The elements of my forever journey

So here is the plan

FOOD

* Low GI - choosing slow burning carbs. Goodbye wheat basically. Wheat is my enemy. I will have good bread occasionally alongside a healthy meal.

* High protein - I am concentrating on non meat sources of protein during the day and saving meat for night time. Mainly to keep me away from the shops during the day.

* Loads of vegetables and fruit - I am aiming for 5-10 portions per day. I am making sure I have vegetables at lunch as well as in the evening. Fruit is for flavour and comfort. I love fruit but I can eat too much so I need to keep balanced.

*Nuts and coconut products - my wonderful sister reintroduced me to real peanut butter. No salt, no sugar, as well as other nut butters and spreads. Portion control essential of course, but there are so many things out there to try. I am enjoying using coconut oil in baking and cooking.

* Seeds - linseed (flaxseed), sunflower, pumpkin and chia seeds - anymore I should know about?

I am cutting down on dairy and trying different milks. I am also avoiding cheese for now as I cannot do portion control with cheese as yet. I am sure I will get there but at the moment it's just not going to happen. I am avoiding salt for the most part, in particular processed foods containing salt. I have banned bacon and processed meats for now. I am also avoiding butter. I love butter but I find controlling the amount again pretty difficult so better not to eat it.

I am avoiding sucrose for the most part and trying different sugars in tiny amounts, such as baking treats and on my porridge in the morning.

I am using my slow cooker loads and loads. I am cooking enough for my husband to have for lunch and me to take to work. I am keeping a food diary and tracking my exercise.

I can't afford a gym membership or the time. I am building in as much walking as I can and doing interval running. I am doing yoga and I will get a fit ball soon. Joseph is helping me with my exercise which is great.

I am keeping a photo log on Instagram, and using social media when I feel weak. I figure if I take a picture of what is tempting me I have 8000 of you potentially to tell me to step away from the pastries.

So far I have cheated exactly no times at all nor have I been tempted to.

My food is delicious, filling and nutritious. Everyone is being kind and supportive.

I am still scared, but I am staying strong.

I have to do this.

Forever.

My Forever Journey

Last year in March I totally crashed. Completely and utterly. I wasn't coping at work, my home life was really difficult, everything just seemed hard. My PTSD was full on. Although the voices have never returned, I had a great deal of trouble with other symptoms, endless flashbacks, nightmares, intrusive thoughts, and just not feeling myself at all.

Now I am in remission. CBT, NLP and lots of love and kindness have seen me pull myself together and heal. I have been nightmare and flashback free for 2 months. I haven't had a panic attack in 6 months. It's time.

I am 18 stone 6lb or 117 kilos. My BMI is 45. I went to the GP and asked to be weighed this week. He nearly fell of his chair as I don't look like your classic "obese" person. I have a relatively slim face and arms, all the sins are hidden under carefull chosen clothes.

He said it can't be done and suggested we think about a referral for weight loss surgery.

Nothing inspires me more than telling me it can't be done. I am doing it and I will show him. I have asked to be weighed every month as part of my mental health check up that I have monthly. Seeing as my mental health check up consists of them asking how I am, me saying I'm fine and them writing a prescription it seems jumping on the scales is an effective use of my time and theirs.

I am not against the idea of weight loss surgery per se. I just don't think it's for me. My issue is I am scared of being thin. I hate being slim. I got down to a size 16 in 2006 and hated it, I felt vulnerable and panicky. I put most of the weight back on. If I had surgery I could still cheat it. I could liquidise high calorie foods. I could kill myself doing so.

I have set myself a goal of a year. If I have had a significant weight loss in a year I keep going. If not, I consider weight loss surgery. Significant is 10% so 17 kilos. That's less than 500g a week.

I have started charting my journey on Instagram. My user name is Kykaree you can find pictures of my food and my weigh ins each month.

I will be blogging some recipes, but there's a catch with this which I shall reveal later next week.

I am enjoying it so far and finding it fun!

It's a long road but I will get there, I know I will.

Beware of the Dinosaurs

I've always enjoyed gardening and I learnt at the knees of my mother and grandmother. I am keen for Joseph to get into gardening so I have been busy trying to do some fun stuff to get him out there and enjoying the garden.

My first project was my work in progress bug hotel. I constructed it from a CD rack, which now in the age of iTunes we found wasn't being used. I still have a few shelves to fill, and more bamboo to cut! I have now planted a small herb and bug attracting garden in front of it, my hope will be to extend it over time. Joseph and I have been on a few stick collecting expeditions and he also helped me choose some plants.

One of the things I love is things in miniature. We have some dinosaurs that we picked up cheap at an NCT nearly new sale a few years ago which have been lying abandoned in the toy box. So I have repatriated them and put them to use.

Gardening is about having fun. Get out into your garden today and have a play!

This was the result at 7.30 last night!

Also you might be interested in this post on Not Even A Bag of Sugar today

Pumpkin *sort of* Scones

Pumpkin scones are an Australian country tradition made famous by the Queensland Premier's Wife - Flo Bjelke-Peterson. Coincidentally the Bjelke-Peterson's sort of settled in Tasmania and for some time had some tea rooms in Sheffield in North West Tasmania the home of murals.

