Fairy Cakes Taste Sensation

Tomorrow is my birthday and tonight my darling daughter, ably assisted by my lovely hubby, baked some pre-birthday fairy cakes to celebrate. This pre-birthday treat is a new tradition here, but one I will definitely be encouraging going forward. (Fairy cakes tonight followed by Rice Krispie buns and Victoria sponge tomorrow. What's not to love about that sort of delicious tradition?)
The topping on these little moues of perfection was icing mixed with strawberry jam (a new taste sensation - you heard it here first).
Bloggers, they were DIVINE. So divine I ate three in a row. Ooops. I just couldn't help myself - you're never too old for fairy cakes, that's what I say. Of course, my hips might disagree, but I'm well used to ignoring what they think. That's another advantage of getting older - you can simply tune out what you don't want to hear..............It's a skill I have just about perfected.

Toffy Pops Escape Unharmed

I dropped my lovely friend Lol to the airport the other day for her flight back to Oz. I dread going to the airport. It's such a cruel place: the goodbyes are always "Love, Actually" heart wrenching and if that isn't enough to traumatise you, now there's the possibility of a full body pat down to contend with too.
"I hope they don't search me," Lol said as we stood forlornly at the Departure Gates. "If they take my Toffy Pops, I'll crack up. "
"Stick out your bump and look hassled," I advised, snuffling sadly into my sleeve. "They might take pity on you."
In fairness, this wasn't going to be much of a stretch: six months pregnant, with an active toddler in tow and a 24 hour flight to face, she was pretty hassled already.
Laughing through our tears at the thought of security wrestling her to the ground and confiscating the precious stash of Toffy Pops smuggled in her carry-on, we said our goodbyes.
A few minutes later, I got a text to say she had sobbed the whole way through luggage check and the kind staff had felt so sorry for her that they had given her a wheelchair for her bags and the toddler, so she could navigate her way through Duty Free. Even better, the Toffy Pops had escaped unharmed.
I am delighted to report that they went on to survive the flight and are, as I write, being carefully dunked into steaming mugs of Barrys Tea in a Sydney townhouse. Now there's a happy ending if ever I heard one.

Three Questions

Over breakfast today, my six year old carefully munched his bagel and asked:
a) Why is cookbook one word, not two? (There was a cookbook on the table. An unused cookbook I should add.)
b) Why can you see the veins on the inside of your wrists so clearly and not on your tummy?
(I suspect he would like to have wormy veins visible everywhere if he could)
c) Do rabbits ever get tired hopping? (That one was just random)
All this and I hadn't even had my coffee yet..........

I am not It

In a hotel lobby this weekend, I momentarily dropped my precious bag of Maltesers when a stunning leggy redhead swept through the foyer. What was it about her that had everyone, including me, transfixed? Was it her magnificent camel coloured cashmere coat with its cutting edge angular jutting pockets? Her gleaming over-the-knee boots that were the length of my entire leg? The amazing mane of glossy red locks that tumbled down her back?
Who knows. But the girl had "it" and, as I watched her, with my scuffed high street boots and chipped nails, I fleetingly wished I had "it" too. Sadly, I know only too well that sweeping grandly about is impossible when you're five foot two and your hair has never seen a glossy day in its frizzy life. I will never have "it".
But a half-eaten bag of melted Maltesers in my pocket? Now that I have.