Whilst I was tucking into a rather large roast dinner tonight, Louise Rednapp illustrated the dangers of becoming a size zero by becoming one herself. And therefore proving all the reasons why it's not a good thing. The headaches, emotional rollercoasters, loss of boobs and bum, unable to play with her son, work or even sleep properly.

Just to look like this:

Banana's right. Am now off to eat some cake. Chocolate cake. With 32 candles on the top.

Happy Birthday to curvacious me. Boobs and all.

This is my own fault.

I got Girlpants to take the week off work, mainly because his mum was coming down. But now they are all settled in the house, I'm left with a dilemma.

What do we do for the rest of the week??

The five day forecast says that the weather is going to be dire, the National Trust is basically closed, and after waiting an hour to have a go a tobogganing to avoid the mad children, we need to be careful to avoid half term activity traps.

So I sit here. Thinking. And thinking.

Yesterday we went tobogganing and then trekked on the moor. I finally managed to fly and kite and even got it to dive bomb Girlpants - but after several failed attempts to get the kite off and it spectacularly crashing to it's end, the stunt kite is looking slightly worse for wear. Especially when the wind took it so high that the string broke and muggins here had to chase it. Into a pit of horse dung.

So today was gentile. Today we went to St Mellions for wine tasting. And Girlpants had fun. The thing is, usually he tells me that he'll drive so our resident alcoholic (moi) can partake in a quibble of beer. But I wanted him to try the wines today to see which one he liked - so he had his little testing book, ranking system and glass and he dashed between the tables trying at first the ones he liked, and then after eating a cornish ostrich pasty, the most expensive.

The man is no fool

Now let's see... There was birthday cake

Tiramasu

Strawberries

Bread & butter pudding

Chocolates

And then he rested for seconds...

The morning after...

He was suitably surprised and happy to see his Mammy turn up - which was the secret that I've been hoarding for the last three months. He had a lie in, oodles of cards, cake and even a magic egg, so I do believe that Girlpants had a wonderful birthday. But the piece du resistance was the meal. The best meal any of us have eaten in this city. Even though the staff were friendly, they were also respectful calling Girlpants "sir" at any given opportunity which I couldn't stop chuckling about. Each part of the meal was fantastically presented, complemented by the local wine which was gloriously beautiful with price to match and the crab salad - my God, the crab salad! just melted in the mouth. And now, here we sit on the sofa... All three of us.

Unable to move.

 So this evening I decided to cook a meal for Girlpants. Japanese chicken with peppers, teriyaki salmon, dim sum & Sim special fried rice, number 35.

Only it didn't work out that way.

The chicken itself was tasty as the recipe had been followed through to the letter. The dim sum was a Sainsbury's special and the salmon was steamed to perfection. However, the Sim special rice, number 35 was fubared beyond recognition.

How on earth do you mange to puree rice? I would have never believed it possible, but hey ho - there was a pile of big white chilli mush with prawns and peas. Baby food with big giant taste the difference prawns. Food made with the raw ingredients with my own two incy wincy hands. Big big disaster.

I haven't had a disaster like this since I first tried to fry steak. I say fry. I mean defrost. I say steak. I mean the cheap type of Dale pack steaks that were ready frozen and I had bought in the mistaken belief that I could impress my now ex-wanker bastard boyfriend from hell with a full on steak chips and peas scenario. You see, the problem I have with ready made food is that I can't cook it. Girlpants loves this fact as it means that the roast beef in the house moo's when it comes out of the oven. But it means that any ready made meal that comes out of the kitchen is either smoking, black or if applied, has the ability to kill off any taste buds.

On that night however, I learnt that Dalepack steaks look nothing like the real thing. I learnt that they are shaped in an odd kidney like fashion from regurgitated leftovers from the mince in the aisles. And that they explode into a sodden brown pool when you attempt to defrost them in a microwave. All over the long dress that I stuffed my bumps and bulges into, whilst unwillingly parting with my beloved jeans for the evening. And then came the one sentance that any women would be legally allowed to beat a man into a pulverised mash...

EWBBFH - Never mind luv - I'll send you out for chips.

Deflated? Punched more like. I had taken my measly student allowance and bought what I had believed in my "never really cooked before" life was a fantastic meal. Only to have it explode into shrapnel. All over me. And today, that feeling came back as number 35 slobbered from spoon onto plate.

And yet Girlpants ate every slimy spoonful. Despite his absurd hatred of rice pudding.

Now that's love.

It was taken off the web today - Anthony Worrall Thompson once upon a time, a long long time ago wrote a recipe that could occasionally be made for a children's party. He never said feed the entire Snickers Pie to your 2yr old, but it has now been taken off the BBC recipe website for being 1250 calories a slice - thats the equivalent of 22 teaspoons of fat and 11 teaspoons of sugar. it only took them more than two years to work this one out - maybe if they had a slice, it would help the hamster turn the wheel a little more quickly...

If this was a pie made with double sided razer blades that was advised to be partaken in once every fortnight, I wouldn't have a problem. But it's a pie. For special occasions. Eaten once every two years, it surely can not do much harm to you unless you were diabetic. Or on a strict macrobiotic diet. Personally, if I was on Atkins eat all you can eat, then I would eat this pie once every three days. But in the wish to retain my svelte figure, I shall eat a piece in my mind.

But in the interest of choice, the recipe in it's entirety is here.

Ingredients
1 packet puff pastry
140g/5oz mascarpone
110g/4oz soft cheese
50g/2oz caster sugar
3 eggs
5 Snickers bars, chopped roughly

Method
1. Preheat the oven to 200C/400/Gas 6.
2. Roll pastry to 3-4mm thick and use to line a 20cm/8in fluted tart tin.
3. Beat the mascarpone, soft cheese and sugar together in a large bowl, until smooth.
4. Beat in eggs, one at a time.
5. Add the Snickers bars and fold in.
6. Pour into a lined tart tin, and spread to the edges.
7. Place in the oven for 10 minutes, then lower to 180C/350/Gas 4 for a further 25 minutes until golden and set.

Allow to cool before serving

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Meanwhile, for the most part, I shall spend most of this afternoon trying to irrigate the fat clogging up my arteries.

Maybe Mister Muscle can help...