BED OF PAIN

*image source*

I seem to have been struck down in my prime by a dire case of the flu. I'm being properly melodramatic and have "taken to my bed", which makes me feel very Victorian. I plan on spending a few days here, covered in blankets, wearing bed socks and watching The Sound of Music. Excuse the lack of blogging, but it will be highly unlikely that I will have anything of interest to say for a while! 

I am accepting donations of soup, lemsip, and sympathy, and will be spending lots of time catching up on all of your blogs, which I'm very excited about!

Mona (atchoo)

"I HATE MY BANGS"

Dear Blogosphere,

Howdy, it's Mona's fringe here. I'd like you to settle a debate that is currently ongoing between the two of us. 

I'm the first to admit, that as fringes go, I'm pretty uncooperative. I demand time and attention, at least ten minutes a day, and if I don't get it, I'll stick up all over the place in an unruly manner to prove a point. A lot of the time, I separate, even if she has spent the obligatory ten minutes blowdrying me to perfection. I'm also the cause of really bad spots on Mona's forehead (or frobs, as she calls them - this is stupid, frots would be a better name, surely). 

To be fair, as a fringe owner, she's no picnic either. Some days, she just can't be bothered to pay me the attention I deserve, and whacks on a beanie or clips me to the side. Several times, she has set me on fire. When she's low on pennies, she cuts me herself with kitchen scissors, despite her Ma repeatedly telling her that it makes her look ridiculous. Once, when doing this, she managed to hack of a portion of her eyebrow. That showed her!  

We're now in talks as to whether or not she should keep me, or if I should be left to grow, wild and free, and rejoin the other ranks of hair from whom I was brutally cut away from in November. I've heard that you lot are a pretty wise and aesthetic-savvy bunch, so whaddya say?

Should I stay..?

Or should I go? 

Mona's Fringe.

P.S. Mona apologises for the use of Photobooth, but she's temporarily misplaced the memory card to her camera. 

OUTFIT

The sun shone down on Manchester today - shocking, I know - so I thought it was only appropriate to throw on my new Mink Pink skirt and beg (bribe with a frappacino) Beets to take some photos for me. 

N.B. When I say "throw on", I mean spend about ten minutes wiggling into - my waist is a lot smaller than my hips, so I have to coerce it on over my shoulders...

Necklaces - Gifts; Vest - Topshop; Skirt - Mink Pink (via ASOS); Chelsea Boots - Urban Outfitters
Awkward Amputee Pose - model's own.

Jacket - River Island

The skirt is my new favourite thing... I don't plan on taking it off this summer (and not just because of the technincal difficulties involved in removing it). I'm loving Mink Pink's entire collection at the moment to be honest. Have you bought any of it? Let me live vicariously through you, as I am absolutely on a self imposed shopping ban for a while now...

Mona.

VICTORIA SPONGE

Firstly, thank you all for your wishes for my Grandpa. It was so kind, and it hugely cheered him up to know that there were so many young ladies wishing him well! Some people, eh? 

My flat is currently a den of despair; my flatmates are both crushed under dissertation pressure, Miss B has picked up some kind of lurgy, and the boy has run away to Japan for two weeks, which has left me feeling surprisingly saddened.

The solution? Cake. Cake is, incidentally, my solution for everything, and the reason I'm just NOT going to look fabulous in my bikini this summer. 

When the cake is this good, however, I find that I'm totally okay with that. 

INGREDIENTS:

330g salted butter, very soft

330g caster sugar

330g self-raising flour

6 large eggs

1tsp vanilla extract

1 punnet of raspberries

300ml double cream

Good quality raspberry jam

Icing sugar, for dusting

RECIPE:

Preheat the oven to 160 degrees. Cream the butter, and mix in the caster sugar and vanilla extract. Mix in the eggs and self-raising flour. Pour into two 9" pre-lined and greased cake tins, and bake for 40 minutes, or until golden brown and springy to the touch. A skewer should come out clean. Cool the cakes on a wire rack.

Whisk the double cream until it forms soft peaks. Spread your bottom sponge (select the flatter one) with raspberry jam, and then with cream. Cover the cream with a layer of raspberries, saving a few for decoration. Sandwich your top sponge on top of the raspberries, and scoop out a small hole on the top to fill with cream. Place a few raspberries on top, and sprinkle with icing sugar to finish.

As this cake uses fresh cream, it has to be consumed pretty quickly. However, I've made it a few times and this hasn't proven an issue so far...

If you and your flatmates are, like me and mine, super-competitive, then this cake may win you the best flatmate award for a couple of days. In my flat, said award comes with a pretty fabulous crown. 

How do I look?

Mona.

BEDRAGGLED

Mornin' All.

Once again, my colossally poor time management skills and the fact that I am just not a morning person have combined forces and delivered me a pretty hefty kick in the pants.

After pushing the snooze button about twelve times too many, I came perilously close to missing my train and had to forego my morning shower. A mental dash from the Costa cart to my platform has left me unpleasantly perspiring, and covered in coffee.

So here I am, puffy-eyed, bushy-haired, and smelling like skinny latte. Awesome.

Grim.

The reason for my early morning flail around Manchester Piccadilly? Grandpa Glasgow has taken a tumble, and is stuck in a hospital bed, recovering from a hip replacement. I'm off back to the Fatherland to keep him company for a couple of days.

It should be a pretty chilled couple of days. I'm expecting to listen to lots of stories (old people have the best stories), be sent to the Bookies on numerous occasions, and hopefully to get my hands on some Scotch Pies if I get a free moment.