Pumpkin scones are a different method to your normal scone and far more forgiving for the novice baker. Firstly there's no rubbing in, you cream the butter and sugar. Secondly nearly all the moisture is provided by the pumpkin. This can cause confusion so I will explain as I go along.

A note on pumpkin. Proper pumpkin (Australian definition) is blue skinned. I prefer a Queensland Blue (which are enormous) or Jap pumpkin. I am sure you can use canned pumpkin, but I would think you would need to full amount of milk. In Australia butternut squash is referred to as pumpkin and that is what I used.

Just a note on flavour. Butternut squash is perfectly pleasant but it isn't pumpkiny enough. I would add some cinnamon or nutmeg next time to compliment the flavour.

Ingredients
250 grams prepared squash (directions below) - I cook a whole one then weigh the resulting puree*
30 grams butter
50 grams caster sugar (golden is my preference)
300 grams self raising flour (for additional rise add another teaspoon of baking powder)
milk (no more than 80 mls of milk and you may need a lot less)



1. First peel your pumpkin. I just use veggie peeler and do it whole. Cut the pumpkin in to largish dice place in a saucepan with a few tablespoons of water. Cook gently over medium heat, stirring, until soft. You may need to add more water but don't drown it. Alternatively microwave with a small amount of water according to your devices instructions (I don't own a microwave).

Puree or mash your pumpkin. I use a stick blender, you can use a food processor or old fashioned masher. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool. Once cold weigh it out.

2. Cream the butter and sugar, by hand, with a hand held mixer, or I cheat and use kitchen aid. Add flour and pumpkin and mix til combined, adding milk to form a sticky dough. I needed only a tablespoon or so. Reserve your left over milk.

3. Flour your board and tip out the dough, using well floured hands. Knead briefly to bring it together and press to about 5cm thick then cut out rounds. I use a well floured fluted cutter. The reason being is you won't twist it. Twisting gives an uneven rise. You will lose the flutes on baking but no matter! You can use a glass or straight edge cutter.

4. Place your scones on a floured tray or lined with baking paper, the scones should be touching. They will stick together as they bake but that's intentional, it gives you soft scones with a good rise. If you space out they will dome and not be as easy to split.

5. Brush the scones with milk, and bake for approximately 15 minutes. My oven isn't even so I turn at 7 minutes.

6. Remove from oven and transfer to a tray to cool.

I got a bakers dozen out of this mixture 13 scones.

Serve them as desired! You can serve them the traditional way with jam and cream, or just with butter, or low fat philadelphia. They go well with soup too, the sugar doesn't over power at all.

I made these on the evening of England's first world cup match against Italy, my sister in law said should have done the cream as a cross, it didn't even cross my mind! So do that if making them for the next England game.

*Leftover squash - your average squash will be around 500 grammes. The left over puree will freeze and make another batch. You can use it for baby food of course should you have one. It will also go into soup, stews or mix with mashed potato for fish pie or shepherd's pie topping.

I hope you enjoy this traditionally Australian recipe.

Simply Superb Sempervivums

When I was  a child I was introduced to gardening by my grandmother. My nana loved flowers, pansies, hydrangeas, bulbs and lavender. She was a traditional cottage garderner in many ways. I loved her colourful displays on the farm in Lilydale, at her home in Mornington on the Eastern Shore of Hobart, and her last garden, the one she managed at our own house, where she lived with us until she died.

My mother is also a gardener. I used to bemoan her style, foliage over flowers, creating interesting and stunning displays, a lover of wild natives, and of foliage, flowers too, but always a concentration on green. It made me laugh the other day when my husband complained of my own garden "it's lovely but it is rather green". In my defence I do have plenty of colour in the front garden, and in pots around the back. But yes, I have inherited the love of form, texture and shades of green.

I bought a few rock garden plants two years ago. They all did rather well, but I was particularly intrigued with Sempervivums. I hadn't really come across them before, and hanging out in the alpine section, there they were. They looked lovely in my rock garden, I had two. And I was happy.

Until my old friend but foe Pinterest. I did a search for Sempervivums and found some amazing ways of using them. You can see my board here. And now, yes, I have discovered the love of foliage, of creating interest with things that aren't known for their flowers.

I discovered a use for strawberry pots. I had a pot that was never that great at strawberries, the cups are too deep, the top too wide. The drainage isn't right for strawberries, being too flat the water goes through too quickly. I found a new purpose for it.

Imagine my delight when on our recent trip to Germany I discovered that sempervivums are all the rage there and picked up 10 for just 99 cents each! And the lovely thing about sempervivums is true to their US name of Hen and Chicks, they keep on giving, you can easily divide and replant the darlings.

If you think you have brown thumbs, try Sempervivums. They tolerate full sun and don't mind a bit of shade, in fact they need a bit. They don't like to be overwatered. I never water mind. They do like good drainage, however we have pretty heavy soil and they don't root deep, so plenty of light compost and gravel when you plant and they are happy. They keep having babies, and you can separate them off and replant them when you need to.

They are the most intriguing little plants, forgiving, easy to care for, and fascinating to grow. Ideal for little fingers too! Have a look at my boards and perhaps choose some sempervivum projects for summer!

