Fran vs Food

Right, time to answer another question. This time it’s from Snafflesmummy:
No 3 the food thing. I’m curious as I do it too. Sausage “walls” to seperate cooked breakfast items?

I love food. I really, really love it. I am assuming you can tell that from the size of my bum.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a gannett as such I just really appreciate food.
I adore how tastes and smells can evoke memories. A simple snack of cheese and spring onion instantly reminds me of sitting on the sofa with my sister.
‘Pastina’ takes me back to family meals at Topo Gigo.
If could live off olives and artichokes, I would be certain I would have lived a probably short but happy life.

So yea, I love food.

However, this is where I get weird.

Do you remember those plates from the school canteen? The divided plates which accommodated a cooked meal, chips and your desert all on one plate? Someone needs to make a adult version.
I actually would be overjoyed at the food being separate.

Beans are my nemesis. They should only be on toast when the mingling of bread and beans is acceptable.
If I’m having sausages for dinner and beans are offered, I often decline.
If beans are adorning the plate where my Cumberlands are, they better be barricaded by some chips.
Many, many chips have been lost because they have been tainted by the bean juice.
I simply cannot stand my food being touched by other food.
There are exceptions; salad is fine to be touching each other, however, spaghetti and sauce MUST be eaten separately. Poached eggs with a just right runny yolk need to be dipped by toast, but my veg better not touch my chicken.

It really irks me when people go with such gusto in mixing up there food. Surely it’ll all just taste the same? And how can you even tell what it is? It looks like baby mush.

Those pictures on a greasy spoon menu where all the foods are running in together that it might as well be called baconsausageegghashbrownfriedbreadtomatoes, feel with anxiety.

I wish I could explain why I cannot have my food touching each other, but to me it’s perfectly normal.

It’s you lot that are odd.

So go on, indulge me, what are your quirks?

How’s that @Snafflesmummy?

Answers

Ages and ages ago I asked my loyal readers to ‘Ask me anything’. And ask you did.

Helen W asked – I love a bit of romance – how did you & Pete meet?

In March 2003, I had just started at the Ministry of Defence. Pete at the time was behind the scenes and I really didn’t know much about him. I knew of him, but that was all. I was going out with L at the time and I was just plodding along, trying to get out of the temping worm hole and get a permanent job.

We first started our exchange of words which would eventually change our lives forever around about September of that same year.

Pete was also in a relationship.

Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those stories…

Anyway, with lots of banter between us and the other people around us, Pete had somehow got the nickname, Pikey and I had ended up Shimoo. I am more upset about my one considering its a name of a whale. I don’t even remember how those names came about…

I always get on better with Men. Sure I flirt and give a little dig here and there, but because women are so bitchy, it’s easier for me to talk to the male of the species.

In the January of 2004, after one weekend, both me and Pete had come into work with the raging, emotional hump.
Both of us, completely co-incidentally had split with our partners. Neither of us really knew much about the other’s relationships but here we were, destroyed by loves fickle hand. Pete probably more so due to being engaged.
I joked at the time that it didn’t matter, I’d marry him if he couldn’t find anyone else.

I didn’t know he’d take it so literally…

As the weeks went on, I found that elusive permanent job and when it came to me leaving in April 2004, I found that I was going to miss Pete a lot more than I thought.
We’d had grown closer, although we never thought of rebounding with each other; He helped me through my miscarriage, without him even realising.
We helped each other out without the it getting complicated.

I left the MOD and went to the US for a holiday and that was that.

I started a new job and all of a sudden the anxiety of meeting new people and moving on and on top of that my dog dying, was a little overwhelming.

In walks in Pete to save the day.
I always remember him saying ‘If my friend needs a hug, then I’ll be there’.
He was just what I needed.

Soon it was St George’s day and Pete had been hearing rumours that apparently we were ‘going out’. News to us we thought, so we decided to have a little fun at our friends expense.

That night whilst celebrating our patron saint, we cooed and flirted outrageously with each other, just to make a point to our friends that WE WERE NOT DATING.

Little did we realise that we were doing this for real and no-one really bought it.

The next week on the 30th of April, Pete and I decided to go for a drink, just the two of us. Well, actually, it was as a group of us, but one by one people dropped out leaving the pair of us.

This my friends was Cupids intervention.

We had drinks, which led to dinner at Brown’s, where I KNOW I had tuna steak but Pete swears blind it was Salmon. (I’m right by the way). We talked and talked and talked and then, when we was walking back to the tube we turned to each other and said ‘ What are we doing?! Would it be so bad if we were to go out?’

No, it wasn’t bad. It was a blooming marvellous idea.

Incidentally, that spot where we made our realisation was the same spot where we said I love you to each other, a few weeks later, completely by chance.

He is my world and I think he kind of likes me too. When I think back to that time 8 years ago, and what we have accomplished, endured, loved and lost, he has been the only person who I would have wanted shared it all with.

My pikey, with his lady arms.

How’s that Helen?

I’ll be answering another question soon, but if you want to ask me anything, leave me a comment below.

I’m sorry, it’s not you…well actually, yes, yes it is you.

It’s no secret of my love for Twitter. I have made some very good
friends via this social medium and however strange that may seem to people, it’s a comfort for me. Somehow I’m funnier on twitter. I know, hard to believe right?!

I (sometimes) write a blog which is for no one in particular, except maybe James for when he is older. I have several posts in drafts as it is an outlet for my mentalist head more than anything. A digital diary, if you will.

I signed up for Instagram because I LOVE looking at people’s photo’s. I love taking pictures and it is challenging me to take better shots via my phone and my proper camera. Plus baby pictures are making my ovaries explode.

I dabble in Pintrest, but get depressed at all the mason jars I want for the many, many drinks/favours/candle holders I want to make.

Why am I rambling?

Two weeks ago I decided to give up Facebook. I say give it up, because however much you deny it, FB is an addiction of sorts. Much like a cigarette break, you need a hit every few hours. The rush to see if someone has ‘liked’ your status when you wait for the blue and white logo to appear, is addicting. Hence the several checks throughout the day.
So why did I give it all up, go cold turkey?

Several reasons.

It was all very, well, samey (what, that’s a word). If friends weren’t pissed off with something, they were making someone else pissed off.

The term ‘FML’ was banded about waaaay too much. I really don’t think getting your feet wet whilst wearing flip flops really constitutes that phrase. Get a towel and dry them off. See, all better. And I really don’t think your life is fucked because you’ve run of milk for your cereal.

The incessant use! Of! Exclamation! Marks!!!!!!!!

If Facebook was a location is would be called Topperville. Someone, somewhere is believes they are better than you.

I hated how I couldn’t really be
myself with the people who actually, physically know me.
I was always questioned on why I was doing Project 366, why was I writing a blog, why do I have an opinion and how dare my opinion be any different from someone else’s.

I hate how no one reads a status properly and it starts a ‘debate’ where the reason for the argument is lost.

It’s this last reason that made me realise that enough is enough. It’s time to break the habit.

And break it I have. The husband has tried a petition to get me to go back on, but from the glimpse I saw the other day, everyone is reading 50 Shades of Shite and the nonsense of it all is still there.

And I’ve never been happier to be away from it.