My Very Own Personal Chef

I am a dating nightmare.

Because of my weird dietary requirements going out for a meal is hard, eating at someone else's house awkward, and being cooked for is near impossible.

In fact in all the years I have been dating, no one has ever cooked for me. By that I mean in a romantic, I care about you, and I want to make you a nice meal, kind of cooking. I think that is partly because I am so damn awkward, and mostly because I have been with all the wrong men.

So imagine my surprise when my boyfriend arrived on my doorstep on Saturday night laden with shopping bags full of ingredients to make a beautiful meal for me.

It was both romantic, fun and amazingly tasty.

He made me the most incredible chicken and mushroom risotto. And, he had remembered my intolerance's and checked all the ingredients, and brought a bottle of wine (the real way to my heart) . It was the sweetest evening.

Obviously all I did was get in the way.

While he was working his magic in the kitchen, I was prancing around being generally excitable and knocking into things. But he was so sweet and let me help, even though I don't even really know how to work the oven.

The food was beautiful. I have to admit it was as tasty as a dish from my favourite restaurant, but more romantic, and even nicer, as it had been made especially for me and we didn't have to leave the house.

I don't think he realised it, but it was probably the nicest evening I have ever had. It was defiantly the most romantic.

Being cooked for made me feel far too special. he had gone to so much trouble, and i gained a few tips on the way.

But in the morning my idea of cooking was throwing some sausages on the health grill - well I never claimed to be Nigella Lawson.

Sorry for the lazyness but I love it

This weekend has been our long deserved mid-course break...and hasn't it felt a long time coming.

I have to admit that when I am rarely given time off I always waste it entirely.

I meant for this long weekend to see me complete a barrage of backed up work, a mountain of follow-ups and an absolute avalanche of shorthand. Instead, I have admittedly done some work, but I have mostly spent it moping about, watching endless episodes of things I have been too busy to watch on I player, eating far too much food, and slobbing about on the sofa with my increasingly gorgeous (should I call him) boyfriend.

The problem is the nearer I get to the end of the course, and the closer the exam looms, the harder I am finding it to keep motivated. I think it is the dark weather, but all I want to do is take winter strolls through the beautiful leaves and lie under a comfy duvet watching rom coms and drinking steaming hot mulled wine.

Anyone with me?

Ok, so this is still me. I haven't been possessed by a lazy romantically minded squirrel, I am still working my little bum off, but I have started to get a little lazy.

Yes I spent all of today with my head in a politics book, trying, without success, to get my head round the weird workings of the government....but I have taken my foot off the pedal. It's cold outside, there is frost on my windows, I haven't had to go to work, and that makes me shockingly lazy. I didn't get up at 5am today, but a ashamedly late half eight, better than Sunday when I didn't get out of bed at all (which was acceptable, you wouldn't have either).

Its just life feels so good right now.

 I know I'm getting podgy - I become a squirrel of a weekend (I eat nothing all week and then stuff my face with food all weekend as if I am storing up for the long wintry week ahead) - I need to join the gym. I realised this when my boyfriend (I am just going to call him that) seemed to be looking much more macho this week, and I felt more like a post-Christmas santa clause, not a good look.

SOOOOO come tomorrow I will be cutting back on the carbs, walking everywhere and going to the gym. But life has never been better. I think that I will even hit the Turkish baths in Newcastle City Pool tomorrow before attending the art exhibition I promised to go to - need to refresh my winter skin.

I love Jamie

After everything I have said about disgusting eating habits, particularly those at breakfast, I shared in Jamie Oliver's disgust tonight when he saw primary school children eating pizza for breakfast.

I mistakenly believed this was only what hungover poor students did - how wrong was I???

It actually almost made me sick to see all that junk food piled up on that woman's table - it was physically revolting, I could almost feel my arteries plugging up with saturated fat just looking at it.

Unfortunately food programmes always make me hungry, so I am eating some oats so simple, and drinking fresh orange. Much healthier I am sure.