An Honest Post about Weight

Being a size 28 is a weird thing. When you are 24 it's not an easy place to be. In the 1990's it was really difficult. I had to go to Melbourne to buy clothes most times, as Tasmania had only one or two places that did clothes that big, and all the fat girls would end up looking the same.

I've lost weight a couple of times in my adult life. The most recent was 2005 when I went down to a size 16. I lost six stone. Suddenly I could shop amazing places and things fit. I would marvel as a pair of "normal" jeans would get over my hips and do up.

But, and here's the thing. I loathed the way I looked and felt in my new shrunken skin. I felt scared, vulnerable, visible. The thinner me wasn't "me". I wasn't the Kylie I knew. I have absolutely no pictures of that time. I hated the way I looked, the bones starting to protrude, my hourglass figure. I missed my padded comfort.  And so I gained, not all of it, but a lot of it.

Now I am a size 20-22 and the 20 ish side of that. And this is my brain's happy weight. I feel fit enough, my mobility is good, I can swim and walk fast and do what I want. I have nice clothes that I feel comfortable in. I've been within a stone of this weight for around 7 years now.

However, I know that whilst my brain is happy, my heart is not. No not that undefined feeling which could be soul or spirit. My heart. That thing in my body that pumps my blood around.

I know that my body needs to lose fat to be happy and healthy. My brain, however, is terrified. I eat healthily. Given a choice between a salmon salad and fish and chips I will happily chose the salad.  I deliberately sabotage myself my bingeing once a week on high fat foods. At the moment my poison of choice is Lotus Biscuit Spread. It's easy to eat and calorific. If I stop this sabotage I will lose weight.

And I want to, I think. My body wants to. I want to walk for miles, taking photos of things I see, I want to walk fast with my best friend in his wheel chair, who goes very fast. I want to do runs for charity again. I want to play football with my little boy. I do all these things. I limit my exercise because I know if I do the things I want I'll lose weight. This is just so crazy.

I'm not a vulnerable little girl anymore. I will still be strong when I'm smaller, and in smaller clothes. I will still be me, won't I?

I am frightened of not being a the plus size fat girl. I am happy being the fat girl in my brain, I really am. I love wearing my clothes, I feel confident. I don't really care my arms wobble and my stomach is fuller than it should be.

However, to live a long happy life I need to lose weight. And keep it off.

And I need my friends to help me.

Help me accept that even when I'm thinner I will still be safe.

And hug me when I cry as my smaller self emerges again. 

The Aussie Garden

I have always had a garden. Sometimes my garden has been borrowed, like the time I lived in a basement flat that used to be the servant's quarters of a large house in Launceston. The garden was almost reminiscent of Frances Hodgson Burnett's creation in The Secret Garden, large, with lots of different sections. Down the bottom was an old swimming pool. At the time it wasn't a guesthouse/hotel just a collection of flats. The landlady asked me to tend the garden for a reduction of rent, and I loved it. The main features were rhododendrans and azaleas, that I would lovingly deadhead and fertilise.

When we moved here 4 years ago the back garden was just lawn. Slowly we have done things like construct a rock garden and do some planting. There's a lot more to be done. With the help of my Pinterest boards I am starting to formulate a plan. I would love your help and input!

 In the back left corner is the rock garden, then my patch at the back with my garden seat. Growing happily are hellebores, clematis and a honeysuckle, with a few other bits and pieces for good measure. The right has a repurposed book shelf containing some instant colour. Along the left fence will be the Aussie garden.

I am hoping to plant a Tasmanian tree fern, which I think should do well here, and a few other Aussie plants, some of whom I think will meet a sticky, unglorified end as the ph levels of my soil I doubt are quite right, but I'll have a go!

I also plan to make a bug hotel with Joseph and have started collating some ideas. I want to make sure we have some more bee plants in the garden. Our local fire station has bee hives and I want to make sure we can support their bee population.

I'm looking forward to my birthday on 3rd June and will treat myself to some plants and time in the garden.

I will keep you updated with my progress!

Adventures at Comic Con

Many moons ago Daniel was talking about attending a Comic Convention once he got strong enough in terms of his stamina in his wheelchair and managing his anxiety. I mentioned I wish I was thinner as I'd love to do cosplay. Daniel laughed at me and told me anyone could cosplay. I did some searches and found quite a few plus size Poison Ivy cosplayers and thought "yes I could do that".

I will do another post about my journey to finding my Poison Ivy, and how I did it.

I arrived bright and early at Comic Con in Birmingham and waited for Daniel. This was a good time to see some of the others and there was a group of three lovely young girls, all curvy in very cool cosplay outfits, completely sewn by themselves. You can find their Tumblr here .

Daniel finally arrived, and he looked completely stunning. His beard was back, his costume looked amazing and the wheelchair really did stand out with the Stark Industry stickers.

I really enjoyed dressing up as Poison Ivy and got a lot of attention and comments. I had never attending a comic con before, much less tried cosplay, and I think I am hooked!

I found the actual convention good but frustrating as there were so many people, and a whole empty hall, It would have been better to spread the stalls over both, or have the signing and talk area seperately. As Daniel says in his post, the noise was a huge issue.

