Tomorrow could be boring

Flavour fail: man gloss

I recently acquired a nifty jumbo-sized Urban Decay Primer potion (which has become a must-have beauty staple). It came packaged with various other mini-sized products, one of which was a Pocket Rocket lip gloss. It's a lovely coral pink colour and I immediately smothered some on without further inspection because coral-pink is one of my favourite lip gloss shades on the planet.

To date, the only things I've known to go wrong with lip glosses are:

1) Brush fail: the old Bobbi Brown glosses had a hairy wand that exploded to something resembling a chimney-sweep after a few applications.

2) Ageing lipline fail: the gloss creeps up where it shouldn't.

3) Lipgloss-hair fail: repeat after me - "Thou shalt not wear lipgloss on a windy day."

Whilst I'm delighted to encounter make-up novelties after over 20 years of various degrees of make-up junkedom, this new surprise wasn't a pleasant one.

The gloss tasted strangely... savoury.

I looked at the packet. Apparently it was a "Timothy" flavour. A man-flavour? Slightly worrying.

It definitely reminded me of something other than lip gloss, but what? I hadn't encountered Pocket Rocket glosses before, so I checked the Urban Decay website. I read the description and thought: "Ah; they're a pisstake of those undress-the-bikini-clad model pens that used car salesmen would buy each other for office secret santa in the 80s. How clever."

This is from the product description:

"Undress our men with the flick of your wrist! Inside the cap of our custom tube is a photo of a yummy man.

And the gloss? This formula is so slick and cushiony, you would love it even in a plain ol’ tube. Each shade varies in opacity and finish, but all have a sweet crème brûlée flavor.

Tilt the tube back-and-forth to strip them to their undies! (We've even included front and rear photos.) Whether you swoon for a future senator or a tree-hugger, one of our men is sure to please you. Our guys make awesome gifts for bachelorette parties, baby showers, or b-days."

Here's the thing. They were going for crème brûlèe, but got McCoy's Flame Grilled Steak crisps instead. Everyone who has tasted steak and the aforementioned crisps knows that these crisps taste nothing like actual steak. Instead, they're flavoured with a fairly sweet, slightly burnt, smoky, umami savoury concoction that I find quite enjoyable when served on a ridged potato product. I don't actually like steak that much. 

I don't want to have gloop tasting of it stuck to my lips. When I realised what the flavour reminded me of I laughed out loud. It amuses me that some flavourist has got away with calling this crème brûlèe.

And it tickles my inner nerd that the McCoy's marketing department has long lead with a "McCoy's - Man Crisps" -campaign.

I imagined various scenarios where this gloss might have been put through a consumer test before launch.

"How did you like it, miss?"

"My boyfriend said I tasted yummy."

Chemicals and mind-crushes

Isn't the picture Grant drew adorable? It makes more sense if you read my new column at Basenotes. This is the second in the series, entitled "A Very English Problem".

I've also got a new mind-crush in the form of Dara O'Briain. His rant about homeopathy and nutritionists is brilliant. Best quote: "Science knows it doesn't know everything or it would have stopped."

I brought back a toxic book from the library: "Toxic Beauty: How Hidden Chemicals in Cosmetics Harm You." It's written by a Reiki-healer who is convinced she knows what she's talking about, a bit like an astrologer might be convinced she knows better about heavenly bodies after talking to some people at NASA. I would despair, but luckily I've built up some resistance to this by now and my own chemistry studies are adding a whole new backbone to the way I view these scare-mongering messages nowadays. Once I finish my course I should really focus on the book I've been researching for the past few years and get it out there. It's time people stopped worrying about insignificant things and started worrying about stuff that could cause real harm instead. To themselves, to the environment and ultimately to the existence of human life itself. Trust me, whether we ingest a bit of lipstick isn't on that list.

Is kitchen table a luxury?

Or a kitchen, for that matter? What about a bedroom?

The other day Timo and I were trying to see the silver lining to our extended stay in the studio flat. (We didn't plan to stay here long after we got married, but that demented brand of breakfast cereal called Credit Crunch made us pause and hold until house prices might come down to something approaching normal).

Timo said: "Well, look at it this way. It must say something about our relationship that we've been able to live in a studio for this long and we're still together."