Single Girl in the Toon

I woke up this morning to total carnage. My room looked like a bomb had hit it. There were clothes strewn all over the floor, the bottom of my bed, and even some trailing out of the door. My bed looked like it had actually been physically moved, my dressing table actually had, and there was random makeup littered all over the place.

So just what had I been doing? Not moving furniture in the middle of the night (well hopefully night), but basically just getting ready for a big night out. Unfortunately for me I didn't have the joy of waking up next to a stunning young man, like I think many did this morning, but my massive cuddly penguin, Brian, who never fails to disappoint me or keep me awake with his snoring, and smelly breath.

Looking at the state of me this morning in the bathroom mirror I can honestly say there is no wonder that I am single. One look at my hair stuck up and randomly matted with old hair spray, like I'd stuck my fingers in a plug socket, my glittery face and smudged charcoal makeup smeared across my face, would be enough to have anyone running in the opposite direction. I basically look like a member of the living dead, far from the fresh faced British rose I would love to wake up as every day.

Last night I had a relationship with a bowl of chips and packet of noodles - strange combo I know. It may sound rank but whenever I have a few drinks I become like a pregnant person, I crave anything and everything which is random and would usually make my stomach turn. I also always decide to cook, and i never ever cook. My sister often comes down at 1 or 2am and finds me cooking anything from pork chops, lamb burgers, pasta, chips, to full blown Shepard's pie. I think she lives in genuine fear that I will burn the house down during these drunken culinary escapades.

Unfortunately this morning my noddles and chips are having a far from desired after effect. My stomach hurts, my head is weird, and all i can taste, even 4 toothbrushes later, is stale chips and hoi sin sauce - NICE.

On a nicer note I keep remember hilarious scenes from last night in Liniker's. Brendan's incredible dancing, Rob's look of ecstatic happiness when he saw the scantily clad dancer while we were queuing outside, as usual, Martin's dancing, and some other things that cant stop putting a little smile on my face.

One thing that doesn't make me smile is the random guy in my taxi on the way home. He was a friend of a friend going the same way as me, Ellie, and Joe, however what he didn't do was pay. Well, actually that is unfair, I will give him credit where credit is due. He gave me a Euro and a few cents, and he wasn't even foreign. How is that meant to help me pay a £15 taxi fair in Newcastle Mr, or help me pay for my morning paper and diet coke today? IDIOT!!!!

Zizzi's with the PA Training Crew

I am exhausted this morning, but if i am totally honest, I really only have myself to blame.

Last night the hardworking and hard socialising PA Training Crew went out - yet again - to celebrate our basic thirst for life.

This time we actually had a valid reason to kick our feet back and have a cheeky few. It was Larissa's birthday.

Well when I say her birthday, i mean it was almost and that was undoubtedly a good enough reason.

So after staying my hour to finish work, do my teeline, and basically sink into a pit of despair while trying (in vain) to remember the special outline for company - yes I now know it's co - I trudged in the glorious sunshine to join the others at Zizzi's.

I have never been to Zizzi's before, and from friends rave reviews I had fairly high expectations. I wasn't to be disappointed.

Even though I had few options due to my lactose intolerance, spice disagreement, and general awkwardness, I thoroughly enjoyed my meal. I ended up with what was the only thing without cheese on the menu, the tuna salad - yes i am now getting bored of always having salad. However, this was a delightful salad, that had hidden surprises tucked under a mountain of crispy lettuce leaves (it would have been nice if they had mixed it up a bit): new potatoes, egg, olives, peppers. YUM.

My only grumble was the price. Luckily for us lovely Shirley printed us off some very handy vouchers, 2 main meals for £12, which saved us all a fortune. However, the drinks were fairly extortionate, even for hardened journalists like us.

So this morning I am feeling full, tired, sleepy, a little sick and hungover. But was it worth it? Without a shadow of a doubt. Going for a meal is a very social occasion. Last night we all really relaxed, enjoyed ourselves, and had a good old natter, something that you cant really do in clubs with music pumping so loud that you cant even ask for a drink.

