactly essential. We opted for trying to find a new fuse.

A new fuse could come from a dealership except they all close on Sunday.  A quick tweet asking for advice resulted in several suggestions of Halfords but Dave was on a mission to make it to Eurotunnel.

In the AA shop at Eurotunnel Dave found fuses galore, both full-sized and mini.  At the same time I discovered the S-MAX had a rear power socket and plugged the DVD player into that.

So we had a temporary fix and the materials for a permanent fix. Or so we thought.

We drove to our overnight stop at Orléans and, while I cooked, Dave went to fix the car.  He'd seen and thought he'd bought mini fuses but had instead bought two sets of normal fuses and it was the mini ones he needed.  After much huffing and puffing and maybe a word or two in French, he swapped the sunroof and 12V power socket fuses.  Which I think is what I suggested earlier in the day.

 

 

Watching, listening and learning

We were driving in the car today listening to the news on Radio 4.

We were listening to reports about the riots around the country.  There were words like violence, riots and criminality reaching our ears.  When we reached home Ethan wanted to tell me something.

"Mummy.  You know the riots?"

"Yes."

"You know the criminal stuff?"

"Yes."

"We don't do that do we?  It's something we don't do."

"That's right.  We don't.  And I hope you never will."

Media circus

I'm middle class, middle aged, read the Guardian (online) and watch C4 News.  My views are thus influenced.

I think the riots that have been taking place over the last few days have nothing, or very little, to do with the shooting of Mark Duggan.

Initially, in Tottenham, there was a peaceful protest.  Word spread, and people who weren't happy with police stop and search policy joined the protest but stepped it up a notch with violence and thuggery aimed predominantly at the police.

What happened next was that word spread further.  Something was happening and it was probably more exciting than Saturday night telly.  So people headed out onto the streets and the police represented authority.  Authority, the Government, was what had reduced benefits and screwed up the economy so that getting a job was nigh on impossible.  Making a big fuss about that seemed attractive.

Whilst the violent protests were happening the disaffected realised that they had power and could get away with pretty much anything.  The police were under-resourced, because of the Government cuts, and were outnumbered.  So the looting started.  If you don't have a job and your benefits have been cut then the opportunity to steal the stuff you can't afford to buy might have been tempting.

The media were all over this rioting and the social networking sites were awash with images and video.  Everyone was looking at Tottenham and, let's be honest, people normally don't care about Tottenham at all.  I'm not anti-Tottenham; I could equally say that people don't care about Newton Abbot.  The point was that nobody cared until people were misbehaving.

It's a bit like children being naughty to get attention.  The child that's being naughty (Tottenham) gets all of the attention and the previously good child (Hackney) is jealous.  The good child then resorts to bad behaviour because it knows that being bad results in attention.

So we now have Tottenham, Hackney, Lewisham, Stratford, Catford, Croydon, Bethnal Green, Whitechapel, Enfield, Birmingham and so on, all competing to be on Sky News, BBC News, C4 News, Twitter, Facebook, etc.

And now Cameron is coming back to sort out the naughty children; but every parent knows that this sort of behaviour should have consequences without attention.  We need a metaphorical naughty step.

I'm not retweeting pictures of rioting because this behaviour should not be promoted and given air time.  I honestly believe that media, including social media, is making this situation worse.  But it's the people behind the cameras and the people retweeting the images that are helping to promote the riots.  So stop it.  Please.

The pros and cons of Twitter

Twitter can be great, but today was a day when perhaps I should only have looked at my twitter stream in the morning.

Today was the day we were taking Hannah and Ethan to stay with their aunt and uncle in Surrey.

This morning, as every morning, I turned my phone on to see what was happening in the Twitterverse and saw a handy little bit of information tweeted by @M25_Traffic:

I did some investigating and realised there was no easy way to get through the traffic caused by this closure.  We could have driven through London but I'm sure too many other people would have had that thought so we started to consider alternatives.  Friends (who clearly don't know me well) suggested taking the helicopter but Ethan suggested the train.

I had a look and the journey wasn't too long and the fare wasn't unreasonable.  I wanted to check the online fare would be the same as a fare bought in the station so called National Express and spoke to someone in an Indian call centre who confirmed it would be.  The Indian call centre features further on in the story but probably deserves a blog in its own right.

We drove to the station, parked in the £3.90 car park and bought our train tickets.  The earlier research into fares paid off as I was able to tell the person at the ticket desk that the first fare he quoted was too high and that there was a cheaper alternative.

