Pork... oh dear

I've just cooked pork for the first time in my little flat (FYI, it did not look at all like the above picture, my actual food was guzzled before I thought of taking a picture. I know, careless). The house I lived in prior to this one was with my parents and my dad was a very big pork cooker so I've never previously had the privilege of cooking this particular meat myself.

When I initially bought this meat on my Tesco delivery shop I was overcome with the excitement of being a proper cook who cooks meat from scratch and without the use of the microwave. The meat arrived with the rest of my shop and I cleverly realised that I should put it straight in the freezer as I would not be eating my meat for a while and did not want it to go off.

Step one of being a proper cook was complete and I was proud. I walked around the place with my head that little bit higher because I was on my way to being a true independent woman who does true independent cooking.

A week passed and I was finally ready for my big Pork Chop cook. I strutted proudly to the freezer a whole night early so as to allow the pork to thaw (I remembered to do this due to me being a supreme cook) and opened the packet of four pork chops. Knowing that I couldn't possibly eat all four chops at once I went to pick just one of the porks out of the plastic box and gaped moronically as all four followed it. Ah. They had frozen together.

Not a problem. I had recently purchased a massive butcher knife that couldn't possibly let me down in being awesome and separating the frozen meat.


EDIT: Upon looking at this photo I would like to stress that, contrary to how it may look on this picture, the knife was in fact in front of me whilst I posed and I was not trying to slice my cheek open.

The huge knife alas then proceeded to letting me down. I was heart broken for about two minutes and spent a few moments staring at the knife whilst fighting back angry tears and overcoming my feeling of betrayal. After I'd put the knife down however I realised that I had no option but to defrost all four chops and see what I could get away with doing with it without poisoning myself.

What I could do, I found out the next day, was not much at all.

I went out for a late lunch with two of my lovely ladies, Claire and Rachael, who have openly told me they will not be reading this blog due to not enjoying reading on computers... it makes me feel slightly giddy with power at their flat out refusal because I could say anything and they would never know!

....

Damn it, I can't think of anything. I wish there was a T shirt for this kind of thing. Oh wait there is.



Anywho. I mentioned my pork fiasco to them and how I now had to cook four pork chops when really I only had the stomach to eat one... maybe two. Claire and Rachael are my 'i've lived independently for years and know what I am doing' grown up friends. They are very useful in these situations as well as being very fun to play cards with and watch Kill Bill with.

Claire began shaking her head in that way that said, 'Lisa you have made a rookie mistake' and automatically I felt my cook pride dwindle within me and my head dropped a few inches from it's previous high place. This lead to the following conversation.

Claire: Oh Lisa, you don't freeze four pork chops together
Lisa: You don't?
Claire: Not unless you're hungry for a whole pig.
Lisa: What did I do wrong?
Claire: You should have separated them before hand. Then the meat could be eaten individually.
We sit in silence as I slowly deflate inside.
Lisa: Ah. That seems entirely sensible. I probably should have thought of that.

It was after this point that I then found out just how dangerous cooking pork chops is. The following rules needed to be followed completely in order to escape the possibility of death.

1. You must cook all the meat within 24 hours or you will throw up and die.

2. You must ensure that there is no pink in the meat at all once you have cooked it otherwise you will throw up and die.

3. You must not reheat the meat (even in the microwave) once it has cooled as doing so will cause you to throw up and die.

4. Do not cook meat in the same pan as any other meat otherwise eating either of these meats will cause you to throw up and die.

5. You must ensure that the meat is cooked just to white and not for any longer otherwise... well you won't throw up and die, it just won't be very nice.

I went home, took the pork out of the fridge and stared at it, a thin bead of sweat poured down my forehead as I contemplated all the rules there were in order to keep myself from dying a violent and puke filled death. It almost didn't seem worth it anymore. If only I had known when I had been internet shopping with Tescos.

However I am no quitter. I had bought the pork. I had defrosted the pork. I was darn well going to eat the sodding pork. I talked myself up, reminding myself that I was a strong independent woman who had her own flat and her own grocery list. I was capable of this, no, I was BORN to do this. Once I had worked myself up into a cooking frenzy, the heights of which would make any independent woman proud, I reached across the counter, picked up the phone and called my mum.

