The work Christmas Party

The following blog post is the true story.  It may well be the most cringey christmas party story you ever hear (or read about)...

Okay, this isn't actually me - this is Scarlett Johansson.

It was that time of year again - staff Christmas Party time of year.  My boyfriend (who I later married) worked for an advertising agency who always put on fancy shindigs at Christmas time.  I was looking forward to it - I hadn't met most of his colleagues at this stage so though this would be a good opportunity.

The function was to be held at one of Christchurch's best restaurants at the time (Michaels).  It all started out beautifully.  I dressed rather demurely, and I was on my best behaviour.  I rather nervously met his workmates, had a small glass of wine and we started to eat.

I am not sure exactly when things started going 'off-track'.  I think it may have been after the main meal, when the bubbly was brought out.  I do remember it was expensive champagne, and I do enjoy expensive champagne.  Somehow I managed to polish off most of the bottle on my own, and then ordered two more bottles...
At this stage the CEO's personal assistant asked me to stop drinking and to stop ordering $100 bottles of wine.  I made a remark about how she should let her hair down, and them commented that she was actually sporting a rather unfetching mullet hairdo.

The toilets at the restaurant became out of order (this had nothing to do with me) and we had to cross the road and use the toilets at the bar across the street.  Whilst I was visiting the ladies room I ran into an old acquaintance, also very drunk.  This friend was a lesbian, who really looked like a lesbian, who has always had a crush on me.  So she joined us over at the restaurant.  I personally have always been used to her advances and never really think anything of it.  However all of my boyfriends colleagues seemed to think the fact that I had an over-friendly lesbian hanging off me was shocking.

At this stage I am sure you are thinking - what more could I do to make a dick of myself?  Plenty.

I discovered that our waitress wanted to get into advertising, so I introduced her to a couple of the managers (who at this stage were 'close friends') and wouldn't let them off the hook until they had actually scheduled interviews into their diaries for her.


About this time in the evening I was getting on famously with the CEO himself.  Well, at least I thought so.  I was playing the bongo drums on his head and then using it as an armrest....Well.  It wasn't my fault he was the size of Danny Devito was it?  Really short men are just asking for trouble around a very drunk me.


I then decided I was far to cool for this party and these people so me and my lesbian mate buggered off to a club to dance the night away.

***home, crash-out, wake up sometime the next day***

My boyfriend is sitting up in bed next to me.  Not happy.  It took a wee while before the memory flashes began...
No, surely I wasn't using your boss's head as a bongo drum?
What? I spent how much on the bar tab?
The lesbian?

It was rather amazing. He forgave me almost immediately.

I on the other had, didn't attend another one of his work functions for an entire year.  When it came around to the next Christmas party, I was more nervous than last time.  It was at the same place.  Everyone, restaurant staff and all the colleagues remembered me.  Even the new staff members had heard about me.

It was all good however - the waitress was now working for the company!

Be Natural Cereal Review

I would like to clarify that I was recently asked to review this product.  I was not paid to do this.  All opinions are mine, and are honest.


I was recently asked to review the Be Natural range of breakfast cereal.  I am a big cereal eater.  I eat cereal everyday for breakfast.  And as a breastfeeding mother, I eat a LOT.  I like a breakfast to be healthy, tasty and I like it to fill me up for a decent amount of time.

I was sent three flavours of cereal - Pink Lady Apple & Flame Raisin (RRP $6.49); Cashew, Almond, Hazlenut & Coconut(RRP $6.49); 5 Whole Grain Flakes(RRP $4.99).



I was impressed with the cereals.  They 'ticked all the boxes' so to speak.  My favourite was the Pink Lady Apple & Flame Raisin.  It had the Grain Flakes, and then lots of 'bits' - apple, raisins and these little 'clusters' of yumminess.  My second favourite was the Cashew, Almond, Hazlenut & Coconut.  I really enjoyed the nuts in the cereal.  I thought the 5 Whole Grain Flakes was a bit boring to be honest.  But I jazzed it up with some sliced bananas.

There are no artificial colours, flavours or preservatives in any of the cereals.

Honestly, I would probably buy both the Pink Lady Apple & Flame Raisin, and the Cashew, Almond, Hazlenut & Coconut flavours at the supermarket.  They were really tasty.  And I didn't need my second breakfast for about 3 hours after I ate, which is good.

My love affair with Twitter

I love words.  I love to write.  I love to read.


