Cache me if you can

I discovered something new today: GEOCACHING. The official blurb says:

Geocaching is a high-tech treasure hunting game played throughout the world by adventure seekers equipped with GPS devices. The basic idea is to locate hidden containers, called geocaches, outdoors and then share your experiences online.

In even simpler terms, geeks around the globe have stashed little boxes (perhaps tupperware, perhaps a tiny film container) all over the world, and there's a nifty iPhone app giving you clues to their locations. You find the box, you add your name to the list of paper within it, you tick it off on your app, then move on to the next one.

Oh my God, it's addictive, especially for a shameless dweeb like me who loves mysteries and scrambling around in the great outdoors. We only found two today around Richmond Park (and I have the nettle stings to prove it), but I am now determined to find more.

I've always loved a good treasure hunt. 

*cue Dunlop anecdote* 

My favourite treasure hunt memory takes me back to when I was maybe 10 or 11. Us Dunlops were partaking in a treasure hunt organised as a social event by my dad's work colleagues. It was a car-based treasure hunt and the clues were quite tricky, but we were a competitive bunch and we thought we'd done pretty well. The final challenge was to draw a logo which was on the side of a building that we had been directed to.

"I think we should colour it in, Dad," either me or my little brother said from the back seat of the car, excited that we'd solved the final clue.

"No, no, no," Dad insisted, "It'll be fine as it is."

When the results were read out at the subsequent barbecue that evening we were delighted to discover that we had come joint first. "Sadly we only have one prize," said the judge, "so we've had to decide a final winner according to the accuracy of their responses.....and because they coloured in their logo we are awarding the prize to....." Well, it wasn't us, obviously.

"Daaaaad!" we exclaimed.

I am aware that I've been taking the mick out of my dear Dad rather a lot on this blog recently. But, for the record, he's a bloody top bloke :)

The hole shebang

Ok, here's an amusing anecdote from the Dunlop archive at the end of a very long week....

As we wandered through the dark Spanish residential streets on our way to the local restaurant, we spotted a conspicuous-looking black patch in the middle of the pavement. Taking a closer look, we realised that it was in fact a hazardous hole, about a foot square in size and a couple of feet or so deep.

"Well, that's rather dangerous," my dad said, shaking his head. "Someone could step into that and hurt themselves, there are no warning signs up or anything."

Indeed, indeed, murmured my mum and I, as we continued our eatery-bound amble. Following dinner, we deliberately walked on the other side of the road in order to avoid 'the hole'. "We'll just have to remember it's there," I said, putting it to the back of my mind.

The following day, as I read a book on the roof terrace, my dad decided to go out on one of his 'walks' (what is it with dads and their 'walks' when on holiday??). As he put on his baseball cap, fastened the Velcro straps on his sandals and strolled purposefully away from the villa whilst clutching his map, my mum jokingly shouted "don't forget that hole!"

*90 minutes or so later*

My sunshine-induced snooze was rudely interrupted by a never-ending surge of my mum's distinctive laughter, quickly followed by equally uncontrollable cackling from my dad. Now, we're quite a giggly family, but this was a whole new level of hysteria. So I descended from my sun trap to see what all the fuss was about.

Like a kid who'd fallen over in the playground, my dad had blood trickling down his knee. "What happened to your knee, Dad?" I asked, genuinely concerned. "Take one guess," said my mum, in between the fits of chortling. I looked at her laughter tear-stained face, then to my dad's rather bashful expression, and it all slotted into place.

"YOU FELL IN THE HOLE!"

Hysteria ensued for the next 5 minutes or so, until my dad could sufficiently collect himself to tell the story.

"There's not much to say, really, except one second I was walking along, and the next my leg disappeared from beneath me and I was knee deep in the pavement!"