No sooner had we made it to the right platform it became clear that we weren't going to be able to travel from Shenfield.  There had been a fatality at Brentwood and the location of the fatality was now a crime scene and no trains would be passing through.

This was confirmed by @NRE_NXEA:

We assessed our options and someone at the station suggested driving to West Horndon and catching a train from on the C2C line.

I went back to the ticket desk and asked whether we should get a refund on our tickets and start again, or whether the tickets we had bought would be valid on the C2C line.  I was told that a refund wasn't necessary and our tickets would be valid.

We realised the £3.90 car parking charge wouldn't be refundable which seemed wrong but got in the car and made our way to West Horndon.  En route I called National Express and had the most frustrating conversation with a woman in the same Indian call centre.  I wanted to know whether West Horndon was the most sensible alternative to Shenfield.  She failed to listen and comprehend the situation and she clearly had no idea about the geography of Essex and where Shenfield was in relation to anywhere.  It was when she finally suggested the best alternative was Brentwood (remember, the crime scene, the location of the fatality, all of which had been explained earlier in the call) that I nearly lost my patience.

At West Horndon, forking out more for another car park, we made it onto the right train, and platform.

We made our way with children and umpteen bags (containing amongst other things a Nintendo Wii and two child car seats) to Surrey and arrived in time for lunch.  And then it was time to say goodbye to the children and head back home.

As we travelled back towards Waterloo I checked my Twitter feed and saw this:

This worried me.  We had been told our tickets would be valid on C2C but this tweet said something different.  Our car was parked at a C2C station.  It seemed we had three choices: buy tickets back to West Horndon and the car, travel back to Shenfield and get a taxi to West Horndon to collect the car, or challenge the ticket validity change.

I tweeted back:

Somehow @nationalrailenq had been following events and decided to pitch in with their view

But their response was very similar @NRE_NXEA:

Help how exactly?:

And so it went on.  Now if I hadn't seen the tweet about tickets no longer being accepted on C2C services I would have been none the wiser.  We would have travelled back assuming our tickets were valid and we would have been fine.  So I pretended I hadn't seen the tweet, whilst continuing my dialogue with @NRE_NXEA on Twitter because I could, and it provided amusement for the return journey.

Our tickets weren't challenged, but I did have the evil notion that I should send a tweet like this:

 

The answer

Last week I blogged a blog about a maths problem that had been set for primary school homework.  I asked you how you'd solve the problem.

Here's how I solved it.  I thought like a child, which is how I solve a lot of problems.

A reminder of the problem: How do you work out which two whole numbers between 50 and 70 which, when multiplied together produce 4095?

I thought about what times tables a child should be expected to know at the age of nine and how those tables might relate to the question.

I realised that the number 4095 ended in a five which would mean that one of the numbers I was looking for (between 50 and 70) would have to be divisible by five but, because 4095 ends in a five, it would also have to end in a five.

This meant that one of the multipliers was either 55 or 65.  From here the maximum number of calculations the pupil has to do is two.  I did some long division (actually I cheated and used my calculator because it's decades since I've done any long division) and discovered that the multipliers are 65 and 63.

Ta da!

But I am in awe of the far more impressive calculations that many of you proffered.  I am not worthy (despite still having the scientific calculator that I had at school).  You can all have a sticker.

Emergency School Holiday Plan

I normally save this for a point later in the school summer holidays.  It's the "Emergency School Holiday Plan" which should only be deployed in case of emergencies.
Yesterday was the first day of the holidays that I was spending with Hannah and Ethan.
Last Friday didn't count because a) it was an inset day and b) Hannah spent most of the day at the local horse sanctuary having an "experience".  She was mucking out horses, preparing feed, grooming and generally having a good time and learning about horses (and pigs and goats and....because even though it's a horse sanctuary they do other things too.)
Weekends don't count because they don't and because weekends happen all year; school holidays don't.
Monday to Wednesday didn't count because the children were staying with their grandparents.
So yesterday was our first day together.  And I had an appointment with British Gas in the morning and "Fridgeman" in the afternoon.
Our boiler has been kaput for an age and this was the first time I'd been able to get an appointment on a day when I could be at home during the morning or afternoon.  And our fridge went pop earlier this week so Dave arranged for Fridgeman (nice chap from C & M Domestic Appliances) to pop round and fix the fridge (or try to).
This meant we were tied to the house and, after a DVD morning, the children needed a project.  I resorted to the tried and tested plan without any regard for the consequences: Camping in the garden.
I didn't get the big tents out, just the two man tent that Dave and I used to use.  The project involves putting the tent up, making up beds and ensuring the tent is filled with home comforts and then, the final touch, sleeping in the tent overnight.
I now have nowhere to go.  The Emergency Plan has been deployed and there is nothing left.

