Taking care of business (class)

All aboard!

I've been on countless flights where, in the middle of the night, over the middle of the ocean, I've been close to tears. Not because I'm scared of flying, but because I have wanted, more than anything, to be able to lay down. I can't sleep in a stupid upright chair, even with the tiny incline that does nothing but annoy the person behind you.

Which is why, among other reasons, I've always dreamt of flying in business class.

My first ever flight was to  New York, when I was 16. I was travelling with my mum, and my friend Lins. As it was my first time, I wasn't really sure what to expect. So when we got on the plane, I was amazed at how much space we all had.

"This is incredible! Look!"

"Yeah, this is business class. Keep walking."

"Oh. Well hey, this isn't so bad! Still plenty of room."

"This is premium economy. Keep walking."

"Oh. This is us."

"Yep."

Now, I wasn't complaining. That flight was great. My friend got 5 portions of chocolate orange cheesecake (once my mum gave her hers, everyone around us donated theirs). And I got to New York. But the sight of those business class seats has haunted me for years.

Which is why I was giddy with delight to be flying business class with Etihad last week, on a trip to the Seychelles. And it was everything I dreamt it would be.

It began in the lounge at Dublin airport. No shitty Starbucks and a hard chair for me, no sir. I was straight in,did some work in the business centre, and then sit back on the plush seats with a magazine. I even had a pre-dinner dinner (one of my favourite meals) of rare medallions of beef. Somehow, I drew the strength to resist champagne until the last minute, knowing I would want a glass or two on the plane, and not wanting to end up with a mile high hangover.

When I boarded the plane, I tried hard to keep my cool. I'm afraid I lost it when they gave me a hot flannel. Man, I love flannels. Especially when served with a side of champagne, with the promise of more to come after take off.  But the best thing abut the business class seats is that they're self contained, so no one can see that you're watching Les Miserables for the third time, or taking endless pictures on your phone. 

Soon after take off, my feet were up, the second (or maybe third) glass of champagne was on the go, and I was watching Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe be all ridey from underneath my fleecy blanket. I may have also thrown the seat massager on for a little while.

It's a little wrong how happy this made me.

Then it was time for dinner number 2. It felt a little weird tucking into it while Anne Hathaway was whining on  about consumption or something, but I went with it. 

"Cheer up love", I said. "It might never happen."

After my ice cream (ice cream!) I put the French revolution on hold, and reclined into my BED. It was the business. My seat hooshed forward to meet my foot rest, and I could lie out completely flat. It was so impossibly comfortable that I could have shed another tear. From then on, it was smooth sailing to Abu Dhabi, where the next plane was waiting to take us on to the Seychelles.

At one point in the night, I awoke and looked at my watch. Upon realising I only had another hour's sleep before we landed, I sighed, wishing that the flight was just a few hours longer, so I could get a proper night's rest. I can safely say that has never, ever happened on any other plane.

My only worry is that this has completely ruined me for any further flights. When we disembarked, all I could think was "How the fuck am I ever going to fly Ryanair again?"

Etihad fly from Dublin to Abu Dhabi and onwards 10 times a week.
www.etihad.com

Hove Foodie Fest at the Brighton Festival

I was so giddy at the prospect of a FOOD festival on a SUNNY day that I was literally running to the gates. And I am using that word literally. I was literally running. I had to stop pretty quickly, of course, because I can only physically run for twenty metres before my legs give way, but that's besides the point.

We had spent the morning at the amazing Embassy Court apartment building on the seafront. It was a really interesting tour, and I enjoyed every minute, but as the time edged closer to FOOD O'CLOCK, I could barely keep it in.

The chant started low, and, I'll be honest, it didn't catch on.

"Foooodie, Foooooodie, Fooooooodie, Fooooooodie!"

I was hopping back and forward. Foodie!

You know the scene in Bridesmaids where Melissa McCarthy sprints towards the door of the dodgy Brazilliant restaurant? That was me. I was excited.

And if endless fields, by the sea, filled with food tents, wasn't enough, I very quickly had a glass of champagne in my hand.

"Chaaaaaampagne, chaaaaampagne, chaaaaampagne, CHAAAAAMPAGNE!"

Then I had to stop the chanting. Because I was drinking it.

But then I was off. Sausage tents, cheese tents, wine tents, bread tents, chocolate tents. Ice cream! Pulled pork! Gluten free seed tents (ha ha ha, those SAPS) Sushi tents! Cider tents!

