Beware the plastic boxes of doom

At first glance they look innocent enough. Plastic storage boxes. Boxes that you put your leftovers in, or your packed lunches. They keep things tidy, economical. They are frugal, useful and organised. 

Like hell. 

Plastic boxes are sent from somewhere dark and fiery to torment, control and, eventually, destroy us. 

You think I'm exaggerating. Well, let's consider the evidence. 

Firstly look at how it all starts. 

The boxes and jars are orderly, they are clean and they are full of stuff like macaroons, jelly beans and lentils. So you buy them because you want, in your heart of hearts, to be the kind of person who has jelly beans long enough to transfer them into a plastic box or has pasta that isn't just spewing out of split bags. 

This is more malevolent than the creeping insistence that the best women should all be slender, polite and in possession of bounciness of hair and bosom. 

Some danger comes as the boxes even weasel themselves itself into your affections with cosy, clean-pinny kind of descriptions like 'stackable' or 'nestable'. Last time I looked 'nestable' wasn't even a word. It's just not fair to make up something just because it sounds a bit like a fluffy chic or a bar of chocolate. 

This is, apparently, nestable. Do you see any roosting birds? Nope, me neither. Just some imprisoned strawberries. 

The first letdown is when you get these boxes home, you put them into your kitchen and you wait. And wait. There is no magical order, no tidiness or clean stuff. Just the same old thing only you've got to make room for a bunch of boxes.

You sigh and start to decant things into the boxes where they remain until they go mouldy and you can throw the contents out. The box will now need washed and must, therefore be separated from the lid. They are unlikely to reunite. 

Lids are especially sinister. I suspect they may be off dancing with the odd socks or blocking up a tear in the space time continuum. Either way, it's no bloody good to me, because a lid will never be available for a box that is the correct size and vice versa.

And then even if you do get a lid, it will no longer fit tightly. It's plastic gasket will have become part of some junior Heath Robinson's invention or it will have become slightly distorted by heat. Perhaps the heat from the dishwasher, but most likely from the flame that accompanies a satanic burp. 

You see how these ones are transparent and clean. It's easy to observe the contents. Even the apparently empty one - clearly full of freshly slaughtered invisible trolls. 

But int he real world, that doesnt' happen. After the first wash the boxes are mysteriously stained red - even if no red was even in the house. Or the plastic has turned cloudy. Maybe even in an attempt to defeat the evil power of the box, you wrote a description of the contents in indelible marker. Then there won't be words, just black inky smear. In any case the upshot will be that you have no flipping idea what the solid brown frozen stuff is inside the box. Nor how long it's been there. 

None of this is news to you, is it? You know where the madness lies, yet you are in its clutches - every time the chaos encroaches, what do you do? You buy more boxes. I've seen you at it. Heck I've done it myself. 

We must fight back. It's time we rose up and demanded boxes that work, obedient lids and transparent sides. 

Because if we don't, the future is bleak, very bleak indeed. 

I told you it was bad. 

The images are all from Lakeland to whom I mean no malice, something they should be aware of given the amount of my money in the storage solutions that line their coffers. 

140/365 And down on the farm today...

Awwww blossom

 Unusually Family Bundance were all around on Sunday and couldn't find anything better to do than to spend it in each other's company. 

Having just joined the National Trust For Scotland we had to visit one of their properties to get our money's worth, of course. So we decided to visit the National Museum of Rural Life in East Kilbride. 

Rolling is best 

 While the bigger boys declared that it was much better than they anticipated, they all decided that the best entertainment to be had was rolling down the grassy slope at the entrance. 

Oi, make my tractor go!

While the farm has some obvious easy hits for smaller tractor-loving people, there was lots to spark discussion among bigger ones. While we ambled around (or cantered in some cases) we discussed foot and mouth disease, the land army, dairy farms, and whether or not it would ever be OK to be a POW.

The National Museum of Rural Life is surprisingly entertaining and informative - well worth a visit. 

Rowan the calf was very, very cute

Baby bug

Daddy bug

139/365 Let's not keep tomboling along...

Due entirely to family planning failures on my part, I am going to attend 17 school May Fairs before I'm done. Nine down, eight to go. 

Don't get me wrong I'm a huge supporter of the Parent Council that runs these things, and I know the money they raise makes a big difference to the already excellent things the school and the teachers can do.

I also know the Parent Council volunteers work very hard giving lots of time and energy to the role.

But...

There's always a but, isn't there? 

Amid the really nice - I wouldn't mind winning that, in fact, I'd even pay money for it - tombola prizes are the others. The ones which, when you look more closely, are vaguely familiar. 

