Thug Kitchen Banana Pancakes

Last weekend we had our friends round and one of our friend’s had dietary requirements so we bought some soya milk for them. Now we have a nearly full carton of soya milk, and although I do like some non dairy milks, I have not found the soya milk for me.

I also had some bananas going brown, so I made the Thug Kitchen Banana Pancakes in their lovely cookbook. I even swore when I burnt my finger, they would be proud.

I halved the recipe to make just six pancakes, and a word of warning, I thought six pancakes would be small and a nice normal amount for one person.

The pancakes were beasts in size.

I ate them all.

Now I feel ill.

It was worth it.

I may have touched on this before, but when I was younger I was desperate to have the sort of White Picket Fence dream family that always sat down together for breakfast. I even used to set elaborate breakfast tables in an attempt to bring my family together.

After my mother left when I was 12, my family unit (Me, Dad, three brothers of various ages) became not so much a family but five individuals living under the same roof. When I got older and was in college and my Dad was in a relationship, it felt more like I lived with flatmates then a family.

I don’t know if what I had was worse or better than a typical happy family situation. To paraphrase my favourite saying, it was what it was. I do highly value my independence, my boyfriend came from a house where his parents did everything for him and he is always asking me to get him a drink or make him breakfast where for me ‘I’m Thirsty’ = ‘I’ll get myself a drink’.

I’m not sure what I will be like when I have children. Personally I get the impression that mothers put too much pressure on themselves to be perfect when there is no such thing, and as long as you aren’t mistreating your children you are doing fine. Heck, despite her faults I don’t even consider my mum to be a bad mum, just not a typically ‘idealised’ one.

Whatever I will be like as a mum, as least I know I can make my future mythical kids pancakes.


This calls for a gin and tonic

I was working the weekend shift today, which although isn’t that convenient does earn me some extra buckage for when I maybe become unemployed soon.

It is normally very, very quiet.

Today it wasn’t.

And I spent a good chunk of it on my own. There were two times when someone came to ask something and I had no idea what the answer was and had to be like ‘You’ll have to wait for the competent librarian to come back.’

I survived, as usual, but I feel the need for a gin and tonic.

Normal people when they fancy a drink just have one without giving it too much thought. Whenever I feel like I need a drink I worry that I am just a few expensive stays in rehab away from being like my mum.

When I was younger, as a result of being completely convinced I was going to be an alcoholic, I decided to cut out the middle man years of being a mess and just be teetotal. So I didn’t drink. Instead I was the sensible friend that never loosened up and was the one pulling back the hair of my friends as they were sick in the toilet. It was a role I knew well and therefore felt more comfortable in.

I eventually loosened up to an extent, but I can still count on one hand the amount of times in my life I have been drunk.

I have a few rules I live by.

  1. I can drink until what is commonly called the ‘tipsy’ stage, but what I call ‘being merry and pippin’, and then I stop and drink non alcoholic drinks until I am sober and only then can have another alcoholic drink.
  2. I cannot have a drink to enhance or improve a mood. Therefore I can’t drink if I am sad and want to cheer up. I can’t drink if I am happy and want to be more happy. As soon as I feel that I am trying to create a feeling through drink I stop.
  3. Drink purely for taste.

As a result of not really being a drinker it pretty much just takes me ONE drink to feel tipsy. Therefore I can have a good time very, very cheaply.

I wish I could relax a bit more and not be afraid of being drunk, but I just find the whole business deeply embarrassing and shameful. I naturally don’t think less of my drunk friends if they get that way at a party, I just can’t do it.

I am musing because I am having a very nice, ever so slightly more than a double measurement gin and tonic, and it will probably be my only drink of the night even though I am going out. I am lucky that I have friends that accept me for who I am. I remember being petrified of going to University and navigating all the drinking that goes with it, coming up with the scheme of buying half pints of coke and saying it was jack and coke if anyone asked so they wouldn’t judge me. I remember being so weird and inexperienced with drinking that during the first term of my first year my ‘drink of choice’ was a baileys hot chocolate.

Try asking for that in Meze*

* Meze was a truly disgusting night club in Newport, South Wales which was owned by a character called ‘Mista Ifsta’ who owned half of the nightlife in Newport and most of my happiest memories of Uni come from being in Meze. From the sweat that would drip off the ceiling and into your drink, my first forays into smoking, the predictable rock playlist that you could set your watch to and the pints for £1, I truly had some great times there.


Too much fun. Too little money

I have £6.30 left till payday (25th March)

It should have been £7.30 but a shop short changed me and I realised too late and felt it would be pointless to argue. Sigh.

