Going Dutch

When the Boss asked me to go to Amsterdam on business for a few days last week, I jumped at the chance. It's quite a few years since I've been, and I've had some top times there in the past. There are a lot of reasons to love Amsterdam - the people are friendly and good-humoured, they speak perfect English (we lazy Englanders love this), there's a quirkiness and creativity I love, the architecture is beautiful, pretty canals (water, water, everywhere), nice and flat (cycles, cycles, EVERYWHERE) and they make decent beer. I could happily live there and who knows - if the Boss really does decide to open that satellite office, my cycling skills might just be put to the test...

(Postscript: actually, not inspired by my Amsterdam jaunt, but I do have a new bike - OK, it's not quite new - it's a 1970's Hercules folding shopper bike. Smiff and Marc found it for me at a car boot sale for the princely sum of a tenner. I'm not known for my cycling skills - 20 years ago, when me and Mr Curran were still an item, he got me a bike. I lasted a week. In that week, I fell into the gutter once, bumped into a lampost on a failed right turn, and the grand finale came when cycling home at 2am without lights, I tried to avoid the oncoming police car and whilst panicking and not really looking where I was going, I crashed headlong into the back of a parked car. Busted my lip, trashed the bike and ended up in a miserable heap. When the said police car pulled up alongside me, and through tears of mirth Plod asked how I was, I decided that me and cycling were NOT a match made in heaven and the bike had to go. Wish me luck and let's hope it's two wheels good this time round).

The Good Life

It's Harvest Festival time of year. Bernie and Kieran have just finished their very own allotment harvest, and boy, there were a LOT of tomatoes. Summer hasn't been great, so some serious ripening has still to happen:

Eventually, green turned rosy, and then the fun begins:

There's been roasting of tray after tray of tomatoes, onions, basil, oregano, rosemary to make delicious passata:

And some of the green tomatoes got to live out their dream of making Mrs Beeton's chutney:

It's starting to feel like I'm living in an episode of The Good Life - Ber & K make a great Tom and Barbara. And I love the idea of me as Margot, swanning around Wood Green in kaftans, being fabulous and posh and a bit useless (although I'm not sure how the outfit will go down next time I nip down Morrisons to buy some bog roll).

Tat For Tits At The Haberdashery

Aren't breasts brilliant? Much nicer to look at than anything the chaps have got going on (actually, I'm generally quite happy when looking at mens bits, if the truth be told). Tons of hilarious names for boobs too: top bollocks, fun bags, knockers and my own personal favourite - dirty pillows. And to think that something so wonderful can be harboring what is now the most common form of cancer in the UK.

My life has been touched by breast cancer twice. Heartbreakingly, I watched as my dear sister Mary died from the disease, and then my very brave and ballsy sister Helen was diagnosed with grade 3 and fought her own battle - 7 years down the line, and she's still winning. Bravo, our kid - you're a bloody star.

A few years back, I decided to try to raise money for Breakthrough Breast Cancer, as they launched their 40 mile overnight fundraising walk round the sights and streets of London. Roping in my nearest and dearest ladyfriends, we were given a target of £6000. Apart from begging literally everyone we knew for their hard-earned, we also ran a charity stall in the centre of Crouch End (at this point I coined the phrase "Tat For Tits", but we weren't sure if Crouch End was ready for my wit). We had items donated from local people, Harvey Nichols gave us pink champagne to raffle, so we set up by Barclays bank one fine Saturday and peddled our wares. Really good fun and we raised £400 that day. The four of us ended up raising over £7000 by the time the walk came around - we even managed the walk without a blister or bit of chafing (I'll never forget the sight of the very large lady walker dressed in a bright pink tutu, whose thighs had rubbed together so badly at the top that she ended up walking like Yosemite Sam...)

So I was more than happy to oblige when the lovely Massimo and Greg of The Haberdashery in Crouch End called me to ask if I'd run the charity stall at their next bar boot sale in aid of Breast Cancer Awareness month. It was a top night - the boys had the usual array of sellers bringing along their vintage bits and bobs/craft/housey stuff. My stall was filled with donations from local businesses and customers, and the boys had donated a cakestand filled with pink cupcakes to sell. My own donation was candy pink polka dot bunting (of course):

None More Black Meets None More Pink

The fellas had lots of lovely snacks to sell, and they were knocking up some unfeasibly good cocktails - I managed to neck the most delicious strawberry caipiriha. And the entertainment was top stuff too - The Marjorie Belles sang some sweet swing numbers perfectly fitting the evening - space was so limited, they performed perched on top of bistro chairs:

"From The Top, Ladies"

Toot Toot Tootsies

Find out more about them here: http://www.themarjoriebelles.com/

It was a huge success - Massimo tells me the stall raised over £150 on the night, and that a couple of thousand pounds were raised throughout Crouch End (The Haberdashery also held a masked tea party as part of the week-long events). All for a truly good cause, I had a ball and I think the chaps did too:

The Cream Of Café Society