Obviously we did go to a loud club afterwards, and I once again got to watch Mr 'Martin' Motivator busting his moves on the dance floor of Bar 42. So I think there will be a lot of heads on desks this morning, and a lot of glazed faces staring at Susan as she writes knowledge for the 100th time, without us getting it. But ah well you only live once.

Journalism, Shorthand, New Friends....and back comes the complicator.

So I have finally finished my master's degree. Well I say finished, there is still the small matter of the reflective reports, which are becoming an added pain in my small sides.

Two days after finishing and I’m back at the Press Association Centre in Newcastle. I can almost hear the collective groan in the newsroom, who thought they got rid of me a few days ago. After a week, a long, tiring, hard, stressful week, I can hand-on-heart say that I am having the best time of my life. I may be exhausted, waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweats thinking I've failed my Teeline exam, stressing out over sourcing stories, but I am loving every single second of it.

The people I am working with are nothing short of journalism stars. I am finally working with people who actually want to become print journalists, who like me live and dream, eat and breathe for news, stories, and features. I have never been happier. Never enjoyed anyone’s company so much, and never had such a good time, all while reading newspapers, looking a squiggly outlines resembling hieroglyphics, and learning about the legal system.

One teeny weenie problem....it's back. That constant torture in my world that seems to taunt me, niggling below the surface, biding it's time, waiting until just when something is going right, and then BOOM, exploding in my face.

Yes my Crohn's is back - big time.

I like to say that I'm doing really well, and I guess I am really. But I am not sure how much longer this can carry on. I may have given in and gone back on the evil steroids, but I'm not sure I can see that much blood all day every day for too much longer. I'm exhausted, run down, fed up, and, well, in agony.

I am trying to pretend that I am ok. I'm going out with everyone else, dancing, drinking, eating...and well working my bum off. I am still eating, which is always a good sign. In fact, I am eating like a pig. I guess I am scared that if I stop eating I will just collapse.

But, for now, I'm going to keep battling on. This illness somehow always ends up making me stronger. So in the long run this little set back, while it feels like it is killing me now, it should help me to achieve more, and work harder than I ever thought possible.

Watch this space.

Mighty Burger....mighty bad stomach ache!

After my meeting with my brand new editor - who by the way is very nice, and hopefully likes me - I went to a tavern in Liverpool and had a few glasses of vino to celebrate. Then because I hadn't eaten all day, and I had a 4 hour train journey ahead of me - and it was the only place that was open - I did something I despise, I took fast food on a public train.

I haven't had 'real' fast food for as long as I can remember. When I say fast food, I mean the sort that's greasy, cold, soggy, and comes in a carton box, or a grease sodden supposedly grease proof bag. So, McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Pizza Hut, Wimpy, any of those strangely popular slimy restaurants.

Every so often I get this weird urge for a mayonnaise ridden Whopper meal, a strong urge to triple my calorie intake and clog up my arteries. This usually happens when I am so hungry I cant think, or usually, very drunk. This time I was both tired and drunk - a very bad combo.

So I committed one of my greatest sins. I marched up to the Burger King counter, stared at the menu board for forever, and then order the plain whopper meal. The spotty exhausted counter girl asked me if I wanted a large, and I just gawped at her - I felt like saying 'I wont justify that question with an answer'.

As I boarded the train, carrying my greasy bundle, and medium diet Pepsi, I noticed at least 3 other people carrying large BK bags. From the moment I sat down the pungent smell filled the carriage, and I actually felt sorry for the people near me - there wasn't that many luckily.

My meal was more of a dissection than a feast. A Whopper truly is a whopping big meal. My chips were cold, tasteless and not salty enough for the amount of damage they were doing to my insides. My burger was soggy, dripping with mayo and unfortunately nice enough to keep eating.