If you subscribe to any school of religion or superstition, please cross your fingers/say a prayer/light a candle/turn around and touch the ground, and wish Grandpa Glasgow a speedy recovery! This is, after all, the man who taught me all of the uncensored versions of the Celtic chants when I was three, the man who still sings "Mona Lisa" whenever he sees me, the man who sends me one pound every birthday "to buy some sweeties". In short, he's a cracker.

Thanks guys!

Mona.

SECRET

Howdy Cool Cats,

So, lately, I've been spending more and more time doing this:

Sitting cross-legged on my laptop, doing the bloggy thing. Because it's not just about the actual blog any more. There are comments and emails to reply to. Reading your blogs. There is tweeting. Pinterest, Instagram, and I'm currently working on setting up a Lookbook page. My flatmate commented the other day that it's almost like a full-time job now.

And I love it. 

However, I seriously struggle when people refer to me as a Blogger. I don't know why. It's still something I don't want the majority of my real-life acquaintances to know about. The other day, I took a picture of a rainbow. It was pretty cool, if I do say so myself, and I posted it to my Facebook. My brother left a comment, saying "Put it on your blooooog!" I called him in a panic, and told him to remove the comment.

"Why?"

"BECAUSE IT'S A SECRET BLOG!!!" 

He doesn't understand why it's a secret blog. I don't even think I understand why it's a secret blog. As far as the hand-selected few who are in on the secret are concerned, the blog is successful. I think it's successful. It still genuinely amazes me that people read it, and it really does make my day when people tell me that they like reading it. I talk to some bloggers on Twitter whose blogs I have followed for years, and I can't believe that they talk back to me. 

So I was wondering... Are your blogs known to your friends and family? Do you self-promote on your personal Facebook or Twitter pages? Or do you, like me, dread the day when you're "outed" as a blogger to your R.L. friends? 

Just wondering.

Mona.

LET'S WRAP

Please excuse my sad little jokey, pretending I'm "street" pun. God, I'm uncool. Is there a female equivalent of Dad jokes? Mum jokes, perhaps? 

So, I got some Nail Rock Toonland Nail Wraps from ASOS last week, as I'm too spastic for doing nail art and I thought these would be a fun, easy alternative. Just because I don't have highly tuned motor functions, does't mean I don't deserve little pictures on my nails too, right? Plus, these are so kitsch, I just had to do it...

You can pick up these bad boys here, should you feel so inclined.

The verdict? I thought that they went on a dream (although I had to trim them down to size quite a lot, and it took some practice to get them right) and they've lasted quite well. Although I think they're a little much for every day wear, I do grin every time I catch sight of my nails, which is nice. I had them on for my last few days at home, which I'm pleased to say was filled with sunshine, beach-walks and tree-climbing. Perfection, in short.

As a self-confessed abuser of my nails, these may be the solution to my problems with manicures, after five days they're still looking pretty great! I'm already browsing for a design to wear to the Secret Garden Party in July (mainly because I purchased my ticket today and I could not. Be. More. Excited.

Are any of you going to be there?

Mona.

EXCUSES, EXCUSES

Hey y'all.

It's me, back, and a little bashful about how neglectful a blogger I've been so far this month. I've been at home, catching up with family and friends, and my laptop has, for the most part, been sitting on a shelf, still wearing it's cover. As odd as it sounds, I've genuinely missed you lot, I love reading your blogs and receiving your emails, tweets and comments, so thank you for sticking with me and I promise to start pulling my finger out once again. 

Here are some excuses for my recent absence from the blogosphere. I've been spending my days watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Sex and the City, gaming with my brothers, playing Draw Something, charity shopping, baking, walking my pup,  and indulging in my favourite home pastime - drinking tea, eating chocolates, and re-reading old Vogue magazines (I have every issue since May 2005 in my room).

My evenings have been spent over drinks with friends, dancing in my mouse ears, and getting mega-competitive with my brothers at the local bowling alley. Good times. 

Okay, fine, there's one more thing. These two recent acquisitions have totally taken over my existence. 

Serious regression - it's like my ninth birthday all over again. 

What can I say? I've gotta catch'em all.

How were your Easters? Lots of chocolate and time with your families? 

Mona.

BOWLING

Question...

Would it be too nerdy if I bought my own bowling shoes?

Mona.

RABBIT TALE

Hey Cool Cats,

Sorry for the lack of postage recently, I'm back home for a bit and have been mega unproductive, to the extent that I quite literally have had nothing to post about. I've just been eating really unhealthy food, catching up with my brothers, and having a massive love-in with my pup Baloo. 

Today, I'd like to ask for some help on a pet issue.

This is Toby. He's just turned one and he's a Lionhead cross. He was getting a bit lonely, and as much as I tried to make it happen, the cross-species, should-be-mortal-enemies-but-actually-love-each-other thing between Toby and Baloo wasn't happening. So, I got him a girlfriend, who I first introduced you to way back here. She was called Bella, but my brothers decided to rename her Belinda Carlisle, after their favourite 80s songstress. Unlike Baloo and Toby, who I think are adorable, but in that ugly-cute way, Belinda Carlisle is the most enchantingly pretty rabbit, and I truly believed that the two of them would live happily ever after.

However, a problem has arisen. Belinda Carlisle has become a sex-pest, and has taken to hassling Toby in a most uncouth nature. A quick trip to the vet alerted us to the fact that Belinda Carlisle is, in fact, an extremely virile boy bunny. The vet assured me that a quick op, and Toby and Belinda Carlisle could continue to live together happily, in an asexual, civil-partnership way.

I'm not too sure how Toby feels about all of this. Poor thing, his love-life is almost as fraught as mine.

Anyway, Belinda Carlisle requires a new name, obviously, befitting his status as, well, a boy. I'm somewhat stumped, however. Any suggestions?

Transgender rabbits. Yeah, that's about as exciting as my home-life gets. Pretty crazy, huh? 

Mona.