Maths homework

Yes really.  Maths homework.

I know, I know, 90% of you have switched off now because if there's one thing you weren't good at when you were at school it was Maths, or Math if you're American.  Well imagine you have a nine or ten year old who has come home with homework.  Do you want to know the type of homework that they might receive these days?

Well this homework wasn't received by one of my children but by a friend's.

I got this text "Hi Ann.  I hope you're well. 'Cos you're really good at maths.  How do you work out which two whole numbers between 50 and 70 which, when multiplied together produce 4095?  (Johnny's homework)  Is it a case of trial and error?"

Well firstly can I set the record straight... I used to be better than average at Maths.  I did take two Maths A Levels and even went on to study Maths at University.  The decision to study Maths at University was stupid and I should have listened to my A Level teachers who warned me that it was a stupid decision.

So anyway, can you work it out?  It's from an old SATS paper.

Is this what we expect our nine year olds to be able to do?

Diggerland June 11

Diggerland June 11, a set on Flickr.

Diggerland trip for Hannah's birthday. If you haven't been, you should (Rochester in Kent and elsewhere around the UK).

Confession

It's Saturday evening and if I were religious I might be preparing a confession.

I'm not religious but here's a confession anyway.

To the owner of the Seat parked outside my house, registration number ND07 KUJ, I'm sorry.

I called the police and reported it as abandoned. It was Lesley's fault really.

I'd spotted your car after it had acquired the parking ticket. I noticed that the car stayed there for a few days after the ticket was stuck to the windscreen.

Lesley deliberately bumped into me to discuss the car, suggesting I should report it.

I'm easily led and, after inspecting the car (6 month tax disc expiring at the end of the month and some collision damage on the driver's side), I called the local bobby who was a woman. What's the feminine of bobby or is it just bobby?

Nothing has happened. There's been no activity to slap an offensive "POLICE AWARE" sticker on the vehicle so I assume it's not stolen or abandoned.

And I bumped into Patrick. He'd also reported it, but to the Council, who have equally taken no action. Do the Council call the Police? Who should be notified? Where should nosey neighbours turn when their inner Neighbourhood watch emerges?

Patrick had the best idea. We should phone webuyanycar.com and make a bit of money. Now there's a thought.

Stupid design

I sometimes take pills.

Sometimes they're the compressed powder ones (like Paracetamol or Aspirin), sometimes they are the sugar coated ones (like Ibuprofen) and sometimes they are the caplets (made up word) (like Co-codamol or Fluoxetine).  (Haven't taken Fluoxetine for a while although I keep threatening to.)

The compressed powder tablets are disgusting and dry and have to be taken with water.

The sugar coated ones are yummy but only if quickly swallowed with water because as soon as that sugar coating wears off you're left with the foul taste of the drug.

The plastic caplet things are the worst by far.  In the first instance they are usually huge (except Fluoxetine which was quite modest in size).  The dumb thing about these is that they also need to be taken with water but they float.  They float!!!

You pop a caplet in your mouth and add some water and the damn caplet is floating on top of the water in your mouth and when it's floating it's further away from where it needs to be which is the throat.  All of this means that it's harder to take the medicine to the point that the caplet starts to dissolve.  And that's just gross.  You're left panicking and desperate to swallow the drugs.

Anyway all of this explains why I actually (madness and toothache apart) try and avoid pill popping.

The ultimate strapless bra

Strapless bras are generally useless.  I've lost track of the number I've bought and discarded soon after because they simply don't work.

The first issue is that generally, in order to provide support that isn't there because of the lack of straps, they are very substantial.  This means that a low neckline can't be accommodated.

Some strapless bras are constructed of such heavyweight materials, in an attempt to provide support, that they don't mould to the body and the wearer spends all day hoiking the bra back in place.

Then there are the multiway bras which are the worst of all strapless bras.  As a bra worn with straps they are overly bulky and cumbersome and as a strapless bra they usually lack shape and support.

Wonderbra has the answer and they call it the Ultimate Strapless Bra.