He's right. We're very happy and very much in love. Every day I have a moment or two when I stop to think how lucky I am. I have had my share of absolutely abysmal and simply disappointing relationships so perhaps it's about time. Still, nobody is born entitled to anything, and just because you go through some shit doesn't then store that in the Karma bank (sorry Buddhists), so I still count myself lucky.

For my entire life up until I met Timo I was deeply suspicious of the "and then they lived happily ever after". And until we do, I obviously won't be in any position to guess whether we will. But I had reached a point where I didn't believe I was ever going to dare take a deep enough emotional risk to have a go. Timo changed that.

We'd love to live in a nice house with more than one room. Preferably at least two bedrooms. For a real dash of luxury, I'd love a spare room to set up as a home office and workshop. My work stuff and project stuff sort of needs its own place. There is something charming about how we live now, literally surrounded by stuff (I saw this documentary where they interviewed a mad professor and our flat looks not too dissimilar to his live-in library with piles of newspaper cuttings and bottles and magazines and books and computers). But charming quickly turns into an euphemism when you have to live it. You know the old saying "Oh, I love kids as long as I can hand them back." Kind of like that.

I'd also love to have an actual kitchen - not just a kitchenette. I'd love a kitchen table; a long, old-fashioned kind on which I could roll out pulla (bun) dough with a rolling pin. For a couple of years now I've gone to the trouble of making traditional imelletty lanttulaatikko (swede casserole) and perunalaatikko (potato casserole) from scratch. The process takes 2 days and in our tiny kitchenette, I haven't got enough room, so I have to juggle dishes and trays in and out to the main living area. They end up on chairs, our bed, on the tiny little table next to our TV. I also make Finnish star tarts (tähtitorttu) filled with plum jam. I cheat and buy the puff pastry and plum jam from the annual Finn-Guild Christmas fair at Rotherhithe.

Maybe next year we could move. Maybe we could spend next Christmas in an actual house. I already tried that once, but with the wrong guy. Even at the time, I kept worrying that it could all be snatched away.

What about this time? We live in an eccentric over-filled little love nest. We're happy here, but as Timo keeps saying: "I do look forward to the day I won't bump into your chair every time I come out of the kitchen."

What if we are stuck here for an indefinite length of time? Can we stay happy? Or what if we find a nice place, but we lose the magic? Or could it be that one day we might be lucky enough to have a proper home and a happy relationship? It seems like too much to hope for. I'm allowed, right?

Things I have realised today

1) It would make me feel more comfortable, if I were to internally agree that there really is such a thing as talent. And that you either have it or you don't. And that I may be talented in some of the things I so desperately wish to pursue and excel at.

The alternative is a bone-crushingly weighty reality of how little I really know about... perfumery... cosmetic science... writing... and that without the comforting concept of "talent", I may never be able to "catch up".

On the other hand, regardless of the mindset at the starting line, one thing seems to really be true: You can do stuff by just doing it. (A sentiment I know Neil Gaiman is fond of. I really get it now. It's taken me ages. Lots of other people get it too; some of them have even tried to advise me).

2) Speaking of which, at work, I've been very busy - travelling a great deal and so on. But I've also been writing. A lot. I'm concerned I've not been writing well enough (and what the hell is this all about - the more I write, the more concerned I become about writing badly, even though on some level, I must be getting better), but if one were to measure success in volume of output, I'd be doing rather spiffily, actually. Since May this year, I've effectively written a book. Shame it's not about alien planets, or grotesque insects. Realisation: If I wanted to write about alien planets, or grotesque insects, I could write the first draft in under a year, even when really busy at work. I'm running out of excuses.

