Call me a hypocrite..but pass the BBQ.

March you have really buggered up my blog writing. There I was all proud of my post I did a couple of weeks back about the sun and how pathetic us Brits are in it and you go and get hotter than the Sahara. Thanks for that.

I still stand by the fact that it isn't summer yet but, I am now guilty of wearing a maxi skirt and strumming a guitar.. well not the last bit, I haven't succumbed to that yet and I hope I never do. Not like the rest of you eh? I can barely walk up the hill near my house anymore for fear of falling over groups of daisy chain making hipsters who are waling along to Oasis 'wonder-wall'. Again.

So yes, I am still as cynical and bitter as ever but this time I am wearing a jolly neck scarf that is of a dainty floral design.

...and perhaps I could have a pair of Ray-Ban resting on my head.

...and I am thinking of buying a disposable BBQ.

...maybe I could get a guitar? NO.

I could look like her?

I would probably end up like this..

Enjoy the sun. I am positive it wont hang around this time.

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"I think it's called yogging"

She is yogging hard.

The title of this post if taken from the legendary film that is course 'Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy' and I was reminded of it today at 6.00am when I embarked on my first run of the summer...apart from it isn't the summer yet. This was the first of many problems I had with this run.

It was cold. It was windy. I looked horrendous. Oh. And the most obvious, did I mention I am an awful runner or 'yogger'?

I am attempting to get back into running after a long, cold winter off but my god does it hurt. It hurt like hell. I am damn proud of myself for sticking with the ruddy though, as I was desperate to crawl back into my bed and schnuggle down, dreaming of muffins.

But, because I try and conform to the "flat washboard stomach and toned thighs" look in a bikini (pretty tough going when you're a bakers daughter let me tell you) I will grit my teeth and struggle through it. It's my own fault you would think as somebody with severe shortsightedness would just think "hell I cant see anyone so I'm fine pigging out and slumming with my pot belly". But no, I am your typical beach flapper:

" ok breathe in...breathe...is she looking at me...why is she looking...breathe...she is looking as well...SHIT! you bent down and now its all ruined...stay composed though...and again...breathe in".

Pretty pathetic seeing it in words up there. Maybe this year I should just get on and relax with a big ol' bucket of fried chicken on my belly whilst catching some rays with my perscription sunglasses and  get on with it.

How happy do they look?!

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Bread Winner or Bread Maker?

Right let’s just get this over and done with before I start: yes I have nice baps, no I won’t touch your baguette and yes I am a master-baker. Finished. 

At the moment as you are most probably aware I am a university student, I like to think I try hard and I’m working pretty well so hopefully I’ll come out with a decent grade. Because, I want to finish university get myself a tidy little job with a bulging cheque so I can tell the (excuse the language) bastards at student finance to leave me alone. 

My friend the other day was asking me how I would feel if I finished uni and yes got myself a nice job but wasn’t the breadwinner in my relationship, a role which I am now calling the bread maker, which aptly fits in with my bakery background and heritage (how neat). And honestly, I don't think I would mind, which I don't know is a good or bad thing. I am not for one minute saying that I will not work hard and will ride of the backs of others but if someone (namely my economics buff of a boyfriend) brings home the ‘dollar’, would I resent them?

Also, this debate has been prompted by my recent love of making cakes (how cute are all these?!):

                                                 (actual cupcakes. how?!)

Should you strive to be the bread winner or be content as the bread maker?

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Coming Home.

Nawww how cute does that sound?
It's going to be short and sweet today(biscuits are calling)..
I have come home for the weekend and am having the nicest of times (nicest being the key word). Home is so comforting and yeah, nice: it is nice having heating, it is nice having food all the time, and good food at that, it is nice having puppies here, it is so nice that I can't say nice enough. As words go 'nice' sounds a little dull or drab in comparison to 'awesome' or 'spectaculer' but for right now, right this moment, nice is the perfect description.

As great as every other place may be it is not my home.
It's nice to be back.

I have just this moment been given this adorable litle trinket- I LOVE home!

Home Sweet Home was never more apt.
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