Karoons

Confessions of a cooking dunce

During a Home Economics class when I was 14, my friend Amy and I were asked to bake some buns. We thought we were doing quite well until we went to check on them in the oven and found nothing but a heap of charcoal.

When I was 19 and studying abroad in America I (along with my fellow Brits) were asked to create some traditional British food for an international dinner. I was charged with baking scones (wooooo) while the others had the far more taxing task of making shepherd's pie. They created a culinary masterpiece. I nearly burnt down a friend's house.

So considering my baking past I count today's effort a success. Cookie anyone?

They are completely inedible but I have used my finely honed detective skills to deduce why it went so wrong.

This is the first three lines of the recipe:

1 cup (2 sticks) of unsalted butter or
1/2 cup of butter and 1/2 a cup of shortening

Just read that again.

1 cup (2 sticks) of unsalted butter or
1/2 cup of butter and 1/2 a cup of shortening

Hmmmm. I didn't see the 'or'. I also didn't read the bit where it said only to use a third of the sugar in the actual dough and put the rest aside for creating the icing. Essentially I just shoved a lorry-load of butter and sugar into the oven. Oh yes and then I did my conversion from Fahrenheit to Celsius wrong and baked them at 230 degrees.

I think that's why it went a bit wrong. Maybe I need to set my cooking sights a little lower. Step 1: Cereal.

Inside the strange and wonderful mind of Liam Theroux

Liam Theroux: That is what The Sun would call 'a sex act'. 

Me: What?

LT: The tabloids. They always refer to handjobs or blowjobs as 'sex acts'. 

Me: But they're completely different things. A blowjob is far more intimate than a handjob.

LT: I don't disagree. 

Me: Well then, how do you know which one they're referring to? 

LT: You have to read between the lines.

Me: And how exactly do Sun readers manage such a thing? 

LT: If the story involves Christiano Ronaldo you can assume it's a blowjob. 

Me: Okaaaaaaaaaay. 

LT: If it's about Keith Chegwin they mean a handjob. 

Me: Right. So your saying the more physically attractive a man is the more likely it is he'll have received a blowjob.

LT: Exactly!

Me: And does this little theory of yours extend past celebrities and into real life?

LT: Most definitely. 

Me: So if we did a survey, we could discover which men are considered most attractive through their blow job to handjob ratio.

LT: Yep. You've got it.

And knowing Liam Theroux as I do, there is probably an Excel spreadsheet somewhere on his laptop that proves his theory. MORI has nothing on him.

_________________________________________________________________________

Edited to add: Ha ha. Just realised that my last sentence makes Liam Theroux seem a bit sketchy. I should make it clear that he does not go around offering sexual favours or enquiring about the sexual favours others have received. That I know of.

Nick Knowles has nothing on me

Well, we did it. Liam Theroux and I are now officially living in sin.

This is the first time I've made the leap to leaving with a boy since I was a young and naive 21. So far so good.

We successfully avoided a domestic in Ikea yesterday, although we did bear witness to several good ones on the way round. I may suffer the wrath of a boy wronged tomorrow because I have completely broken the chest of drawers I was trying to put together. I hammered in a slat upside down and then tried to get it out by hammering it on the other side. Lets just say that was a bad idea. That's 35 quid down the drain but more gut wrenchingly, it puts another trip to the land of cheap meatballs and flat-packed furniture on the cards. Liam Theroux took it in his stride tonight but that could be because he was half asleep and full of ready meal and club biscuits (domestic god/goddess training is not going well). When the full realisation dawns I may not be a popular girl.

In my defence I would like to point out that the destroyed set of drawers was the third piece of furniture I'd put together all by myself! LT, so far, has put together half of one tiny two-drawed office cabinet.

I am a DIY supremo - oh yes I am. See!

Dead moth cocktails and babies

I've just got back from spending a few days in London Village where I got up to all sorts of high jinks. Actually the jinks weren't that high but I did have lovely time.

My favourite girlies and I invented the dead moth cocktail (the secret ingredients of which shall go with us to the grave) and enjoyed a very long afternoon of picnicking on Clapham Common.

One of the top-secret ingredients of the dead moth cocktail may or may not be that most sophisticated of drinks, Malibu. In our defence it was sunny and everyone knows that sunniness demands a fruity drink. Also, Lucy really wanted the free flip-flops that came free with it. I'm selfless even in the face of alcohol marketed at underage girls.

