A Christmas Theme

I appear to have developed an addiction to glossy magazines. I have read 3 of them in the past 4 weeks and this definitely cannot be normal.

I must confess that I am using the term “read” in the loosest possible sense of the word. What I really mean is that I have looked at the lovely photographs and baulked at the amount of cash that people spend on items to shove in their house at Christmas to make everything feel more festive.

Christmas at the Jodhpurs household consists of a 7 foot fake tree in the lounge and some strings displaying Britney (not her real name)’s Christmas cards.

The Chinese-manufactured 7 foot tree is something of an antique. I purchased it from Argoose 14 years ago; it cost £19.99 and came with a free set of lights.

The lights gave up the ghost many years ago. In fact I seem to recall getting them out one Christmas and despite them working perfectly on the floor, after I had flung them onto the tree from a great distance they refused to work at all. So I merrily cut them up with a pair of scissors, put them in the wheelie bin and nipped to Woolworths to buy a replacement set. Incredibly, the Woolworths set still work but the tree is so enormous that we have another set from Sainsbury’s that are intermingled with them.

Incidentally, I cannot believe that I have just dedicated an entire paragraph to the history of my Christmas tree lights.

Anyway, at this time of year all these fat and glossy magazines are packed to bursting with inspirational Christmas ideas. And from what I understand there are basically 3 different Christmas themes:

Traditional, Contemporary and Scandinavian.

Well how exciting. I didn’t know that we were expected to adopt a theme for Christmas.

I flicked through the lovely photographs again, imagining that my house resembled the ones in the photo shoots and tried to ignore Britney’s pens and toys that were scattered all over the floor in the real world.

Firstly, our house cannot do Contemporary. It’s an old building and it needs to be filled with walking sticks, coats with zips that do not work, wellies and paintings of pheasants. Pictures of VW Beetles and distressed signs informing all and sundry that the household would rather be at the beach, just would not work.

My friend, The TK Maxx Ambassador, has a Contemporary home and I love it. It’s a new build, full of bleached driftwood, inspirational signs, pink fluffy things and pretty lights. It looks beautiful because it is a new house. If you transported her amazing home interior into my house, it would look as though Britney had decorated it with a tenner to spend at Poundland; and a catapult.

A Traditional theme has to be more appropriate for my house. Upon referring back to the glossy magazine that had become my Christmas bible, I discovered that I would need to have a roaring open fire to achieve this look and every surface must be covered with holly and ivy. I tried the greenery thing a few years ago and it frazzled to a crisp on the beams in my lounge within a day. That’s one of the problems with log burners the size of Bristol and the fact that heat rises.

I was also a bit concerned that I might have to kit out the Jodhpurs family in matching jumpers and stand around a piano singing Christmas carols. This is a bit of an issue as none of us can actually play the piano. Standing around Britney’s Karaoke machine singing along to a Little Mix backing track can’t have the same Christmas feeling surely?

So it seems that the only theme available to me is the Scandinavian one. I have to confess that this was my favourite theme all along and I even took the liberty of going and getting my credit card before I starting reading about how to turn my house into a typical festive Scandinavian house.

There is nothing quite like the thrill of buying nice new things and I was ready, plastic card in hand to ensure my house resembled a Swedish Ski Chalet by Christmas Eve.

According to the glossy magazine, if you are adventurous enough to seriously alter your home interior to take on the theme, you need lots of wood.

Luckily when the man converted our house from an ancient, derelict mill there was obviously a very good deal on wood. The deal must have been very, very good, because the entire 1^st floor of my house is tongue and groove wood panelling. This resembles a Swedish sauna as opposed to a Swedish home but nevertheless, it was a very good start.

You also need a log burner to fully embrace the Scandinavian theme. At this point I placed my credit card on the coffee table because I have one of those as well. Unfortunately Dick Van Dyke (The Chimney Sweep) isn’t coming to sweep the chimney until Thursday and consequently the log burner is belching toxic smoke into the lounge whenever I open the door to throw another log in.

I suppose at least I know that I am not in a sauna because I am choking instead of sweating.

Apparently you also need faux fur throws to truly accept the Scandinavian theme. Reading this made me put my credit card back in my wallet because I’ve already got 2 faux fur throws on each sofa.

A Scandinavian Christmas theme also consists of red and white decorations. I do not need any more red and white Christmas tree decorations either; for we live in fear of the tree collapsing under the weight of red and white decorations.

