My very first short story

which I have proudly posted here called Samosas for Tea. I loved the writing process and the way it seemed to take root the more time and attention I gave it. I would love to take the idea behind this story further, play around with it abit more, which the short story format doesn't allow me to do. There was a fair amount of nail biting after I hit the 'post' button. Worried that I'd be publicly booed off the online stage of budding writers, 99% of whom, could probably teach me a thing or two about how to, well, write. So I can't tell you how ecstatic I was to be given a review, a very thoughtful and detailed one too. She thought it was 'charming'. Yeah! I can't believe I wrote something charming! I never knew I had it in me to do charming. Not ever.
If you wish to peruse further, I have alot of my poems posted there too. Just click on the name Francoise (my sultry French pseudonymn) and with a little baited breath, behold! A list of my poems! The good, the bad, and the damn right stinky.

Enjoy and do let me know which ones you liked. I like to know these things you see. People. Reading. My work. Wow.

Lashings of love for this book

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell. I devoured this book in just under a week, just as I did with her previous books. Reading makes me fantasise about becoming a writer, but this urge is remarkably similar to what I have recently been experiencing 5 minutes pre-pee. Intense, and at times filled with want and despair.Depending on how far away I am from the nearest wc. Afterwards, I'm back to my old, not very intense tea-drinking, book-reading self.
I heartily recommend this book to anyone who is so afraid of reaching the last pages of a good story, and of not knowing what to do with ones life after such an ordeal. I literally wanted to throw this book down the loo after I was done peeing. I wanted it to go on forever. Not the peeing of course.

I have to stop talking about pee.

Only 13 weeks?? You're HUGE

I don't recommend slouching like this.At all.

Nursery/room for ironing.

Granny squares for a blanket. 4 down, 1098735938 to go.

Mr Grapefruit is proudly showing himself alot more than the average 13 week old child. Most of the students got wind of the news, though there are a few who are still under the illusion that the newly acquired waddle is down to some serious fat baggage. An illusion which holds alot of truth to it.I could be 5 months the way I look right now, which embarasses me alittle, because I'm sure my scary aftermeal bloat has alot to do with the overall effect. Perhaps the grapefruit just has a HUGE head. Or a HUGE SOMETHING ELSE according to the proud father. I'd rather have the latter. Huge heads are a womans worst nightmare. Episiotomy guaranteed.
I've regained alot of my energy back which is wonderful. So much so that I'm crocheting like a granny on speed. And waddling faster. Particularly to the toilet. Alot. The joys of the second trimester is the heavy-duty peeing. Whilst Mr T takes every opportunity to disappear for a fag, I disappear for a pee. So we haven't been seeing each other much.

I got my first baby gift from my lovely coworker and friend Sandra. Completely out of the blue. I was showing them to a friend of Mr Ts and saying how they were officially the first new item for the grapefruit, to which she responded with a slight air of dismay 'Well, you know you should start thinking about buying these things Khairun'. Grrrrrrrr. Why do such comments come out like a suspicious immigration officer at airports? (with a name like Khairun Begum, I have had the LOOK,especially at Heathrow airport, so for all those with unpronouncable names, you know what I'm talking about) Little does this person know that my dear sister-in-law gave us clothes that her son has since outgrown. A whole truckload of them! We are so grateful for this, hence the lack of baby gear (because of lack of $$$). We are spongers and we are proud. At some point down the line we will get him something, but whether I do or not is no business of anybody else, particularly total strangers. If I want to wrap him up in toilet paper I will. That's my business. And the social services too....

Bengali cooking is not for the weak hearted.....

/there is an absence of punctuation in this post because of an error on my laptop. Just for you to know/ Hence the forward slash instead of brackets..

In a couple of weeks time my best friend Yasmin, her husband and 5 year old daughter are coming over from London to visit us. Theyll be staying for a week and I am just thrilled since it will be their first time here. Yasmin and I have been friends for more than 15 years. Shes kind, affectionate, generous and since getting married has become abit of an expert when it comes to Bengali cooking.
If I havent mentioned it already, my parents are from Bangledesh and moved to England in the late seventies. I grew up eating traditional food, and when I mean traditional, I really do mean traditional. For instance,all the main meals were eaten with the right hand, there were lots of rice and a medley of vegetarian, fish and meat dishes. Nothing was ever microwaved,or bought readymade. Everything was cooked from scratch. My mum grew coriander, green beans, courgettes, tomatoes and gigantic water gourds. She had her own organic compost heap in the back garden, so nothing ever went to waste. I didnt even get to sniff a Mcdonalds burger until my late teens and popping into the local newsagents for a Mars bar was a big nono for as long as me and my younger sister were within earshot of my mum.
So with a new baby on the way and my best friend coming to visit, I want to take advantage of her by getting her to teach me how to cook Bengali style. Its the one thing I really regret. Ignoring my mum completely whilst she spent years slaving away in the kitchen for her family. I could have learned a thing or two.
If youre interested in Bengali cooking, heres what you absolutely must have. Without these, you may as well be cooking shepards pie.