Mum and 'pork cooking expert' dad talked me through it step by step. They told me exactly what I had to do, the exact temperature to grill my meat and when to know to take it out. Re-iterating over and over, 'just as long as it isn't pink on the inside, you should be fine.'

I put the phone down, cooked some noodles to go with my 'mission impossible' food and once I double and triple checked that the pork wasn't pink I added them with the noodles, crossed myself, said a little prayer and ate the meal.

About halfway through I noticed my new rookie mistake of course. I'm one of those really classy ladies that eat everything with ketchup. I had smeared the ketchup over noodles and pork and as a result the juices soaked into the meat. Several times I caught pink sections in my otherwise beautifully white meat. I made a judgement call and ate the rest. I fear that may have been the wrong call. I don't feel too well...

NB: In case you're worried, I wouldn't be, my body likes to think it's a hypochondriac. I had a standard safety training session at work today, when they mentioned rashes I started to itch and examine my skin. When they talked about diarrhoea and vomiting virus, my stomach did a somersault and insisted it was going to try and throw up. When we were discussing bacteria passing through hand hygiene, my hands suddenly felt sticky and disease ridden. Luckily my brain was there to keep them all in check and tell them they were being stupid. I'm sure it will rescue the day for this situation as well and argue the logic to my body before it tries to give up on me altogether.

The day comedy caused me to impulse buy into feeling sad.

Every so often I have the urge to let the whole world know that I am witty. Now this urge is fine for the Sarah Millicans and Flight of the Conchords of this world but for the rest of us who are sometimes not able to think of things on request when such an urge comes to us, we turn to the classic 'funny T shirt.'

The funny T shirt has done wonders for the lives of so many. If you can find just the right comic t shirt you can walk down the street proud and with your head held high, knowing that there is nothing you cannot achieve because people are looking at your chest and laughing. (NB: Funny T shirt is integral to this being a good thing, not so good if this happens whilst your wearing a t shirt that simply says Billabong (NB to NB: That was a poor example, Billabong is in fact a very funny word))

When I am finding myself overcome with this particular emotion I tend to turn to one of my favourite websites: David and Goliath. Now for those of you who are already aware of the wonders that are David and Goliath: How funny are they?? For those of you who are unaware of their existence, please check out their website and see full examples of their funnydom.

My one and only problem with going on this website is I simply do not have the money to buy all the T shirts that I like so I have developed a system. One that has proven fool proof until my most recent internet purchase. This system is as follows: I pick the two T shirts that give me the biggest initial laugh.

So when my latest urge came I went to the trusty website and scrolled through their latest comedy gold (have I mentioned that their T shirts are awesome?) The picking was tough and after much laughter and tears I managed to dwindle it down to five. After more tears than laughter as I realistically looked at my bank account, I cut those down to the two that had simply made me almost pee when I had first seen them. The two I picked and consequently bought were the following.





I was stupidly happy with my purchase and while I waited (rather impatiently) for these hilarious T shirts to arrive I had countless moments of daydreaming the happiness I would feel as I walked down the street with my chest out whilst people stared and not in a pervy way.

After two of the longest weeks of my life, the T shirts finally arrived and I have a vivid memory of running down to the post office to collect them. Once I had them, I simply could not wait until I had walked the ten minutes back to my house so I had run into the portable toilets next to Tescos and locked myself into a cubicle to observe my T shirts and make the impossible decision of which one I would choose first. I opened the 'Forbidden love' T shirt first and thought, to save myself the heartache of having to make a choice, I would just throw this one on straight away.

Happy as a clam I walked around. People looked. People laughed. People commented. People thought I was awesome. Life was good.

It wasn't until I got home and opened the second T shirt that I suddenly came face to face with my dilemma.

At first things were fine and I threw my T shirt on and beamed happily as I checked myself out in the mirror.



Though as I read it again, with me wearing it, something didn't seem right.



Then it dawned on me. I wear this, I'm calling myself a hooker.



It was heartbreaking. I really tried to weigh the choices and argue the case of the T shirt. I mean it was so funny. I had truly cried with happiness when I had first read it. If I wore this one around the town, people would have to laugh too.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like. Me walking down the street. A couple walking up to me and clocking the T shirt. The laughter that would undeniably follow once they were close enough to read it. My own feeling of self loathing as I hear the words "What a whore" escape their lips as they walked past.