The funniest thing about the situation was that it was probably the only hole on the face of the entire planet that he had known to be in existence. He had known precisely where it was and had even commented on its threat to pedestrians. Yet he STILL fell in it. He STILL put his foot in precisely the wrong spot on the pavement. "If I had put my foot anywhere else at that moment it wouldn't have gone in the hole," he spluttered between chuckles. "But it was the exact size of my foot, and in it went."

Classic.

Drink before you speak

USA, JULY 2003, DUNLOP FAMILY HOLIDAY

Location: Burger King, Manhattan, NYC

Dad: "Hello, I'd like an Orange Fanta, please."

American BK employee: "An orange WHAT?!"

Dad, pronouncing words very carefully, highlighting English accent even more so long queue of impatient New Yorkers behind him becomes silent: "Umm, an ORANGE FANTA...?"

BK: "WHAT????!!"

Dad, very self-consciously: "Ok, a, ummm, 'fizzy' orange? Orange 'pop'? Orange-coloured lemonade?"

BK: "WHAT YOU TALKING ABOUT??!!"

Random New Yorker in queue behind Dad: "I think he means an orange soda."

Dad: "Um, yes. An 'orange' 'soda' please."

ONE WEEK LATER

Location: Dunkin' Donuts, Boston (yep, us Dunlops go to some classy establishments!)

Dad: "I'd like a hot chocolate, please."

American DD employee: "What?"

Dad, now fully confident in his ability to explain every single drink in plain English following NYC Burger King humiliation: "It's a hot milk-based drink, flavoured with chocolate!"

DD: "Yeah, I know what a hot chocolate is, I asked 'what size?' "

Dad, bowing head in English shame: "Large, please."

Toad in the coal

Just got back to Bristol to hear a very amusing telly-related tale from the rest of the Dunlop clan. As a family, we are big fans of the classic British dish, toad in the hole. So when BBC1's programme 'Rachel Allen: Home Cooking' had a segment dedicated to cooking this dish this very morning, my mum and brother watched with interest to get some tips.

Chef Galton Blackiston was the chap leading the proceedings: "The tip is to leave it in a hot oven for 20 minutes and not look at it once." Fair enough, they thought. However,when they saw the result, they understandably doubted the chef's 'wisdom':

This is definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, burnt, right??!! But Galton didn't reference its charcoal-like state, and neither did the people who had to eat it!

You watch the sillyness for yourself here in the latter half of the show.

Drumming fingers

Wow, a whole new decade hath landeth, and it's that weird time of year during which I seem to sit around and wait for the cycle to begin once more. 2009 ended in an uncharacteristically disorganised fashion as me and Dunlop Junior desperately tried to battle the crowds and cross the Thames for our planned parental rendezvous, but I now realise how naive we were to try and even attempt such a feat a mere hour before the fireworks began. Despite having alighted at Embankment armed with the reasonable plan of hopping on a quick train from Charing Cross to meet the folks at Waterloo, we had no physical choice but to be herded like Lemmings east along the Strand all the way to Blackfriars Bridge. To be fair we did have a partial view of the fireworks from there, but nothing like this:

The silver lining was that we somehow managed to bump into our parents at London Bridge on the way home for a little family reunion. I'm sure they're glad they made the trip from Bristol for that... (sorry mum and dad!).

But before the decade was out, I returned to London to discover a package from my London Blogger Secret Santa, which was all very exciting. It was a nifty little finger drum kit. I have no idea who sent it to me, but it's nice to know that they took the time to send me something so appropriate. The festive geekery was a concept developed by Melinda, who I know through the London Bloggers Meet-up Group, and I thought it was a great idea. I just hope my giftee liked my present as much as I like mine. Oh, I just googled 'drumming fingers' and look what I found! Blimey.

I don't do new year's resolutions, but I've been involved with some exciting work stuff over the last few days so hopefully that's an indication of how 2010 may pan out. I'm curious to see what the next 12 months will throw up, but I guess my main aim is that I keep smiling both in and out of work, and that I continue to meet new people, but also spend as much time as possible with the awesome people I already know. Oh, and I must *try* and write in my diary more frequently (I'm still out of the habit). Speaking of which, I have a new one sitting on my bedside table right now, patiently waiting to be written in, so I will save my Dr Who sorrow for there (for now).

