Meanwhile back at HQ, the boiler and radiators are holding up nicely, the big food shop has been shopped (and a restorative pot of homemade chilli prepared, infusing the apartment with the aroma of, er, chilli) and the suitcase has been determinedly put back in the cupboard for a couple of weeks. I cannot say the upcoming month is exactly looking peaceful (and some days are already fully booked), but a welcome serenity and order is beginning to settle again after the madness of the last couple of weeks; whilst a busy stretch is always a boon, the unexpected free time over the next few days couldn’t have come at a better point and I intend to spend the weekend doing mostly nothing at all. I will be achieving as much of this nothing as possible whilst in the prone position on the settee eating Nigella’s chocolate-salted-peanut-Crunchie-bar things in my pyjamas (my version of recipe below, prebooking of ambulance and cardiac unit advised) and watching my new Toy Story 3 DVD.

The keen-eyed and vigilant among you may have noticed the temporary addendum above – since December is already proving to be a popular month and a significant number of gentlemen have asked about my plans over the festive days, I have prepared a helpful timetable to aid us all, and I promise to keep it updated! In the meantime, those who have tried today will know that my phone is switched off and is likely to remain largely so until Monday (this includes the voicemail, which I have finally worked out how to disable since I never listen to the messages anyway). If you need something to do, make these instead:

SWEET AND SALTY CHOCOLATE PEANUT CRUNCH BARS:

Melt 100g (about 4oz or just over a third of a pack) of butter in a pan with a tbsp-ish glob of golden syrup – if there’s none knocking around from Pancake Day, honey would probably do it to be honest (texters, please note correct spelling of ‘honey’). Break up and add two 150g bars of chocolate, one-dark-one-milk or both dark if you want to feel a bit sophisticated, although the soon-to-be-introduced presence of broken Crunchie bars won’t help here so put the wrappers in the outside bin and forget about them if it bothers you. Alternatively, eat some of the milk chocolate to improve proportions.

While it’s melting, chop up 3 X 40g (normal size) Crunchie bars (hiding the other one for later if using a four pack), mix in a bowl with a 250g bag of salted peanuts (Tesco Value ones are 29p and aren’t too big), and pour about half into the melted chocolate. Mix it all together adding the rest, and then tip into a shallow tray, dish or tin lined with strips of greaseproof or some such over clingfilm; don’t use foil or it’ll stick like shit to a blanket, as my silver haired old grandmother used to say. I used a medium size lasagne dish, but mine are quite, well, robust (see above).

Put in fridge for a few hours (about four is spot on; I managed to get some servicable bits off the edges after two). Cut into pieces and sob with joy…

Update soon. For those North of the border, yes, the lovely Trish is back. Some light reading to go with your chocolate here; and so to Round Two! What will we all do with ourselves if and when the day eventually comes for the world to leave us alone to get on with our business in peace?

It would appear that the balance has been very much tipped in favour of the deserving with some unmissable play by teams whose players (unlike the England side) arrived on the pitch looking as though they had met one another before the game, and I have especially enjoyed watching North Korea hold their own admirably against Brazil until the final moments, Argentina and Germany in their opening fixtures whereas up next is Ghana v Australia this afternoon. I have explained this to two callers already today, neither of whom were seemingly aware that the World Cup is a football tournament. You would think the name would give it away.

Inbetween the during-the-day television watching (a rare enough treat to be thrilling in itself), I have taken advantage of the lovely weather with an impromptu trip to the beach and also got many of those irritatingly small ‘household’ jobs completed which are so insignificant individually as to be easily put off, but build up when you are not looking – a stack of superfluous paper has been shredded and eco-responsibly put out in the blue bag, the duvets have been to the laundrette and returned sparkling white, fluffy and smelling like summer clouds plus all of the clothing needing repair beyond my skills is currently ensconced at the menders in town for collection on Monday. In technical news, the crooks at BT have been unceremoniously dumped (the last straw being their declared intent to charge me slightly under three pounds a month for not making any telephone calls from my landline, which I do not use) and in complete contrast, the lovely folk at Southern Electric noted that I had overpaid my bill and kindly returned a couple of hundred pounds to my bank account without being asked, as well as adjusting my monthly contributions to reduce the likelihood of a repeat. Life is indeed a sea of contrasts, and never more so than when trying to organise the provision of household utilities.

