It appears there has been some kind of mini apocalypse. There's no way out of Walthamstow. The Victoria line is totally suspended; the London Overground is suspended, and there's no train between Chingford and Hackney Downs, meaning we're cut off.
I've tried listening to the radio for information, but I got rather involved in the Archers, and haven't been able to tear myself away. Luckily the freezer is full of pureed veg for the baby, so I figure with that and breast milk, we should be ok. The circularity of attempting to sustain myself with my own breast milk seems to have a built-in futility, but perhaps the quarantine will be lifted before we get that far.
I will post further updates when possible.
Sunday 28 September 2008
Saturday 27 September 2008
eBay trust and safety
Someone stole my eBay listing!
They stole my photo, and my text, and used them to sell their own item. Rude, dishonest, and a breach (mm-hmm) of eBay's trust and safety policies.
(It was a pretty hot listing).
I emailed them, and told them:
You've stolen my photo and my text!
This has to be a breach of eBay rules.
And even if it's not, it's rude.
My text is MY intellectual property and I think you're being dishonest using it.
(I hid my email address. I'm always a bit scared of challenging like this. I let my last eBay dispute disappear, mostly out of discomfort and cowardice).
After an hour or so, I hadn't managed to speak to Terry to voice my indignation, and their non-response just made me more indignant, so I reported it to eBay. Sure enough, they have a specific report mechanism for it, so clearly it happens, though eBay are more understanding than me, and add platitudes about people not realising that stuff on the web is not theirs for the taking.
This morning eBay have duly taken action - though what action, they told me, is a secret. Hmm: just a minor bit of detective work shows me they've removed the original listing, but there can have been no greater penalty. They have allowed the item to be re-listed with a bad photo and just a small bit of my text. I was tempted to email him/her again to tell them it's *still* my text, even if 7/8ths of it has been removed, but Terry said I should let it lie. I don't know - the member has a 100% positive feedback score of 204, which does nothing to reflect their breach. Maybe there's a three strikes type rule.... Or maybe it's just a minor point - more important being the transaction and the quality of the goods being as described. It vexes me, though.
That listing was hot. And it was mine.
They stole my photo, and my text, and used them to sell their own item. Rude, dishonest, and a breach (mm-hmm) of eBay's trust and safety policies.
(It was a pretty hot listing).
I emailed them, and told them:
You've stolen my photo and my text!
This has to be a breach of eBay rules.
And even if it's not, it's rude.
My text is MY intellectual property and I think you're being dishonest using it.
(I hid my email address. I'm always a bit scared of challenging like this. I let my last eBay dispute disappear, mostly out of discomfort and cowardice).
After an hour or so, I hadn't managed to speak to Terry to voice my indignation, and their non-response just made me more indignant, so I reported it to eBay. Sure enough, they have a specific report mechanism for it, so clearly it happens, though eBay are more understanding than me, and add platitudes about people not realising that stuff on the web is not theirs for the taking.
This morning eBay have duly taken action - though what action, they told me, is a secret. Hmm: just a minor bit of detective work shows me they've removed the original listing, but there can have been no greater penalty. They have allowed the item to be re-listed with a bad photo and just a small bit of my text. I was tempted to email him/her again to tell them it's *still* my text, even if 7/8ths of it has been removed, but Terry said I should let it lie. I don't know - the member has a 100% positive feedback score of 204, which does nothing to reflect their breach. Maybe there's a three strikes type rule.... Or maybe it's just a minor point - more important being the transaction and the quality of the goods being as described. It vexes me, though.
That listing was hot. And it was mine.
Thursday 25 September 2008
Pound cake
There's one package in the BC backlog that intrigues me. It catches my eye every time I open the larder cupboard and ritually glance up (possibly to check they're still there). It's smaller than the others, and the package photo doesn't involve frosting. It's a loaf shape, but it's just plain. No marbling, no chips, no fruit. Plain. And in a smaller package. Pound cake. What is pound cake? There's not a scrap of a clue on the box. It's intrigued me for weeks.
So, with the carrot cake eaten (thanks here to Becky, who helped out on Monday*), this morning I overcame my prejudice against non-flavoured foodstuffs (cf 'vanilla' ice cream, madeira cake, shortbread) and I made it.
The dogmatic precision of Betty Crocker instructions is scary. Baking is too precise for my brother, who likes to cook but does not bake, because you can't ad lib with baking [paraphrase], and Betty Crocker's exhortations that I beat on a low speed 30 seconds [sic] scares me into counting.
She makes me an obedient little apprentice. There were sincere warnings on the package that if my loaf tin were smaller than 9"x5" I should use two loaf pans, or batter will overflow [sic]. So with a 9"x4.5" tin, I exercised due caution and made 3 cup-cakes.
30 seconds on low, followed by 3 minutes on medium turned it from yellow to pale, pale cream, and made it really, really thick. 48 minutes at 170C (fan) - an (whisper it) approximation based on the 350F instructed.