I'm talking about gift sets of candles, gift sets of cosmetics from brands you haven't heard of, gift sets of table linen, gift sets of golf tees, and so on. 

(Questions the meaning of 'gift set' doesn't it?)

They have the look of something that has languished in the back of the emergency gifts cupboard since they came home after the last tombola. Many even have tell-tale sticky marks left by the previously taped-on raffle ticket. Or maybe that was just the items that came from this house...

No? You too. 

How many of us have cupboards full of stuff that, almost certainly, will never get used and simply exists so that when our offspring says "mum I need to take something to school for the tombola today" you've got something to hand over?

I confess I do like the cheery little lift I get when Boy Two heads off to school with a bulging bag leaving me with a tidy empty space in my cluttered home, however, that's what makes the resultant mini-gloom of stuffing this year's spoils into the cupboard all the more depressing. 

What is the point? All right. Clearly, the point is we raise money for the school and I don't have a problem with that at all, but perhaps it's time for a re-think on the gift donation front. 

Maybe we can have a charity shop collection point at the next May Fair so we can drop off the stuff that won't be used. After all, whose feelings are you going to hurt? Or perhaps you pay double for another go allowing you to leave the thing you didn't want and try again for the Clarins gift set or the nice-looking Sauvignon. 

Surely we can do something a bit less annoying than using it as an occasion to simply circulate unwanted items around the village from one dusty cupboard to another.

This is not, by the way, a very convoluted way of volunteering for the Parent Council (I'm much to contrary for that), but I am available for consultation. After all, over 17 years I would be very much cheered if there was some form of evolution. 

PS The photo is of the raffle (distinct from the tombola) which I manned for a while on Saturday. Here I report excellent evolution. Instead of buying tickets for every prize and running the risk of wining  a signed football shirt (I have enough soiled sporting attire without pretending the acquisition of more is a good thing) you opt only to enter the raffle for the good stuff - hair cuts, meals out, booze, cleaning firm vouchers. This is marvellous progress.

138/365 Jamie Oliver's Italian - Mint

Leafing troubles behind - diving into a mojito

Once upon a time it was a summer evening in Glasgow. The people strolled 'neath the fresh green foliage of the dear green trees.

There was laughter, painted toens in sandals and the sound of people relaxing in the warm, dappled, dropping evening sun. 

A day later it would rain and the people would hurry by hunched up and saying: "Ah well that was summer for this year."

But such an evening happened yesterday and, by happy coincidence, it was the day the baby-sitter was in charge, the friends organised and the table at Jamie Oliver's Italian restaurant on Glasgow's George Square booked. 

Inside it was busy - buzzing even, but never jostly or too noisy to talk. 

There wasn't even too much Jamie in evidence, hardly any large photos of his mugging grin. Mercifully. There wasn't even too much 'Jamie-ness' on the menu. By this I mean not his choice of food, but the way his uses language. Have you notice how on telly and even in some of his books he suggests adding a 'lug' of some liquid or other to a dish? Presumably he means 'glug' or, at a push, slug. But not lug. No. 

Anyhow, our meal was lovely, perfect and fresh. The company was good and the walk to the station afterwards was warm and dry. 

Of course, today it's piddling down and I have cooked supper for children who clearly would rather be at McDonald's and the Panther who claims I've got a "blind spot about seasoning". Then I loaded the dishwasher and cleared up the kitchen.

But that's what makes nights like last night so good, isn't it? 

137/365 proud mother #46

Boy One came home from school with, among others, this picture. It's good, isn't it? 

Who knew he was so good at art? Certainly not his family. Still he's doing art next year so watch this space... 

136/365 a bench mark for summer

Two whole days the sun has shone, brightness all around. 

The light has streamed in and started to turn my head. I've found myself thinking about linen trousers, sun tan lotion and barbecues. 

I was so far into a fantasy about sitting outside, shades on, reading the papers and sipping a cup of Earl Grey that before I knew it I'd bought a bench. 

I realise that as fantasies go this was hardly setting the heather, or anything else, alight. Much more Grey Shades for the Over Fifties than anything steamier. 

Anyhow, the bench arrived - the way of most things these days - unfit for purpose without some degree of effort or irritation. Then I remembered the Panther of News gave me a power drill with a screwdriver attachment (no not a euphemism) for Christmas. The drill made short work of the bench. 

Unfortunately at this point Boy Three got hold of the drill. It's just like a gun, you see. It took some lengthy effort to disarm him.