I have also managed to fit in some carefully arranged meetings, and particularly enjoyed a change of scene for an extended assignation in York at a charming hotel by the river;  an unexpected addition being dinner at the Blue Bicycle which turned out to be an extremely happy accident, having fabulous food, warm and welcoming decor and as I found out on my return home, a story all of its own – it turns out that the building was a well reputed brothel at the turn of the century, and the name refers to the bicycle its mistress would leave outside to signify that her premises was open for business. I am already planning my return visit, and am hoping for a look around the cellar where my Victorian contemporaries would have greeted their gentlemen callers, as well as some more of the ham hock terrine and possibly an extra order of braised ox cheek to go home with – all in all, the experience was a delight, and set the scene well for a couple of days of comforting inertia on the settee, with the occasional mini dilemma providing variety and interest (like the forgotten and slightly misshapen part-bar of desirably soft and warm milk chocolate unexpectedly discovered in a dressing gown pocket last night after tooth-brushing time).

To this week and very little to report apart from my Wednesday pit-stop in Manchester is fully booked bar a final late-afternoon/early evening appointment – I will be away until Thursday evening and Tuesday is also filling up quickly. I am in the very early stages of scouting accommodation and travel arrangements for Glasgow and very excitingly, a trip to Jersey, although those who remember the shenanigans in Aberdeen may know that this is another place where we ladies are decidedly unwelcome, and the practice I have already had in stealth and subterfuge will once again been called upon if the visit is to be uneventful in the good sense of the word. Bristol is also looking to be a resounding success, and I am likely to be fully booked before I set off, although there are always cancellations and enquiries are still very welcome, and I am looking forward to pastures new once again!

Whistle’s gone. Until next time…

This last Friday and Saturday have taken me in a single 24 hour stretch to Leeds city centre, across to Rochdale, back to Leeds (one of my favourite hotels, a grand old building of impeccable vintage, comfortable beds and woefully unpredictable plumbing), and finally the early train back to the coast in order to continue the good work uninterrupted until such a time as I was able to relax and enjoy some of the Easter break in a manner more befitting a public holiday; namely eating Peking duck in my pyjamas, gossiping on the phone and watching QI repeats on the television whilst the comforting and ever-present whirr of my faithful washing machine provided gentle and homely background ambience.

Bearing this in mind, and that the earlier part of this week was spent in Manchester with the latter part of next week unfolding in That London, I have decided that enough is enough for now, and I am sorry to say that for the approaching two days I will be persona non grata, at least to those not known to me already. Normal service will be resumed upon my return, and as the week is beginning to fill up gradually but steadily I would strongly recommend getting in touch early, as appointments will be as limited as always after a busy week away (plus it is high time I got on with some more decorating…)

I am, however, never out of the office for long and have already begun to make tentative plans for my next few trips, anticipating, amongst others, a return to Scotland as well as a possible jaunt to Wales (by way of Bristol, which I have been intending to get to now for months and still not quite managed yet). Details soon to be available, as soon as I have reassured myself accommodation-wise that a repeat of the Liverpool situation will not be an issue, and actual communication with people not in the same room will be guaranteed. The next London trip is likely to be the start of June; as some will know I have a brief sojourn at the end of this month for the Erotic Awards ceremony, but this is already pretty much booked and I have no plans to take further appointments – apologies, but the emphasis is to be very much on going to the ball!

The prospective (but now-defunct) rail strike had been on course to present me with problems this week and rightly so, otherwise what on earth would be the point, although this seems to have been anathema to some of BA’s unlucky customers  following  recent  industrial action, who, whilst quite understandably put out, seemed to completely miss the point that the major purpose of a strike is to draw attention to an underlying problem by causing noticeable disruption, and not just to bugger up their holidays. Not unsurprisingly the journey between Scarborough and York failed to meet the designated ‘skeleton service’ criteria, and all services were to be cancelled for the duration – including my morning train intended to connect me with my comfy seat on the National Express.

The options were limited: get up around 5.30am to catch the  843 service bus from the town centre, a journey spanning over two hours thanks to the designated route which laudably, but not particularly helpfully, stops at every conceivable hamlet between here and the final destination. Being as we are in a coastal corner of North Yorkshire, trust me when I say that’s an awful lot of B road. Alternatively I could pay £50+ for a taxi to travel in relative comfort and at a civilised hour, but I do not plan trips carefully and in good time so that I can spend this kind of money on travel, and as far as I am concerned there are far better (mostly edible) things to do with fifty quid. So it was with some considerable relief that news of the injunction was received, and ought to be a particular bonus to my charming visitor on the Wednesday evening, who is now in no danger of having to wake me up mid-appointment (although this being a repeat meeting, I can state with some confidence that this would be extremely unlikely under any circumstances bar a blow to the head, a strong sedative, or prolonged exposure to the Parliament Channel).

I must take time to thank all of those who have kindly emailed in appreciation of my new pictures – more are in the pipeline and will be posted soon (and yes, I promise to try harder to conceal the camera remote this time). And lastly, a very happy Easter to everyone!

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