My sister's cake

There are many times I feel incompetant with myself.  When you see that fabulously skinny woman doing an hour on the cross trainer when you've done ten minutes on the treadmill and you're bright red and sweating is one that i invision quite vividly, however my sister (as sisters do so well) is able to outshine me quite profoundly when it comes to baking.  Even the simplest instant mousse recipe easily overcame my competence: one sachet you mix with milk, the other with water.  You'd think it would be hard to get it wrong, right?  But beside the point, any prospects of being a model have been quite firmly bodyslammed to hte ground with the fluffy raspberry and vanilla cake she produced.  Alas, all i could do in return was appreciate her heavenly masterpiece was to devour it, like a rabid dog.  Foaming at the mouth.

The Lyceum Tavern

Today I picked up the keys to the new flat and celebrated our long-awaited success in house hunting with a cheeky pub lunch with a good friend who claims I am the ‘wife he never wanted’ (possibly because I eat his food).
We lunched at a cosy, quirky pub called ‘The Lyceum’ which would be the perfect cubbyhole for friends escaping the biting winter winds.  It is panelled in dark, romantic wood from floor to ceiling with tables cooped up in secretive (but not shady!!) booths with charming bar staff and their own brand of ale and cider and beer; all marked at odd prices (e.g £2.63).  Well worth a quick visit and makes for an unusual start to a pub crawl.