3) My mother was a hedonist and didn't care for the worries of the next day. She was a master of pure seat-of-your-pants existence, which worked for a while, but became a really bad strategy (or lack thereof) in her later years. However, one of my most pervasive feelings of "being a child" is always being told to "look that up in the dictionary", or "don't ask me, find out yourself"; of being given educational toys, taken to complex foreign language plays and operas, a kind of Frasier Crane childhood.  It's impossible for me to ever know whether any of this was guided by the preferences I showed, but most of it must have been dictated by my mother's wishes. She exuded  fun and  she wanted to at least appear carefree, she picked the parts of the Communist Manifesto that suited her style and ditched the rest (granted, so did the Communist powers that be), she was delighted when she got lost in the woods and I - the "little miss young adult" at under 10 years old - found the way home; she loved to tell that story. So why did it seem that every activity of mine, even a simple conversation with my mother, had to more often than not be loaded with some kind of functional element. What kind of purpose or function can be derived from activity x? She taught me a lot. She didn't teach me how to have fun without care. Or maybe she tried and it was the seeing of the consequences of her lifestyle that made me so serious and determined. Or maybe I was always serious and determined and she simply accommodated me.

I've always had this unnerving feeling of being of such different raw material to my mother; not even chalk and cheese as they say here in England, but of different origins, from another planet.

Maybe I could write my first book about alien planets, aka, my mum and I.

Yet there were many things that (especially now with hindsight) I share with her. I love bold colours. So did she. And I seem to share her ability to remain naive and childlike when confronted with new ideas. I explore the sides that those entrenched in a rut or weighed down by too much experience may miss.

4) And that brings me to realisation number four. In the disciplines I wish to develop, but feel intimidated by due to my lack of knowledge or education in them - perhaps the way in which I combine a naive curiosity (beginner's luck + childlike "what if...?" wonder) and a smidgeon of talent (given that I'm allowing myself to believe that such a thing exists), perhaps, perhaps, I might be able to produce wonderful things after all. And surely the whole point is to continue learning and discovering all the while? And no master chef can possibly know everything there is in the whole world about cooking. They can still produce masterful dishes.

5) I seem to also be like my mother in one aspect - taste in perfumes. I've finally admitted to myself that her favourite scents (Shalimar by Guerlain and Y by YSL) appeal to me too. But in one aspect I am different; she used to stick to one perfume at a time, I, on the other hand, am a self-confessed perfume obsessive and collect perfumes. I'm mostly content to smell new ones, but some of them I must own. They enter the "wardrobe" and rotation.

6) There are few more lovely things than Finnish-style apple pie. Here's one I baked earlier:

7) There are a few more enjoyable and purely "fun" things for me than playing a really good computer game. Or, in some cases, a console game. There aren't many functional aspects to playing them that I can think of. If you know of some, don't tell me. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening playing Final Fantasy XII. I spent the earlier part of today studying my current Open University course "Understanding human nutrition", after which I baked the apple pie. Oh, and I finished reading "Just One More Thing" by Peter Falk (the book was lovely. The man is lovely). I haven't really done much today, but the trouble with studying and reading is that they make you think a lot. Which is why I'm here now, writing this, when I should be having fun.

What I did on my holidays (or: orcs in my face and lemon verbena up my nose!)

I've had a week off and now that it's coming to an end, I am just about starting to twig that this is a ho-li-day. Having said that, I've had a really good time; going to the theatre, planting herbs and flowers in the garden, reading books, playing Lego Star Wars (the complete saga) on PS3, baking and cooking... and making perfume. What I haven't managed yet, is a single entirely leisurely day. No, I'm not surprised either. But then again - if doing nothing = boredom and if boredom = torture, then why should I have to subscribe to the idea that relaxation means doing nothing. Maybe I've misunderstood. Maybe the relaxing kind of doing nothing is in fact, intensively focused meditative "doing nothing", in which case it really is "doing something" after all.

So, about the orcs. We went to see Lord of the Rings musical at the Theatre Royal (Drury Lane, London) on Tuesday just gone. The stage design, lights, choreography and circus skills were breath-taking. The whole stage (and some of the viewing boxes immediately around it) were encased in twining wood-like structures. We sat on the second row off the front and the effect was particularly strong; it felt even more participatory than theatre normally does (and, erm, more about that aspect of this experience shortly).

Some of the more challenging aspects of the LOTR story - the riders, Balrog and Shelob - were shadow-puppet-like, live silhouettes on stage, aided by excellent puppetry skills, smoke, light and sound. The battles were similarly stylised; some more circus-like, but all adrenaline-inducing and a joy to witness.

