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NiftyFiftyShades

~ Failed Domestic Goddess

NiftyFiftyShades

Category Archives: Drink

What Your Water Says About You

14 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, food, Health, Humour, lifestyle, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Drink, funny, helath, water

imageIf only I lived as a North Korean peasant in the presence of Kim Jung Un. The special one has discovered a new treatment to prevent aging and cancer – water. Water from the sacred Mt Koryong. And the benevolent leader has bottled it for his 27 million subjects to buy.

If like me, you like your water infused with rose petals and oxygen, collected from the tears of water nymphs, regurgitated by the Dalai Lama himself and spit into a bottle, then the following might interest you.

imageAccording to Nth Korean scientists “There are nano-tracks in human’s cell membrane and only smaller molecule water can pass it. Such water is absorbed rapidly into human body to promote metabolism of cells and works as antioxidant to prevent the accumulation of peroxides, retard aging and prevent cancer.”

And the water is indeed sacred, there is a never ending supply. According to reports “Geologists and management officials of the spring water factory have not yet measured the exact volume of water. However, much they pump the water, it never diminishes.”

Its claimed that is has mysterious energies, and cleverly nicknamed ‘clear water’. I suppose ‘murky water’ wouldn’t do.

I suspect Kim himself told his scientists to find the cure for cancer or else face a cruel tortuous death. Low and behold, there it was starting them in the face.. water..

What your choice of water says about you.

imageCoconut Water :– You are a hypochondriac totally taken in by the hype. You’re never more than 5 ft. from a yoga mat and you firmly believe that drinking coconut water will allow you to remain in a Downward Dog position when you’ve passed the 100 year mark. You don’t really like the taste, but that’s the price of being a smug health freak.

Fiji Water :- You like taking selfies of your gym body, you never pass a glass without checking your reflection to confirm that you still have it.

Tap water :- Tap water ceased to be acceptable in 1989. You are obviously very very old….

imageSmart Water:- You’re not that smart but you like to show everyone that you’re tech savvy. You believe the junk science behind electrolytes that replenish lost energy. You want to know what the Ph balance is but don’t understand what it means.

 

Evian :- An acceptable choice for a domestic Goddess. It has the ‘Je ne sais quoi’ factor. Would do if San Pellegrino not available.

imageSan Pellegrino:- Sweet nectar of the Gods.  Lets be clear, this is not merely a bottle of water but an accessory, and we all live by the old adage “Accessories doth mak’eth the woman”. Your Chloe handbag is just the right size for carrying it but you’d rather keep it in your hand.

 

 

imageLidlAldi own brand:- You are the intellectual superior to everyone. You know it makes sense, it’s functional, cheaper and of equal quality to Evian and you can bulk buy when doing your grocery shop. You actually understand the junk science about electrolytes in water. You think Louis Vouton plays for Arsenal and your idea of a perfect holiday is a potholing expedition in Donegal.

Tipperary Spring :- You are a country bumpkin. You prefer a night by the fire knitting Aran jumpers to a night on the tiles.

Water Fountain: – Your homeless, but hey, you have the edge on everyone else, you’re drinking free clean water…

Tap Dancing School - 'We only use tap water.'

Tap Dancing School – ‘We only use tap water.’

A Tale of Two Cocktails..Italian Style

21 Saturday May 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, food, lifestyle, Travel, Uncategorized

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Tags

cocktails, family, Italy, wedding

Fotografo-Titignano_018Is there anything quite as divine as Italian everything..Italian food, Italian scenery, Italian weather.. Italian fashion..Italian wine.

titignano1I’m still high on from spending a few days living la dolce vita where I combined all the above.  My fabulous nephew and his beautiful bride tied the knot in the little fairytale village of Titignano in the hills just north of Rome.  I’d run out of superlatives if I tried to describe this magical setting, so instead let me tell you a tale of two cocktails (or three, or was it four?)

Prior to this trip my idea of an Italian meal was typical, pizza, pasta and if being pretentious, tiramisu for dessert.  A virgin to the authentic experience of eating twenty courses in one sitting,  I wouldn’t have believed I was capable, but then I’d never tasted the real deal..

image.jpegSeated at our tables for the wedding feast (and it was a feast), we noted the menu seemed to have no less than five courses, each course four or five options, all delicious yummy sounding mouth watering treats for the palate, what to choose?.  Before the waiter came to take orders, our first course arrived.  Bruschetta, like I’ve never tasted before..