I managed to have the beginnings of a panic attack. The crowds got to me, and I felt a bit responsible for Daniel as I knew crowds aren't his favourite thing either. I'm also struggling sleeping and being overtired really didn't help.

I was really brave, I am actually quite a shy person but there were two people I wanted autographs of. The first was Scott Adkins. I know of him as the manager of Holby City but he's now more famous as a rather dishy martial arts actor. He was very sweet and posed for a picture.

I debated getting another, as at £15 a pop they aren't cheap but I really wanted Billy Murray from The Bill. He was there because of his more recent work doing voices on video games. I waited patiently and he said "oh I am glad you came over, where is your handsome friend in the wheelchair?" I explained he was in the cosplay area. He was very kind and signed a picture, but no picture with him sadly, because he didn't have a minder I think. But it was great to speak to an actor I idolised and to find him to be a nice person.

My main feeling about the day is one of pride. Daniel and I have been friends for over two years now, and if you'd told me that one day we'd be dressed up at one of the busiest comic events in the country I would have said you were mad. We have come such a long way in our friendship and have grown in confidence immensely. I am now planning my next one, and this time my costume will be much more unique!

Hummingbird Cake

I love baking. It's not something I do often these days, because with there only being three of us I end up eating too much, but when I do I love to cook something that I enjoy eating and sharing.

Having blogged yesterday about Poke Cake assembled with predominately manufactured ingredients I thought I owed you the real thing.

Hummingbird cake, not to be confused with the delicious confections from the Hummingbird bakery, is something that I was introduced to when I was living in Tasmania. I often used to go to the Queen Victoria Museum in Launceston which was in the centre of town. It had an amazing Chinese Joss House which was sometimes actually used by the Chinese community, and the most amazing art displays. It also had a tiny cafe with the most incredible homemade cakes.

Originating in the Deep South of America Hummingbird cake is one of my favourites. Recipes vary but it always has banana and pineapple. It can contain carrot. The version I chose to make has both walnuts and pecans, of course you could just use one or the other, or leave them out if entirely necessary, but both makes a difference. Walnuts are more bitter, pecans are buttery and softer to the bite.  Without the nuts it's still fine, but unless there was a really valid reason for ommission, leave them in!

This version also contained mango and passionfruit. A real fruit cake. One of the amazing things about Hummingbird cake is that it keeps really well, it still is moist and fresh a few days later, if it lasts that long. Hummingbird cake needs a cream cheese frosting, with plenty of citrus flavour in it I think. However the cake is fine unfrosted, and is a great addition to lunchboxes unfrosted. If you leave out the mango, up the tinned pineapple and leave out the passionfruit it becomes a lot more budget friendly.

I used the BBC website recipe for Hummingbird Cake which originally is a Great British Bake Off recipe. The only alterations I made was I used self raising flour instead of plain and bicarbonate of soda, and I used rapeseed oil, as its local, and brilliant.

What's your favourite cake?

Bad Food Bake Off - Poke Cake

It's no secret that I have a serious Pinterest habit, I love it. I pin all sort of things, and one thing I pin are recipes. Nothing annoys me more than seeing a really lovely looking finished article then discovering the main ingredient is a packet mix. Much to my delight my fellow Pinterest addict Tattooed Mummy feels the same way.

However when the aforementioned Tattooed one started sending me pin after pin of revolting recipes I knew desperate action was required. We had to make one.

I chose "poke cake" as it just appealed to my over developed sense of kitsch. I also (don't judge me) had the "fixings" (I daren't call them ingredients) in the house. I had to ammend the recipe as it called for cheesecake pudding mix and all I had knocking about was vanilla pudding mix. As a compromise I made a cream cheese frosting. I shan't replicate the recipe as you can find it here

So here are the ingredients, nice and simple. I happened to have the Red Velvet cake mix in the cupboard. Don't ask me why I just did ok? The pudding mix was a Christmas gift from my mother in law who lives in Germany.

Mixing the cake with some electric help. Not even my 4 year old would go near poke cake.

The batter happily sitting in its little dish.

When it comes out of the oven you poke holes in it and let it cool a little.

Meanwhile you make the custard.

Pour it on top of the poke cake and let it sit in fridge to firm up

Then top it with frosting. Now I was good and made my own from scratch. What you should really do is use Cool Whip or other frozen cream frosting which sadly is unobtainabe easily in the UK.

There the finished article!

Verdict: Do not be tempted to make this. I am the sweet tooth queen and I couldn't eat it. My husband, perversely, did like it, and my 4 year old wouldn't touch it.

Nothing beats home made cake, but poke cake isn't even the work of the devil, it's worse than that.

It's the work of multnationals who try to convince us that cake making is hard, that we need help. It isn't and we don't.

The Tattooed One has a linky. Find a recipe, make it, blog it and link it!

I Should Be so Lucky

I was in Starbucks today. Tired and a bit grumpy, its the end of my working week and I decided I deserved a coffee. They have a policy of taking names. I really should just lie and call myself Anna or something, or Eric. No too late. "Kylie" I said.

The young, hip dude started to giggle "Really? Oh I love her so much, she's awesome". I smile thinking "look here smartarse just give me my coffee and no one gets hurt", waiting for the next line. Yep not to disappoint laughing boy says "oh do you wear the gold hot pants too?", giggling at the absurdity.