It took me exactly 50 minutes to eat it all - and mine was a small meal. The girl across the train from me scoffed down what looked like a double whopper large meal in less than 10 minutes - remarkable and revolting. Passengers actually watched me eat - I think they wondered how long it would take - in fact I'm sure a gang of lads where actually betting on it.

All in all it was a horrible experience. I wont be doing it again anytime soon. I hate fast food, and I now know I hate Burger King. My fast food days are defiantly over - I'm too old for it, and my stomach is too weak. I'd rather have a salad any day.

So, the answer to the checkout girl, 'would I like a large?' - Would I hell!!!

Is charging for soya milk acceptable? - I don't think so...

I have been lactose intolerant for more than 6 months now, and the transition has been nothing short of painful. I have given up all the foods I previously loved, ice cream, cream, cheese, chocolate, and even salt and vinegar crisps.

But more than anything else the hardest shock to my taste buds has been the substitution of cows' milk for soya milk.

If you've never tried soya milk, lets just say it's an acquired taste. At first I hated it. For an avid semi-skimmed milk drinker soy milk tastes, quite frankly, like gone off milk. But after 6 months of trying all the milk substitutions on the market - from oat, lactose free, rice and soy milk - I have reached the firm conclusion that in my coffee soya is by far the best.

As a coffee addict, what annoys me more than anything is having to pay for the pleasure of having soy milk in my drink. Why should I have to pay an extra 30 pence at Starbucks in order to have a drink that is actually drinkable? Why should people with allergies suffer financial loss in order to enjoy their caffeine fix.

On top of the 30 pence extra for my 'special' milk, I also have to pay 30 pence for my sugar free vanilla syrup, which helps me to tolerate the gone off soya taste. Some coffee shops, such as Costa, don't charge for their soya, and for that I am always very grateful, however, their coffee just isn't that nice - I think it's a personal taste issue.

So why do I pay? Because I'm addicted to Starbucks, because I love their coffee, and because I have to have my coffee. Also, at least Starbucks provide soya for me, some places just down right refuse to accommodate us, and there is nothing I hate more than that.

So next time you sit down with your steaming cup of coffee, spare a thought for people like me, who have to fork out extra for their daily drink. Perhaps you will enjoy your coffee more.

Tuna pasta bake, chocolate cake, and stuffing sandwiches...for breakfast?

I like to think that my breakfast habits are pretty normal. Every morning I wake up, get dressed, and watch BBC news, while tucking into a bowl of cereal or a few slices of toast. Occasionally I might push the boat out and treat myself to crumpets, eggs, or, very rarely, a sausage sandwich.

I hardly ever skip breakfast, for me it is the most important meal of the day, without it I may as well stay in bed all day - I'm just a nightmare to be around.

As a student for three years I've lived with people who frankly have the worst eating habits in the world, particularly when it comes to breakfast. I've seen people tucking huge fry-ups, mountains of toast, and basically anything greasy and left over, most commonly pizza and garlic bread from the night before.

But a week away in Howden with some students from my MA course, and 3 years of living in student accommodation with stomach churning meals was starting to look normal.

My week in Howden highlighted the total cultural differences between people from different countries. Food in China and Japan is not only totally different, with completely different flavours, ingredients, and textures, but its role in daily life is so totally opposing to ours that it is almost alien to us.

I was amazed by the food habits I witnessed over the five day stay. My incredibly slim Chinese colleagues eat more in a day than I do in three, and they just don't seem to exercise. I have to say I was astonished, and spent most of my time there wondering 'just where do they put it all?' - and ultimately going slowly green with envy.

I witnessed tiny-waisted Amy putting away the largest selection of pub lunches I've ever seen in my life, slender Lillian eating hundreds of cream crackers, and astoundingly, super slim (could be a male model) Taka shovelling food in his mouth like a human dustbin.

But the daily breakfast rituals that I witnessed were nothing short of shocking. For my Chinese and Japanese colleagues breakfast was not just a necessity but a daily indulgence, where anything and everything considered edible is up-for-grabs.