I am also a bit of a stickler for spelling and punctuation.  I have recently began to appreciate the Oxford Comma.  Until I saw this cartoon, I had always thought it to be unnecessary.  But not anymore.

However, I digress.

Despite my preference for correct English, I must admit that I love Twitter.  I love to tweet, and I would check my Twitter timeline a few times most days.  It used to drive me a bit crazy when I would come up with an unusually clever tweet, and once it was completed I would have -2 characters.  So somehow I would have to make my clever tweet 2 characters shorter.  What do I do?  Commit a grammatical error?  Or a spelling one?  Do I change my tweet to make it slightly less clever?

Ahh, the woes of a modern day writer.  I know. Cry me a river.

I have, however, had to just get the hell over it.  So what?  A spelling error.  A missing full stop - nevermind.

I realised what I love about Twitter is the freedom.  Yeah, sure, you have the 140 character limit per tweet.  But I can say whatever I want.  I long ago made a rule that I do not allow people I know from real life to follow me.  That way, I can tweet about my family and friends.  I can moan.  I can vent about situations I want to keep secret.  I can get advice.

The strangest thing about Twitter for me is that I have actually made and developed friendships with people. Unlike facebook, where I would never accept a stranger as a friend, with Twitter all of my followers are strangers.  I might send out a tweet, I may get a reply, a conversation can develop.  I would say that I have made four real actual friends on twitter (none of which I have actually met though), and three of those people are now facebook friends.

I also think that as I don't have to worry about offending anyone on Twitter, as they are all strangers and they can unfollow me with the click of a button if they don't like what I have to say, then I can just say whatever I am thinking and feeling.  I often feel like the 'Twitter-me' is the real me.  I feel like I can truly be myself.  Geez, is that sad? I don't know.  Maybe I am just lucky that I have found such an outlet.  I wouldn't say that I pretend in front of my real-life family and friends, I guess they just get the version of me that I think they would like.  Where I omit to tell them certain things.  Or bullshit them a bit.  With Twitter I don't need to do that.

I'll do it my way

Parenting.  Who would have thought it would be such a minefield of opinions and advice.  The right way and the wrong way.  My way and your way.

I think it would be fair to say I am not a 'mainstream' type of mother.  I believe in gentle parenting, attachment parenting, and basically treating my children as actual real people, rather than some burden in my life.  Since the moment I told people that I was having a baby, I have been inundated with advice. Some of it good, and some of it bad.  The best piece of advice came from a man I worked with who said "Don't listen to anyone - just do it your way".

I started to get a bit upset with certain well-meaning people in my life (my mother, grandmother and auntie included), who would try and tell me that 'crying is good for your baby's lungs', 'he is playing you like a fiddle', 'you need to leave him to cry, or he'll never go to sleep', and so on.  I would get annoyed with them, and they with me.  I started to really think about this.

It is simple really - they are just telling me to do what they did, and they did these things because they were told to do it.  And they did these things because they loved their children and wanted what was best for them.  Twenty, thirty, and especially sixty years ago there was no internet, there was no easy access to 'alternative' parenting information.  All mothers were given the same set of advice, and told to follow it.  It would have been very difficult to go against this advice, if everyone you encountered in society was doing it the same way (and it was doctors orders).

My mother has actually come around - she has seen the research on the damage that 'crying it out' can do, to both mother and baby.

So now, when I hear "Back in my day, we did....", I won't take it badly, I will try not to be offended, I will just try to understand that they are saying it out of love and care.  They are giving me the only information that they know, the information that was drummed into them, which was the best way for their precious children.  I will try and be understanding that they may be deeply hurt if I try to tell them that new discoveries about babies brains have been made since their children were young, and the very things they did out of love for their children could very well have caused damage.  I think I will just smile and nod, say thanks.

The dreaded 'N' word

I heard it at preschool the other day.  It hadn't even been on my radar for many years, I think by high school it is a distant memory for most of us, and as an adult it hadn't figured in my life at all.  But boy, it is a word that has a lot of stigma.  To be branded with this, whether it was true or not, was something not lived down for many years.

I think you know what I am talking about....thats right... NITS.  Head-lice.  Is this what Americans call cooties (or are cooties just a general term for some kind of 'germs' that an undesirable person suffers from?)?

Heres a close up of the little bastards.