Minutes later I assumed the pose, mug in hand. It didn't last long, however, as it was so cold the shivering was putting me at risk of spilling the tea. I retreated indoors. 

It's probably just as well because the soundtrack to the fantasy - a lawn being mowed in the middle distance - wasn't going to happen either. 

Boy One, enthusiastically tackling the gardening element of his day's chore had inadvertently severed the Flymo power cable. 

I am learning that the biggest challenge of getting others to help is serenity in the face of them doing so. 

135/365 A nose for something different

Whisky is a man's drink - and it shouldn't be polluted. It should be neat - and so strong it makes you gasp and shudder. That's a proper nip of Scotch. 

Or at least that's how things used to be in the country that claims whisky as its national drink. 

Bollocks. That's as old hat as the idea that women shouldn't be enterprising and pioneering. 

At last night's meeting of Scottish Women in Business, Cutty Sark's master blender Kirsteen Campbell did an excellent job of entertaining, giving an insight into her world and kicking the old hats further into the mixed metaphor of the long grass. 

She is responsible for the consistency of the Cutty Sark brand, as well as for creating new products. Put simply she tests - by smelling - the quality of the blended whisky's ingredients and  monitors its process from cask to bottle. 

She's as far from the broken veined and tweedy cliche of the industry as you could get. And that's an excellent thing. 

As the brand tags itself "the spirit of adventure", that's perhaps the best distillation of the evening too.

Kirsteen's has blended her undoubted adventurous spirit with the science and diligence necessary to rise in her industry. And she's not the only woman to do so. 

And that's really what it's about - a woman in a man's world must surely by now be a red herring.   Instead, having passion and courage to look for adventure - but not losing sight of the need to sniff out what's quality and what's, quite frankly, wrong for the job. Dammit, having spirit, that's the thing.  

And if you're asking - mine's a whisky with soda, a dash of lemon and lots of ice. 

134/365 Twiddling my thumbs on Newsnight Scotland

If you watched last night's BBC Newsnight Scotland special debate and thought that woman in the back row looked oddly familiar, it was me. If you thought she just looked odd, it probably wasn't...

The audience comprised people who live in Scotland but who didn't start life there. I was invited along because I'd written a post about it. Though if, on the back of this, the producers were expecting someone articulate and engaged, they were sadly let down. 

I tried to come up with questions relevant to an audience of what the Yes camp are claiming as 'EnglishScots', but evidently didn't cut the mustard. 

Actually, I was quite surprised that the questions that did get chosen were more general - such as "should Scotland vote on membership of the EU?", "what currency should be adopted?" and  "what fiscal levers would an independent Scotland employ?".

There didn't seem to be any interest in exploring if the issues looked different from the viewpoint of non-Scots member of the Scottish electorate. (Not a snappy title, but much more comfortable and accurate than 'EnglishScots'.)

That said, there were interesting points raised and discussed. 

On the panel were newspaper columnist Katie Grant, Green councillor Charles Booth, Labour MP Gordon Banks and SNP MSP Humza Yousaf. Two from each camp. I wonder why there was no LibDem. 

Beforehand, chatting to a few other audience members, there was a strong sense of 'undecided because we need to know more'. I sensed an understanding that there must be a middle way between the 'unlimited free unicorns' promised by the Yeses and the 'we're all doomed, Captain Mainwaring' from the Nos, but many of us hadn't figured out exactly which way it went. 

During the debate, the charismatic and charming MSP Humza Yousaf proved to be more then a match for understated and slightly-downturned style of MP Gordon Banks. 

Once the cameras stopped an audience member said: "Interesting how none of the questions were against Independence."

Then later, Humza tweeted this: 

Sure there were some who had made up their minds, but many hadn't and here's the thing: 
A question is a question, not a for or against statement. 

And in order to find out the kind of information needed to make an informed decision - or as informed as it can ever by - we need to ask lots of questions. And we need to ask questions that start with something like 'so, in an independent Scotland would there be.... ?'.

This means that we have to spend some of our question imagining that there have indeed been more Yeses than Nos. But it doesn't mean that we are wishing that to be the case, or suggesting that we will necessarily be among those Yeses. It simply means we need more 'what if' information. 

SNP supporters appear to be quick to include those 'let's supposes' as endorsements of their campaign and that simply isn't the case. 

I watched the broadcast last night, of course I did. I didn't get much time in the spotlight - probably because I didn't get to ask a question. But if you look closely you'll see that, while I thought I was sitting still as a still thing, while maintaining a look of intelligent curiosity, I was, in fact, twiddling my actual thumbs. 

Me in the back row twiddling my thumbs.