The boy was supposed to pick up bread, which would have meant I could have claimed a No Spend Day. But he forgot so we both went out and got it.

In all other ways I have spent minimally.

But one of my friends who recently moved away for work is back in town this weekend and wants to go for drinks.

Well, it is doable.

Except I don’t want to sound like a 4th grader but that’s my milk money as well!

I will have to be crafty.

I am working tomorrow which will earn me a few precious extra pounds for my uncertain pay after my contract ends.

In all other ways things are ok.

I’ll have to do some interview prep this weekend.

I almost forgot to blog

It is late and yet the boy and I are still tidying up.

We are having guests round tomorrow.

I went to football so I am tired. I wasn’t in the best of spirits at football. I was worried about my mum. I eventually told the other girls about what was happening, and they were all supportive.

There is other good news.

I have a job interview. In a Finance role. I am very happy.

The Drugs Don’t Work. Maybe.

I went to the doctor’s today to report all the side effects I have had as a result of my new anti-anxiety pills.

The list includes:


Sore Throats



Fatigue and Drowsiness


Shortness of Breath

The doctor had told me that the pills can affect people with asthma and although I don’t actually have asthma I have used an inhaler a few times in my life.

I was prepared to take all of these in my stride, but my doctor was concerned.

Basically if the pills are causing shortness of breath then that is bad.

And they really are. I mean, I know I’m overweight, but I do actually have a good level of fitness, sort of. And recently a small incline was enough to get me gasping for breath.

So I have promised the doctor I will keep an eye on it, but I feel that she wants me to come off them.

Which puts me in a real pickle.

Because whilst I still have a small level of anxiety, they have greatly improved it. And I am no longer quite the gibbering wreck after talking to people when taking them.

But I’m not a twat (well, not much of a twat) If they are causing bad things then I won’t take them.

But I’m kind of hoping it will turn out I’m just really unfit and nothing to do with the pills.

It’s probably not though.


I need counselling. I need that more than anything else.

Too many things went too wrong too many times.

Easy Pea-sy Soup (I am ill)

An ill day calls for one thing.


We have had a big bag of frozen peas in our freezer for a long time, and I don’t really like plain peas. Nor do either the boy or I have a sprain in need of an ice pack.

After trying, for the first time, a delicious pea and mint soup last year when I was still eating from the work canteen at lunch I have been craving it ever since.



serves 3 greedy mouths (4 normal mouths and 5 small mouths)

About 350g of frozen peas.

1 big potato (or 3 small potatoes)

Frozen or fresh Onion. I used A LOT. About one medium fresh onion is a good starting point.

2 tsp of dried mint (you can use fresh if you like. I know it’s better, but our windowsill is occupied by long scrubbing brushes the boy insists on buying so that his precious hands don’t touch a plate when doing the washing up)

1.5 Litres of vegetable stock

A big splodge of butter/margarine



Chopped the potato(es) and onion (if using fresh) into small pieces.

Melt the butter in the biggest pot you have and once it’s foaming add the potato and onion. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring to make sure it doesn’t burn.

Add the stock and cook for about 15 minutes.

I added the dried mint at this point but if you are using fresh I would recommend waiting till a bit later.


Once the potato and onions are soft add the peas and bring back to the boil. Cook for about 5 minutes.

Pour into the blender and pulse.


Do I really need to tell you what to do next?

You eat it of course.

I do feel a little better.

Gee Mr Suit Man on the train, maybe don’t grab my ass?

The Universe decided to top a day where I felt so ill I left work early and kept checking my phone for any sort of news about my mum with a little bit of sexual harassment on the train home.

I don’t like any sort of human contact really, unless from people I know really, really well. I get freaked out when work colleagues-who I like!-touch my arm or something in a friendly way. I don’t want to but I do.

So it’s not like anyone likes sexual harassment or having their ass groped, but you can appreciate why it made me want to cry and text my boyfriend to abandon dinner and meet me at the station.

I felt a bit better after a bath and a huge glug of cheapo Baileys, but at the time I wanted to do my old familiar thing of tearing my skin off.

I am a feminist, in the sense that I want equality for women, in the same way I want equality for everyone, including men etc etc , but I really can’t be bothered to go on a tirade about it, just please don’t sexually harass me people.

Today was a No Spend Day, so I am up to 3 now in March, which isn’t great compared to February but I have had other fish to fry this month and it was the boy’s birthday, and I could still get another 10 under my belt. We shall see.

I am watching WWE Raw, the boy made dinner, life is ok.