I've used it, more than once, and it is, quite simply, brilliant and well worth the money (about £34).

The first this that impressed me was its ability to stay in place.  All day.  Once it's on, that's it until you, or someone else, decides it needs to come off.  And it's as comfortable as any other bra but so much better than any other strapless bra I have ever bought.

The second thing is that it can be worn with low top.  It sits quite low which means that the dip at the cleavage point is quite low.

The last thing is either a plus point or a negative depending upon your point of view.  It enhances cleavage.  I don't need or want that and I think it makes me look like a matron but there are plenty of cleavage enhancing bras on the market which tells me there's a demand.  As far as I'm concerned it's a disadvantage I'm happy to live with and I know others will see it as a bonus.

A new use for Twitter

Today I took several of Hannah's friends off to Diggerland.

I understand that when someone else is taking your child somewhere there's some nervousness on the part of the parent.  You want to know your child is safe and having fun.

I could have texted parents regularly.  I could have tweeted our progress using my usual Twitter account but the tweets would have been meaningless and overly numerous for people who follow that account.  So I decided to set up an event Twitter account.

The Twitter account @260611 was created for today.  To follow it parents didn't need to set up a Twitter account they could just go straight to twitter.com/260611.

This provided, almost, real time reporting of activity, except where I needed my hands for driving or eating or whatever.

As well as reassurance for parents it provides the children with a record of the day.

The only issue was relying on the 3G network to upload images.  This was suboptimal but not a project killer.  And the next time I need a similar facility I just need to change the account name.

Root canal myth buster

Scary isn't it?  You're recoiling at the thought.  You're perhaps imagining pain travelling like electricity along nerves, causing the worst pain imaginable.

Well I've been there, and I have a few myths to bust.

This morning I went to the dentist with a dental abscess.  I'd obviously googled the condition and after reading the words "can be fatal" and "should see dentist as soon as possible" I was outside the dental surgery at 8:00am this morning to obtain an emergency appointment at 8:50am.

The dentist had a quick look, took three x-rays (that's what the bill said but I swear he only took one), and told me I needed a root canal treatment.

I broke out into a cold sweat and adrenalin coursed through my veins.  The flight response was stronger than the fight response but my body was definitely responding to a threat.

I asked the dentist lots of questions and he told me he was going to drill a hole in the back of the tooth, put some antibiotics in the drilled hole (despite the fact I'd already started a course of antibiotics) and then apply a temporary filling.

I asked if he was going to give me an anaesthetic injection (because those can really hurt) and he said "No" which worried me.  He explained the nerve was dead and I wouldn't feel a thing.

I was unbelievably nervous. Root canal treatment has a bad reputation, but today I discovered that, if the nerve has died, then root canal treatment is painless and really quick.

Granted my body was full of adrenalin and that natural inbuilt pain relief wore off after about an hour, but a dose of Nurofen was all it took to put me back into a pain-free state.

I was at work by 9:20am.  I certainly didn't expect that.

So if your dentist uses the words root canal treatment, don't panic.  It'll be OK*.

 

*providing the nerve is dead

The NHS is sick

On Thursday I needed a doctor's appointment.  I thought I was suffering from Bruxism and was controlling the resultant pain with painkillers which was proving to be a moderately successful strategy.  When I was told my doctor wasn't available until Tuesday I thought I could wait and manage with painkillers until the appointment.

On Saturday I reached a point where the painkillers were no longer working, the pain was intense and I needed help.

It wasn't an emergency because I hadn't broken anything and I wasn't going to die so A&E was out of the question.  I didn't want to trouble an out of hours doctor who might be on call so, in tears, I drove to the local Community Hospital.  There was a sign pointing to the side of the building for the Out of Hours service.  I went though the doors and was met with advice to use antibac gel to keep germs at bay.  There was no gel dispenser to be seen.

The Out of Hours service seemed to be through doors that were locked.  There was a sign on the door stating that it was a wheelchair and ambulance access only and all others were to use the main entrance.  I walked, in tears and in the rain, round to the main entrance to find that was also locked.  A security chap poked his head through a window and when I explained what I was looking for he pointed me in the direction of the doors I'd tried initially.  I walked, frustrated, in tears and in the rain, back to the first set of doors and used the intercom.

I was asked what I wanted and I explained.  I was asked whether I had an appointment and when I said "No." I was told I needed to call my doctor to get an appointment.  He offered to come out and explain.

