Hever Castle

Henry VIII is by far my favourite monarch, and the stories of his six wives do fascinate me so when we were passing through Kent, I was keen to stop off at Hever Castle - childhood home to Ann Boleyn (wifey number 2 whose head rolled over adultery charges - literally) 

Run by Merlin entertainment - it has lost much of it's authenticity. As you know, I love love love a castle, a ruin or anything mildly historical. But Hever Castle itself lacks the grandeur and mystery of others I have visited. Apart from some truly stunning oak panelling, and a room that Henry slept (and probably shagged poor old Anne) in, there isn't much that set the actual castle apart. 

A Cheesy Quest in the West Country

As you are well aware, I like to have adventures. And one of my recent adventures was definitely a "cheesy" one.

In the car we got and off we drove to the West Country, which, despite the epic rain is gorgeous country - and home to Cheddar Gorge.  

Now, you may guess by the name, but Cheddar Gorge is in fact, home of Cheddar Cheese. Oh yes, that famous cheese, loved the world over, originates from a small, sleepy (and now rather touristy)  village in Somerset.

The village itself isn't just known for it's cheese- but also the famed Cheddar Gorge and Caves, which despite the adornment of a large Costa Coffee, felt to me more like Switzerland, with cobblestones, rushing waterfalls and rivers, and enough mountain goats on the hillside to make me burst into song a'la Sound of Music. 

Lazy Sunday in London's Market

One benefit to cutting down on the going out and boozing is that on Sunday mornings you wake up feeling refreshed and ready for adventure.

So two Sundays ago, after a cooked breakfast in bed (mmm bacon) The Boy and I jumped on the train to London Bridge for a day exploring the market life of East London.

Walking from London Bridge to Liverpool Street on a sunny Sunday morning is nothing short of perfect.

Family Trip? Or Foodie Trip?

I've just been chatting to one of my lovely friends at home and she mentioned that she just bought a 12 pack of donuts from Woolworths. 

I am now lying on the couch drooling over yellow iced donuts from the supermarket at home. 

In October, I'll be flying home for a 3 week visit to "introduce The Boy to friends and family". But really, it's more about me gorging myself for 3 weeks on the following... 

 - Donuts. Hot cinnamon donuts from Donut King and iced donuts from Woolies. 

 - Passion Pop. Oh yeah. Good times

 - Twisties, my favourite of all chips

 - Smiths Original Crinkle Cut Crisps

 - Lamb chops

 - Ma's roast leg of lamb

 - Proper chocolate milkshakes

 - BBQ Beef sausages

 - Chocolate Breaka

 - More Twisties

 - Dad's Spaghetti & Tuna Pie

 - Ma's Trifle

 - Ma's pavlova

  - Proper sausage rolls and steak, bacon and cheese pies

 - Cheesymite scrolls 

Saliva is slowly filling my mouth. Is it October yet?? 

Boys Night Out

I think it's of vital importance that boys go out with the boys. Boys need their time to fart, and talk about girls and do whatever else it is that boys do (I like to think that they ask each other opinions on new shirts before going out and say, Dude - fix your hair).


So, I was rather pleased when The Boy went out with his friends last night, leaving me a blissful Friday evening of quiet solitude, frozen pizza, comfy pjs and re-runs of friends. Oh, what a glorious evening I had! 


The problem however with boys night is when my lovely, much needed sleep is interrupted by texts (I've forgotten my key, I've found my key, I'll be a few hours yet babe). And just as I finally drift off again into a light slumber, he arrives home and I am engulfed in sweaty smelly cuddles that send me balancing precariously on the edge of the bed. And that's before the snoring inevitably begins. From that point on sleeping becomes hard work, a fine balance of tuning out senses to the smell and noise while trying to not fall off the bed. 


But it's hard to be cross with someone who seems to be so happy when they come home. It's so unlike my previous relationship experiences when The Ex would leave on Friday and stumble in grumpy on a Sunday demanding to be fed.


So I shan't complain, instead I will shortly drag myself off the couch and make him a bacon and egg sandwich. 


Man I'm a good woman.