A cocktail bar brought in from Rome was up and running.  At our table Molly, who we later christened our ‘waitress at a cocktail bar’ announced that our table was ‘Cocktail Central’.   Raspberry Bellini’s were the order of the day, so not wanting to feel left out we joined in the Bellini frenzy.  I’d already had prosecco so not mixing the grape.. All good.    Next up was a selection of cured meats..yum, followed by cheese quiche.  It was then that the penny dropped, no need to ponder what to choose, we were eating EVERYTHING on the menu…

Creamy risotto with asparagus and porcini mushrooms followed by pappardelle in wild boar sauce.  Maybe it was time to try sticking to The Morsel Diet.  You can eat whatever you want but only a morsel.. Mariah Carey no less is a great proponent of the Morsel Diet… Only problem, the food was too scrumptious to leave any..

oldfashionedMolly informed us that an Old Fashioned was the last word in cocktails.  A concoction of whiskey, sugar and bitters.  My better half volunteered to sample one, take one for the team.  He never drinks cocktails…his mantra  ‘thou shalt drink only manly pints of Guinness’ was out the window.

darkandstormyAnd the food kept coming.  Goose, wild boar..each offering more tempting than the last.  Thank God I’d decided against wearing Spanx.  Plenty of room for expansion..… bring it on.  If someone is kind enough to invite you to join in their special day, isn’t it your duty to let your hair down, overindulge, have an amazing time?  Never let it be said I’d shirk my duty..

How could I resist the heavenly desserts (note I used the plural).  These works of art weren’t even on the menu.. OMG I’m going to be rolled home.

Now that the meal was over, back to Cocktail Central.   Molly with a finger on the pulse of the latest cocktail trends, announced that the Old Fashioned was old hat. Whisperings of a new cocktail that was sweeping the streets of Titignano reached us..a ‘Dark and Stormy’.. rum, ginger ale, black pepper??  Himself was first to offer his services again as chief sampler.

What to do when you overindulge?  Time to work off all that food..

 

I chose.. Chaka Kahn.. I’m every woman…

It’s amazing how that fifth cocktail turns you into the best dancer

EVER…

 

Paddy’s Day and All That Malarkey

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, Humour, lifestyle, Uncategorized

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Tags

Drink, family, parenting

image.jpegAhh!! St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin

A grand occasion, despite the proliferation of teenagers dressed as leprechauns and green pints of Guinness.

image.jpegWhen I was ten, St Patrick was a hero, the reason we had a day off school. The only downside was that it was a holy day of obligation which meant mass was required.

 

It would all kick off a few days beforehand with the annual festival of destroying the sitting room sofa with glue and green paint.  The St.Patrick’s day badge would have to be made, along with flags, bunting and fairy cakes with green icing. All a waste of time as the home made cardboard badge would be cast aside. A tacky foil badge would have to be bought in its place.

 

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Not only was it a break from the clutches of The Little Sisters of Psychological Warfare, it was also a welcome reprieve from the torture of lent, where you gave up sweets for 40 days and 40 nights. On St. Patrick’s day you were allowed take a day off and indulge in as much sugary crap you had accumulated in your stash since the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday.

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The day before, we would be sent out into the garden with a fork from the cutlery drawer to find the elusive shamrock. You might find one single shamrock leaf but dig up a huge sod to extract it from the ground. The muddy shamrock sod would be brought in and left soaking in a dish of water to keep the roots moist. The shamrock was for my Dad, who was to be pitied as he was clearly too old to wear a badge.

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The morning of St Patricks day, all set for mass, I’d insist on my Dad pinning the mucky soggy shamrock sod to his lapels, ruining his good Sunday jacket.

imageThe parade was pretty sad by today’s standards.  A procession of floats from local businesses and brass bands but the party atmosphere was always the draw.   Somehow we’d  manage to wiggle your way up to the front to get a look at the American cheerleaders who we thought were beyond fabulous.  I would feel so sorry for them with their dazzling white smiles, freezing their butts off in star spangled outfits which showed way too much leg for our Artic temperatures. We were toasty in our newly knitted Aran sweaters.

image.jpegThis tradition, I repeated with my own kids when they were small, including sending them into the garden to find the shamrock. (I didn’t knit new Aran jumpers for them, even I’m not that perfect. My mother, their grandmother did).

imageIn fairness, they kept their side of the bargain with the desecration of the sitting room sofa, and the destruction of the kitchen with green gunge.

image

 

In recent years, rather than negotiate the throngs at the parade, I head to Merrion Square to watch the floats setting up. It’s become a much grander affair, with spectacular fireworks, the river Liffey turns green, jigs  and reels in Merrion Square and amusement rides to entertain the masses. Pubs are packed to the gills, throngs spilling out into the streets where you’re guaranteed to have ‘the craic’.