Bengali cooking essentials. With these you can make basic curries.

1.Cumin powder
2.Turmeric powder
3.Garam Masala powder
4.Chilli Powder
5.White onions
6.Ginger
7.Garlic
8.Cinammon sticks
9.Bay leaves
10.Cardamoms
11.Cloves
12.Anise seeds

Heres a list of things if you really want to make people say oooooh whats that

1. Asafoetida powder. Really pungent stuff. But once cooked it takes on the aroma of caramelized onions and garlic.
2.Corn starch. Handy for making pakoras
3.Rice flour. Like the above plus I think you can use it in certain desserts which I personally have no clue about.
4 Tamarind water
5.Whole cumin seeds.
6.Bengali five spice
7.Mustard oil. A must for salad dressings
8.Clarified butter. Wonderful for making parathas.

Your best bet is to get these ingredients from speciality stores. The kind you often find in the dodgier parts of town. Next to pawn shops and mini cab stands. But it is well worth the visit. In addition you can probably get to sample exotic fruit and vegetables. If you love mangoes and lychees, these shops usually have the most wonderfully aromatic and tastiest on offer.

Why does the American lady in this video clip shout when shes talking. Are they deaf. Besides making me laugh, this is a good clip to show you just how many things you can cook. And take a look at the cutting device the lady uses. I cant rememember the name of it but it involves one having to crouch down in front of it by sitting on a really small stool. Not great for your back but great for getting your veg chopped up nice and neatly.



Pregnancy update> I am now 13 weeks into what seems like a very long wait. My current craving is coconut and cheese sandwiches, and grilled chicken makes me want to heave. I am in the process of crocheting a blanket for my little grapefruit. Yeah! Back to the crocheting again...kinda missed it after all this time. Will post pictures in due time.

Happy cooking!

Tulips staring out the window. And not much else...

I planted these little lovelies around mid-January and they've finally flowered! I thought they were supposed to be white and yellow. Guess they decided to surprise me. They have a lovely scent too and with a nice sunny spot in our livingroom, I hope they can stick around a while longer seeing as I had to wait so long for them. I'm not what you'd call an avid gardener. The mood for it comes and goes. In fact I would say just about everything I do depends on my mood for it; painting, writing, reading, paying the bills, charging my mobile, going to work.... I pretty much do what I want to do. There are disadvantages to it though. There are times when you do have to shake yourself out of that ' I just don't feel like it' mood. I mean, I couldn't imagine a penguin waddling up to the water for a refreshing dip and then suddenly deciding that he just didn't fancy it and waddles back to where he came from. Penguins jump in. We have second thoughts. We are quite adept at having no particular reason for doing nothing much in particular. Is ennui, this nondescript impulse to just sit on your backside and stare into space-is it a condition specifically designed to get in the way of doing regular things, even things that should be of pleasure to us? Or the opposite. Is it a reason to just sit still, stop fidgeting and notice how quiet we can be inside our heads? I think alot of us battle with it more than we care to admit. Lack of time,opportunity and money is what we'd normally call it. No time to go to the cinema, have a drink with friends, read a good book crochet, cook, chat, breathe, live. No time to stop hanging out with people you secretly can't stand, no time to end a lousy relationship. Or sort out that severe constipation your bowels have been complaining of for the past five days.There is never enough time, money or opportunity to end a lousy constipated relationship with a person you secretly can't stand. Why are we such gluttons for punishment? Many of us substitute the good things in life with a multitude of reasons to not do them. We often play down spontaneity as 'silly ideas',small pleasures as downright laziness. We can't jump in like cute little penguins, but we also can't stand walking away, avoiding things yet again. Doing nothing is worse than doing everything. Everything you'd rather not do, that is.
I'm a happy little penguin in a happy marriage. We've fought plenty of times but I think what keeps us together is that we simply don't have expectations of each other to do or be better. We take comfort and pleasure in what we have together. We don't fight the feeling. We've got the ennui within our happiness at a healthy level, hovering somewhere between spontaneity and calm. Sometimes we'll go and do something different, before going back to the calm of what we have.