There were some oddities that snagged on the otherwise beautifully put together tapestry. The ents (always my favourite in this tale) were cleverly executed and the costumes were a fun interpretation, but they seemed to be on stage for a disappointingly short time, considering the effort that must have gone into putting them together in the first place. I didn't understand why the actor playing Frodo had adopted an oddly strangulated, nasal style of delivery (is that what Hobbits are meant to sound like? None of the others spoke that way). I wasn't sure about some of the casting choices. And the story and dialogue were delivered in a kind of a hurry; I wondered how hard it must have felt to tackle this epic at the beginning of the script writing process: "Guys, we have to squeeze thiiiiiiiiiiis many words into, cough, a couple of hours."

Having said all that, the cuts and adjustments they'd made were good and what they'd done towards the end in particular, by keeping in some of the important symbolism and commentary present in the original work, was excellent.

One of the most delightful elements of this LOTR version was the music. Although only one gorgeously melancholy and contemplative song seems to have stuck in my head like a song borne out of true musical theatre would, and the others have just left behind a general impression rather than their melody - nevertheless, the musical portion of this theatre production was superb. It added Tolkien's folk-song flavour, the elves' melodies and the atmosphere of ancient lore told through music and only imagined in our heads when reading the original books. Involving the Finnish ensemble Värttinä in the production of the score is a lovely correlation to Tolkien's love of Finnish mythology, although according to the members of the band, their addition to the project happened more by chance (scouring world music and chancing upon this song) than by intent (on being true to the roots of Tolkien's folklore research). Influences of Indian music could be heard throughout, which is not surprising, as the other half of composing came from the famous A.R. Rahman.

There were two intervals, the second of which was not long enough for people to get out of their seats, so instead... there was some interval entertainment in the form of orcs galavanting around in the audience! I was sat by the aisle on row 2. When the level of hubbub-hubbub-hubbub of general interval noise had raised to normal sort of standard, I spotted an orc about 6 rows behind us, staring down some poor tourist. So I turned my back to the aisle and said to my husband:

"Look! Look! There are orcs in the audience!"

Husband: "Um, honey?"

Me: "Look...loo... what?"

Husband: "Behind you."

Me: (turning to face the aisle): "AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone within 2 mile radius: "Ahahahahahaha!"

There was an orc wearing one of the best pinhead-meets-hobgoblin theatrical make-up and costume ensembles RIGHT IN MY FACE, growling and drooling. Ok, maybe not drooling.

Afterwards, husband couldn't stop laughing: "I swear he enjoyed that."

Me: "Well you certainly did!"

(The orc actually came back to me for round 2 a moment later! For some reason I couldn't entirely concentrate on the show for the first few minutes once the curtain lifted for act III).

LOTR musical closes on 19th of July 2008, so you can still catch it! I recommend staying alert during the second interval.

For the rest of the week, I've not gone on any great outings, but I've gone a bit Bree Van De Kamp and baked, made food from scratch, tidied and brought in some cut roses from bushes I've grown over the last 2 years from little stumps in my garden.

And most evenings, I've allowed myself to indulge in perfume making (I say allowed because due to the still-quite-unbelievable-have-to-keep-pinching-myself turn that my career has taken, perfume making could now be considered "work" and I'm supposed to be on holiday. But I am too obsessed about scents to consider it work in the sense of "something one should ever stop thinking about". And I've been too busy on more important things with deadlines during working days, so I haven't really had the time or energy for concocting much).

The result is a scent I feel quietly hopeful about. I like it very much, but wonder whether it would be liked by others. I'm hoping to finish it soon and put it to the test. It's a heady mixture of Lemon Verbena, Orange Blossom Absolute, real Nectarine essence, Jasmine Absolute and soft woody amber notes. The opening is like lemon sherbet and summer fruit. It then warms to a sweet, honey-like floral (like a night garden full of white flowers) and dries to the smell of sexy, sweet skin. There is a home made perfume strip with today's batch notes written on it hanging from the makeshift "clothesline" above my computer. As it's a pure, undiluted concentration, the whole room smells of it now. Oops. I wish I had a lab.

I'm off to make some muffins now!

Time for some classic advertising

This is an old sweetie wrapper (actually, I suspect it's a picture of a sticker advertising said sweetie) from Finland, circa 1980.

The name of the product is "Lion Pastilles".

The speech bubble says: "How would you like it if I came in your mouth?"