And you know, it turned out fine. More yellow than I expected, more dense than I expected - though kind of light with it - and pretty tasty for a plain cake.
I'm still not sure what pound cake is.
"So...?" I asked Terry. "Umm.... It's quite hard isn't it?"
Wikipedia says it's a decadent cake, made with a pound of flour, sugar, butter - yikes - and is a staple of the South. On my second cupcake in two days (this truly is a dieter's - not a decadent - cake), I nailed it: it tastes, looks and has the texture of those sponge cakes and sponge fingers that my mum reserved solely for trifle. Decadent.
* "So is this real carrot?" Heh heh heh.
So, with the carrot cake eaten (thanks here to Becky, who helped out on Monday*), this morning I overcame my prejudice against non-flavoured foodstuffs (cf 'vanilla' ice cream, madeira cake, shortbread) and I made it.
The dogmatic precision of Betty Crocker instructions is scary. Baking is too precise for my brother, who likes to cook but does not bake, because you can't ad lib with baking [paraphrase], and Betty Crocker's exhortations that I beat on a low speed 30 seconds [sic] scares me into counting.
She makes me an obedient little apprentice. There were sincere warnings on the package that if my loaf tin were smaller than 9"x5" I should use two loaf pans, or batter will overflow [sic]. So with a 9"x4.5" tin, I exercised due caution and made 3 cup-cakes.
30 seconds on low, followed by 3 minutes on medium turned it from yellow to pale, pale cream, and made it really, really thick. 48 minutes at 170C (fan) - an (whisper it) approximation based on the 350F instructed.
And you know, it turned out fine. More yellow than I expected, more dense than I expected - though kind of light with it - and pretty tasty for a plain cake.
I'm still not sure what pound cake is.
"So...?" I asked Terry. "Umm.... It's quite hard isn't it?"
Wikipedia says it's a decadent cake, made with a pound of flour, sugar, butter - yikes - and is a staple of the South. On my second cupcake in two days (this truly is a dieter's - not a decadent - cake), I nailed it: it tastes, looks and has the texture of those sponge cakes and sponge fingers that my mum reserved solely for trifle. Decadent.
* "So is this real carrot?" Heh heh heh.
BC backlog saves the day!
In another example of our collective domestic ineptitude, when my old friend Megan* called on Saturday to invite herself over, we had nothing in.
But of course, though we have gotten through BC brownies, BC oatmeal cookies, Eagle Brand Turtle Temptations and Pilsbury brownies, there were - really, thank heavens - still a few BC boxes to get through.
Terry, who loves cooking, doesn't really do baking, so it took some cajoling to get him to make the carrot cake while I attended to something inevitably involving tidying or childcare. We used the most reliably non-stick cake tins,** which, it turned out, were a tad too small, so we had two beautifully mushrooming cakes to sandwich. Fortunately, my completist father also supplied the BC cream cheese frosting, so when I went up the road to fetch Megan, I charged Terry with sandwiching and frosting the cakes. As a novice, he queried the best way to sandwich, and asked me if he should slice the top off one to make it a flatter bottom layer. I said yes, and left him to it.
The cake was delish, and we got through it:
But rookie error: you up-end the bottom cake when you glue them together with frosting. We had a frosted mushroom atop a frosted mushroom.
*We met aged 15 on a local coach trip to see The Cure at Wembley. I think we probably see one another twice a year at best, with virtually no chit chat in between.
**Tellingly, the most reliably non-stick cake tins belonged to my grandmother, who died in 1999.
But of course, though we have gotten through BC brownies, BC oatmeal cookies, Eagle Brand Turtle Temptations and Pilsbury brownies, there were - really, thank heavens - still a few BC boxes to get through.
Terry, who loves cooking, doesn't really do baking, so it took some cajoling to get him to make the carrot cake while I attended to something inevitably involving tidying or childcare. We used the most reliably non-stick cake tins,** which, it turned out, were a tad too small, so we had two beautifully mushrooming cakes to sandwich. Fortunately, my completist father also supplied the BC cream cheese frosting, so when I went up the road to fetch Megan, I charged Terry with sandwiching and frosting the cakes. As a novice, he queried the best way to sandwich, and asked me if he should slice the top off one to make it a flatter bottom layer. I said yes, and left him to it.
The cake was delish, and we got through it:
But rookie error: you up-end the bottom cake when you glue them together with frosting. We had a frosted mushroom atop a frosted mushroom.
*We met aged 15 on a local coach trip to see The Cure at Wembley. I think we probably see one another twice a year at best, with virtually no chit chat in between.
**Tellingly, the most reliably non-stick cake tins belonged to my grandmother, who died in 1999.
Wednesday 17 September 2008
Virgin media - bringing TV, broadband and landlines to the deceased
Oh, Virgin. Richard Branston-Pickle, with his embarrassing shenanigans, is clearly a compelling leader.
