March 19 2007

So another weekend bites the dust. More and more often I seem to be glad to get into work on a Monday, to have a break from the chaos that is Saturday and Sunday. So much for the day of rest. So much for keeping the sabbath holy.

In fact, the last three weeks have been a pretty manic time, packed with firsts.
On the organic front, while I have been a devotee of pesticide free produce for three years the one thing I had never done, until this month, was order an organic veg box.
The reasons not to order a veg box always seemed to outweigh the reasons for ordering one. Firstly the boxes are only delivered on one day a week, so you have to arrange to be in, and make sure you hit the ordering deadline, and hope the arrival of the veg fits in with your eating plans for the week.
But much more of a disincentive for me was the random lottery factor of the whole thing. When you order a veg box it isn't like online shopping at Sainsburys or Tesco. Your choice tends to be limited to the size of the box, the contents are down to the supplier.
Now personally I was never happy with that. I always had visions of opening up the box to be confronted with something like the second round of Masterchef Goes Large. That's the bit where Jon and Greg torture the candidates by showing them random food items under pressure and asking them to identify the mystery items. Like CSI without the AOL sountrack and MTV camerawork.
But while I've been engaged in a heavy-duty DIY project in recent weeks (more of that later) the wife has taken over the duties of cooking, and she decided to risk 'The Box'.
Week one, we ordered online from Riverford...and my fears were allayed. I could recognise every item in the box, knew how to cook it and was willing to eat it. And so to the second first. The wife has spent three weeks cooking, a job I normally take care of. Even with the range of random produce from Riverford, she went through the first week turning out great food.
Then week two struck. The second box, and 'what the devil is that' was the cry when we peeled back the paper. Forget CSI, this is X-Files.
Okay, so the veg inside may not be the most exotic things ever, but they were certainly something we'd never eaten, cooked or bought before, and had no idea what to do with. Each week's box does come with a newsletter and some suggested recipes.
So away we went trying out celeriac, raw beetroot, Swiss chard and artichoke hearts for the first time.
The conclusion. Well, ordering an organic veg box is a bit like a day trip to Crealy. Some of it is fun,. some of it is terrifying, some of it will leave you feeling queasy and the whole thing leaves you lighter in the pocket. But you are left with some great memories and undoubtedly you will want to go back for more.
The third first? If that makes sense. Back to the CSI. If you're new to this phenomenon, so was I. Basically its like The Bill, but American, and rather than going round chasing people through dody housing estates and bashing down cheap doors on council flats, they use cotton buds to pick up something that is obviously blood, then cut to a five minute sequence of strange camera angles and fades set to a Richard Marx track, then all stand around and say "It's blood."
Each show starts with a murder or six and an obvious suspect, the team spends 44 minutes pursuing someone else, then it turns out it was the obvious guy you thought it was at the start. This doesn't just happen in CSI, also try out CSI NY, CSI LV, NCIS and JAG for similar results. Oh and Criminal Minds. Or should I just call that one CM for the sake of completeness.
So why the sudden change in my TV diet?
Back to the DIY. For the last three weeks we have been converting a concrete shed in our back garden into a flat. Now this project is well beyond my abilities. Then again, so was ficing a leaky washer on the bath. In steps Bob, the wife's dad's sister's husband. A builder by trade who works at an inexpensive rate if given a solid diet of American cop dramas and tea.
And so we come full circle to the busy weekend. Saturday was a mad dash to get the shed, sorry annex, into a suitable state for the family inspection. The whole of the wife's family were turnimng up in the afternoon for a meal as her parents were celebrating their 40th anniversary. So the morning was a mad DIY dash to get concrete and carpets laid, paint in all the right places etc etc.
The afternoon was a mad dash to cook 3.5kilos of organic lamb and all the accompaniments.
The evebing was entertaining said family. Sunday. Mothers' Day. Damn, i have to do it all while she stays in bed. Why wasn't that one in the wedding ceremony? "Biut I spent the whole of yesterday working for your family..." I tried. "Unnh..." she grunted from under the duvet.
"Unh" indeed. Only three hours later did Mothers Day come up as the topic of this week's sermon. Our vicar chose that moment to inform us that Mothers Day wasn't about Mothers, it was about the Mother Church and the Mother of God and should be used to celebrate all family. So I had to get up at six o'clock, look after the youngling, make breakfast, clean up Saturday's mess through four dishwasher loads and then get back to making the shed, sorry annex, for nothing?
I'd also made the mistake of asking our two-year-old what she wanted to buy mummy for Mothers Day. I expected the answer to be playdough, or a dolly. Easy enough, I thought,. Back came the answer "A necklace with some flowers and a card with a doggy."
"Huh?", damn that brain-boosting organic diet. Now I have to wait another 10 years for her to return to answering in monosyllabic grunts. Like her mum.
I had briefly considered entering the sterile corporate cathedral of Drake Curcus to find the gift and card all under one roof, before falling for the IQ marketing and heading to the Independent Quarter. That's the part of Plymouth City Centre that used to be called 'the scuzzy bit round the market'.
And the result? Excellent. Once I managed to negotiate the sparows and chavs in Colin Campbell Car Park, and get past the second hand shops without being forced to cash any cheques, but a samurai sword or buy back stuff nicked from my home in a burglary, the IQ was a pleasant(ish) place to shop.
I endedup in Tor:Pedo where, far from that corporate cathedral, the stock was unique and interesting, the staff courteous, interested and informative and the purchase was perfect and unique rather than settled for.
Ah well, that's the weekend over, here's to an easy week before whatever next Saturday and Sunday have to offer.
Right, where's that calendar, I'm planning my Fathers Day revenge already.