Yes. Really.

I would love to know whether someone got away with a whopper, or whether our minds have just grown progressively smuttier with each passing decade.

In any case, I just had to share.

We can now return to our scheduled programme...

Thanks to Populaari for letting me pinch this (a delightful blog full of stuff like this - although, inconveniently for most of you, written in Finnish).

You'd think there were no supermarkets here... or something

Considering that this year (in stark contrast to last year) I feel very well fed indeed, one might find it a little surprising that I apparently needed to stockpile food today. Alas, it wasn't just any food - today was our annual visit to the Finnish Christmas festival, held at the Finn Guild in Rotherhithe. Timo and I now have the bread, mustard, porridge, lingonberry preserve and, of course, chocolate to see us through the winter season. Or thereabouts. I've asked him to hide the bulk of the chocolate until Christmas. I'm going to try to be good.

Unfortunately they'd sold out of one of the key products I use in traditional Finnish seasonal cooking. It's nothing that amazing; it's a type of syrup, but there really doesn't seem to be an English equivalent. Bugger. Maybe I could ask for someone to send me a tub of it.

I really enjoy the long process of making really old fashioned Finnish Christmas dishes. I don't even attempt to make all of them for one occasion, but there are a couple that take up to 2 days of preparation and cooking time. It's a kind of journey, deeply filled with nostalgia. Smells, textures, ritual. Especially since I seem to have a bit of a knack for it all; everything tends to come out "just like my grandma made them". I still have some of her handwritten recipes.

Looks like I may even be able to have 2 to 3 days off for Christmas this year, which would be absolutely amazing. Such a luxury! The downside of having any professional involvement in retail is that you're there to make sure everyone else's Christmas is great.

This time of the year is bittersweet. Last year's fledgeling attempts to inbue positive thoughts, warmth and fulfillment where all those hollow, sore spots were was a success. I hope to add more this year. And the next. And perhaps, bit by bit, the strangulation of old pain will lessen to nothing more than a chilly undercurrent.

Soy or not to Soy, that is the question

First, a small aside: I was listening to Radio 4 yesterday on the way to work (as I always do when I drive in; it's the sort of thing that seems right in the mornings) and the decline of "traditional newspapers" was being discussed. Apparently newspapers, in their frenzy to halt the declining circulation figures, have given away more DVDs in UK this year than the UK consumers bought from shops. That definitely smacks of desperation.

However, I don't think the newspaper will die entirely. There may be some form of the "paper" left, even if the best part does happen online. Take The Guardian. A little while back, one of the supplements in the Guardian newspaper published an article entitled "Should we worry about Soya in our food?". It was a well articulated and effective article. As someone who has been lactose intolerant from birth and always hated the taste of neat cow's milk, I've been a mass consumer of soy milk products for years. And here, in this article, a reputable newspaper was saying that, actually...

...soya contains toxins and plant oestrogens powerful enough to disrupt women's menstrual cycles in experiments. It also appeared damaging to the thyroid." James's lobbying eventually forced governments to investigate. In 2002, the British government's expert committee on the toxicity of food (CoT) published the results of its inquiry into the safety of plant oestrogens, mainly from soya proteins, in modern food. It concluded that in general the health benefits claimed for soya were not supported by clear evidence and judged that there could be risks from high levels of consumption for certain age groups. Yet little has happened to curb soya's growth since.

That was uncomfortable reading, but the article had more in store:

...raw mature soya beans contain phytates that prevent mineral absorption and enzyme inhibitors that block the key enzymes we need to digest protein. They are also famous for inducing flatulence.

Christopher Dawson, who owns the Clearspring brand of organic soy sauces, agrees. He lived in Japan for 18 years and his Japanese wife, Setsuko, is a cookery teacher. "I never saw soy beans on the table in Japan - they're indigestible."

Dawson describes the traditional craft method of transforming the soya bean through fermentation, so that its valuable amino acids become available but its antinutrients are tamed. The process involves cooking whole soya beans, complete with their oil, for several hours, then adding the spores of a mould to the mix, and leaving it to ferment for three days to begin the long process of breaking down the proteins and starches. This initial brew is then mixed with salt water and left to ferment for a further 18 months, during which time the temperature will vary with the seasons. The end result is an intensely flavoured condiment in which the soya's chemical composition has been radically altered. Traditional miso is similarly made with natural whole ingredients, slowly aged.