My father died at the end of June this year. Throughout July, my family and I wrote to each and every institution and company that figured on his bank statements and whose letters plopped through the door. Virgin was one of the first to go.
But now they've written to him, clearly unfettered by his demise:
"Dear Mr B,
"We know you're not with us anymore, but we thought you might like to hear about our best offer ever..."
He always liked a bargain, my dad. But as they rightly acknowledge, he's not with us anymore.
My father died at the end of June this year. Throughout July, my family and I wrote to each and every institution and company that figured on his bank statements and whose letters plopped through the door. Virgin was one of the first to go.
But now they've written to him, clearly unfettered by his demise:
"Dear Mr B,
"We know you're not with us anymore, but we thought you might like to hear about our best offer ever..."
He always liked a bargain, my dad. But as they rightly acknowledge, he's not with us anymore.
Monday 15 September 2008
"I don't really like chocolate"
I started this post 10 days ago with a title and a blank page. Really, I was too gobsmacked to come up with a comment. I still am, I suppose, it's just that I want the quote plopped down in the blogosphere for posterity.
Flesh's friend F, who has just recently had a little baby boy, needed to conquer some fears and so came to mine for lunch. [Fears were of driving alone, the North Circular, just generally going out with a tiny yet utterly dependent companion, alone. Not lunch. Or my house.]
It was a pretty rubbish lunch, since the fridge was bare and the baby slept so well all morning I didn't have chance to go to the shop. True, I often consider nipping to the shop while she's asleep in the cot, and I regularly debate with myself whether or not I could ask littlest B next door to stop with her for 15 minutes, but as always, I did neither. I did, however, fret - though I consoled myself that lunch might be crap, but at least there was cake - then turned to Waitrose for inspiration.
Waitrose.com has a super recipe database, with a reasonable search engine. Terry had suggested soup, we had some tomatoes in the fridge, I found a Tuscan Tomato and Bean Soup recipe, so I made that. With no celery, and a couple of leftovers in the fridge to chuck in (I substituted half an aubergine! Ha!), it wasn't a faithful attempt, but the liquid/solid ratio was about right, so I was disappointed (truthfully? A bit embarrassed) that it turned out like weird stew. Walthamstow Tomato and Bean Stew, perhaps.
Still, F (who is pretty slight) powered through it, and surprised me (she's very polite/proper) by accepting seconds. I (not very polite/trouble being proper) articulated my surprise and the poor thing said she's suddenly, after 4 weeks of breastfeeding, discovered a huge appetite. She was so preoccupied with over-running house renovation at the end of her pregnancy that she lost weight, and has been preoccupied with his weight since he was born, and suddenly her body's shouted at her to wake up and damn well feed it. So she is. So I was v v pleased I had cake in. And extra specially pleased I could offer Pilsbury brownies at that.
And then she said it: "I don't really like chocolate". I nearly fell off my chair.
She got a piece of old parkin and a 2 day old jam tart.
Flesh's friend F, who has just recently had a little baby boy, needed to conquer some fears and so came to mine for lunch. [Fears were of driving alone, the North Circular, just generally going out with a tiny yet utterly dependent companion, alone. Not lunch. Or my house.]
It was a pretty rubbish lunch, since the fridge was bare and the baby slept so well all morning I didn't have chance to go to the shop. True, I often consider nipping to the shop while she's asleep in the cot, and I regularly debate with myself whether or not I could ask littlest B next door to stop with her for 15 minutes, but as always, I did neither. I did, however, fret - though I consoled myself that lunch might be crap, but at least there was cake - then turned to Waitrose for inspiration.
Waitrose.com has a super recipe database, with a reasonable search engine. Terry had suggested soup, we had some tomatoes in the fridge, I found a Tuscan Tomato and Bean Soup recipe, so I made that. With no celery, and a couple of leftovers in the fridge to chuck in (I substituted half an aubergine! Ha!), it wasn't a faithful attempt, but the liquid/solid ratio was about right, so I was disappointed (truthfully? A bit embarrassed) that it turned out like weird stew. Walthamstow Tomato and Bean Stew, perhaps.
Still, F (who is pretty slight) powered through it, and surprised me (she's very polite/proper) by accepting seconds. I (not very polite/trouble being proper) articulated my surprise and the poor thing said she's suddenly, after 4 weeks of breastfeeding, discovered a huge appetite. She was so preoccupied with over-running house renovation at the end of her pregnancy that she lost weight, and has been preoccupied with his weight since he was born, and suddenly her body's shouted at her to wake up and damn well feed it. So she is. So I was v v pleased I had cake in. And extra specially pleased I could offer Pilsbury brownies at that.
And then she said it: "I don't really like chocolate". I nearly fell off my chair.
She got a piece of old parkin and a 2 day old jam tart.
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