I was confronted by a huge noticeboard as I took my son to preschool - WE HAVE NITS GOING AROUND.  You could see the parents visibly shudder as the implications of this news shook them to the core. I was thinking, what the hey?  Nits?  Are they still going strong?  They sucked the fat sav when I was at school, and they must be just as bad now.   I cannot believe no-one has eradicated such a much-maligned curse in the last 20 years.  I mean, think of the technological and scientific advancement that has taken place, yet our children are still afflicted with dirty old nits.

I have been checking my sons hair scrupulously every day (hmm, is your head itchy yet?) as I live in fear.  I live in fear more than most other parents as my son, more often than not, ends up in our bed during the night.  So I am not so fearful for his sake, but mine.  Imagine if, at the age of 30, I got nits?  (is your head itchy now, sort of behind your ears?).

I have been doing a bit of research into nit treatments, and none of them sound too appealing.  Not from rubbing some mayo on my head, to the full scale chemical attack.  I heard that hair straighteners do a pretty good job of sizzling the little beasts, and frying their eggs.  And remember those very fine toothed combs that leave you half bald?  I can just imagine how difficult it would be to get Master 3 to sit still for that long.

My plan of attack is simple - prevention.  I will be shaving my sons head.  

I'll leave you to have a good head scratch now

The Quickest Easiest Tastiest Home Made Ice Cream

Following on from my earlier recipe for an easy dessert (the outrageously delicious microwave chocolate cake), I will now impart with my ice-cream recipe.

Ingredients:
300ml cream
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 Crunchie Bar (for those people in non Crunchie Bar countries, find something similar to this)

Method:

• Whip cream
• Fold in condensed milk - best to do this gradually, or else it 'pools' at the bottom
• Smash up the crunchie and stir this through
• Freeze
• Eat

DONE!

I know.  So tasty.  So easy.  If you want to thank me, you can just make me some.  This is another one of those life changing recipes.

The struggles of being an introverted mother

According to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, I am an INFJ personality type.
Introverted
Intuitive
Feeling
Judging

This is apparently one of the rarest personality types, with 1 - 3% of people exhibiting this personality type (this kinda makes me feel a bit special!).

Synopsis of INFJ personality type:

• INFJs tend to be reserved, quiet and have a small circle of close friends
• INFJs are prefer abstract concepts and tend to focus on the big picture rather than concrete details
• INFJs place a greater emphasis on personal concerns than objective facts when making decisions.
• INFJs like to exert control by planning, organizing and making decisions as early as possible.

People with INFJ personalities tend to exhibit the following characteristics:

• Idealistic
• Sensitive to the needs of others
• Highly creative and artistic
• Reserved
• Focused on the future
• Private
• Values close, deep relationships
• Enjoys thinking about the meaning of life

INFJs are driven by their strong values and seek out meaning in all areas of their lives including relationships and work. People with this type of personality are often described as deep and complex.

INFJs have an innate ability to understand other people's feelings. While they are introverted, they sometimes seem extroverted at times due to their strong interest in people and society. INFJs are interested in helping others and making the world a better place. They tend to be excellent listeners and are good at interacting with people which whom they are emotionally close and connected. While they care deeply about others, INFJs tend to be very introverted and are only willing to share their "true selves" with a select few. After being in social situations, INFJs need time to themselves to "recharge."

INFJs also have a talent for language and are usually quite good at expressing themselves on paper. They have a vivid inner life, but they are often hesitant to share this with others except for perhaps those closest to them. While they are quiet and sensitive, they can also be good leaders. Even when they don't take on overt leadership roles, they often act as quiet influencers behind the scenes.

In school, INFJs are usually high achievers and get good grades. They can be perfectionists at times and tend to put a great deal of effort into their academic work. INFJs enjoy learning, particularly about people, society, literature and art. They tend to prefer studying subjects that involves abstract theories and ideas rather than concrete facts and information.

Because they are reserved and private, INFJs can be difficult to get to know. They place a high value on close, deep relationships and can be hurt easily, although they often hide these feelings from others.

So how does this affect my life as a mother?

Firstly, the one thing that I miss more than anything else since becoming a mother, is being by myself.  I enjoy being alone.  I am only able to write, and follow other creative pursuits in solitude.  If I can't write, I get quite stressed as it is pretty much the only way that I can truly and accurately express myself.

I also need to be alone in order to re-charge myself.  I get drained when I am around people.

So as a mother I rarely get time all to myself.  I love my beautiful children dearly, they are my heart and soul, and my life is so much better with them in it.  But sometimes, I just need a break.  It is a struggle.