The article presents quite a few alarming points for consideration. That the soy bean was not even considered fit for animal feed in its natural form; that the isoflavones (supposedly famed for their health benefits) may actually be doing us harm, and so on and so on. Reading through it, I felt fairly convinced. I would have to cut out soy milk and find an alternative that wasn't cow's milk. Fermented Tofu, Miso and Soy sauce would still be okay to eat.

And here's the bit where my aside from the beginning becomes relevant. I decided to look the article up on the Guardian Unlimited website, just in case there had been any further discussion on the topic. A rebuttal was posted and entertaining comments added. Too right there had been discussion! This is the bit where the Internet wins hands down. I've touched on this subject in my own posts before (about how the "article" - be it a blog post or a newspaper article - is only the beginning, where the Internet is concerned, whereas in a dead tree publication you may get a few letters to the editor, or may not, but there is unlikely to be instant and comprehensive two-way dialogue about the subject).

Sadly, the quality of the rebuttal in the case of the Soy argument was not particularly high - it really did seem more Ad Hominem attack than a proper counter-point that would have attacked the original article's research instead of attacking the people behind the article. Nevertheless, it is always good to have more than one viewpoint, particularly since most people have an agenda to promote something or another.

One of the most amusing comments posted as a reply to the rebuttal, comes from someone calling themselves "germanvegan":

I find it rather silly that the motivation of vegans to oppose or support a view is projected onto the same level as commercial interest, thus greed. People seem to either deny, forget or ignore that vegans are ETHICISTS. Like, hello?

Secondly, and to increase the silliness, one should know that the defamation of soy started the second it was clear that it contained all essential amino acids. You know, like meat. This sent all the people with their claws hacked into the glass of the meat counter into a panic frenzy. In their mind, this was a threat to their beloved meat. This continued even when common nutritional scientists backpeddled on their antivegan stance claiming plant proteins are inferior, when in reality all one had to do is eat two different plants at different times with different protein contend to have a complete dietary protein ratio.

Germanvegan makes some good points there. His comment goes on beyond the bits I quoted. He fails to consider that promoting a vegan lifestyle could still be considered a business interest. Nothing is ever that black and white. Sadly. Life would be so much easier if that weren't the case.

It's usually best to take everything with a pinch of salt (or should that be with a pinch of soy sauce?) and do your own research if you are truly concerned about something. So my question "to Soy or not to Soy" has therefore not yet been answered to my satisfaction.

One of my biggest pet hates about people, is the frequency with which you bump into single-minded blinkerdness (sorry, I just made up that word; hope you don't mind). People with such need to be right about something that they willfully ignore evidence, or don't even realise they're ignoring it, or interpreting it to suit their agenda. Having said that, it's almost impossible for any human being to be wholly objective, but that's another blog post's worth of material, so I'll leave that there for now.

Cadbury's is vile. I feel like saying I told you so. So I will.

There are now fresh fears over more Cadbury's brands, as the original Salmonella contamination has now thought to have spread to other products. A leaking waste pipe is the culprit, apparently. I've ranted about the poor quality of Cadbury's chocolate before, but the image of some unhygienic factory with waste leaking into the food mixture just really seals the deal. Luckily I've been avoiding Cadbury's products like the plague anyway.

Arf arf.

The official Cadbury's website displays an understated product recall, but is trying hard to send a message of luxury on the front page. Brr. Well, can you imagine? "Hi, welcome to our chocolate factory where we have just developed a new product for the summer called Salmonella Surprise!"

They even had the cheek to delay the release of this information to the Food Standards Agency.

Questions were being asked why it took Cadbury more than five months to report the contamination. Although the incident occurred in January, the Food Standards Agency was told only on Monday.

In the intervening months, the number of cases of the same, unusual strain of salmonella poisoning trebled. Health experts are unable to say whether there is a link.

F-ing crap masquerading as something yummy

I WILL turn down chocolate and ice cream, if they are Dairy Milk or Walls Cornetto by brand. Former is like a block of brown lard and the latter tastes like whipped up vegetable oil with flavourings (which, funnily enough is exactly what it is). It turns out, I'd actually rather not have anything than to consume either.

