Happy Halloween!

It is true what is said about Irish weather.

It rains everyday.

I have seen it all. I really have. An English tv channel has aired a programme called "Flash Families". It charts the excessive lifestyle of three families in England, two who can afford it and one who cannot. One family decides to go duck hunting for the day and heaven forbid if they wore standard outdoor protective clothing. No, the botox loving wife is costumed in a full length fur coat with leopard skin, Russan style hat and leopard skin dress. Standard attire for a day in mud. Not to be outdone, the family getting by on a modest income, provide their four kids with designer clothing. Most entertaining was the 13 year old son who was filmed getting dressed for a christening. He estimated that it would take him an hour and a half to get ready, what with fitting in shaving, applying aftershave and choosing from his wardrobe ranging from Burberry to Versace. Good lord. The final family consisted of a bunch of spoiled brats. The daughter of the family argued with her brother over which car to drive, so the Mum went to their local Gucci store, picked up a bag worth £350 and brought it home to turn her daughter's frown upside down. However, she didn't want her feuding son to feel bad so she purchased a Gucci coat to brighten up his day.

Complete and utter insanity.

God, I love TK Maxx. Really, I do. Where else can one purchase a fabulous full length cardigan coat for what a Mammy would term, "a steal". I am refusing to shop anywhere else from now on. However, I am not a fan of the 'mail train', from Cork to Dublin, otherwise known as the 530am Insanity Ride. It was the redneck train, stopping at every single station on the way. Apparently the middle of the country doesnt quite get things up and going at 6am, as every station we passed through was completely deserted with ne'er a light on, ( which would have been nice, seeing as sunrise wasn't until after 8am), or a soul leaning on a shovel. It was rather eerie to hear the swwoosh of the doors as they swung open at each stop, only to note that no one emerged from the darkness onto the light of the train. Spooky.

I loathe job searching. I loathe how people analyse and dissect and dismiss a CV that took the best part of a lifetime to create. I loathe how, despite all "CV Creation Guides", there doesn't appear to be a defintive method to producing a successful CV. I loathe how not one professional agreed on a format for my CV. I hold special contempt for the "trained professional" who, after perusing my CV, failed to notice that I had any third level qualifications and demanded to know how on earth I had been employed by a secondary school. I can only presume she suffered some form of temporary blindness for three lines.

I have become quite the wizard at job searching. I think I am BFF with a number of recruiters and on-line sites and I am quite the typist too. I had a meeting today with a recruitment agency for some work to help boost my experience in administration. After our meeting, the very nice lady suggested that I do a typing test. Initially I thought she was joking, that was until I found myself seated in front of a computer, typing for all I was worth. The computer software told me, "You are a great typist!". It may have been the highlight of my day. I should at this point thank msn and Ian for encouraging my typing skills. Quite the exercise for a modern day typist. However, while typing, scenes from "The Secretary" kept running through my mind. Not the kind of thoughts you want when trying to beat a computer.

I had a complaint about my blog. Yes. A real live complaint. The culprit? Claire King. Apparently I failed to mention the glorious weekend at her cottage on the edge of Lake Eerie..so to prevent a seismic shift in relations, I shall pen my memoir of those celebrated days. (!!)

Prior to Ian returning to university, he and I travelled to the cottage that his aunt and uncle own for a few days. For those that aren't in the know, it is quite common for Canadians to own a little cottage in the heart of the countryside, to escape that madness that is weekday downtown Toronto. Their cottage is not far from the small, unassuming... oh who am I kidding, from the redneck town of Dunville, far enough to ignore, near enough to get Tim Hortons.
Where their cottage is located, there aren't any tarmac avenues or bright lights. Instead there are grass drives and bonfires. The cottage was deceivengly small, as once we entered I was quite amazed at how large the interior was and how beautifully decorated it was.

Subsuquent days went spent lounging on the deck or by the lake with drink in hand, or running like a woman possessed from the wasps that were , contrary to what others may say, trying to kill me. Evenings were spent watching 'Lost', which is a pile of poo or watching Ian cook food, which was not poo.

John and Claire joined us at the cottage for the weekend and over the course of the weekend we were treated to fresh trout, swedish games, rotti, Trivial Pursuit defeats, countless card games and the highlights of the weekend.......... Horse Racing and the most amazing fabulous wonderful fattening,who cares if it is fattening, tantalising, sensational dessert ever....

To explain. A friend of John and Claire, found or developed... I am a little unsure, a board/gambling game called horse racing. It is a little difficult to explain, but the 'ingredients' are a wooden board, cards, money, luck, money and a terribly positive outlook! I enjoyed the game immensely, Ian nearly had to be taken away in the Gambler's Anonymous ambulance.

The dessert. The most amazing dessert in the world was made by another friend of John and Claire. It sounds simple, but the taste is not........ possibly due to the volumes of sugar. To create one takes a little pretzel and a little mini rolo. Squish the rolo on top of the pretzel slap it in the oven until a little melted, remove. Atop the melted, squished rolo, place a nut... brazil, walnut, hazedl... not the village kind and demolish. Yum.

I am scared to recreate for fear I will inadvertently maim the treat, thereby terminating my relationships with the rolo, the nut and the pretzel.