Yes, clearly, mate. My size 20-22 rear end just looks fantastic in hotpants not to mention my thighs that can be seen from the International Space Station and mistaken for the surface of the moon.

All I share with Ms Minogue is a name and an Aussie accent. We don't share a wardrobe. Sadly we don't share men either.

Growing up noone was called Kylie. There were no famous ones. Then in my teen years "she" appeared. Now what you have to remember is that when Kylie first appeared she wasn't the cool gay icon hanging off Michael Hutchence's arm or singing duets with Nick Cave. She was a dag. The singing budgie.  With impossibly curly hair and dodgy choices in boyfriends (Jason anyone) and hair dos.When I first started working at a call centre everyone thought it was just hilarious my first manager was, of course, called Jason. It could only happen to me! He was also disappointed that I didn't look amazing in hotpants (no I didn't try)

I'm not overly bothered about my size. I have had lovely boyfriends and husbands (yep I'm on Mr Kykaree number 2). I've been pretty lucky to have been blessed with curves. I've fought my size, I've dieted, I've exercised, I've loathed my body, some days I still do. But other people seem to like it, and I'm just me. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't the shape I am.

However I am not defined by my size and I refuse to be made to feel inferior or ashamed, or be the butt (pun unintended) of gold hot pants jokes. I may look like a jolly fat person, but I have feelings too.

Yes my name is Kylie but it just could have easily been Nicole......Kidman anyone?

The Ghost of Christrmas Past

My memory contains huge holes. I know why. It's protection, it's what brains do in the face of trauma, they edit out stuff. Sadly as well as the painful, the sad and the difficult, they sometimes erase the good as well.

Christmas in Australia is so different to here. Here Christmas marks the start of winter and is the last good thing to happen until Easter. In Australia Christmas marks the start of summer and is just the beginning of a long summer of holidays, trips to the beach, swimming and fun.

The smell of Christmas is what I remember the most. Eucalyptus, dust, the sunshine emphasising the scents of summer. I would look forward to the food, groaning tables of cold meat and salad, new potatoes, fresh fruit, my aunt's icecream bombe.

And Nana. Always Nana. I know one or two of my early Christmases would have been spent at the farm. My grandparents had a sheep farm in Lilydale northern Tasmania, not far from Launceston where I chose to do my degree.

When  first started counselling late last year my counsellor would ask me for a safe place to go if it got hard. I chose my grandmother's kitchen  at the farm. Strangely though I remember her every day cooking I don't remember Christmas at the farm at all. I remember vague anxiety that father Christmas may not be able to find us there, though he certainly did.

I remember Nana's gifts. I have some of them now, sadly not all. One of the things my first husband used to do was destroy things close to me, and her books to me were often a target. I still have A Child's Garden of Verses and read them to Joseph. She often bought me the Children's Book of the Year, my favourite author was Colin Thiele, and my favourite book of his was The Valley Between, which was just so funny.

Nana sometimes bought us jewellery, often she'd have something extra for me. We were extraordinarily close. She used to take us to the movies, I have fond memories of her taking us to the Star Wars sagas and removing her hearing aids!

When I was seven they sold the farm, moving to Hobart, not just to be closer to her family, both my mum and my uncle lived in Hobart, some 200 kiometres away from Lilydale. Christmases now are clearer. Usually we would go to either my aunt and uncles or have to at ours, alternating. In the morning we'd whizz over to Mornington to swap presents with the grandparents, then go back in the evening for a meal. My nana would set up a buffet table in the back bedroom with sandwiches, sweets and cake. 

I remember Nana as a small, kind old lady, yet she was only 79 when she died. I was just 19. I was living in a lovely sharehouse with two amazing girls, Christina and Jodie. They wrapped me in love and kindness and cared for me dearly. I loved that house, there we were all safe. Then everything changed. Christina got married, Jodie dropped out of university, and later sadly died. That house on Mangan street could well have been the safe place in my memory, with its rotary clothesline, funny little laundry room with the bright yellow floor and a dated kitchen that now would be considered charmingly retro.

Now the Christmases I have with my son are so different. Yesterday there was no family to visit. A fleeting FaceTime with his grandparents and cousins in Germany. No whizzing around trying to fit everyone in.

After my grandfather died my Nana moved in with us and became an integral part of our every day lives. Our bond grew even closer. She taught me about faith, love, embroidery, cooking. I looked up to her so much. She was truly an amazing woman. When she died the house was filled with cards, letters and flowers.

She touched the life of everyone who crossed her path, she was amazing.

She's my ghost of Christmas past.

And I miss her. 

Seven Top Tips to the Perfect Christmas Pavlova

Once upon a time when I wanted inspiration for what to cook I would open one of my cookbooks and look inside. Now I tend to turn to Pinterest where I found this amazing looking object and pinned it. I am, like many others I suppose, somewhat guilty of pinning and never making but this time I was committed to giving this a try.

Now where I'm from Pavlova is a traditional thing, usually made in a disk, I've never seen it with a hole in the middle. In our family one of our Christmas traditions is to have a small pudding, often a Legacy one, or from the local CWA shop (equivalent to the WI). Australian puddings are different a little to here, cooked in a calico cloth, and boiled rather than steamed. Alongside this we serve a cold dessert.