Read, laugh, play, talk to yourself, plant tulips in teapots and make granny squares. Fight those evil ennui goblins away. Or make them your friendly servants, dishing out moments of peace and quiet and not much else.

All you can do is wait.....

Introducing the satsuma!!! We have a feeling it's a boy because he's in a reclining position remarkably similar to Mr T after a big meal. Like father like son. He was asleep so I had to shimmy abit to get him to entertain us. He waved, stretched his legs, and then promptly nodded off again. Abit like my dad in front of the telly on Sunday afternoons.
The ultrasound was at two, which meant we would see the doctor as soon as she finished her lunch. For the first ultrasound we waited for almost 3 hours which was nice. Nibbling on waterbiscuits whilst fantasizing about chicken korma. This time around though, the doctor, a very nice Portuguese lady but with abit of a shouty voice, told us that we would be the first on her list.
Right after her lunch. And the sudden emergency/extra pudding she had to attend to afterwards. So it was 1 hour and 45 minutes before we saw her assistant pop her head out the door and say the magic words "Khairooooooon Begoooooom!". The tell-tale sign that your name won't be pronounced correctly in a waiting room is the momentary pause beforehand as they look down at their clipboard. And then it's called out like numbers in a bingo hall. And then everyone stares at the girl with the name that sounds like a Sudanese dish. Forget the fact that I've lived in Portugal for nearly 5 years. Waiting rooms make it feel a hell of a lot longer.

Aqua Therapy

Spent the weekend out of Lisbon. It was a glorious day. We took advantage of it by going for long(ish) walks by the sea. I tried to take some decent photos but out of all the fuzzy ones this was the only one that I liked. Coming here gives shape to the day yet, each time we return to Lisbon I'm back to my befuddled self.

I have calmed down alot thankfully since my last post, though to be honest, I think it was only Mr T who exclusively bore the brunt of my drama. Mostly after work when I was 1.Hungry 2.Upset because of said hunger and 3. An unpleasant combination of both 1.and 2. topped off with tiredness.

I do appreciate the suggestions given to me, on how to take care of myself during this ginormous change in our lives. I really really do. And I confess that I have invited alot of these snippets of wisdom from mothers who know by asking for them. Though, having a facial expression remarkably similar to my students when trying to explain phrasal verbs to them certainly helped. That vacuous run that by me again would you? expression. I do the same thing when I'm hungry. Or not listening. Or watching TV commercials.

I guess it's all part of the journey. With any luck, a gorgeous, hip and happening, put-together mummy-to-be will materialise along the way.

Missy has a hissyfit

I've always considered myself to be a calm easy going kinda gal. I hate confrontations and try not to overreact on any occasion. Those who know me well enough can testify to this. I'm not a drama queen, an attention seeker or a crowd pleaser of any kind.
Being pregnant appears to have destroyed my zen-like mojo. Lately I have been abit rubbish because of all my hormones going beserk and having to deal with all the 'helpful advice' from people around me. All of a sudden my body is being subjected to nightmare birth stories, how I shouldn't reach up for objects in high places, carry shopping bags and drink water from plastic cups. I happen to have had a relatively smooth run so far; no morning sickness or overwhelming tiredness (apart from my need to sleep late, but that probably has nothing to do with my present condition; I'm just a lazy mama).So what do I get in response? "Well, wait till you get to 6 months, you'll be totally exhausted." Gee thanks for warning me. All of this is raining down on my little 'I think I'm getting the hang of this baby thing' parade. I totally understand the good intention behind it, don't get me wrong. But having an empty plastic cup torn out of my hand in shock because of the potential bacteria??? That's a whole different kettle of fish I'm dealing with here. It just scares the hell out of me and makes me feel like I'm not in control.
Sorry for the hissyfit. Missy needs a lie down and something funny to distract her.
Try this. This made me laugh so hard. Oh but wait- Is it harmful for me to laugh too much?? Bloody well hope not.

The creative craving

I've mentioned before the reasons why alot of my plans for painting have been put on the back burner. I get up sickeningly late most weekday mornings because I simply feel totally exhausted, followed by starvation of a kind that I never thought existed. Then I start a process of dithering which involves me making a mental list of things I need to do and haven't done yet, or things I think I need to do and in fact have done. I write random things for this blog, read and comment on a few others so that by midday I've got plenty of time for my routine dash to work (I'm an English teacher incidentally, although you'd probably never believe it with the amount of typos I make). Picture me searching for my house keys, checking the ovens off eventhough I didn't use it, back of my skirt still up my tights, blusher on one cheek (my face that is). Thats me. Pregnant and clearly not put together.

