Nice Things That I Can't Afford

Good Evening, Blogland!

Thought I'd lure you in with a picture of cake

I've had a busy week, following last week's busy week, and preceeding (how many Es are there in preceding?) next week's busy week.  I'm tiiiiired and whingey and I could really do without it.  Yesterday I was feeling extremely grumpy and sorry for myself.  (Example tweets: "Today has been a headche from start to finish. Except it hasn't finished yet, I've got three hours of rehearsal ahead. :o/"  and  "The worst thing about afternoon naps is being wrenched out of slumber by the shrill wail of your alarm clock TWICE in one day.") but today I'm much chirpier. 


That's my chirpy face

This morning I made pancakes in assembly, and since getting home this afternoon I have been very domestic.  I have done a load of laundry, including a pair of shoes that were all grubbified with hair dye and the finest mud from Kielder Forest, neither of which seem to have washed out, grrr.  They're currently on the radiator stuffed with newspaper, so maybe some intellectualism from the Times Educational Supplement* will rub off and make them look smart and impressive once they've dried.

*Sorry, Simon, I didn't ask, but I only nicked pages from the back of the jobs section, since I didn't think you were planning on becoming Headmaster of an exclusive boys' boarding school in Tanzania any time soon.

Anyway, I've done my weekly pick-up of my floordrobe (shameful!) and put it all on my bed in piles according to destination (pile for the trouser drawer, pile for the t-shirts box, considerably larger pile for the dresses wardrobe) so I can't go to bed until it's all put away, and I've finally caught up with My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and I've done some washing-up and I've baked totally, utterly and completely the crappest birthday cake ever made.  I'm going to risk a certain lovely doctor reading this before I surprise her with it tomorrow (and WON'T she be surprised, ye gods, it's so rubbish...) and tell you the story so you can laugh at my ineptitude.

So.  You know those giant cookies you can get with Smarties baked in, and they're all colourful and lovely?  Well, when I couldn't find chocolate chips in the Co-op I decided to get Smarties instead, chuck them in a basic sponge cake recipe and get amazing, beautiful rainbow cake.  Well.  Smarties may thrive in cookies, but let me tell you, in a cake they sink to bottom, adhere to the cake tin, completely lose their rainbow colours (WTF? How?!) and taste a bit burnt-chocolate-y.  And both cake layers crumbled into shreds when I tried to get them out of the tins, so I'm going to have to do some serious glueing with icing.  PAH!!



OH DEAR!



And as if to add insult to injury, I've just stumbled across this picture of a cake I made for Simon's birthday two years ago.  Where have my skills gone?!



Anyway, the real point of this post, as the title suggests, was meant to be a Wishlist.  My friend Buttercup Liffy and I, being both blogging-novices, were getting very excitable on Tuesday about followers and stats and so on, and she mentioned planning a Wednesday Wishlist post, and I thought I would plagiarise her idea, but I haven't got around to it until now.  (Doesn't look like Liffy has either though, so there!)  So yes, Nice Things That I Would Like But Can't Afford:



Top of the list, Vivienne Westwood Anglomania Lady Dragon shoes with cherries.  RRP £120, except they sold out months ago.  How am I supposed to go on living without these in my life??

The  Pixie Pin-Ups Palette by Too Faced.  It's make-up with pop-up pixie pin-ups on it!!  Definitely an essential and not frivolous at all, even for 25 squid for six small eyeshadows.

A vintage Daimler, complete with uniformed chauffeur.  Failing that, a small, modern car and driving lessons.  Failing THAT, a really beautiful bike.

Kitchen mixing device.  Preferably a pretty one.  As I found to my cost today, making cakes the old-fashioned way with a bowl and a wooden spoon is a complete ball ache!

A ticket to Anton and Erin's Puttin' on the Ritz.  Sunday night, at the Sage.  Thirty-nine stinking pounds, if there are indeed any left.  But booooo I want to go!

A cleaning lady.  See earlier comment about floordrobe!

And, like, loads and loads of dresses.  And a bigger wardrobe.

(Oh, bloody hell, I've just remembered I covered my bed in piles of clothes.  What a bloody stupid idea.)