For about an hour I sat and stared at the T shirt, seriously considering the possibility of giving up my dignity and reputation for the sake of comedy. It was at the point where I found myself wishing that I was an actual whore so I could get away with wearing it when I decided that maybe the T shirt should be removed and safely tucked away in my drawer.

So I took it off. I put it away. But every so often, when I know it's going to be too cold to ever take my jumper off for the whole day, I will put it on. On those days when I know I'm going to hang around in the house and be lazy (like today) I will wear it proudly. But even then, I will catch the comic genius in the mirror and sigh. Alas I will never be able to do it proud. I am FAR too much of a prude.

Living on my own is awesome/pitiful, depending on your outlook on life

I moved into my very own space for the very first time just four months ago. It's a tiny little second floor maisonette with a nice big living room, a bathroom that tries to kill me (a story for another time), a nice big bedroom, a cute little kitchen and loads of storage space.

At first everything was new and exciting and I found myself missing my little home when I wasn't there. Sleeping away from my new bed was physically painful for me. Eating food that I hadn't bought and stored in my own fridge or freezer just tasted wrong. Conversations that didn't involve something to do with my beautiful little flat at some point seemed empty. Yes I was a woman in love and (as has always been the way with me) it was with an inanimate object.

After a couple of weeks the flat attacked me viciously (through the bathroom, I promise one day I will explain) and we fell out temporarily. This was a little inconvenient as due to the attack I was house bound and so couldn't leave it, but you know what they say: keep your enemies closer than your friends or something.

We made up after Christmas when I had to stay away from it for four days. Absence certainly did make my heart grow fonder and all was forgotten by the new year. We went back to being sickenly in love again for another good two months.

We're now at that place in our relationship however where we are comfortable with each other. It doesn't need to hear me compliment it for being awesome all the time anymore and a couple of weeks ago when my arm decided it hated me and stopped working, my flat was lovely and looked after me well.

All of this being said, I feel we reached a new place in our relationship last night. We experienced a moment that I think was truly beautiful but others may think is grounds for me getting a room mate. I had gone into the kitchen to make a hot chocolate and decided to sit on my kitchen counter by my window to drink it. Opposite me was the sink which I soon noticed had not been turned off all the way and as a result every five seconds a drop of water escaped from the faucet.

With the fascination of someone stoned (I wasn't actually mum/dad, don't worry) I sat, my eyes glued to the tap and watched as each drop formed and fell into the sink. It was at this point that I came up with my little game. Could I time my voice to say the word 'drip' at the exact time the water hit the bottom of the sink? The answer is yes, yes I could.

In fact this game was remarkably easier than I had initially thought and once I had got the timing right I was getting it spot on every time. It wasn't until I looked at the clock and realised that I had been playing this game for five minutes solid that I realised for the sake of my sanity I should probably stop and do something society would deem as normal (I went and straightened my hair Society, you can be proud).

I think me and my flat reached a new level of comfortable that night. It didn't laugh at me for playing my little game. In fact I like to think that it was happy with me for noticing the little things it does (like warning me my tap is still slightly on by making a large dripping sound) as well as the big things (like keeping me warm and dry and giving me somewhere to sleep).

I do appreciate that I am already at this level and I am only four months into the solo living experience. At this rate I'll be on the verge of being committed within a couple of years. But think of the fun we'll have as we get there.

I'm a super hero and I never even knew it

For those of you who are friends with me on Facebook you may have noticed a certain status update recently announcing my new and exciting power. I shall now explain the accounts of how I discovered this amazing super power and allow you all to soak in my marvellousness.

The day of discovery
It was a Tuesday, I had just had an incredibly intense day at work. It had been good, but exhausting. I had taken off the 7 inch stiletto's I use at work to give people the illusion that I'm the same height as some of the 'small to average' people that walk around me and had slipped into my 'very old but very comfortable' trainers for the hour and a half journey home.

The first stretch of my journey home is a ten minute walk to get to the bus stop. This I tend to do in a sleepy haze with very little attention made on where I am going. On this particular Tuesday however my sleepy haze lasted only five minutes into the walk as everything changed after that.

Near the bottom of the road I walk down there is a speed limit sign. It's one of those flashing ones that tells the driver as they go by to slow down if they are going too fast. This one is set at 20 miles per hour.