Everyday I sat down with my bowl of Asda Price Cornflakes and soy milk, only to be faced with a table of my bleary eyed friends wolfing down plates of the most unusual breakfast dishes I have ever seen. I'm not really sure how anyone can start their day with a bowl of tuna pasta bake, chocolate biscuits, or a large slab of chocolate cake, but somehow they did.

I watched in wonder at the various dishes everyday. For breakfast, it would seem, anything goes. It is not only the most important meal of the day, but a chance to real pig out, and fill yourself up for the day ahead. I saw my friends scoff down, among other things, sandwiches, cakes, biscuits, left over pasta bake, all accompanied by gallons of hot water and a large variety of exotic teas.

By far the strangest thing I witnessed, and, I'm sorry to say, the most revolting, had to be watching Taka stuff his face with stuffing and chilli sauce on toast - makes my stomach turn just remembering it.

What amazed me is that by lunchtime they were always starving, racing for a cafe, and snacking on cream crackers - how do they do it? It was incredible to watch, and by the end of our stay I was green with envy, and starting to feel weird for only eating toast and cereal for breakfast - I must be missing out on a trick somewhere and a feast.

So as much as I still think that chocolate cake for breakfast is not a good idea, particularly if you want to live a long healthy life, I might begin to spread my wings a little bit on the breakfast front, and possibly try eggs, or pancakes.

But, somehow, I don't think you will be seeing me abandoning my cornflakes and soya latte anytime soon.

A Good Day for Dairy Free

cloned cows creating a moo

Today is possibly the first time I have ever been happy to be lactose intolerant.

After a year of eating lactose free cheese ( which is pointless, and tastes like sawdust), drinking sugar free vanilla soya lattes from Starbucks (which costs extra) and basically being a nightmare in resturants, my time has eventually come - I can finally say, thank god I don't drink milk.

Over the past few days milk has hit the national headlines, after produce from cloned animals has entered the British food chain - and the scary thing is that no-one knows who is drinking it.

Basically this all sounds like typical British behaviour to me. It's all a bit over-the-top, scare mongering, and pathetic. Suddenly we are all terrified that one sip of milk, one scoop of ice-cream is going to turn us into three headed, black-and-white spotted, grass eating mutants, who spend their days running round in circles, mooing and lying down when it rains.

Fair enough, maybe we have a right to be worried. I'm one of those weird people who likes to know what's in their food, where did it come from, and how the animals have been treated. However, I'm not worried that the wrong type of milk, cheese, butter, or even icecream might transform me into a mutant.

I agree with Tom Chivers from the Daily Telegraph when he says: "I stand by my statement that the odds of cloned milk being a health risk are negligible. Laughable, even." Like Tom, I am no expert, however I also find it laughable that the country is (once agin) up-in-arms, paniking about a problem, which may (or may not) be harmful, or even a problem at all.

But who am I to talk - I'm lactose intolerant - I'm not eating it.

Last week someone gave me a chinese sweet to eat, and being an idiot, and hungry, i accepted it. I couldn't read the label, it was in chinese, so I thought, 'what the hell' and ate it - more fool me.

Now, one allergic reaction later, I can't speak, eat, or really do much apart from make weird noises. It is painful, and embarressing, particularly as I had a bank appointment where they treated me as an imbeciel, and refused my overdraft - unfair when you can respond - particulary when said bank made "7bn profit" that day.

So, I have learned my lesson the hard way. Never accept food when you don't know what's in it.

However, this new cloned agenda shouldn't stop those who can enjoy cream, cheese and milk, enjoying it. Don't freak out and stop buying our farmers produce just because it might have been cloned, because in all fairness, what are the chances of it being in your cup of tea?

But, if you're that worried, why not try joining us lactose free people for a while - bet you'll be back to the semi-skimmed in no time.