Tips for creating a family friendly bathroom

On the face of it the perfect bathroom might be an oasis of tranquillity with exotic expensive-looking tiles, posh smelly stuff and gleaming surfaces. In an ideal world this is a place to escape for serenity and me-time. 

However, if you've got kids then you don't live in an ideal world so the perfect bathroom requires a whole different set of considerations. 

If you're creating a bathroom in your home from scratch, as we did a couple of years ago, or renovating the existing one, here are some points to ponder. 

Do not have any more moving parts than you need. Moving parts will trap fingers and dirt. Then they'll break. This means, for example, using a fixed shower door instead of a sliding one.

Minimise grout. It's such a nasty word, isn't it? But grout will attract dirt and mould. The bigger the ceramic or porcelain tiles you can find, the better. Even consider sheets of shower wall panels. 

Pick a deep shower tray. I know the really flat ones are trendy but consider what happens when a toddler sits in the shower and blocks the plughole with his bottom. 

Don't loo-se the battle. If you have sons and they need toilet training then make things easy for yourself. They will splash and miss the toilet, you might as well accept it. Just install a toilet and surrounds that are accessible and easy to clean. 

Bathrooms to dye for. If you colour your hair at home, then the same advice about minimum grout - and easy-clean surfaces applies. Otherwise, your grey hair giveaway will be the state of the bathroom. 

Dry up about wet rooms. Wet rooms are all very well, but your children will see that as an instruction. Is that really what you want?

Safety first. When your kids are little, it's probably better to have a lock on the outside and not on the inside. You'd rather keep them out than run the risk of locking themselves in. 

Consider comfort. Bathing children is great fun, but not very comfortable if you have to spend ages kneeling on the hard floor beside the tub. If possible, allow space to put a small stool beside the bath - your joints will appreciate it. 

Don't rail against dropped towels. When choosing a towel rail, select one with big enough spaces between the rails to make it easy for a child to hang theirs up again after use. 

Make it DIY. I don't mean fit the stuff yourself, I mean create a bathroom that your small children can learn to use by themselves. Put the light switch on a long pull cord that they can reach or have space for a stool so they can step up to turn it on. Make room for steps beside the sink and toilet. 

Smooth operator. Consider how easy your beautiful bathroom will be to keep clean. Smooth, flat surfaces are inevitably easier to keep clean than bumpy ones that catch the dirt and dust. 

Disclosure: This post contains elements I was paid to include, however, that doesn't mean the advice is any less good. 

Review: Asara board game by Ravensburger

I'd like to say that we're the kind of family that loves board games. The truth is I love board games and the Boys occasionally indulge me and sit down to Monopoly or, my favourite, Trivial Pursuit. 

So it is with great glee that I accept the opportunity to road test some new games, as it forces the Boys to play with me.

But it's not actually that cruel. Usually after a little while their competitive natures get the better of them and they're pulling out all the stops (AKA working out how to cheat) to beat me. 

This time the game is Asara made by Ravensburger. 

The blurb says: 

Asara is a strategic board game for 2-4 players ages 9+, who assume the roles of famous architects. Players compete to build the highest, grandest and largest number of towers over four rounds of play. Each stop of the way, the architects must keep their sights set on their work as they overcome obstacles and competitive forces and strive to gain prestige points for their building achievements. The player who earns the most prestige wins. A nominee for the 2011 German "Game of the Year" Award. Asara was created by celebrated award-winning game developer Wolfgang Kramer."

After reading this and peeping into the box, Boy One was selected as guinea pig du jour. 

How was it?

Asara is all about collecting the bits you need to build the biggest and best towers to earn prestige. It's more strategy than actual building. 

What's good about it? 

Once we got going the game is quick and compelling. 

It's played over four rounds and there is a clear and definite end - when you've used up all your 'buyer' cards. 

There is an element of chance, but cunning's also required. 

It's best with four players but also works with three and two. 

What's less good about it? 

It's very complicated to get up and running. It took the bribe of a large bag of nachos and chili cheese dip to get Boy Two to sit through the set up. 

There are at least three different lots of colours used to differentiate things. This caused unnecessary confusion. 

The instructions took several readings to get the hang. I don't know if it would have been possible to make it more easy or if we were just being a bit thick, but it was hard going. 

Recommended? 

Yes. It's worth the effort. I like a game that keeps you interested and knows where to end. Boy One is already asking for another go and Boy Two wants to play too. 

It's ideal for tempting your little geeks out from the glow of their screens. 

Asara's RRP is £47.99 but you can get it for around £30 in some places.