We had our extended famiy from my husband's side over this weekend and I decided to cook this amazing confection for dessert. Here are the step by step pictures.

Here are my additional tips for the perfect pavlova.

1. Know your oven. Pavlovas like a steady low heat, there are several methods my preferred one is the overnight method, heat your oven to 250 degrees whilst you make your pavlova, turn the oven off then leave it overnight.

2. Go electric. I am fortunate to have a Kitchenaid stand mixer, I used to have a Kenwood which was just as good. You can use a hand held electric beater with good effect, as long as you have a nice big bowl. Don't be tempted to try a handwhisk. I am sure it can be done, but its probably best to make something else!

3. Allow plenty of time. Whatever oven method you use the pavlova must cool in the oven, you will stress it out and make it cry if you move it when hot (seriously it will weep). If you need a dessert in a hurry, make something else.

4. Beat well after addition of sugar. You must add the sugar slowly and beat well after each addition. If you don't the crystals of sugar will remain large and will contribute to weeping, as they will melt as the pavlova cools.

5. Cracking is normal Some cracking is inevitable. That's why pavlovas are covered in cream and fruit!

6. Pavlovas are soft and marshmallowey in the middle A lot of cooks cook the pavlova so its like a French Meringue, but a soft squidgy interior is, in my opinion, the desired result.

7. Don't add flavouring to the pavlova mix With many things I experiment with Pavlova I am a purist. No greated chocolate, no nuts, no nothing in the actual meringue mix. Go crazy with toppings and the cream filling if you wish.

As its included in the original recipe I didn't include it as a tip, but it is essential your eggs are at room temperature. Fridge cold eggs will not get enough volume and your pavlova won't be successful. 

The pavlova following this recipe came out perfectly. I think the wreath formation encouraged more even cooking, and I was very impressed with the result, as were the guests. And everyone cleared their plates.

I hope this has encouraged you to try something different this Christmas. 

On Coming Out

I was 19. I was busy with boys, after not having a boyfriend up until the age of 18 I was starting to date and explore the world. A good friend of mine who I had known for three years asked me out one day. We had a lovely date, and he held my hand. We went for a walk in the evening light to the park and he kissed me. It was weird. There was no real chemistry between us, our friendship was a good one but there was nothing else there, I thought.

As we sat on a park bench he started talking about his hopes for us. Marriage, good jobs, having children, growing old together, I was like "woah woah woah". This was totally strange, 0-60 in 20 seconds, he'd never really shown interest in me romantically. Anyway, he kissed me goodnight and went home. A couple of days later he came around to my parents house.

"I have something I need to tell you", he said. "It's not you, it's me". I looked at him, his face red, tears in his eyes. "I do really like you, but um....." He paused, "I like boys more".

I smiled and hugged him. I wished him well, I asked about what was happening. He had met a boy but wanted to see if he could make himself be straight. Thankfully he was quick in realising that he had to follow his heart, it could have been a lot worse.

This occasion was the second time this had happened to me, there were was one more occasion too. Young men in Tasmania felt pressured to be something other than who they were. 

You see in the early 1990's in Tasmania being gay was illegal. I remember the rhetoric well. "It isn't illegal to be gay, just anal sex is illegal". "You can be gay, just don't sleep with anyone".

Fortunately law reform happened after much blood, sweat and tears.

When the news about Tom Daley was released yesterday I felt overwhelming sadness that sexual preference is still seen by many as a very. big. deal. I was heartened that a lot of people said "who cares as long as he's happy".

I wish we lived in a world where "coming out" wasn't necessary, that everyone was free to discover their sexuality. Where sports stars felt free to just be themselves. I fear the reaction from the press in this country will impede others from living their lives true to themselves. We are yet to see a Premiership footballer "come out", stigma still looms.

This post from Simon Blake of Brook Charity is a brilliant one and I suggest you read it. 

I hope social media continues to help enable all of us to express ourselves and tell the world about our true selves. And I hope we are ready to support one another and make this easier.

On My New Beading Obsession

This year has been one of learning, and one of the big things I have learnt is the art of self care. I found myself with a large amount of annual leave to take so have got this week off. I wanted to do something positive for myself that was cheap, fun, and engaging. 

I love crafts. I used to do a lot, folk art painting, embroidery, crazy patchwork, beading. Over the years my wrists have got quite weak, and I find a lot of crafts quite hard to do now. I thought I'd give Hama beads a try, after seeing my friend Merry's pinterest boards. You can purchase bead supplies directly from her too.

I wasn't sure how I'd get on with them, so I started with a £5 pot from IKEA, these have proven to be quite good, and have now done an order with Craft Merrily as the Hama melt better, and are of a better quality, but the IKEA ones were great to practice with.

I'm going to visit my best friend Daniel soon and not one to go empty handed, wanted to take some presents. I'd normally bake or make chocolates, but Daniel is on a soft diet and has turned his nose up at my suggestions of white chocolate and cranberry shakes or carrot and ginger soup! Daniel is a geek and wanted some geeky decorations for Christmas to balance out the hideous singing decorations his mum and nurse love!

I started out with Pacman

 

These were nice and easy and I found some great patterns on Pinterest. 