I really don't think you're going to get much more out of me than this. This is why I could never be an effective food critic. I just love it all. I could probably be quite a good gluten free seed critic... but I'd never want to be.

What I didn't realise is that this isn't a Brighton thing, but a UK wide thing. So you can catch them around the place all over the summer.

Oh, wait! FUDGE TENTS!

Sorry. But I did get some salted caramel fudge and it was the business.

You'll find all the details about the upcoming festivals here...

foodiesfestival.com

But for now, make do with some pictures of people enjoying the FOOD TENTS.

Show Review: Shit-faced Shakespeare at the Brighton Fringe Festival

Every so often in life, someone comes up with an idea so brilliant, so outstandingly genius, that you just curse the fact you didn't come up with it yourself. This was my reaction when I heard the concept for Shit Faced Shakespeare.

A small group of actors perform a segment of one of Shakespeare's finest plays. The catch? One of them is completely, well, shit faced.

Brilliant, no?

For a long time before and during the start of the play, I had quite a few questions. Like, would they really be shit faced? Really? And if so, how shit faced would they be?

Actually, they were my only two questions.

When we entered the pop up theatre, The Warren (placed so close to the multi storey Churchill Square carpark that I thought we were being led to our deaths) we spotted the drunken star of the evening. Popping out from a stage door, clutching a supersize bottle of Barcardi Breezer, she swayed, checking out the huge line.

As we entered the theatre, a gawdy Russell Brand type played the Master of Ceremonies. In a top hat and tails, he had one of those overly theatrical, silly personas which I instantly like. I can't help it.

The show began, and it became clear that his main role was to follow the path of the drunken performer, ensuring they don't fall of the stage, throw up on themselves or cause havoc with a sword (there were swords).

A Midsummer Night's Dream began with a jaunty dance, which was somewhat of a challenge for our Hermia, who was stumbling and giggling. I wasn't convinced, at first. She's an actress, right? So she must just be acting drunk.

But as the play went on, I was persuaded. Whatever the case, it's pretty damn hilarious to see someone drunk, trying to reel off their lines, and remember to be asleep when the plot calls for it. She actually did a pretty good job of remembering her lines, which she spewed out incredibly speedily) At one point, she came out into the audience to find her friends (MC Russell Crowe lurking behind the curtain). She ended her accusatory lines with "You DICK" and asked for lines to be performed sitting down.

Really, it's the kind of thing that's hard to make sound funny on paper. Whenever you relay the drunken antics of another, you can never really capture the essence of it. So you'll have to just trust me.

Unfortunately, their run at the Brighton Fringe Festival has almost finished - there's one show left on May 26th. You can keep an eye on their site for upcoming performances elsewhere.

www.magnificentbastard.co.uk/shitfacedshake.html 

A weekend at the Brighton festivals

Last weekend, I was in Brighton for the start of their festival season. Running over the course of three weeks, the festivals span most of the venues in the city, taking over the cool seaside town with a mixture of theatre, music, comedy and madness.

The main Brighton Festival pulls in the big names, with exclusive performances and premieres from around the world. The Brighton Fringe is home to the kind of quirky shows like Shit Faced Shakespeare (which I'll review tomorrow)

The festivals run side by side, hand in hand, with only a hint of competition. It can be hard to differentiate between the two (which I would never admit to either party) but what it basically means is that Brighton is a haven for good times in May.

A brief recap of the shows I saw...

La Clique - A cabaret for the insane. And I say that with a heart full of affection.

Buzzcut at Supper Club - A supper club for the very insane. And I say that with a heart full of affection.

Chapel Street - A two person play which is, potentially, the best play I have ever seen. And I say that as a person who has seen Avenue Q (I may not be a theatre aficionado)

Shit Faced Shakespeare - One Shakespeare play. Six actors. One of them? Is shit faced.

I also got absolutely giddy with excitement at the Hove Foodies Festival. Giddy.

I'll be reviewing all of these shows over the next few days, so keep an eye out for posts from someone who is the furthest from a theatre critic anyone could be.

How to bluff your way through a wine tasting

When I was at university, I developed an ingenious little thing called the Seminar Nod. I did this because it quickly became apparent to me that I didn't know anything about anything. At school, I never had a problem speaking in class. But at uni, people were clever. They were cleverer than me, which I resented. They knew things. Lots of things. They knew how to wax lyrical about the film 'Bouncing in the Corner' by Bruce Nauman, a film which is LITERALLY a man bouncing in the corner for an hour. They weren't sitting there thinking "This has to be a fucking joke, surely?"