Exciting sights on Clapham Common included women sunbathing in tiny bikinis and a man wielding a camera with a telescopic lens. Not that I'm saying these two facts are in anyway related. After a while, Lucy went home and Lauren slept so I amused myself by reading The Observer and taking photos from the perspective of an ant.

Oh yes, as of last week I am a blonde. This came about due to a spectacular breakdown of communication with my new hairstylist. I am as yet undecided how I feel about it. I could reach a conclusion by seeing if the old adage 'blondes have more fun' is true but because I'm about to spend 5 weeks on holiday I don't think it would be a fair test. (Fair test! I knew all those GCSE science investigations would come in useful someday).

I also got to spend a lot of time with this gorgeous creature.

He weed, vomited and pooed all over me but it still did not stop my ovaries from exploding due to the cuteness. I am well aware I have turned into baby bore who shoves her phone under the nose of virtual strangers and demands that they scroll through all the pictures of her nephew. Even the ones that are close ups of his fingers and toes. Imagine the horror if I ever have children of my own.

My sister fed, watered and entertained me in the manner to which I have become accustomed. Even better actually because she had Muller yoghurts with chocolate bits. She is ace. My brother-in-law's new job is doing the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. He has a bearskin hat and everything. I went to watch but I didn't take any photos because I am a moron.

Right, I'm off because there is a documentary on about the downfall of Britney Spears. I plan to adopt her so it would be irresponsible of me not to watch.

In which I start the summer holidays with a whimper

The good news is I have a full time, permanent teaching job from September. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The bad news is you will never get to hear all those stories I was talking about. I'm sure you'll survive.

I have now officially finished work for 6 weeks and in celebration have spent the last 15 hours sleeping. I was brutally awoken by the sound of the X-Files theme tune being played at top volume from some sort of PA system rigged up by the nutters across the street. For the last hour they have been alternating between The X-Files, Superman and Titanic, yet I am resolutely cheerful. That is how glad I am it is the summer holidays.

The main happening of the holidays will be the merging of the book collections of one Miss Kay Karoons and one Mr Liam Theroux. And not only are our books moving in together, we are too! I shall do my best to prevent this blog from becoming merely a record of domestic drudgery as my role in this relationship has been clearly set out by our new landlord. Please see record of conversation between New Landlord and Liam Theroux below.

New Landlord :  The council tax is band B
Liam Theroux  :  Okay.
New Landlord:   The rent is payable on the 3rd of each month.
Liam Theroux:   Sure.

Now imagine all sorts of moving house discussion continuing in a similar vein. Blah, blah, blah. As they reach the end of the conversation...

New Landlord:  Well, I'll be around on the Saturday you're moving in.
Liam Theroux:  Great.
New Landlord:  That way if your partner has any questions, like how the hob works, I can answer them.

Liam Theroux insists that this was said without any hint of humour so I now have to think of imaginative ways to freak out New Landlord with my progressiveness. Maybe I'll wear trousers on moving in day. Oh the scandal. Please also note the use of the term 'partner'. Agggggggggggggggggggggggh! I shall say no more.

Finally, in celebration of me not having to decipher the ramblings of 4 year olds for at least 6 weeks, I present you with 2 of the strangest exchanges from the last few days of term.

1.

Small boy approaches with his hand on his chest. He is obviously distressed.

Small boy:   Miss Karoons, I've lost my mojo.
Me:             What do you mean?

Small boy begins to cry.

Small boy:  My mojo's gone. I don't know where it is.
Me:            What's a mojo? What does it look like?
Small boy:  My mojoooooooooooooooooooooo.   [taps chest furiously]
Me:            Oh OK. You go into assembly and I'll look for it.

I spend a baffled 15 minutes trying to decide how best to present a found mojo. The children come back into the classroom and I prepare to get to the bottom of this mojo business. The same small boy enters the room but is beaming from ear to ear.

Small boy:  Miss Karoons, I've found my mojo!
Me:            That's great. I am pleased. Can you find mine now please?

2. 

Small boy:   Miss Karoons, I am your father.
Me:             Have you been watching Star Wars?
Small boy:   What's Star Wars?
Me:             Nevermind.

The tales I could tell

Oooooo it's times like these that I wish this blog was anonymous.