This, my dear readers, is quite a strong statement, coming from me, the self-proclaimed chocolate and ice cream addict. Or then again, maybe it's not a strong statement, seeing as Dairy Milk and Cornetto don't really qualify as chocolate and ice cream.

I seem to have posted about ice cream but a few days ago, so I won't go on about this any further now. Except to say that I can't wait for our Finnish holiday in July - I will have to make a pilgrimage to the famous Fazer cafe. As always for the nostalgia, for the best ice cream in the world, for the atmosphere. In the meantime, I can probably survive with the help of Skinny Cow, or possibly Green & Black's. I sinned and had Ben & Jerry's the other night (and that's really not so much ice cream as it is a coronary in a tub).

This post, brought to you by the letter F.

I have a cow thing

The cows are multiplying. It all started as an extremely nerdy inside joke. You see, once upon a time there was this turn-based-strategy game called Master Of Orion. I never played it, but I did get hugely addicted to its second release, imaginatively named Master Of Orion II. For the sake of brevity, fans had come to call this game series MOO. You may see where this is going.

When rumours begun to circle about a possible - gasp - third version, I was very excited indeed. Imagine the possibilities! I won't expand on the wishlists die hard fans of the series started compiling (for the simple fact that they won't make any sense unless you've played the game), but just imagine someone telling you that soon it would be possible to get rid of many of the frustrating aspects of your favourite past-time (the new reading chair has a set of special features that prevent eye strain and rubberneckedness! Your reading experience has been improved hundredfold! And what about that TV remote? Can't find it? No need; with the new feature in TV watching III you can now control the screen with your mind...). And so forth.

So, along with hundreds, or possibly even thousands of gullible idiots, I pre-ordered the game without having read a single review.

That was a really stupid thing to do. You see, MOOIII sucked. It was awful. Like an Excel spreadsheet with a giant GO button to end turn and minuscule space-y graphics in an attempt to somehow connect it to space-opera. Charts that you didn't really have much control over. It was hideously unplayable, dissatisfying - and worse; it was a giant departure from MOOII, which angered fans even further. Apparently the "original version" had been somewhat similar, but none of us Johnny-come-latelies (the ones who got hooked from MOOII onwards) really gave a shit about that; we wanted our space battles and ship building screens and cool blue-skinned alien babes!

In true Comic book guy style, many of us looked to the Internet to register our disgust within minutes. There was a web address on the MOOIII box. It took us to the official forums for the game publisher. We registered, ranted, connected... and some of us formed a little sub-faction of our own under the Monthy Pythonesque heading "Pirates of the Dwarf Cove" - and to cut the long story short(er), departed, formed our own online community, started arranging real-life meets and left the whole MOO thing behind. It led us together, but it was no longer the single unifying factor.

MOO stuck for quite a while though. We gave each other cow-themed presents. I ended up accumulating many cow print objects. There was the Pirate theme too. I think my most bizarre purchase in a long while was a stuffed cow dressed in a Pirate costume. It sometimes comes with me to special events and always draws attention.

One of the most important things that happened as a result of the Pirate/Cow community thing was, of course, the meeting of soulmates, the coming together of two hearts (and later, pelvises). True love is so amazing, isn't it? I suppose meeting someone of like mind in a community formed around a common interest is less of a coincidence than one could presume, but the fact that Timo was also half-Finnish did come as a bit of a welcome shock. Anyway, that's not what I'm writing about today.

I'm writing about my cow thing. I have a new cow-related obsession. It is closely linked with my ice-cream related obsession (side-thought: can taste preferences be genetically inherited? My mother was practically obsessed with ice cream).

I have discovered... The Skinny Cow (I'd link to their UK website, but they are using the heinous word "indulge" in big, pink letters on the front page and it makes me feel like someone's dragging nails on a blackboard. Plus the US site shows a dazzling array of flavours that us UK consumers can only have slobbery dreams about). I'm trying to cut down on junk food in a desperate attempt not to balloon to size 24 before our July 2007 wedding (I'm trying to slip that wedding thing in haphazardly here and there, so as not to get clammy hands every time I think about it. It's not working yet). However, I seem to suck at trying to give up junk food. I am terrible at it. I've probably managed one day without either ice cream or chocolate. Granted, I don't shovel lard and sugar into my face 24-7, but why oh why can't I go for even one, say, WEEK without polishing off half a bag of Maltesers, or an ice cream cone or two? This has got to stop!