Chocolate fon-don't

Having written on many occasions about my love of Masterchef in all its various guises, this weekend I now have a new-found respect for some of the more laughable contestants. As I've previously pointed out, the chocolate fondant is the dish of death on the show. They either leave it in the oven for too long so that it ends up as a plain, old chocolate sponge, or they panic and take it out too soon so it happily collapses into a gooey mess. Given that the programme is called 'Masterchef', you'd have thought that they might be able to get it right. But no.

So this weekend, fellow Masterchef enthusiast - Brother Alex - and I decided to try it out for ourselves. We followed the recipe to the letter, and took out the ramekins from the oven after precisely 12 minutes. They collapsed into gooey messes. But they tasted awesome; surely simply a matter of leaving them in the oven for longer? So tonight, with Alex's lovely girlfriend Holly round for dinner, we were confident that we'd get it right. Wrong! They were still too gooey!

Now I understand why the contestants keep insisting on trying to produce the perfect chocolate fondant, because it is a very tricky pud to master. But, to be completely honest, the gooey bit is so delicious that I'd quite happily eat / drink that without the sponge casing.

Twelve LOLS for the price of six

Myself and Dunlop Junior are pretty ruthless - in an efficient not tyrannical way - when it comes to our fortnightly food shop. We always take a list, we often split up to source the necessary purchases in order to get in and out as quickly as possible, and we like to find a good bargain. It's toilet roll that always stumps us. It's just so blimin expensive! Today we opted for Andrex - extravagant, but it had three free rolls, or 12 for the price of 9 if you will. Decision made, or so we thought...
For when we were transferring our goods from our trolley to the checkout conveyor belt (heaviest items first, of-course), we caught the tail end of a tannoy announcement: "...buy one get one free, 65p for six rolls." One all-knowing sibling glance was all it took, and before you could say 'supermarket sweep' off I sprinted to the bog roll aisle to source this elusive special offer. It was only when I reached the aisle that everything became crystal clear. Bread rolls. Bugger.

Posted via web from Thoughts as she has them

Pub quiz-co

So I'm having a bit of time away from London during my week off work, chilling out with my family on the outskirts of Bristol, where I grew up. Knowing how much I enjoy a good pub quiz, my parents decided we should go along to the Upton Inn a couple of miles down the road for their Monday night curry and quiz. I like pubs, I like curry, and I like a bit of healthy trivia-based competition, so it sounded like a good deal to me. But I was not prepared for what fun was to come...

For after the quiz had finished but (crucially) BEFORE the winner was announced, the lights are dimmed, the music (from the music round) is switched on and the little country pub transforms itself into the hottest village disco this side of, err, Bitton. It was lots of fun, and a great way to liven up what would otherwise be the dullest evening of the week. So bravo, Upton Inn - your curry was gurt lush, your staff were all tip top, the quiz cash prizes were not to be sneered at (we came a respectable fourth out of eleven teams and won £20, the winning team got £100) and all in all I would highly recommend a visit. But be warned: it's a popular place is this, so booking is definitely recommended!

Design gufflaw

As part of a humongous walk around London yesterday with my brother and our 17-year-old cousin, we walked past the Design Council on Bow Street. In the window they were showcasing an example of what they deem to be 'good design'. In this instance, a lightweight, uber-ergonomic horse saddle. As I walked up to the window to take a closer look, I stubbed my foot on an awkward step up to the window. "Now that's poor design," I said. I then proceeded to shamelessly laugh at my own quip for about ten minutes. Just wanted to share my joke with the world...