So I'm walking, head down, earphones in and singing 'Papa, can you hear me' Glee version in my head whilst imagining myself on stage with a candle singing it to millions of people. (This is something that would terrify me if it ever happened but in my head, where it's safe, it's pretty cool) Suddenly a flash of yellow and red catches my attention and I look up to see what all the commotion is about. There, about twenty feet away from me is the speed limit sign, announcing that something is going over 20 miles per hour and needs to slow down. It seems a little weird to me so I look in both directions on the road to try and find the speeding vehicle only to discover that the whole street is deserted. This could only mean one thing... That speed sign was for me.

I had a super power. And it's fast.

The reason why you have to believe me, even though it sounds as if there could be another perfectly rational explanation.
Now for all you skeptics out there who are reading this and thinking... oh sweetie, your deluding yourself, the sign was clearly broken. I thought so too at first!! I understand how you could have jumped to that conclusion, it makes a lot of sense. But then a thought came to me, one that I couldn't shake, one that made me realise that having a super power could be the only feasible explanation.

I don't run. I don't even brisk walk. I'm lazy and I'm constantly daydreaming so when I do walk, it will always be at a very leisurely pace. The sign is located outside a hospital in a well built up area. There was no way that Boris Johnson, our wonderful mayor, would even dream of letting a sign stay in operation that is so clearly broken it would pick up me walking. I mean I have a lot more faith in Boris than that. I believe that he's not just a reason for me to have a little giggle at his expense during the local news. I believe that he's not just there to say things that are wildly inappropriate and then spend the next week apologising for them. I believe that he cares. I believe that he would not stand for letting a sign so grossly close to causing an accident stay unfixed. And I know you all do too. I mean after all, it's why we voted for him right? (Vote Boris: I'm not political but I love his face and floppy hair)

So the only other explanation there is is that I was in fact speeding faster than 20 miles per hour. Woah... amazing.

Now how fast I was going I'm not sure. You see I didn't even realise I was doing it at the time so my mind must be just as fast as my legs to take in everything around me at just the same speed as a dawdle. I'm guessing though that it's not that much faster than 20 miles per hour due to the fact that not much time is shaved off my journey. I would predict at this stage that I'm probably averaging at 21-22 mph.

Okay, okay. I know it doesn't seem that impressive next to Clark Kent or that little boy from 'The Incredibles' but I bet I could win a few gold medals at the Olympics with it... (FYI: No need to worry, I would never do that, I appreciate that due to my super abilities I would be at an unfair advantage and it wouldn't be fair for the other runners)

Obviously I haven't got it all worked out yet. I mean, no one else seems to notice that I'm going fast at all which I don't understand. My current theory that I'm working on is that with my semi-super speed I can also alter peoples minds so that it appears as if I am just walking. (I think it's very clever of my subconscious for doing that as a way of protecting my identity. Hoorah to you subconscious.) It would explain why I've never been aware of my super ability until now, my secret identity is so secret not even I knew who it was. Interesting.

I think I've proved my case.

I'm gonna go by the supername of 'Almost-quite-fast-girl-woman.' I think it has a ring to it.

My younger brother's sneaky little game

I went out with my younger brother Daniel last Saturday.

He developed a new game that, once he had discovered it, decided it would entertain him greatly for the remainder of the day.

The game was 'Tell Lisa a bunch of lies that could be true but actually aren't.

These were as follows.

Sherlock Holmes actually existed.
This one I believed and to this day now argue with him could have been true. I mean all I'm saying is, whilst Arthur Conan Doyle was writing his famous books, who was living in 221b Baker Street? I like to think that Mr Conan Doyle visited the address, saw on the letters addressed to it that a person called Sherlock Holmes lived there and thought... I'm going to make someone's day... or freak the hell out of him anyway.

You've got to admit that it would be pretty freaky if you were to open a book and find that the main character not only shared your name but lived in your house. Mr Conan Doyle would be my new best friend if he had done that. (Granted this friendship wouldn't really be up to much due to the 'being dead' thing he's doing nowadays)

Anyway, Daniel assures me that this was a lie and that I'm stupid for thinking otherwise.

Kevin Spacey will be in the new series of Doctor Who
This one Daniel fully accepted as being a pointless one because there's no real reason why it wouldn't be true. This was the last lie he told me before we went our seperate ways and apparently he was tired.