Next I tackled the Avengers.

 

One of Daniel's favourite programs of all time is The Big Bang Theory so I thought I'd make him Sheldon.

But then Sheldon looked awfully lonely. There were patterns for Penny, Howard and Raj so I made them, but Sheldon needs Amy, so I had a play and came up with my own design. Then a Twitter friend quite rightly pointed out there needed to be a Bernadette so again I had a play and designed her too!

Finally, not to be left out I made myself a little series too.

 

I've made all these over the space of two days, they are a great activity to do on your own or with little people. I've really enjoyed it and have collected loads of ideas on my Pinterest board. 

I hope I've inspired you to give it a try!

On Having Purple Hair

I am very conservative with my hair. Actually all of my appearance really. I like to blend in , not stand out. I really wanted to do something fun for World Prematurity Day which was a couple of weeks ago now, so I decided to dye my hair purple.

 

It was a big commitment as I had to go blonde first for the purple to take. I still haven't really decided what I'm going to do long term and I really miss my boring brown hair!

What's been interesting is people's reactions. I like to blend in, not stand out. People have treated me really differently. Strangers, especially men, talk to me, asking me how I got my hair so bright, and interested in me as a person too. Really odd.

Some people have ignored me, old ladies in particular, and also the Somalian families in the playground. Something worth remembering as I want to travel to Ghana next year and will need to be a bit more sedate for that, I feel.

Being different isn't a bad thing, of course it's great in lots of ways, but it has been a big adjustment and I'm still not sure I like it. 

I think I've decided to get it cut into a bob then have the colour corrected, but I'm not ready yet, I'm enjoying life as an indie rock chick with purple hair!

This year has been one of huge change, and self realisation. Therapy has been the making of me, and I have new confidence and self assuredness. There is a way to go yet, but I feel I am making progress to becoming the me I want to be.

 

The Thing about Mental Health

We think. We reason. We emote. We believe. We hope. We dream. We fantasise. We relate. We talk. We listen.

All of these things we do with our minds.

The thing about mental health, having a healthy mind is we never really think about it. About our mental health.

We might think about our physical health, and take vitamins, exercise, concentrate on our diet, see a doctor if things are not right.

But the thing about our mental health is that we really don't think about it.

Until it's going. Or gone.

We can't reason. Our fantasies are blurred with reality. We can't sleep. We have nightmares. We have panic attacks. We just cannot stop crying. We are happy one minute in the depths of despair the next. Sometimes we feel we cannot go on.

Sometimes we can't. Sometimes we hurt ourselves. Rarely we hurt others, not directly.

Sorting out our mental health isn't easy. Trial and error. Medication. Self care. Talking therapy. More.

Maybe we could prevent mental health problems if we could just talk.

But there is stigma.

There are stupid people out there who do not understand that like cancer is cells gone mad, mental health problems are chemicals misfiring, pathways disturbed.

Mental health problems are not the fault of the sufferer.

Mental health problems rarely make someone dangerous to others.

Mental health problems hurt. Such deep pain that is often unfathomable. Patterns of behaviour develop that can take years to correct. Or might never be corrected.

Care, love, support, true friendship, this is what can ease a mental health problem.

Talk about it.

It's time to talk

The End and The Beginning - Therapy

In October 2012 I told the world that I had been sexually abused as a child. It was a huge decision to make, and I chose to blog about it in the post Jimmy Savile is Dead. 

Several people helped me in writing and forming the post, most notably Daniel, at the time a close friend, now my best friend. 

I made mistakes. The abuser told me my parents knew but didn't care. They didn't. Know, that is. At all. I blogged about it before discussing it with them. This was clearly a huge error on my part, I should have talked to them first.

After the publication of the post it was clear I needed help and found Jo a person centred counsellor. The sessions were great and really helped me, they ended when I left my job, just after Christmas. I thought I was better but then Easter came and my world fell apart.

I started having intrusive thoughts, thoughts of suicide, I started thinking about how I would do it, wondering who would take care of Joseph and my husband but convinced that it all had become too much and I would never get better. I was bereft.

I went to my GP who missed how poorly I was and told me to arrange something privately. I wasn't thinking straight and it was very hard to do. After a false start I found my psychologist.

At first the sessions were just "getting to know you" and unpicking what had happened. And then we started getting deeper into my past. I started to feel like crap. Then Britmums came and I read Jimmy Savile is Dead to a full room of hundreds of people. I had my photo shoot with Yuri at Urbanvox which was amazing, but the crash came. I couldn't stop crying it had all been too much. I felt exposed, frightened and overwhelmed.

Therapy commenced again and I worked hard. My therapist had recommended a book called Breaking Free  which I started working through bit by bit. It was hard, but it really helped me realise a few key points.

* My abuser sought me out to abuse. I didn't make him do it. He had the desire to abuse before he met me. There was nothing wrong with me, it was not my fault.

* I was vulnerable, I was a child, I had no friends when I was 3 because I hadn't formed friendships yet. My mum and dad worked hard, he had opportunity to seek me out.

* At school I had learned to cover up the signs to some extent, but that there were some that should have been picked up, the fact that they weren't wasn't my fault.