There was something pretty intimidating about seminars, especially. A small group of people in a small room, sitting in a circle and discussing their academic thoughts. The more I sat in them, the more I thought that I was never going to speak, ever again, in case that snide prick with the nice hair thought I was an idiot.

The thing is, you couldn't get away with not talking. And it was easy to get caught out, too. Those lecturers were sneaky.

If you nodded too vigorously at what someone said, trying to look all keen, they would ask you to elaborate on your thoughts. They'd say something like "Nicola, you seem to agree, do you care to add something?"

That, obviously, is not ideal.

The Seminar Nod is a gentler nodding system, designed to fool everyone into thinking that you know what's going on, you're on top of things, but you don't need to add a thing. Ideally, you look slightly confused, and then JUST as the lecturer starts to ask you if you're lost, you say "Aaaahhhhhh" in a loud voice, and nod furiously, like you've just figured it out.

Another tip is to say exactly what someone else has started to say, a microsecond after they say it, before laughing "I was about to say the same thing!"

All of this can be applied to wine tasting.

I wish I knew more about wine, I really do. I can never smell the different smells that people are talking about, and the only way I can describe it is "nice" or "really nice"

On my way out to Spain, I was sat next to a lovely man, who's a very clever wine journalist. I bombarded him with questions, and he was happy to give me the briefest of wine educations. We had lunch later that day (he was on the same trip as me, it's not that kind of story) and I couldn't wait for him to talk me through the wines.

The problem was, I still couldn't get it. I could appreciate everything he was saying, but I just couldn't come up with it on my own.

A few days later, I went to a few wine tastings. Eager to put my freshly forgotten education to the test, I started to drink.

And the wines? Were all very nice. They were white, and they were very nice.

If you find yourself at a wine tasting, or just drinking wine with someone you want to impress, I've come up with a few phrases that will help you bluff your way through.

1. The first thing to do is to swizzle your wine around the glass. This is fun to do, and it really does help the scents come forward. After a bit of a swizzle, look at the glass. If there are lines coming down the side of the glass, you can say "Mmm, great legs." Now, the legs thing was explained to me. But I don't think it stuck. Just say it anyway, and if someone contradicts you and says the wine actually has terrible legs, say "I know, I was being sarcastic" and roll your eyes.

2. Now stick your nose in the glass, take a big sniff, and look pensive. When you emerge, say something non-committal, like "Ooh, there's definitely something going on there" Try to use the word cacophony, because you don't often get to in life, and it's fun to say.

3. Ideally, someone else will speak first. Whatever they say, leap on it and expand. So if someone says something about berries, just say whatever springs to mind. The first strawberry on the bush on a midsummer's day, or something.

4. Now drink the thing. If it's nice, say so. If you want to keep things really simple, then generally a red smells like berries, and whites smell like citrus (a million sommeliers just convulsed in horror). If a red tastes really rich, say something about leather or tobacco (gack).

5. If you're really stuck, it's time to get obscure. So obscure that no one knows what the hell you're on about. Then they'll be scared that they don't get the same thing, and you'll win. You'll win the wine tasting. Here are some phrases you can use...

"Hmm, like the last vapours of a petrol tank in a Texas roadstop"

"I'm getting airs of a befuddled hedgehog"

"It tastes how I imagine Alan Rickman smells..."


But at the end of the day, you don't have to worry. You're not in a stuffy university seminar, you're drinking wine. And nothing can go wrong when you have a glass of wine in your hand.

So drink it back, enjoy it, and if you think it tastes really nice? Say that.

By the way, I would very much like to drink the wine that tastes how Alan Rickman smells.

The medicines you should never travel without

I'm the kind of fool who ends up embroiled in some kind of medical melodrama on a lot of trips. If I'm lucky, my problems can be solved in the chemist. If I'm not, then it's a foreign hospital for me.

Even as I write this, I'm crossing my fingers and knocking wood. But it just seems to be my lot in life.

Last week, as I made my way to Spain, I decided enough was enough. I was going to be prepared. I had felt a slight tickle in my throat, and after a horrible dose in Portugal last year, I wanted to knock it out of my system before I got on the plane.

So I cleared the shelves in Boots, buying Vick's First Defence, paracetamol, and vitamin c. Before I left the house, I remembered to throw a few bits in my suitcase.

This is because however available medicine is in the country you're visiting, no matter how many chemists you pass each day, it will always be a pain to find certain stuff abroad.

