If 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.
According 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.
Coconut 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….
Smart 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.
San 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.
LidlAldi 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.’
If you’re thinking of moving to LA anytime soon, you need to get with the program. LA based Amanda Chantal Bacon owns Moon Juice, a juice and nut milk shop. She has a ‘copper cup of silver needle and calendula tea’ every morning. Last year she wrote a food diary for Elle which went viral.
Astrologically farmed eggs – That is, eggs that are laid at a certain time to coincide with cycles of the moon. Apparently they are tastier they have ‘bright sunset yellow’ yokes. This also comes under the heading of Biodynamic Farming, or bonkers farming to you and me, which advocates planting, cultivating and harvesting crops based on moon phases.
Bog Butter – A farmer in County Cavan has found a large knob of butter. Why has this made global headlines. Because it’s not just any old butter but 2000 year old bog butter buried by our forefathers and preserved in a bog. Now lauded as a wonder food, much sought after due to its rarity. According to scientists, bog butter provides additional peat infused nutrients. It has a waxy texture and smells of cheese. Will we read next of Russian oligarchs shelling out millions for it? One woman’s forward planning I found amusing, she intends to turn her breast milk into butter and bury it in the Bog of Allen, so that some archaeologist will dig it up and tuck into it in a couple of hundred years time.
Activated cashews – if you must have ‘bio-available’ nuts.
Horray!! Summer has arrived. Time to delve into the dark corners of the garage and haul out the bbq, (which gets little use in Ireland I might add). Time for my man to shine. I may be capable of turning out the odd gourmet delights in my role as head chef in our household but lets face it, how could I possibly know anything about barbequing, being a mere woman. No, the barbeque is the mans domain, we all know that BBQ’s are powered not by coal, but testosterone.
First task, remove cobwebs and lift lid to reveal last years ash and grime. Remove any congealed crumbs or rotten meat the result of having been stashed away last year in an unclean state. Obviously this is the woman’s responsibility. Cleaning the BBQ is not manly work. A good half hour vigorous scrub of the grill and we are ready to rock.
Buying the food, this is obviously the woman’s job. Supermarket shopping is not manly work. The meat may need preparation by the woman first. The woman may be assigned other lowly tasks, like tossing the salad, making dips, setting out cutlery, tables, napkins, glasses etc. The meat should be set out on the tray beside the bbq in preparation for the manly spectacle of placing the meat on the grill.
Drinks in the form of beer should be provided to the man. The woman should ensure that the fridge is stocked with cold beverages as obviously this is thirsty work for the man.
Admiration for the manly work being done. While he dons his black apron, brandishing his tongs, pause for a moment to behold this vision of manly lovliness.
The highly technical precision turning of the burgers, the careful examination of the sausage, all essential requirements to ensure even browning. In the end to ensure no breaches of health and safety, he will make the decision to burn the bejasus out of everything.
Finally, the momentous eating of the by now beyond recognition cremated meat. Loud noises of approval all round. The woman may announce loudly to everyone what a treasure her man is, to nods of approval all round.
Is there anything quite as divine as Italian everything..Italian food, Italian scenery, Italian weather.. Italian fashion..Italian wine.
I’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?)
Seated 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..
Molly 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.
And 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..
Lets Pretend it’s Summer
Pretend it’s Summer. Living on an island where it rains for 365 days a year, any respite from the grey clouds, any glimpse of blue sky must be celebrated by stepping out and making the most of it. If by some freak of nature, we manage to get a couple of sunny days in the ‘Summer’ as a nation we join in the fun and frolics talking endlessly about picnics and sunburn. Sales of shorts and sun tops soar regardless of the fact that you will only get to wear them once.
Ever the optimist, I recommend that you do a I do, join in the frenzy of buying barbeques, straw hats, beach umbrellas, factor 50 sun screen. If by the time you arrive home with your treasures the sun has disappeared (which is highly likely) you may have to play the lets pretend game. Follow these instructions and I guarantee satisfaction. You will be transported from your dull cloudy day to a tropical South Seas beach.