Orange and clove aromas are very Scandinavian. But there’s no point in me ordering any fragrance that can replicate that because I bought a shoot load of Spiced Apple fragrance oil from The Body Shop years ago and I sprinkle it on top of my hot log burner whenever it has smoked us out.

Pine cones feature very heavily in a Scandinavian Christmas. So it’s lucky that Britney and I go and collect them from the wood nearby. Unfortunately, instead of using them to make Christmas tree decorations or table centres, we dry them out and then chuck them by the bucket load into the log burner when it needs lit.

So it would seem that I have created a Scandinavian Christmas without buying a thing.

I am delighted and am playing some ABBA tunes to celebrate. Pint of Aquavit, anyone?

MasterChef

I have nightmares about appearing on MasterChef; which is really rather silly because it is never going to happen.

In a nutshell, I am to cooking what Britney (not her real name) is to motionlessness. Should I ever appear on MasterChef, at the moment when they announce “Let’s cook” I would put my coat on and go to Iceland.

All Mums go to Iceland because they sell Gregg’s pasties ready to chuck in the oven. In the countryside this greatly saves the environment as turning the oven on causes fewer emissions than driving 20 miles to the nearest Greggs outlet.

There is however, a very small part of me that would like to go on MasterChef just to hear the sultry-voiced India Fisher giving my dish its narration:

“Jodhpurs has cooked an American style pepperoni pizza, topped with an array of jalapeno chillies and anchovy fillets, served with French fries, haricot beans in a tomato jus and freshly cracked black pepper.”

It would be a huge advantage to be able to create my Signature Dish in under 20 minutes. It would mean I could have a further 55 minutes to sit down with a glass of wine and read some blogs on my iPad. And while my competitors were chasing their tails trying to plate up, I would have time to serve my pizza on a rustic wooden board and not have to present it on the torn open pizza box.

I would then carefully carry my offering up to the front of the kitchen and stand, fidgeting slightly and chewing my lip as John and Gregg immersed themselves in the complex flavour combinations that would leap from my plate.

John (who looks a bit like my old boss from Miserable Finance Limited, only with more hair) would then exclaim that the pizza was well cooked and that all the flavours had worked really well together. And Gregg would add that it was a pleasant dish but could be improved by serving rhubarb crumble and custard on the side; as he only likes puddings.

Clearly, upon making it through to the next round of the competition and after I had declared that I wasn’t ready to go home as it had all been such an amazing experience; I would up my game. No more playing it safe for me and India would have to give my next dish her most dramatic narration yet:

“Jodhpurs has cooked a thin and crispy pepperoni pizza, topped with extra mozzarella, pesto and jalapenos, served with hand cut (by McCain) chunky chips and haricot beans in a tomato reduction.”

Again John would remark that it was a job well done and suggest that some people would prefer the chunky chips cooked for slightly longer. Gregg would say he was disappointed that there was no apple pie and custard on the side, but all in all it was a good dish.

Then the camera shot would be of me sitting alone in the locker room, with my feet resting on the coffee table made from an old pallet and a sheet of safety glass. With the scene occasionally cutting back to John and Gregg as they discussed how consistent I had been in every round and questioning how much I really wanted to win the competition.

Here would be the point when I would have to remove my apron, put my coat on, shout to John and Gregg that I could bloody well hear them talking about me and head off for a kebab.

I cannot for the life of me think of anything more stressful than being a Chef. I would rather fly an Airbus A380 with faulty landing gear and only one very short runway available, because if I’m going to kill 100’s of people (and this is exactly what my cooking would do), I would rather they knew as little about it as possible.

MasterChef – The Professionals, scares me even more. Monica should have gone to Specsavers, adds tomato sauce to everything and if you told her to sugar coat something, she would be reaching for a pan. I’m surprised that she and Marcus haven’t been hit over the head with a skillet, especially when a stressed chef is stacking food on a plate with shaking hands and they are both whining “You’re 5 minutes over”.

While the amateurs on MasterChef are trying their damnest not to burn anything, these professional chefs seem to want to serve burnt everything. Last week one of them was even serving burnt onions with his dish.

“Chargrilled” is word that features heavily too. I thought chargrilled was what happened to food on the barbecue. If I served something that was chargrilled, people would look at me sympathetically and ask if I had nipped out to the stables and forgotten that I was cooking something. What is the difference between chargrilled and burnt? Or is chargrilled just a polite way of saying burnt?