There were others that I don't remember but my favourite one had to be

Squirrels only exist in England
Whilst waiting for my brother to meet me in London I had some time so I went to see Buckingham Palace as I was in the area... as you do. Walking through the park that leads to this rather amazing looking building I was intrigued by a little group of tourists taking a picture of something that seemed to be on the floor. Unable to contain my curiosity anymore I joined the huddle to see what could be so amazing and saw that there was a squirrel sitting and nibbling on a peanut... This caused great amusement to me as I could not understand why this would get more attention than the home of the Queen of Great Britain. Without giving it much more thought I continued on my walk only to realise there was another huddle further down, camera's out and taking pictures of... wait for it... another squirrel. I was now perplexed. I couldn't understand why they were getting so much attention. I also began to question my own views on nature. Was I a bad person for not finding squirrels so fascinating that I have to spend five minutes taking about 300 pictures of it? (The huddle I had left previous to this new one was still in the same place and taking their photos with the same fervency as before.)

When I eventually met up with my brother, I shared this observation with him, explaining my confusion at the amount of attention these furry little creatures were getting. Daniel then proceeded to tell me that the reason the squirrels were so popular here were because England was the only country in the world where they existed.

Now don't get me wrong, my initial gut reaction was to think 'that can't be true' but this only lasted for a mere couple of seconds before my thoughts moved on and I began to question my previous view of the world. Had I actually ever seen footage of squirrels anywhere else but in this country? In my few occasions abroad, did I ever see a squirrel run across my line of vision? Suddenly my whole world felt like it had been turned upside down, I couldn't disprove this fact, without access to Google I would never know if this was definitely a lie...

Once I managed to shake myself out of my own head and back into reality, I caught sight of my brother's face and the look of sheer disbelief that was all over it. I realised then that I had been had. What's more it was a lie that he had never thought I would believe. Needless to say this was the point that he invented the game and unfortunately his enthusiasm for the game was only heightened by my now shakey view on what was actually fact causing me to fall for most of the lies he said.

I think he admitted to all of the lies he told me that day but looking back I now wonder whether he managed to throw a few in without me realising... I should probably Wikipedia all the new things he told me that day just in case...

Believe it or not I am still blogging!!

Hi guys!!

For those of you who have lived their life in a constant state of flux due to missing my blogs (I assume that you do this silently without anyone watching as the pain is so great which is why there is no real proof that this is happening) you need not worry!! I am still blogging, just not on this page.

I've localised my blogging to two areas, one in film review

Lisa knows her films

and one showing my fictional writing

Creative Writing from a plum

These are available for you read whenever you fancy!!

New text conversation worthy of a giggle

So I'm at work and I remember I had plans with a friend of mine called Graham tonight, I give him a quick text and see if he's up for it, he says he is ill due to severe amount of vomiting. I asked him if he was ok and the following conversation took place.

*Lisa Harries would like to state that she shares none of the opinions, suggestions or statements in the following conversation, all comments made were for comic reasons only. Thank you for reading.*

LISA: You ok? You got the lergy?
GRAHAM: Mayb. im stil alive. bt my stomach acid has dissolved my teeth lol
LISA: Lol, the image of you with jagged stumps for teeth is highly amusin to me.
GRAHAM: We wil see whos laughing when i bite ur hand off
LISA: The jokes on you, I find pain funny
GRAHAM: The jokes on you, I have hiv
LISA: The jokes on you, I have rabies
GRAHAM: The jokes on you, I have ur family held hostage
LISA: The jokes on you, I've killed yours
GRAHAM: The jokes on you, I have nothing left to lose
LISA: The jokes on you, I don't even like my family
GRAHAM: The jokes on me. I feel ill
LISA: And we're all laughing heartily
GRAHAM: Har har har
LISA: You throwing up again?
GRAHAM: Nt since bt 4am
LISA: Stick two fingers down your throat, you'll feel better
GRAHAM: Ok thanks. il try that
LISA: It never fails, I read it in kate moss's bulemic guide to a better life, it's either that or take crack but I think the first suggestion is more applicable to right now.
GRAHAM: Uh huh. ok thanks. im gona go have a lie down... and not take crack.
LISA: Good. don't do drugs.