But despite all of my preparation, I was still caught short.

I feel it's only fair to alert you, at this early stage, that this tale includes a story of discomfort in a rather intimate female region. If this makes you feel uncomfortable, I won't judge you for averting your eyes.


Well no, actually, I would judge you. But how would I ever find out  you did it?



Back to the story. After my first day in Spain, I began to feel the stirrings of a UTI. If you've had cystitis in the past, then you will understand the sheer panic that washes over you when you think it might be happening again. You will do anything to avoid it.

I thought of the almost-full pack of Cystopurin sitting in my room at home, mocking me. I cursed myself for not bringing a sachet along.

It was 8pm, and the woman in my hotel told me that the pharmacies were all closed. We were heading out to dinner soon, and she helpfully drew me a map, showing me how to get to the night chemist. The problem was, I was on a press trip, with people I had met only the day before. All I wanted to do was sneak away, sort out my issue, and keep it as my little secret.

But I didn't get my wish.

As we walked to dinner, I spotted an open pharmacy. A couple of the girls with us knew I needed to get in there asap, so I told everyone I would be just a minute, and entered the tiniest pharmacy known to man.

I scanned the shelves and spotted a herbal remedy, but then got into a chat with the chemist, with the help of a translator. As we got to the description of my symptoms, the door opened, and everyone on the trip walked in to have a browse.

Have you ever described a UTI while 7 people you just met are standing right behind you? One of whom is the spitting image of your granddad? If you haven't, I really recommend it. For the comedy value alone.

I was starting to get a little grouchy as I continued the chat. I was asking if there were any drugs that I could get, instead of what looked like dried cranberry pills for €15. It turns out this was a herbal pharmacy, with no authorisation to sell drugs. At all.

In the end, mostly just to get the hell out of there, I bought the herbal pills. The tight-arse in me really resented paying that much for what I was convinced wouldn't do a thing. But I got them anyway, turned to my little rag tag group and said

"I'm so glad you were all here to share this with me."

I'll wrap up this horror story with some sage advice.

1. If you have any medical conditions, you're clearly going to travel with your prescriptions. You're not an idiot. But I'm not talking about asthmatics taking inhalers with them. If you, once in a blue moon, get a UTI, then take some Cystopurin with you. It turns out in Spain they don't sell it over the counter. So just throw a couple of sachets in your bag. You never know.

2. If in doubt, pack it anyway. I travel light, but really, a few pill packets are going to make no difference at all.

3. If you have a hidden pouch in your suitcase, keep your stash here, and don't bother unpacking it. In all likelihood, you'll forget it's there, only to be brought to tears of relief when you find it on another trip down the line.

If you want my advice, I would recommend you bring the following on every trip you take...

• Your preferred painkiller (nothing worse than being given asprin when all you want is ibuprofen)
• Vick's First Defence (honest to God, this worked)
• Antihistamines (good for insect bites and allergies)
• Immodium (snigger snigger)
• Cystopurin or similar

Even if you're as healthy as can be, holidays can mess up your usual routine and immune system. Strange food, different climate, lots of things can impact your health. I'm not saying it will happen, but I am saying there's no harm in being prepared. 

Hotel Review: Hotel Altair, Santiago de Compostela

Every so often, a hotel comes along that ticks all of my boxes. Lucky for me, I stayed in one last week - the Hotel Altair in Santiago de Compostela.

Exposed brickwork and stylish rooms? Check. Right in the heart of the action, but on a quiet street? Check. Small, but not so tiny that you have to walk through the owner's living room to get to bed? Check.  

I wasn't sure what to expect when I headed to Santiago. I purposely didn't research it too much, so I would be surprised. I knew, of course, that it was the final destination for pilgrims walking the Camino, and that it had a grand cathedral. I'd been told that it was pretty, quaint and small. 

When I got there and took a walk around, I liked it instantly. The streets are cobbled, small and winding. The restaurants and squares are filled with locals, rather than tourists, and the food is out of this world. 

But back to the hotel. I was happy to see that we were staying in the old town, a few steps away from a grand church and right by the Praza de Cervantes...

Location

Just on the edge of the old town, the Altair has the advantage of a pretty backdrop, but without the hustle and bustle of any of the main squares. The cathedral is about 5-10 minutes away, and there are fantastic restaurants and bars just around the corner. We found a goth bar which tickled me no end, where we were served complimentary tapas as a middle aged man moshed alone to some death metal. 

