Unhappy Mondays

A belated Happy St Father’s Day to you all.  We had a fantastic day, which started in bed with banana bread and flaming candles (“Happy Father’s Day to yooooooooooooooooooo”) and ended back in the same bed with banana bread-crumbs sticking in our respective arses - but thankfully no flames doing the same.  In between there was hilarious nudity by the Boy (which gave rise to some rather obscene and disturbing willy-rubbing against the back of the Girl’s head - which, almost as disturbingly, she seemed to enjoy just as much as he did), sunshine and newspapers, a visit to Vauxhall City Farm*, and an afternoon at South Bank – which was just brilliant.  More sunshine, roof-top gardens, bars on rooftop gardens, gin cocktails, bumble-bee chasing, scarecrow-teasing, and general infant and toddler merriment.  Every single time I go to South Bank, I remember why it is I love London.  And so it was that we got home late, fuzzy, grimey, but happy (and then, once we were in bed, itchy.)

Monday however was a whole different kettle of fish.  Firstly, the weather was cack – which, as every parent and chief entertainment-provider of toddlers knows, is the main determinant of the day’s stress levels. Secondly, the Boy can now communicate fairly effectively, and understands everything - which is a real bummer if you need to back-track on a promise made several seconds previously.  “I tell you what, if the pool gate is open then we’ll go in.” (Said with the smug knowledge of someone who can read the sign hanging off said pool gate which says “POOL SHUT.”).  Well, I guess such despicable deception deserved an unlocked gate.  And so in he bounded, tore across the manky empty pool to the large puddle of putrid water in the middle, and promptly fell smack on his face, comprehensively drenching himself – impressive, considering the half inch of water he fell in.  So I stripped him down and dressed him in his reserve clothes (ie, what I found underneath the pram – green dinosaur shorts, and a red-checked shirt; he resembled a large and angry garden gnome) and to take the edge off the morning I offered him a trip to Starbucks as a treat.   

It wasn’t much of a treat for the Starbucks staff however.  It’s not that he went bonkers exactly, rather that I suspect they may have inadvertently slipped a shot of espresso in his babyccino.  Hopefully nobody minded too much being given offered a sprinkling of chocolate on whatever they were drinking (latte, tea, juice, etc), but I think the lady with the dog got a bit perplexed when he kept feeding it napkins.  And the staff, patient tho they were to a point, really didn’t enjoy his climbing-onto-the-window-table-and-swinging-from-the-hanging-sign trick.  I meanwhile was employing my new means of survival calming technique, which mainly involves ignoring whatever he’s doing and playing with the Girl (don’t you hate people like me? I certainly do.)  Still, the large angry gnome enjoyed himself, and best of all, the babyccino was free, hurrah!

I can’t even remember what we did on Monday afternoon; now that I think about it, it was only yesterday, so it must have been fairly bad to warrant being wiped from my memory.  I think it may have involved the library, dvds and fish fingers – most disappeared days do – but I couldn’t swear to it.  I do think however that I could have done us all a huge favour by starting the day with flaming banana bread.  That, and a day trip out of the neighbourhood, are clearly the secrets to an enjoyable day. 

Banana Bread

Some of you may have noticed that I don’t bake that much.  I’m actually crap at baking; the precision required annoys – and defeats – me.  This, however, is forgiving and fool-proof, and allows you to be as scatty creative as you want. Throw in nuts, dried fruit, cinnamon, orange zest, chocolate pieces – whatever you want, to jazz it up.  A food processor makes this the easiest cake ever to make, but you don’t actually need one.  The basic recipe is as follows:

• 3 (or 2 large) ripe bananas, mashed well
• 6 oz sugar (any type)
• 8oz self-raising flour
• 2 eggs
• 4oz butter

Grease a loaf tin, and preheat oven to 4/180 / 170 with fan.

Cream the butter and sugar until smooth, and add the eggs (if you use a processor, it might separate and look a bit curdled at this stage – don’t worry, it’ll turn out fine).

Add the mashed bananas and mix well.  (If you want a bit of texture to the cake (ie, banana lumps), then do this and the next step by hand.  If you prefer an even texture then continue with the processor).

Mix in the flour.

Put the mixture into the tin and into the oven;  after 45 minutes lower the heat to 2 / 150 / 140 fan, and give it another half an hour.

Turn out onto a wire and leave to cool, before sticking candles in it and presenting it to a sleeping man, accompanied by some blood-curdling singing.

*If any proof is needed that we have to get our children out of London more often, it arose when the Boy ran up to a giant PLASTIC cow in the farm, hugged it, and tried to feed it grass.  Thus, we are spending July in the wilds of Ireland.  Where we probably won’t be able to see any cows, because of the rain.