Cavorting in Cornwall

I know, I know, it's been too long since I last blogged again. No excuses this time, I'm just completely out of the habit. I've just come to the end of a week off work, and what a lovely week off it was. I spend a few days of it down in Cornwall, chilling out with my mum and dad and breathing in some much-needed country air. We stayed in this gorgeous B&B near Liskeard, called Trussel Barn, which I would highly recommend to anyone considering heading south-west for a break. The rooms were stunning, with views of seemingly-endless countryside and luxurious bathrooms complete with fluffy towels and bathrobes. The breakfasts were to die for, with freshly-squeezed apple juice from the orchard down the road, locally-sourced sausages and bacon and a delicious fresh fruit salad each morning which I covered in yoghurt and drizzled loads of runny honey over the top. YUM!


The story behind why we ended up in Liskeard is pretty amusing. Some of my relatives from Norway were in Cornwall for a holiday, so we thought it'd be nice if we were staying nearby so we could meet up with them. So my mum found Trussel Barn, as she was under the impression they were staying in Liskeard. Turns out they weren't staying in Liskeard after all, but in The Lizard (starts with an 'L' and ends in a 'D' I guess...), which is the best part of a two-hour drive away! Oh well, it was a nice drive!

If you're in that neck of the woods (Liskeard, not The Lizard), I'd also recommend a restaurant in the nearby seaside village of Looe. The Old Sail Loft is tucked away and not immediately visible, but definitely worth seeking out for their tasty seafood dishes (although my dad opted for a juicy steak) and friendly service. Note the name of the restaurant. The first question my mum asked our waiter was "what was this building used for originally?"...The menu's quite pricey, but if you get there before 7.30pm you can choose from their reasonably-priced brasserie menu.

Before I left for Cornwall, I asked for tourist tips on my Twitter feed. I was consequently informed about Adrenalin Quarry near Liskeard. Although the thought of digging adrenalin out of the ground does sound rather appealing, instead this relatively new tourist attraction boasts 'the longest zip wire in the UK'. The zip wire did indeed look long and good fun, but I chose to get a 10-minute adrenalin buzz from the nearby Go Karting. My arms were killing me afterwards but it was definitely worth it.

Sonic relief

Funny Dunlop family joke earlier. What with Doctor Who being 'in the blood', my mum, dad and I were waiting with baited breath for the BBC's over-dramatic televisual announcement of the actor who has been chosen to portray the Eleventh Doctor. The build-up was anti-climactic (apart from some well-deserved airtime for Great Uncle Patrick Troughton), with the selected actor being unveiled as the relatively unknown Matt Smith. He is going to be the youngest ever Doctor. He's younger than me for goodness sake! Now I do feel old.

Anyway, my brother was out at the time of the announcement so we concocted a plan, and decided to tell him when he got back that Lenny Henry had got the job.

The build-up was perfect - resulting in a game of 20 questions for him to work out who it was. He got to Lenny Henry after about ten questions....and was absolutely delighted! "I'm definitely going to watch the next series now!" he proclaimed, with the widest possible grin on his face. The rest of us completely cracked up and broke the news to him that sadly it wasn't going to be Lenny Henry after all, although in hindsight I kind of wish we had let him go on believing it in order to cause maximum embarrassment.

Congratulations young Mr Smith - don't let us down!!

New nan-ism

My wonderful nan came out with another corker today. She was correcting my brother on his use of English and had obviously intended to say 'you need to get your grammar right'. However, being a very Bristolian lady, what actually came out of her mouth was 'you need to get your grammal right'. At the time I had a mouth full of nan's delicious apple crumble, and I was laughing so hard that I'm surprised it didn't start spluttering out of my nose.

In other news, I have dreamt up an exciting new web project that I am hoping to get off the ground in the very near future. All I can say for now is that I have purchased a brilliant domain. Watch this space! Literally...

Basic biology

My nan recently had a conversation with my mum about how her life might have panned out if she (nan) had married a different man. My mum responded "well, I wouldn't be here to start with!" To which my lovely nan replied "Of course you would, you'd just have a different dad..."

Needless to say I laughed a lot when I heard this.