Rooms

There are only a few rooms in the hotel, all of which have high ceilings, huge windows and lush furnishings. I was lucky enough to have a room that led out to a private section of courtyard, which would have been divine had the sun made an appearance. The bathroom was huge with an amazing shower that had the kind of water pressure I can only dream about. 

I was the nearest room to the reception area, which meant that I did have a bit of noise if there was a crowd outside. It also meant that the head of my bed backed on to the TV wall of my neighbours room, so there was a bit of residual football noise seeping in. 

Breakfast

Each morning, breakfast was served to the tables, continental style. You could choose from cereals, fruits, yoghurts etc, and then some more Galician fare such as cured hams, tomatoes and cheese. The orange juice was freshly squeezed and the cafe con leche was fantastic. Personally, I prefer a buffet for breakfast, as I can draw a blank on what I want unless I can see it. But that's just me. 

Service

The women working here were all lovely, sweet and helpful. There was always someone around to help with directions, and they know the area well. 

Rates

Double rooms start at €95 in the low season, reaching €120 in the high season. For the style, quality and service, this seems fantastic value to me, though bear in mind breakfast isn't included, and costs €8.50pp. 

Hotel Altair

Rúa Loureiros, 12 

15704 - Santiago de Compostela A Coruña

http://www.altairhotel.net 

The easiest ice cream recipe in the world

When the sun in shining, all I want is ice cream. Actually, when the rain is falling, all I want is ice cream. When the moon is in the sky, all I want is ice cream. Just take it as a given that I will always want ice cream. 

My craving hit some pretty high points when I was reading Vagabond Language the other day, which featured a rundown of the best gelato in Florence. Man, do I love gelato. I adore seeing it piled high in Italian windows, choosing a flavour and getting it in a little cup. Love it. There's actually a great gelateria in Sligo town, Fabio's. Well worth a visit. 

But the other day, I wasn't in Sligo. I was at home, and I wanted ice cream, dammit. I don't have an ice cream machine, and was looking for an easy recipe I could do without one. I was even prepared take it out every 20 minutes to whisk it, such was my dedication. 

Luckily, I stumbled on an amazingly simple recipe from David Lebovitz. An ice cream guru, Lebovitz has a website full of beautiful looking gelatos and desserts. But this one stuck out to me. Invented by accident, it uses alcohol to somehow prevent it freezing too hard and forming ice crystals, which means you don't have to constantly whisk while freezing.

It also means that you're basically eating a cocktail. Which had the pleasant side effect of curing me of my mild Sunday hangover. Sugar + hair of the dog + heaven. 

This could easily pass as a great dessert for a dinner party. But it's probably more effective eaten alone, in pajamas, in front of some shit on the TV. 

The Easiest Chocolate Ice Cream Ever

Recipe taken from David Lebovitz, Ready for Dessert

Ingredients

55g dark chocolate (though I actually used Galaxy, and that was good. Dark would be richer, obviously)

80ml milk

80ml Baileys

1 tablespoon rum

1 medium banana

Melt the chocolate and milk in a pyrex bowl over barely simmering water. Keep an eye on it, because burnt chocolate is the worst. You could probably just pour the chocolate into hot milk and stir off the heat, and it would melt. Either way. 

Mix the booze in.

Mash up the banana and put it all in the blender. What you're left with is a boozy smelling milkshake. 

Pour it all into a Tupperware container and freeze for 4 hours. IT'S THAT EASY. The recipe says that you can get 4 - 6 scoops out of it, but I had two helpings. Generous ones, admittedly, but still. If you were serving 4 people I would double the quantities. When I first took it out of the freezer it was deliciously smooth. A few days later when I ate the rest, it was a little harder in consistency. So I would recommend making it 4 hours before you plan on eating it. 

I smothered mine in butterscotch sauce, because I had some in the fridge. And I wanted it, dammit. Melt 1 part butter with 2 parts muscovado sugar and 2 parts cream. Eat in the dark with a spoon.

Through the Sligo Way and into the woods to an outdoor cinema

No one believes me, but the weather in Leitrim for the last few weeks has been amazing. Amazing! London has been covered with a constant fog of snow and dismay, and Dublin has been no better. But little old Leitrim, ignored by everyone, was aglow with bright blue skies and sunshine. 