My eldest son, 3 years, is also an introvert, I think (although I could be wrong), however I am sure my 9 month old son is an extrovert.  My husband is an introvert.  My husband and I both understand that we each need time alone to just 'be'.  

My husband is currently on a roster where he works 7 days, then has 2 days off.  So basically on his days off, he has a sleep in and time out on one of the days, and me on the other.  So that is one day in nine that I get to have 'me' time.  

On my most special day I sleep in.  Sometimes I don't sleep as I like to be awake to enjoy being alone.  I might watch a movie in bed.  Then I like to take a long shower.  I like to check my email.  I like to garden.  I like to write.  And read.  Today is my 'me' day.  I make the most of every moment that I can.  I need to recharge as much as possible to get me through the next 8 days.

Sometimes I have to stay up late, even if I am tired, just to be alone. I feel less tired, if I get that alone time.

But what is still elusive, is having the house to myself.  To me that would be a dream.  If my husband went out with the kids, and I could have the whole place to myself.  To listen to music loudly.  Or quietly.  To do what I want without having to be considerate to everyone else. 

This isn't the best written blog post, I am a bit all over the place today.  Hopefully I have got my message across.

A surreal night and Siamese Bananas

Important: Please read this first.  
I thought long and hard about publishing this blog post as it is rather personal and insightful into my past.  For those that know me in real life, hey, we are all products of our experiences. 

It was January 2002, and I was living in Melbourne.  I shared a house with my best friend Anna, and another girl, Rachael, a messed up drug dealer struggling to complete her masters degree in curatorship.  I was 20 years old.

Anna and I dressed up for a night on the town.  We were going to see a musical ensemble (ok, a band), that was touring Australia.  We had tickets, but could only scrape together $5 between us.  We walked over to an acquaitances house.  His name was Tom.  He once won a competition for stapling his penis to a crucifix and lighting it on fire.  He ended up doing this three times, and being invited onto the Jerry Springer show, but that never eventuated.  Tom was a sexual deviant.  I don't recall why we were going to the gig with him.

Me, on the left, and Anna on the right.  Taken just before we left.

We arrived at the bar (walking all the way, of course, $5 doesn't get you far on public transport), and enjoyed the ambiance and music.  The band was amazing, and we were all blown away.  They sure knew how to blow those horns.  The building was a mass of sweaty bodies, jumping up and down in the dark.  

After the show ended, Anna, Tom and I walked to another bar.  Tom disappeared at this stage.  I excused myself, and went to the ladies room, and upon returning Anna had joined a group of people, including the saxophone player from the band we had just seen.  Things started to get a little strange.

A girl in this group came up to Anna and spoke "I KNOW you, you're Hilary".  I advised her that I was in fact Hilary, and that she obviously didn't know me at all.  This pissed her off.  

Anna had become engrossed in conversation with a man, and then she turned around and said she had just taken a large dose of liquid acid (LCD).  It came on fast, and the next thing I knew I was having to babysit her a bit.

The group of us decided to leave and walk back to the apartment of one of the group.  There was a full moon and we did handstands in the park.  There were sprinklers going.  We were all laughing easily, we were relaxed and happy.

This apartment was small but well appointed.  The guy who lived there was a beautiful gay man.  More of a boy.  He can't have been 20 yet.  He had all sorts of curiosities - a guitar made out of an armadillo shell was of great interest to Anna who was well and truly tripping at this stage.  

There would have been perhaps 6 or 7 of us there.  We sat on the balcony and talked in the darkness.  In the dark it is much easier to share with strangers.  

The guy with the acid offered me some.  I accepted.  When I feel acid coming on, a strange thing happens, I can only think about what I am looking at.  I will forget everything else.  It is a strange and unsettling feeling.  I decided to take a bath.

The bath relaxed me slightly.  Upon getting out I dressed.  I forgot to put my bra on.  I left it hanging in the bathroom.  I went into the lounge and lay down on the couch, and laid my head on the saxaphone players lap.  I must have looked rather fetching.  Warm, fresh and clean from the bath, with a tight white tank top with no bra on.  

We made passionate mad love in the spare room.  It turned out it wasn't the spare room, but it was the bedroom of the guy that lived there.  He was none too impressed.  We then lay in bed and talked about all the important things, true love, art, literature, life.  