 

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Shenanigans in a Sheebeen

19 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, Humour, Midlife, Travel, Uncategorized

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family, funny, Ireland, teenagers, Travel

Ever been Holed up in a Sheebeen in the West of Ireland?

imageMyself and Himself headed off for a one night stay in Westport (or as Bridget Jones would say a ‘full blown mini-break weekend’). It’s a three hour drive from Dublin so I thought I could cajole him into making it two nights, but he couldn’t be persuaded. In retrospect this was a good plan as the parting comment from my teenage son as we left “I’ll only have a few of my mates over, just one or two”(yeah right..)

It was my Christmas present, the night away. He asked what I wanted and I replied ‘whisk me away for a romantic night of moonlight and music’. So we ended up in Westport, where the rain is biblical and the moonlight nowhere to be seen behind the thunderous black clouds.

When it’s not raining, Westport is a beautiful little town full of quaint traditional pubs, cosy fires, seafood restaurants, live music, weird and wonderful quirky little shops and a lively atmosphere everywhere you go. But lets be honest, what can you do in the face of a deluge of biblical proportions. The only thing for it was to head to the nearest Shebeen for liquid sustenance and some seafood chowder by a blazing turf fire. Life doesn’t get much better.

imageOn Saturday night we found a nice corner in an old pub and nestled in for the night for what we thought would be a few quiet drinking. By 9.30 the place was full. At 10pm the live music arrived, a couple of guys with guitars. For the week that was in it, they started playing David Bowie numbers to our absolute delight. A sing song of sorts erupted. A handful of girls there on a hens weekend appeared and livened up the proceedings. A makeshift dance floor no bigger than a postage stamp allowed the hens to strut their stuff. They were lets say ‘spirited’ but not messy, just givin’ it socks. The place heaving with people at this stage, encouraged by the sing song, the guitar guys decided to crank it up a notch. The usual crowd pleasers belted out ‘Sweet Caroline’ , ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, ‘Uptown Funk’ weirdly interspersed with a few traditional Irish ballads.  I looked around, everyone seemed to be joining in a woozy rendition of ‘Jean Genie’ .

The hens were up to mischief, getting the local guys to join in the shenanigans. The place was hoppin!. A strange mix of everybody and anybody. A few young women tottered into the bar in their skyscraper heals. Strangely not out of place sipping prosecco while standing next to sprightly old codgers who were downing the black stuff like there was no tomorrow. Now normally I’d be in the middle of it, giving it socks, however as I’m still doing my Dry January challenge, I take on the role of UN observer. People watching is almost as much fun (do I sound convinced). At about 2pm, way over the allotted time, an almighty crash sounded as one of the hens in a semi drunken stupor, shimmied into the music speaker, instantly killing the sound. Slightly dazed, she wobbled out the door. Suddenly everyone sobered up. The musicians called it a day and the place emptied. Himself missed all the action as he was in the loo. One minute the place is heaving, he comes back and within two minutes the place emptied. “What happened? Where’s everybody gone?” He looked around bemused.
All in all, a typical night in Westport, where the craic is mighty and you always go home with a warm fuzzy feeling .

Dry January

01 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Drink, family, fitness, funny, Midlife crisis, women

image.jpeg

I’m signing up for dry January, just to see if I can do it. I reckon my blood is 90 % proof at the moment anyway, enough to to see me through a month at least.
First thing I need to do is clear out all the booze lying around the house. We had a New Year’s Eve family gathering, everyone bringing more booze than they consumed, which resulted in doubling the amount of available alcohol. Looking at the sheer quantity of leftover booze is strangely strengthening my resolve to stick to it. If I don’t get rid of it I know that I’ll be the one consuming the majority of the leftovers.

Day one alcohol free is just about over. Doddle so far, but that’s only because I poisoned myself with it the night before and the misery of feeling hungover is fresh in my mind.  Wait til day 3, then we’ll know if I cut the mustard.  Will I mourn that glass of wine that has the power to lift me above the dreary humdrum of the daily grind. I don’t mind weekdays as I generally don’t partake anyway (most of the time) but is it possible to watch say Graham Norton without a glass of Sauvignon Blank to keep him company?  It would be rude not to. Problem is I inevitably polish off the  entire feckin bottle.
I need to come up with a plan to distract me from such thoughts. I will focus on the end result. I will emerge from this trial fitter, skinnier, richer, more energised, ready to face 2016 a nicer, better person with a shiny new liver. Yes, think FUTURE SKINNY BITCH

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I find a large crate into which I put six bottles of prosecco, two cava, bottle of vintage port, Bacardi, 2 red and three white wines, 24 bottles of beer. I get Himself to dispatch it to the darkest corner of the garage, a place I never venture into.  As I watch him make his way down the garden path I almost call out “Come back, I was only messin”.  But I don’t, I see the light.  The stash is now safely out of sight. I’m not crazy enough to actually throw it out. Fuck that, February isn’t dry!.  

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