Cocoa, 80% dark chocolate chips, 60% milk chocolate chips, and two shots of espresso. It all makes for excellent muffins. Makes about 18

The last time I actually baked anything in this kitchen other than bread or pizza, I was no more than twelve years old; a decade ago. For some reason, I’d never felt confident enough in my mother’s kitchen to really experiment. She, The Chef, would watch me working, and while she never once criticized me, I could tell she did not approve of a number of my methods.

At University, I became known as a bit of a cook; I’d be called on by friends, with requests ranging from “how do I make a white sauce? (can I use margarine?)” to “what do I do with romanescu cauliflower?” and “how do I boil eggs properly?” - I was pretty hot shit; easily the most accomplished and confident in the kitchen of all my friends. I remember, too, the very last time I made muffins. I was in Sussex, with my friend Amiee. It was three in the morning, and we made pistachio and white chocoalte muffins, and they were excellent. Perfectly shaped, and a moist little cap on top. The taste was to die for. We’d eaten most of them by the next night.

And that was two years ago. Since then, the muffin tins sat unloved in the back of a counter cupboard. And today, I pulled them out, dusted them off, and found the Mokka. I made muffins for the first time in two years, just throwing what I found into the mix until it all looked right and felt right. And I still coldn’t bring mself to lick the bowl after dishing out the muffin mix into the little greased pots; it’s never felt quite right. Same for cookie dough; I can’t do it. I’ll eat raw fish happily, even undercooked eggs pose no issue, but give me raw dough and I gag. Anyway, in all, it produced 18 healthy sized muffins, of which five have already been eaten by various people. I think they’ve come out okay, but could do with more careful time in the oven.

I only wish I knew where Amiee was. I’d send her some.

I could murder a cup right now. That and some toast. Hmm.

Not long ago, the cable went out. That’s not an issue, other than I lost internet access. I still had GPRS and for email, that was okay. No major loss.

Come Friday morning, the cable was back on however. The bright sparks who’d chopped the lines open had been dispatched to some special Hell reserved for such atrocities. I had cable internet. And I had an email. Did I want to spend a week in the middle of nowhere and do some house/cat/chicken/duck sitting. With no DSL. And no night-life. And no caf√©s.

After some moments of contemplation, I emailed back and told them I’d be there at 1pm the next day. And here I’ve been since.

It’s just a case of dropping in, letting the two (three?) readers I have that I’m safe and sound, and in the country side, drinking vast amounts of hot scalding tea, sleeping late, petting kitties, and enjoying fresh eggs for my breakfast.

I’ve also had mounds of fun wielding chain-saws, working hard logging and chopping, cooking glorious things and roasting myself in-front of an open fire/furnace in the front room. I’ll make some bread later, too. Can’t wait to get back into the kitchen and have some fun.

More updates as and when.

We’ll see. Missing you all, kids.

Aside from the horrible pun, I’m back on form. Work has all but killed me of late. Leave the house at just gone 7am, and back in at about 6.30pm. Eat, check my email, fall asleep. That’s been my life for the last month. And the last week has been a veritable fucking-ver by my employer and my University. Data Protection Act? What’s that? More later. Maybe.

Anyway- weekends have been a bastion of sleeping in; of course, these days, getting up at 8am means I’ve slept in super-late. I can now sleep in, and still have a whole day to play with! In one such respect, this is quite awesome. As such, I’m going to try to make the most of tomorrow as I’ve stuff to do, photos to take, and art galleries to look at. In particular the Tate Modern has a new exhibition in the Turbine Hall that I’d like to take in.

And, of course, with work, comes the rampant consumerism. I tried. I really did try to not buy stuff. But I went a little mad. I caught up on my DVD acquisitions. And I bought Six Feet Under: The Complete First Series, Second Series, and Third. And then I bought Futurama, Season One. I know, I’m a sucker for DVD sales. And Sin City. And then, my Visa melted, and I was done for the day. And the day after, KT Tunstall, Eye to the Telescope and Takk…

And, of course, various gifts for various people. There were a few birthdays to cater for, and even a Mini Meet last weekend which went off rather well. And then I had a shite week and went shopping again, and chose to expand my wardrobe with a Sigur Rós Metal Sweatshirt. And a pin badge. And I think a new bag is in order tomorrow, too. Not sure what kind yet, however. Maybe some razor blades; it’s clean shaven or beardymat time again. Bah!

I swear, I’ll stop buying stuff soon. Honest.

Well. I also got a new Ericsson T39m in Ice Cap Blue. I really mean it this time; last thing I’m going to get this month. I think. Other than a new iPod because I’ve just sold my 20Gb 4th Gen Clickwheel. Oops.

No more stuff. Honest. But I did discover the joy of Dominos Online ordering earlier this month. I think it’s the best thing on the Internet in a damn long time. Not since I found Feng Sushi did online ordering and the spring rolls at Ned’s Noodle Bar have I been this impressed with anything I could order online with a Visa card. Apart from iTMS. Maybe.