I had forgotten about the acid until everyone else came into the room.  The stimulus seemed to immediately put me into an intense state of tripping.  I laughed hysterically and told true stories of the Kingdom of Tonga, about the Kings idea to sell passports, and sell a mythical matchbox sized generator that turned saltwater into drinking water.  I was hungry and someone got some grapes out of the fridge.

It was daylight now.  Everyone looked different to the people I had been with last night.  One guy had waist length red hair.  How had I not noticed something so striking?

So to sum up:

I was lying naked in a gay mans bed, with a straight saxaphone player, being fed slightly old grapes by a man with waist length curly red hair, listening to my best friend attempt to play a song on an armadillo guitar.

What more could you ask from life?

When we left in the morning, I was still hungry.  I wanted a banana.  We went to a fruit shop.  I saw some bananas, and I am not kidding you, they were all 'siamese' bananas.  Each banana was like two bananas stuck together.  I have never seen anything like it before or after.  This was something to see when tripping.  I was shrieking with surprise.  In fact, I believe I was making a scene.  I bought one, and ate it.  It was bizarre.  I contemplated keeping the skin, so that I could show people I wasn't making it up, and that it wasn't an acid induced hallucination.  

See, they do exist.

A bunch of siamese bananas

The saxaphone player and I parted ways.  

I arrived home, and still had the $5 in my pocket.

I learned later that the gay guy died of AIDS not long after.

People who pretend they are Statues Part 2

This will be my last rant on the topic.

I have had a brilliant idea!  Don't you think it would be really funny to find a mannequin, and dress the mannequin up to look like a person pretending to be a statue, and then put this mannequin out by all the other  living statues?

I know.  Brilliant.

People will be so overawed with my fake living statue (hmmm, does that just make it a statue?), that it will get all the dosh, and hopefully put the real fake statues out of business!

And, please, feel free to take this idea, and do it yourself.  The more fake living statues out there, has got to be bad for their business.

Please, send me photos.

The books that changed my life

Since birth I have loved books and reading.  I have always been an avid reader, and have spent many hours either at the library or reading. 

I remember when I was in the 3rd form (the first year of High School), and we had to read a book 'Z for Zachariah', and the teacher wanted our first impressions of it.  I told her that I had already read it, so couldn't really give a first impression.  She said fine, and pulled out a box of around 20 books to choose from.  I had read them all.  

At different points in my life, I would come across books that really changed me, who I was, how I behaved, my outlook on life and humanity.  Here are some of those books:

Firstly, 

The BabySitters Club Series.  'nuf said.

One Green Leaf, by Jean Ure.

I read this when I was 11 or 12.  It is a book for teens, that deals with friendship and death in a beautifully done, non-patronising way.

The Sugar Factory, by Robert Carter

I also read this when I was about 12.  About a kid who suffers a nervous breakdown and sits under his house with a galvanised bolt.  Hmmm, it sounds a bit strange, but I loved it, and re-read it many times.

On The Road, by Jack Kerouac

Read this when I was 14, I think.  A boy in my class at school was telling me all about Sal Paradise and his adventures on the road.  I read this book because of him.  I don't care if it is cliche to love this book, because it is so good.  It makes my heart sing, and it inspires me to write, to dream, to travel, to be true to myself.  I love it, and this book lead me on to read more wonderful books by other beat authors.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera

If you have not read this book, I implore you to read it.  To own it.  The way Kundera writes shows the true beauty of words and language.  This book isn't just a novel, it is also philosophy.  When I read this book, I like to read it slowly and re-read paragraphs to immerse my mind in the incredible beauty of these words.

And now, if ever I am struggling with life, or having a hard time, I smile to myself, and I think, that at least I am not suffering from the unbearable lightness of being.  My life is heavy and full, and this book showed me that that is what life is all about.  

Quiet Days in Clichy, by Henry Miller

To be honest, I love everything by Henry Miller.  I love Henry Miller.  But this book in particular is magic.  Quite a short novel, but it flows so well.  Full of sex, love, fun and excess.  And I just discovered that they have made a movie of this book.  Don't know if I should see it or not.

People who pretend they are Statues

In this crazy ol' world, I try to live and let live, I try to understand, forgive, love, accept.  There are a few exceptions, and I am going to use a word that I don't use that much - HATE.
Thats right, I HATE those people who pretend they are statues!!

This may be hard to believe - but this is not actually a statue.  It is a person.  a real living person.  Hard to believe, huh?  Looks just like a statue.