In tears and very frustrated and called my doctor and handed over my details for an appointment at the Out of Hours doctor based at the Community Hospital.  I was told I'd get a call.

The chap at the hospital came to find me mid call to the Out of Hours service and let me in.  He explained my details needed to come through on the system before I could see the doctor.  I could tell he thought I was a case deserving pity and I heard him talking to someone in an office who needed to know I was already there and in a lot of pain.  He was right, by the way, I was pitiful.

About a minute later my details popped through onto the hospital system and I was in seeing the doctor with the bad body odour.  The BO is immaterial but when you're in pain and want to get better being overpowered by BO isn't great.

He told me he didn't think it was an abscess (which was the result of my own self-diagnosis) but he wrote me a prescription for antibiotics anyway.  He told me I needed to see a dentist.  You see if it was an abscess then I would need to see a dentist but bruxism is caused by mental health factors which can't be fixed by a dentist.  It probably can't be fixed by a doctor either but he has more of a chance of knowing what needs doing.

I asked if there was an out of hours dental service and he laughed and said getting to see a dentist was a nightmare.  He told me that if I turned up at A&E they might have a dentist on duty.  This wasn't overly reassuring.

I left, having had no sight of any antibac gel, with a useless prescription and a growing sense of despair.

I still have pain.  The painkillers are barely touching the surface.

I'm off to see Derren Brown tonight.  You might think I'm mad but distraction is a good cure for pain.  Additionally there is just a tiny bit of me that is hoping that Derren might somehow hypnotise me and make the pain go away.  This may seem like clutching at straws and you'd be right, but sometime straws are the only things left.

Orange and date muffins and indignant rage

I made these the other day because I needed to make something and happened to have both oranges and dates in the house.

I was feeling guilty about not having baked anything for the School Sports Day cake sale so, in the small window of time I have on Thursdays between leaving work and doing the school run, I got baking.
I took these, fresh from the oven to the school office.  I went to the Infant School office first and was met with a blank look.  They weren't expecting any bakes but wanted a quick peek to see what I'd made.  Freshly baked orange and date muffin aroma filled the office and was quickly followed by the request for a sample.  We agreed I ought to check the Junior School office.
As I handed over my wares to the Junior School office they said "Thanks.  If it's rained off can we have these in the staff room?"
What would you have said?  I used a small window of time in a busy week to bake muffins for a cake sale to raise funds for the school and the office staff fancied diverting them to the staffroom.  What I thought and what I said differed.  What I said, through gritted teeth, was "Only if you give some money to charity."
Anyway, Sports Day was rained off but the cake sale went ahead. My indignant rage wasn't required.
But we digress.  Easy peasy orange and date muffins.
Ingredients

• 280g plain flour
• 1 1/2 baking powder
• 1/2 soda bicarbonate
• pinch of salt
• 110g sugar (caster or granulated)
• 1 egg
• 4 tsps of orange rind, roughly what you'd get from two large oranges
• 180ml orange juice (from the grated oranges and topped up with stuff from a carton)
• 90ml corn oil
• 85g chopped dates (I used posh medjool dates but only because they were in the fridge taking up space and needed eating/cooking.  I'm sure any dates would be just fine.)

Optional, but oh so sticky and gooey, glaze

• 85g icing sugar
• 4 tsps orange juice
• 1/4 tsp grated orange rind

Method

• This recipe makes about 11 muffins so pop your muffin cases in your muffin tin and crank the oven up to 160°C.
• In a large bowl stir flour, baking powder soda bicarb, salt and sugar.
• In another bowl, beat egg and add grated rind, juice and oil.
• Pour wet mixture into dry and stir until no dry flour remains.  Add dates in final few strokes.
• Spoon into muffin cases and bake for 20 minutes ish, until they are a lovely golden brown.
• Wile the muffins are baking combine the glaze ingredients and then drizzle over hot muffins when they come out of the oven.
• These muffins freeze well (as I told the lady in the school office.)

Enjoy.

Ginger loaf (with butter icing)

I made this for the first time the other week and it worked first time.  I didn't do the butter icing because it seemed messy and overly complicated for an office bake.  For home consumption where there's time, crockery, cutlery etc and not just cake tins and napkins, then the butter icing might be a nice add.

I have to say it was on a table next to the cherry and pecan muffins and nobody chose the ginger loaf except me.  Their loss.  I thought it was yummy.

