Despite Googling ‘how to make a shit hot flow chart’ + ‘hedgehog in a party hat’ the Internet was not forthcoming. All I found were boring people talking about boring stuff I couldn’t be arsed to listen to.
Seriously techy peeps there is a definite gap in the market for engaging tech guides presented by woodland creatures wearing novelty head gear.
So anyway to cut a long, dull story short I downloaded something that did stuff it shouldn’t and ended up sitting in front of all the files on my server, and, well, er….
You know those files you shouldn’t delete? I deleted them.
I am desperate. It is too cold to venture out and Eeh Bah Son is not well. Plus I bumped the car in our rush to get to the doctors and have got the fear behind the wheel again. Desperate times call for desperate measures. We are staying in. We are going to make mince […]
When you become a mother a whole new world of worry opens up to you: Am I a good mum? Are my children happy? Will they pick up their father’s southern accent? But for me the biggie, the one that keeps me awake at night, is the thought that I could wake up one morning […]
Whilst I am loathe to stoke the flames of this discussion which kicked off at the recent Mumsnet Blogfest I do feel there is a point I need to address.
Exactly what jam related activities are acceptable feminist activities?
Personally I’m not overly concerned about not being able to make jam. Who the fuck makes jam anyway?
Even jam factories don’t make jam any more it’s all compotes and jellies and shit these days.
My other half once bought Seville marmalade oranges at the supermarket and tried to cover up his mistake by saying he thought I might like to make marmalade.
I Googled a recipe and was shocked to discover preserve making involves a lot of time, effort and vats of boiling sugar. I am not a woman who should be left in charge of pans of boiling sugar, I flail my arms around. A lot.
I’m also easily distracted. This post was meant to be about jam. Or feminism. Not marmalade.