Get out your old Wham records and sing along to Club Tropicana.
Sip homemade lemonade, suck on a cool pop or better still, have Himself bring you a Pimms on Ice. I find the alcohol encourages enthusiastic participation in this little role play.
While lounging back, have Your loved one (dressed in a toga obviously) drop grapes into your mouth.
Complain about the sand in your sandwiches.
I’ve just discovered the earth shattering truth that whole milk is less fattening than the skimmed variety. Something to do with the way sugars are absorbed. All these years of deprivation for nothing. In light of this revelation I may even change my morning Americano for a Latte. This seismic change to my routine makes me question everything. After all, your choice of coffee speaks volumes about who you are.
You are deeply shallow. You probably also like to wear labels emblazoned across your chest. FCUK t-shirts and Burbury handbags. If you are travelling in Italy, never order a cappachino in the afternoon. This is exclusively a morning beverage, and drinking it at any other time would be considered both ignorant and tacky. According to research carried out by the Irish Coffee Council, you are a people pleaser. However, the upside is that shallowness is not necessarily a personality flaw. Being of a shallow disposition myself, I cannot cast aspersions on those of you who are like minded.
The manly kind of coffee. You like to hit your woman over the head with a club and drag her back to your den to make your espresso for you. If you are a straight woman ordering a tripple espresso, you may want question your sexuality.
The type favoured by tradesmen. A mug of Nescafe and an all-day breakfast roll is your only man.
You are the cautious, pragmatic type. A deep fear of foam moustaches prevents you from ordering what you really want, a Frappuccino.
Decaf lovers are subversives. They like nothing more than a good protest. Can been marching with placards saying ‘Down with that sort of thing’. Along with vegans and fruitarians, the decaf brigade should be rounded up and transported to Van Demons land for crimes against civilised society.
Olive oil. I won’t bore you with the science but apparently it’s hugely beneficial to the health of my arteries, but only when used cold, not in cooking. So I’ve been doing it wrong all this time.
I’m starting to notice a change in the tightness of my clothes. I rush to the bathroom scales. Nooooo..This is not what I signed up for. Walnut oil is meant to be skinny making not fat making.
Its Ash Wednesday, the first day of lent, the day a Domestic Goddess must insist is a day of fasting.
The good news is that we can eat Tayto crisps today. Although Tayto is a revered treat, technically it’s allowed as it contains no meat or sugar. In case you’re unaware, Tayto crisps have gained legendary status among the Irish. Emigrants ask their loved ones to send them by the truck load. In fact, no respectable Irish household would be without an emergency packet of Tayto crisps.
My plan for the day is to compensate by eating lots of crisps (5 packets), copious amounts of coffee, croissants and my favourite – scampi and chips.
Social protocals and the rules of good taste must prevail if like me you aspire to live your life by the principals of Good Tea Etiquette. No God fearing woman of good standing should forget that the art of tea making is a barometer by which she will be judged by all and sundry. Many a woman’s reputation has been made or lost on her ability to make and serve ‘a nice cup of tea’. Rituals surrounding the making of tea are of the utmost importance in polite society. One little Faux Pas and you could find yourself on the next train to Pariahsville.
Are you guilty? Ever gone to the fridge to satisify a sudden urge to eat a tasty chunk of mature Cheddar only to find a hard dried up orange brick with green bits around the edge. Or maybe you’ve been salivating over a mental image of your favourite Wensleydale only to find a crumbled mess on the shelf where you left it. Or you go to take a slice of Edam only to find the corners brittle and curling up. Not only has someone moved your cheese but that someone hasn’t wrapped it up properly rendering it inedible. It’s enough to induce a full blown mini mental breakdown. Bad cheese etiquette is something that really makes me angry, really cheeses me off (sorry!)