Yesterday was the same, which was lucky, as I was heading into the woods for Thrill to Chill, the second event organised by local group Rennafix. Last year, we hiked from Slish Wood across the Sligo Way for a secret cinema evening. Yesterday, they got a little bit bolder, with a bbq, camp and yoga session the next day. Alas, I was working until late on the Saturday so couldn't join in the 2.5 hour hike (HA!). But we walked from the car park, at LEAST 20 minutes. So there's that. 

I'd never walked far into Slish Wood. I'd walked along the path a little, when my friend and her boyfriend and Cletus the Foetus were visiting. But she was waddling, so we only walked for a few minutes along the lake front. 

There are few things as beautiful as Loch Gill on a still, sunny day. Little islands dot along the way, steep slopes slide into little stony beaches, and thick green moss covers the side of the mountains. It's stunning. 

What I'd never heard of is the clearing about 30 minutes in. There's an old stone hut which doubles as a bar, a huge expanse of grass leading down to the lake itself. And this is where Thrill to Chill took place.

When we arrived, the hikers and the cyclists were pretty much all there, and the Stand Up Paddle Boarders were gliding along the mill pond to the little beach. Tents were set up, beers were opened, and we settled by the fire. 

And that's where I stayed. I didn't even watch the film, which was kind of the whole point. But it was Avatar, and I object on moral grounds to that film because I was pipped to the post by an Avatar at a Halloween fancy dress. Stupid Avatar. 

There's nothing better than an open fire, a clear night and good company. It can't be beaten. 

You can keep an eye on the Rennafix facebook page for upcoming events, but you can of course explore the Sligo Way at any time. I'm not saying that Avatar will be shown in the clearing, or guarantee the sun will shine, of course. But you will have a lovely walk.

Homemade macaroons - the gift that says "Happy Birthday! I can't bake."

I've been a bit blue this week. Usually, at Easter time, my friend Naomi comes to stay. We lay around in our PJs, reluctantly go on walks and do a lot of baking. This works out well, because Easter is a time when people tend to shoot off in different directions. So I've been feeling the absence of Nomi this year, moping around and feeling generally sorry for myself.

But then I pulled myself out of it, and decided to get baking anyway. To be honest, she only messes things up. Getting under my feet like an excitable puppy and making a gacky mess out of melted chocolate.

There's no way my macaroons would have worked with her here.

Actually, it's a miracle they worked at all. I've always thought they would be a bugger to make. There's so much precision and faff, which really isn't my forte. Plus? I don't really like them. They just seem a bit pointless to me, a bit poncey. Things that girly girls get excited about, and pay €18 for a box of 6 like a bunch of suckers.

But it's my friend's birthday this week, and I always find it best to make something that I don't like. Especially because I was making these two days early. If I made something I loved? They would have been demolished within the hour.

So I set to making macaroons. After a bit of googling, I settled on this recipe, from Eat, Live, Travel, Write  I hit my first snag when it came to assembling my ingredients. I didn't have ground almonds or icing sugar, and neither did the local shop. What I did have was granulated sugar and whole almonds. Which meant I had to blanch, peel and blitz the nuts (snoooooooore) and make icing sugar. That was more exciting - one cup of sugar in the blender, with a teaspoon of corn flour in at the end. Homemade icing sugar!

At last, I had assembled everything I needed. I pulled out the KitchenAid, only to discover the mother-effing plug had been taken off. This happens quite a lot in my house. The plug from one thing is taken and put on something else, in this case, the hoover. I had a couple of mini tantrums, before deciding that I wasn't about to let the appliance win. I was going to WIRE A PLUG.

After I realised what this actually entailed, I turned to Youtube. Actually, I first turned to my friend's boyfriend, but he wasn't at home to talk me through it. So a gruff Yorkshire man helped me instead. And you know what? It wasn't that hard at all. I mean, I did put the wrong size of amp in there, but after someone on Twitter kindly pointed that out to me, I just did it again. So, really, I wired THREE plugs. It's oddly addictive. I now have the urge to take all the plugs off everything and switch them around.

But I didn't follow that instinct. Instead I got on with the task at hand.

You can find the recipe at Eat, Live, Travel, Write, who adapted it from Brave Tart. It's far too long to post here. I halved the ingredients, and ended up with 9 wonky macaroons. You'd probably get 10, if you did it properly. I filled mine with a normal buttercream (2 parts "icing sugar" to 1 part butter, and a couple of teaspoons of jam). The next time I make them, I think I'll make a chocolate ganache. I would also draw the outline of circles on the back of the greaseproof paper, so my circles are all even. I would also not burn them. Ahem.