I think the correct term is 'living statue'.  They are so wrong on so many levels.

I was perhaps 13 when I first saw a 'living statue'.  And to be honest, I thought it was pretty cool, I really thought that this thing I was seeing really was a statue.  And then she moved.  You know what I thought, I thought, wow, that chick can really stay still.  This was in the days when the living statues actually made a bit of an effort.  Her paint work was quite good.  And I was young.

When I moved over to London, in 2005, I worked on South Bank, right next to the London Eye.  Obviously, this area is a bit of a tourist mecca.  Along the footpath, in front of the London Eye, during the peak of summer there was someone pretending to be a statue about every 5 metres or so.  Seriously.  There were fucking heaps of these dicks.  And they were shit.  Some of them did have paint.  Some of them didn't.  One idiot was dressed up as a bright purple fluffy flamingo for christs sake!

Look at this guy.  LAZY.  He isn't even standing up.  He does not look like a statue!!  Who would give him money?  What possessed him to get up one day, and think, hmmm, I am going to be a statue?

I am not sure how the payment system works - do you chuck a few coins at them if you think they are being good at staying still?  Some of them seemed to think they could then move if you gave them money - just an excuse I reckon, they were probably getting stiff.  Or some of them seemed to think they should get money if they gave someone a fright.

The ones that really get to me though, are the 'couple' living statues.  Ugh.  So wrong.  I can't even begin to explain why I hate them so much.

'couple' living statue.  And with two money receptacles.  This is the type of thing that I was confronted with every lunch break in London.   

But even worse than the statues themselves are the people who flock to them!!!  It is pretty obvious that they are NOT STATUES!!!  So why do people get 'surprised' and laugh when they move???  Why do people crowd around them??  And then go from one, to another, and then to another?  I just do not get it.

The only place worse than London for living statues, that I have come across so far, is Barcelona.

Oh yeah, thats right, I can KNIT

One evening a couple of weeks ago, I suddenly thought "I want to KNIT".  However, I didn't know how, nor have any knitting needles or wool (I think you call it yarn in the USA).

So I put the idea out of my head, but the universe had other ideas and the next day whilst I was visiting Grandma, she started talking about knitting.  As it turns out, she can no longer knit much due to arthritis, and has a veritable treasure of knitting paraphernalia, and I was allowed it all!

Just not yet.

I was required to prove myself first, and was sent away with one pair of knitting needles, and a few scraps of old wool.  That evening I taught myself to cast on, using trusty old youtube.  Then I taught myself how to knit.

I knitted a few rows, went back to see Grandma, was given a knitting needle upgrade, and some more wool.

First  I decided to knit a scarf.  But it got kind of boring as my row was so wide.  So I decided to sew it into a tube, and turn it into a neck warmer:

So the reason one end is narrower than the other is because I changed to the
new bigger knitting needles after the first row.  This is my piece of knitting before I darned in the  loose wool.

With the ends all darned in

with the ends sewed together, into a tube, folded in half.  this gets pulled over the had to become
a 'neck warmer'

Since completing my neck warmer, I have decided that I will turn it into a hat, and I am now knitting a proper scarf (much narrower!), and it is a race - what will happen first, will this storm hit, or will I finish the scarf in time for my son to wear it in the snow!

Off to see Grandma again in a couple of days...hopefully I will be allowed the 'good wool'.  And I happened to notice a couple of crochet hooks, so might give that a go too.

The Easiest Quickest Tastiest Dessert

Sometimes, as a woman, as a mother, you just need something to get you through the evening.  It used to be wine for me, but nowadays, as a breastfeeding Mama, wine isn't always the best thing.
But I will tell you what IS the best thing.  This super quick chocolate cake.  Here is the recipe.  Treasure it.


Microwave Chocolate Cake


Mix together
3 tbsp butter/margarine
3/4 cup sugar (whatever you've got - white, raw, brown...)
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla essence
1/4 cup milk

Then sift in
1/2 cup flour
3 tbsp cocoa powder
1/4 tsp baking powder















Mix until smooth


Divide into two coffee mugs and then microwave on high.  If I am cooking just one at a time, they take 3 minutes each in our microwave, or if I am cooking them at the same time then it takes 4 minutes.  Your microwave might be different.

The cakes - all cooked!

Then serve with cream/whipped cream/ice-cream.

Seriously. Soooo good.  And sooo easy.