So help me God I will get back to the painting, if not for me, then for the sanity of my future satsuma.

Gratuitous picture alert....

The T at his glowing best

 

My favourite photo of the T ever. Period.

Look at these beauties...

My baking frenzy is, as of today, officially what I would consider to be, a product of my current glucose craving. I just can't seem to think of anything else other than what I can stick in that oven. It keeps me up at night, all the possible combinations. Mint and chocolate, raspberry and chocolate, applesauce and chocolate. Today it was a classic pairing: banana and chocolate. As I'm sitting at the dining table (which these days has had the double function of an office desk, what with random plates of buttery sweetness always an arms length away..heaven and hell wrapped in one)I am writing this post and trying not to look down at the muffin crumbs all over my 'other' muffin. Yes. THAT muffin. And with my jean buttons undone theres a whole loada self raising action going on.
I'm supposed to be doing a few more responsible things like looking up clinics in London on the net (instead of looking up muffin recipes). Our little strawberry might need to undergo some tests throughout my pregnancy. There is a history of hereditary conditions of which I don't want to go into too much detail without checking with Mr T first. As much as I want to share my thoughts and fears and muffins on this blog, I still have to get the go ahead from the T every now and then. It could be nothing. Or not. Either way, I don't want to freak out those who love us very much. I just hope we can get through it. The T (that's my new name for him now..) is my man and I have to stand by him. Through thick and thin, muffins and salads, jokes and tears,we're a dynamic duo we are.

If you go down to the woods today....

Today I decided it was best to resist the temptation of remaining in my jimjams all day, unbrushed teeth and ratty hair, scoffing down muffins I had made especially for the occasion, and willingly surrendered to a day out in the park. We had a lovely picnic in a beauty woodland area, a matter of minutes from our neighbourhood, and had shamefully ignored until today. It was a beautiful day. Mr T and I had two friends for company, Sandra and Miguel. Sandra very helpfully brought along a charming little picnic set that her mother had kept but never used. Very retro. The forks were clearly not the kind of non-degradable plastic a nuclear bomb couldnt destroy. They succumbed to the barbecued chicken breasts and broke at first impact. Mind you, I was so hungry at that point I was close to cutting right through my plate too.
Anyway, there i was, 11 weeks pregnant eating brussel sprouts and chicken with my fingers. Pregnancy turns you into a she-beast.

Ever since I found out I was with child, I've experienced the joys of simply not giviing a s**t about things that in comparison to the prospect of being a mummy, are so mediocre now. Things like how important it is to be nice. For years I've let that mundane bland word dictate how I should appear around people. Nice, non descript, unassuming, not in the slightest bit opinionated, no stepping on toes. Anything it took to avoid being judged. With impending motherhood slapping me in the face,I will be facing the prospect of being up there in the top 10 of groups in our society who are the most judged, most critiscised and most belittled: the mummy class. Being with Mr T for more than 7 years, we've travelled together, studied together, lived in all sorts of oddly shaped apartments together,eaten bad food together before settling down in Lisbon and deciding that maybe it was time to have a little kiddo together. We've done our fair share of judging too. Looking at screaming children in restaurants, writhing about in highchairs with green splodge all over their faces and thinking to ourselves, we are NEVER going to let our kids behave like that....Forgivable chit chat on the most part. But when it´s other parents who think the same thing, comparing other kids with their own, now THAT is a universe I do not want to get sucked into. I know I'll have to accept that some parents will judge. Well meaning or otherwise.The very people who you want cheering you on reassuringly, patting you on the back, instead are gonna be the haters, the starers, the opinion makers.
I have to just stock up on my supplies of I don't give a s++t pills, and go easy on the nice. Practice my What are YOU looking at stare. Save the nice for little old ladies, kids with cute outfits, and our Ukrainian housekeeper Maria.
Everyone should have a housekeeper. Even if you can't afford one. Like us.

Done in the name of love....

Chocolate chip muffins...my first ever baking experiment.Mr T left stayed well clear, although he did wonder whether I would make it out of the kitchen in one piece or not. It was a nice change to have our home smelling so sweet and chocolatey. I feel like a baking goddess. In pyjamas and unbrushed teeth.
All part of my current nesting mood.

a

 

It's nice..

...to be beside the seaside