Last week there were compressed strawberries. I had to ask Google what they were and I found that I needed a Chamber Vacuum Sealer, a High-Speed Centrifuge and they took 30 minutes to make.

Sod that. I mean, 30 minutes to make? What the?

On one plate there was Black Emulsion; which I had always assumed was a kind of paint that you used on a teenage goth’s bedroom walls. There was a black pudding mayonnaise, which is simply wrong and potato cannelloni which made no sense to me at all.

I can tolerate cooking in my slow cooker. It’s not stressful because you prepare it 6 hours before you want to eat it and when it’s ready all you have to do is take the lid off. Thankfully I have no recipes for Black Emulsion with a side of burnt onions. And I’m sure you will agree; that’s a good thing.

Blogger Types

I have been trying to write an “About Me” page for my blog for months. In fact ever since I clicked the publish button on my first post back in April this year I have been trying to write it. Apparently, the About Me page is the most important page on your blog as it allows your readers to connect with you. This worried me further because I don’t actually have any pages on my blog.
How am I supposed to categorise the random rambles that I post? I mean does the last post about Vets’ fees go under Animals or At least Dick Turpin wore a mask? And the post about The Field Decorators, does that go under Conkers, Horses or People Who Can’t Ride In A Taxi With The Door Shut? No, I can’t do that. My blog will have to remain pageless.
Apart from the About Me page of course; if I can ever get it written
To quote a famous line; it’s a little Ironic, don’t you think?

Someone who loves writing has been sitting looking at a blank Word Document for almost 8 months. Every now and again I type a few lines, re-read them, sigh, delete them and suck on my vape stick for a while as I try and think of something else to write.
On Sunday night whilst waiting for I’m A Celebrity (or as it’s now called: Amm A Geordie, Whey Aye Man!) to come on television, I Googled: What kind of Blogger am I? Google obviously had no idea either but gave me a list of suggestions and as we’re mates I thought I would run them past you to see if you can tell me what kind of Blogger I am.
So according to the oracle, there are 7 different types of Blogger.
Number 1 is The Personal Blogger who basically writes about their day. Topics include things like housework, shopping and what they had for lunch.
Crikey, writing about my day would bore you to death. And I hardly think a post title of “Jodhpurs does the school run, some hoovering, hangs the washing out, has a piece of toast, makes a phone call and does the school run again” is going to inspire you to click on it and read it. No, you would be searching for sharp implements with which to end your life if I wrote about my day.
Number 2 is The Business Blogger and they write about things that will attract their customers.
I don’t have any customers and if I did, I suspect they would not be my customers anymore after they’d read my post about owning a totally shit cat.
Number 3 is The Professional Blogger who is offered everything from shoes to cars as a reward for blogging about the product.
I’m definitely not one of those. You can tell by the holes in my jodhpurs. I’d probably be rubbish at being a professional blogger anyway, as any company who sent me jodhpurs to review would receive a marvellous review in the hope that I would get sent some more. It would be the same with any gin company who asked me to write a review. Apart from Lidl’s. They might make caviar affordable to all but their gin tastes like watered down eau de toilette. (You heard it first here and I wasn’t even paid to give you that information.)
Number 4 is the Affiliate Blogger and they write reviews on products that they will then earn revenue from.
Right, so maybe I can aspire to be an Affiliate blogger. As long as I write reviews on gin, jodhpurs, wine and horse equipment.
Number 5 is The Mom Bloggers and already Google has made a huge mistake. “Mom” is American and “Mum” is English, if you’re from the North East “Mam” is the word but not Mom. Not Mom. And there are lots and lots of Mom Blogs.
I am not writing a Mom Blog and you can see this in the post The World According To Britney (Not her real name).
Number 6 is the Guest Blogger who writes content for other websites.
I think I could do this with brilliant execution, so if the Head of PR at Gordon’s Gin is reading this, please send an email to jodhpursontheschoolrun@outlook.com and mark it as high importance.
Number 7 is the Freelance Blogger who does exactly what the Guest Blogger does but without being asked.
I think I may be rather good at this as well. Tomorrow I will write a brilliant and gushing article about how lovely Gordon’s Gin is in the hope that they send me a huge cheque and an ever bigger case of their finest gin.
But none of this has helped me to establish what type of blogger I am.
And as I have never conformed to anything in my life, I will just remain Jodhpurs On The School Run, a random rambling blogger.