A comment on Twitter today (you know who you are) about Mummybloggers
Mummybloggers are “tweeeeeee” and full of “oh, I cooked this cake today crap”.
I guess she is right. We do present ourselves in a good light. Just as we sort though the holiday snaps, discarding the pics in which we look like Moby Dick, we discard projects that don’t turn out very well. Most of us bloggers have baked, cooked or made things that have been utterly shit. Or have spent a day telling readers how to be a great parent, only to run out of energy and patience with our own children.
Expat bloggers tend to waffle on about the exciting and exotic place they are living, they recount tales of the sweet old guy in the village who takes his cat to the cemetery to “visit” his late wife, they take photos of stunning sunsets and snowcapped mountains.
What we don’t tell you is the nights when we lie awake worrying if we have done the right thing. The frustration at not being able to remember how to pronounce the number 15 on the phone to the guy from the payage. The times when the school phones to say that something is wrong with the children and we are unable to understand properly what is wrong, and it if is a “feeling a bit poorly and want to go home to sit on the couch” situation, or A&E.
We neglect to tell you when we are feeling proper homesick, we keep our sorrow to ourselves when we miss family parties – or worse family funerals. We paper over the cracks of our life, cause no one wants to read a miseryblog.
While I am not saying that I hate it here, and want to go hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooome, sometimes I do not enjoy life here and sometimes I bake or cook something that doesn’t work. I haven’t really shared the failures with my readers, so I guess you have been getting a MmeLindor-lite.
So, to balance all the saccharine, here is a tale of scones that were more suitable to be used as hockey pucks than served for afternoon tea.
It was Sunday. We had planned a day at home, sitting in the garden, going for a walk, later to the beach. All very idyllic and pleasant. I decided to make some scones. I am rather proud of my scones. The recipe has never failed me and I am often complimented on my light and fluffy scones. Since I had been intending to blog about them for some time, I took some photos of the process. Sift flour into bowl, add butter and mix till it resembles breadcrumbs, add sugar and milk until the mixture comes together. Cut out and bung on baking tray.
Feeling smug, I popped them into the oven and checked on them 10 minutes later. Hmm. Not risen very well. Not at all actually. Ok, give them another two minutes and pray to the Patron Saint of Baking St Elisabeth of Hungary (honest, I checked).
Well, St Elisabeth failed me and she failed my scones. Thanks Lizzie. Thanks for NOTHING.
They languish since then in the sweetie box along side packets of cough sweets and old chewy lollipops that no one wants.
To make up for it, I will post a truly wonderful recipe for lamb tomorrow, so watch this space.
Bloggers – reveal yourselves. What have you not posted about because it was a disaster, that you would have posted about if it had gone well?