So, The Skinny Cow seems to be a passable compromise. Instead of Ben & Jerry's calorific artery-clogging double-bypass ice cream sandwich, or even a humble portion of Green & Black's vanilla ice cream... I've switched to raspberry and vanilla cones that have 122 calories and 5% fat. Not so horrific. I should also be avoiding dairy and the sorbet-content in these cones is a welcomed component for that reason. Avoiding dairy would be a doddle if there were no such things as ice cream and cheese. I am very happy with Soy milk and Soy yogurts.

Now I just have to find out if anyone does timed locking mechanisms for the freezer compartment of household fridges. Having "low calorie option" ice cream is bloody useless if you eat two in a row...

Shoot, if found at a garden centre

When I was looking for a new place to buy, the criteria went like this: It should be able to accommodate all my books. It should have a distinct lack of mold and damp. It should have a nice bathroom. And if at all possible, could it please have a garden?

That was asking a lot from a studio.

I found almost what I was looking for. The accommodating all my books-bit has turned out not to be such a success; there are piles of them where there, quite frankly, shouldn't be. Like in narrow bits between the the bed and the opposite supporting wall. (Evidence can be found in photos from yesterday). Then again, I could blame Timo because he has just as many books as I do and nobody asked the New House Fairy to accommodate both of our books.

The garden part is amazing. A studio flat with a garden? I was being cheeky. I didn't honestly expect to find one.

After some work, the garden is developing into a relaxing extra space for both of us. Thanks to British weather (I mean this seriously; not in jest!), we get months of use out of it. The weather might not be fabulous on average, but mostly it is such, that one can actually be outside without the risk of death from brain-freeze, unlike for the best part of the year in Finland.

The Finnish summer is exquisite, but so very, very short. The best time to go to Finland is between the beginning of June and middle of August. That's when the sun shines day and night, when the thousands of lakes twinkle at you from between the lush greenery, when the open air markets are full of fresh produce and when almost nobody gets depressed enough to pick a fight with you in the pub just for something to do.

I miss some aspects of Finland, so imagine my delight when I found that The Guardian recently offered its readers Sea Buckthorn and Lingonberry plants via mail order. Lingonberries in particular, are a key part of traditional Finnish cooking and nature. Lingonberries are often preserved "as is" and served with a main course - the tart berry taste goes exceptionally well with certain meat dishes. Lingonberries are also used as filling for delicious flans and pies. The Finnish cosmetics company Lumene even puts some in their products.

Sea Buckthorn is also found in Nordic countries, but the surge in interest for the plant has been fairly recent, after several sources reported exceptional health benefits from its use. I am willing to entertain that these reports could very well be a marketing gimmick, but after I recover enough to eat normally again, I am going to try some of the supplements made from the plant nevertheless. I haven't got much to lose. If the supplements don't seem to be doing anything, I don't have to buy more.

Besides, if I get the Sea Buckthorn shrubs to establish in the garden, I might be able to make my own preserves.

Being delighted about plants and gardening is not something I would ever have expected to experience, much less to write about. A few months ago I saw a stylish 20-something guy in the Mall and his T-shirt read: "Shoot, if found at a garden centre."

Enjoying gardening equals your official degeneration into Being Old. I wonder what admitting to this equals? Being Sad? Then I'm sad. A big sadder than yo mama, saddo Miss sadderton. I love my little garden, I get excited about new plants, I enjoy browsing garden centres and I openly admit to all of it!

Lucky that I live in England where gardening is at least a little bit cool, sometimes. Right? Okay, Charlie Dimmock is probably not cool. Even if every man who's ever watched one of the garden make-over shows she features in has been mesmerized by her jugs (that's if the attention they get by middle-aged men is a yardstick to measure this interest by).

I'll tell you what really is uncool. Appearing in one of those home make-over shows. Of course these guys might disagree. That's some excellent career development there. From a DIY show to The Matrix.

Maybe that means I still have hope?