Ingredients

• 450g plain flour
• 1 1/2 tsp ground ginger
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• pinch of salt
• 6 fat knobs of stem ginger in syrup, roughly chopped
• 220g soft brown sugar
• 170g unsalted butter
• 350g golden syrup
• 280ml milk
• 1 egg
• (150g unsalted butter at room temperature and 200g icing sugar for butter icing)

Method

• Grease and line two 900g (large) loaf tins.  This means buttering the tins, lining with baking parchment and buttering the baking parchment.  I hate this part of baking but it is worth the effort.
• Preheat fan oven to 160°C.
• Stir flour, ground ginger, baking powder, bicarb and salt.  Add chopped ginger and stir again.
• Tip butter, sugar and golden syrup into a saucepan and warm through.  It helps to chop the butter and you are warming everything through, not cooking it.  You just need to get it to the point where the syrup is running.
• Remove from heat and stir in milk and then lightly beat in the egg.
• Tip this wet mixture into the dry ingredients and beat until well mixed.
• Pour mixture into the two tins and bake for 60-70 minutes until a skewer can be inserted and removed and remain clean.  If, during cooking, you are concerned that the top is getting too brown, then loosely cover with foil.
• If you fancy making butter icing as an accompaniment then beat the butter at room temperature until light and fluffy and then beat in the icing sugar.

 

 

Cherry and Pecan Muffins

Makes 10-12 muffins

Ingredients

• 250g plain flour
• 3 tsps baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 85g sugar (caster or granulated)
• 1 egg
• 240ml milk
• 90ml corn oil
• 110g chopped glacé cherries
• 60g chopped pecans (you can use walnuts if you want to)

Method

• Put muffin cases in muffin tin
• Preheat oven to 160°C if fan oven.
• In a large bowl stir flour, salt, baking powder and sugar.  You can sift the flour if you really want to (I don't think it makes much of a difference).
• In a separate bowl beat egg with a fork.  Stir in milk, oil and cherries.
• Pour liquid ingredients into dry and stir until just combined.  Add the chopped walnuts during the last few strokes.
• Spoon into muffin cases and pop in the oven for 20 minutes.  Our oven doesn't cook evenly so at 17 minutes I turn the muffin tin through 180 degrees.  At 20 minutes if they look like they need a couple of extra minutes then leave the muffins in for a little longer.
• These muffins freeze well and a 30 second blast of a frozen muffin in the microwave makes it the perfect accompaniment to a cup of coffee.

Windows scam

I received a telephone call from a scam artist yesterday and I thought I'd share the experience because, although I figured out what was going on, I think it would be useful to let you know what to avoid.

The call is from 24seven PC Care who are (NOT) a Microsoft partner.  It's an Indian accent you'll hear and the person who calls you is based in Manchester (NOT).

If you have caller id then the number may show as 0123456789 but when you ask your caller they'll explain that's because they're using VOIP, except they don't call it VOIP because they assume you're an idiot.  I have no idea whether they used VOIP.

Normally with this type of call I string them along for a bit and then end the call.  I did start by doing that but we had just recently bought some Windows software.  Whilst I started as an extreme sceptic I did start to wonder if the call was valid.

My caller had an Indian accent, and because so many companies have call centres in India I wasn't surprised by the accent.  I was surprised when he said he was based in Manchester, and gave me a Manchester telephone number 0161 408 4448.   Clearly an Indian accent in Manchester isn't impossible but this individual was so difficult to understand I was amazed he'd passed any interview for a job in a call centre.  And he said his name was Michael Davies.  Again this isn't impossible for someone in Manchester with a heavy Indian accent, but it is unlikely.

As the call was just a conversation I decided to give the caller the benefit of the doubt to the point of switching on the PC and following some simple instructions.  I knew that nothing I was doing was changing anything on my machine.  I can't recall what I was looking at, it's in a convoluted menu area that you wouldn't normally access.  The point of this exercise was to persuade me that my PC was infected by a virus.

Once I was wondering whether my machine really was infected I was told to go to the following web address: www.24sevenpccare.com.  I didn't, and neither should you.  At this point I said I was going to leave the call and check the credentials of the company and my caller.

The caller then became quite agitated and insisted he was trying to help me.  He told me it was clear I didn't know anything about computers and my computer was dangerously infected.  I told him he was rude and aggressive and that, if the call was legitimate he'd have no problem with me ending the call, checking credentials and calling back.  And then I put the phone down.

And then I googled "24sevenpccare scam" and found a plethora of information.  You can find it too, here.