* The abuse made me perceive some things that happened at high school in particular incorrectly. Whilst I was bullied to an extent, I over reacted and some of it was just normal boyish behaviour that I perceived as threatening. This wasn't my fault either.

* That sex is something I became proficient at because it was protection, and that love and friendship scare me, as I dont really understand them correctly, and this will take time to fix.

* That pleasure of all kinds is frightening, and feels risky and scary, and this will also take time to fix. I am starting by doing small things like baking, or walking with Joseph in the autumn leaves.

My therapist felt that I was ready to leave after 13 sessions. I can go back if I need to, but I am hoping it won't be necessary.

It feels strange, it being over. I am missing my sessions, talking to someone completely outside my life who can be objective. I found the sessions enjoyable towards the end.

It will never be over for me. I will always feel sad, scared and regretful. But I am stronger now, I realise a lot of the patterns, thoughts and feelings I have had were wrong or unhelpful. I can put these right slowly but surely.

You Are Worthless

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I have blogged on my other space Not Even A Bag of Sugar .

This post is deeply personal and a hard one to write. Please approach with caution as it may trigger thoughts of your own. There are lots of sources of support, your GP, health professionals, Mind Charity, The Samaritans. If you feel low, get help. Don't suffer in silence.

There is a voice in my head. Sometimes it sounds like my mother, sometimes like him, sometimes its my own voice, or a teacher. Sometimes I can't even tell who it is. At times its a chorus.

Sometimes it whispers, I have to listen very carefully. Sometimes it shouts. At times its not even words, its a just a noise in my head like a boiler on the blink or a fridge that is a bit too old.

I've lived with this relentless voice since I was 3. It told me always to sleep with my face covered. It told me I had to sleep with a teddy bear. It told me never ever to sleep with my bottom uncovered. I always wore pants to bed. I still do. I still sleep with a bear. If I don't bad things will happen.

The voice is accusatory. "You think you can get through this do you? You think you are better than M or C or F? They are not here anymore I beat them. I will beat you too, just you see."

I hear of a mother committing suicide, severe PND and the voice comes in, "she couldn't get through it, your past is much more tortured than hers you can't get through it either, just do everyone a favour, do the decent thing".

I live with this voice. Not every day, it peaks and troughs.

It reached a crescendo at Easter. It yelled at me every day. I got to the end. It told me I was a rubbish wife, a crap mother, that I was dragging everyone down with me, including my best friend. It told me enough was enough. I had reached the end.

I finally confided in my husband, my friend and my friend's mother. I finally broke down to my GP and begged for help. It was bloody hard. NHS wouldn't fund, and I had to find sources of funding myself. The voice loved that "No one wants to help you, you can't do this"

I found a therapist.

It took me 7 weeks but I finally told my therapist. "I hear voices".

He said "yes, as a survivor of abuse that's normal".

Oh.

He then said "you choose, you can either engage with them, or you can dismiss them. They have nothing of value to say."

Oh.

They have nothing of value to say.

Oh.

"Voice, shut up, you have nothing of value to say and I don't need to listen to this. Go away".

It sounds simple.

It isn't. It's like standing up to a bully, an abuser. It takes strength and courage.

But that doesn't need to come from me. It comes from my husband, my son, my best friend, my other friends, my beautiful blogging community.

I don't have to do this alone.

And neither do you.

You are not alone.

Pleasure and Pain

The thing is this blog post is about sex. I don't talk about sex. I'm starting to try but its hard for me, so bear with me.

Up until this weekend I always thought I enjoyed sex. Well not disliked it. It's never really been top of my agenda, but its been ok.  I've had some good experiences. That I could count on two hands. I'm 41 and been sexually active for 20 years. That isn't good is it?

I don't enjoy sex. I always thought I did. My men often say how good I am at certain things. I get pleasure from sex pretty much the same way I do from baking....making other people happy. My own happiness doesn't come into it. And that makes me sad.

My relationships last on average for 7 years or so. And I think, although other things are at play that my failure to be able to enjoy a sexual relationship has to be a major factor.

I've learnt to block the images from my childhood. I was sexually abused from the age of 3 until around 12. In my first marriage, before I'd disclosed my past to anyone, it loomed large. My husband was pushy, demanding, and difficult. He was also tied up with his own guilt that he was a sexual person, and he wanted much more than I could give. He was a complex person and without going into detail, not today, the police were involved and I was moved to a safe house with pretty much what I could get out in an afternoon with a police escor

I've had three serious relationships since then. My first was a guy my own age, 26, who happened to be a virgin. He also had a medical condition which caused low tesosterone. We had a lovely relationship but it was more like a close friendship. When sex did happen it was lovely and undemanding.

My next was with a man 21 years my senior. Again, the sex was ok, but nothing spectacular, no experimenting nothing like that, it was adequate, and then it stopped, and then I left.

And now I find myself in a marriage where I am happy but I can't give myself fully. And I wonder what I do to fix this? I need to learn to experience pleasure and not flee from it, not close off in my bubble whilst he gets on with it. Sex should be a mutual thing shouldn't it? 

And its not fear exactly. It's a deeply held belief that sex is for the pleasure of the man.

I cannot believe I actually think that! And I'm going to set back the cause of feminism 100 years. I feel sex is something to be endured not enjoyed.

Where do I go from here?