Sensational Seafood at The Big Mussel

After a very stressful day at University running around like a headless chicken, I found myself (once again) at one of my all time favourite restaurants in Newcastle - The Big Mussel.

The Big Mussel is a small individual seafood restaurant near the Quayside in Newcastle City Centre. It offers possibly the best menu for all seafood addicts, with a large offering of local seafood dishes all at unbelievably reasonable prices, namely the 1 kg pots of mussels and large bowl of chunky fries – which are completely TO DIE FOR!

The restaurant is a secret treasure hidden between the wealth of Chinese and Indian restaurants leading to the bustling Quayside. I don’t think I would ever have found it if my sister hadn’t taken me there when I first arrived in Newcastle – the company logo – a giant mussel shell posing in a macho pose – appears to advertise an all-you-can-eat American diner, or even a rather bizarre gym, rather than the best seafood restaurant in the North East – making me unlikely to have strayed inside without my sisters encouragement.

On arriving to the restaurant this Wednesday, (unfortunately twenty minutes too late in order to experience the truly delightful bargain of early bird Mussel Mania), we were greeted by a packed restaurant. I was surprised to see the restaurant so busy on a week day evening, and was afraid for a moment that me, my sister and her friends would be unable to get a seat. Luckily the waitress moved some tables and managed to accommodate the five of us on the balcony (a first), in a prime position to access the stair well and toilets easily.

We soon realised why the usually tranquil restaurant was so fully booked this evening…it was Jazz Night. Jazz Night is a weekly event - every Wednesday from 7pm onwards a Jazz guitar duo plays on a raised stage for the entertainment of the diners. The event is obviously very popular…and it was easy to see why.

The guitar duos mellow tones added to the ambient atmosphere of the already tranquil restaurant, rising above the diners and creating a real buzz of relaxed socialising. Halfway through the meal I was amazed to notice that the duo’s stage area was situated on a platform close to the ceiling of the restaurant – making them at the same level of us. I spent the majority of the evening wondering how the duo (and their expensive equipment) managed to access the isolated platform without the aid of any visible stairs – apart from a shaky looking ladder perched against the platform there appeared to be no other way of getting to the stage.

The table may have been hastily constructed, but with candles, dimmed lighting and good company I managed to forget the stresses of my day and truly enjoy my random evening out.

We ordered some wine, which was enjoyed from my favourite large glasses, which hold half a bottle and appear to swallow my entire face within their rim. This was quickly followed by my favourite appetizer, bread and oil (due to my intolerance to butter), which, to my dismay, was rapidly gobbled up by my companions.

We didn’t have long to wait for our main meals – which is always a sign of a good restaurant. I had been daring and ordered (for the first time) something other than my usual mussel pot. I decided to try a main meal, fruits of the sea– pasta, mussels, salmon, cockles and tomato and garlic sauce. I was not dissapointed by my choice, and as I watched the others fiddling with their steming mussels I felt delighted by my break from the norm. The meal was truly delightful, a perfect sized helping, perfectly seasoned and a true pleasure to eat.

After a couple of hours of truely delightful and relaxing dining we emerged reluctantly into the cold dark night. We left full, but not uncomfortably stuffed, and truely relaxed from the melo music and serene atmosphere. The manager as usual was delightful, and shook my hand as we left, in a truely friendly and honest way.

I have undoutably become a Jazz Night convert and hope to visit the Big Mussel again very soon. The Big Mussel is arguably Newcastle's best keep seafood secret, and as the winner of the Seafood Resturant of The Year 2010, and I hope that it continues to maintain this award winning combination of seriously good seafood, serene surroundings and unintrusive service which keep it so unique and delighful to dine in.

5 stars - the only thing that would have made the experience more perfect would have been the option of a pudding. To my dismay, the eatery offers no desserts for lactose intolerant clients, which is similar in most diners across the city. However, I was so full it would have been pure greed and gluttony to have consumed a single crumb of a cake, and I probably would have felt very poorly.