Work. Hmmmmm. There are changes afoot with whispers in coridoors and knives being sharpened. By Friday I'll either have a permanent full time job or no job at all. Obviously I'm hoping for the former but if that doesn't happen I'll at least have a few good stories to tell.

Harry and Sally as you've never seen them before

It is a well known fact that I can get a little bit OCDish when I really like a song or a film. I happily play or watch them over and over and over again. So much so it nearly drove my sister insane when we were teenagers. Although to be fair, when asked if she'd ever watched a film more than once she answered no, which in my opinion is also crazy, just on the opposite side of the spectrum. Proof if proof were needed that there is no fighting the loopy gene.

As a young child my film obsessions were all musicals. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, Half a Sixpence, Annie, The Happiest Millionaire etc. If you ever need someone to lead a medley of show tunes I am your girl and I'm sure you have that need all the time. As I got older my tastes matured (after a fashion). I loved all the John Hughes films and Dirty Dancing as well as classics such as An American in Paris and Casablanca. One of my favourites was When Harry Met Sally and despite being far too young to appreciate the films debate over the validy of male/female friendships, I could quote it word for word. I only hope for my mother's sake that I never re-enacted the orgasm scene in public. At the time I thought she just really, really liked that salad.

Anyway, my attention has just been brought to this.  When Harry Met Sally as a horror film. It made me laugh and this week I really needed that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMWpxTK7q2s

A wander through the texts in my phone (received)

Scarlet woman, I have returned.

Ha. Go you! But what have you done with the real kaysophine?

Alright Sous le bois?

Thanks - I'm rather proud of the cow picture too. Can you tell I'm bricking it?

Goodnight you minxy purveyor of porn you.

I found the receipt for pink face!

Piss off! I'm middle of the road and proud.

Kay I'm too drunks see you tomorrow.

Dude! I dreamt I was pregnant by you and took loads of speed on New Years Eve.

All men have just one mental age. It never gets any higher than 14.

Always a pleasure to browse the vegetables with you.

What a stiring affirmation of humanity that must have been.

He's a total loser. If I ever see him again I will hit him. What a complete Fuckwit!

I agree. Bill Oddie IS a wanker.

Zane is playing the Foo Fighter's naughty song.

I don't care if he has a silly name. I'm in love with Fyfe Dangerfield

Things that have saved my sanity over the last few months

1. Noah and the Whale.
They make such beautiful music. I  love '2 Bodies 1 Heart' for the sentiment but also because it sounds like it's sung by a Seasame Street character. However, '5 Years Time' never fails to make me smile. And want to take up the ukelale (at least my sausage fingers would have a chance of reaching all the strings).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRX5kH6IrkY

2. The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood
I don't have time to read much anymore. I've given up reading new books for now because I start something and by the time I have chance to pick it up again I've forgotten what's gone before. Instead, I'm reading old favourites so that I at least have a chance of keeping up with the plot. Reading anything by Margaret Atwood always provides an escape. She has the ability to transport you to a whole other time and place in an instant. 
     

“Mother might be resting, or doing good deeds elsewhere, but Reenie was always there.  She’d scoop us up and sit us on the white enamel kitchen table, alongside the pie dough she was rolling out or the chicken she was cutting up or the fish she was gutting, and give us a lump of brown sugar to get us to close our mouths. Tell me where it hurts, she’d say.  Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where.

But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.”

from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood pg. 2

 

3. Sweet Potato and Corn Chowder
Quick, tasty and much better for you than a bag of peanut M & Ms. I'm sure I would have developed scurvy in the last 6 months, were it not for Covent Garden Soups.

                                  

4.My new/old birdcage
I don't care what you all say - I like it. Yes, it is hideously impractical. Yes, it would never and will never hold a bird. Yes, it cost far too much money. Money that I don't have. But it is pweeeety. And it fits into the over-arching vision of what my future home will look like.
In the meantime it sits on my bedside table taking up far too much room and standing out like a sore thumb. It does cheer me up though.                                                                                                                           
 

5. Johnny Flynn.

I think I'm turning into a bit of a folkie in my old age. But Johnny Flynn is folkie who happens to look like Billy Kennedy from Neighbours. Maudlin, hot and plays the guitar. Who could ask for anything more?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I2hzMCiNH4

I would post but typepad is being a bitch.

Blah!