When we first met he probably had a pizza once a week. A big greasy, cheesy yummy one with pepperoni and anchovies. We had some rockin’ pizza delivery places in our old ‘hood.

Many evenings, when exhaustion ringed my eyes, he would altruistically suggest we get a pizza delivered.

If I called him at work saying I was having a terrible day, he would suggest pizza.

When I’m sick and unable to cook, he will suggest pizza.

If my arms were broken or amputated, he would suggest pizza.

He will always take one (‘za) for the team, my man. (Disclaimer: may or may not have exaggerated slightly – sorry, darling.)

Since moving to the ‘burbs we’ve been in a pizza wasteland. With much anticipation and hope in our hearts we’ve had deliveries of all kinds of pizza.

Too cheesy.

Hard to believe there could be such a thing, but when your entire mouth is cloyed and cemented, you gotta call it how you see it. We could barely make it through a couple of pieces and we threw the rest away. Sacrilege!

Too greasy.

Shouldn’t drip oil down to your elbow. Just wrong.

Too doughy.

Shouldn’t need a set of Jaws of Life to chew through your pie.

Too much by way of topping.

Suburban pizzerias think more is more when it comes to their skyscraping pizza. The Godfather would roll in his grave if he saw these atrocities against Italy.

I started making my own, and I have to say, I’ve actually mastered the art, except that one time I was talking myself up hard but in the midst of my dough making the police arrived to take a statement about a break-in and I forgot where I was up to. I forgot to add the olive oil to my dough and it is integral it seems. That was a sad day.

Stolen goods, and dodgy pizza.

A chip off the old block (of cheese), D Man loves pizza, so this is an awesome recipe to do with your kids. It’s easy for them to be involved and not create too much havoc.

For the best dough, you need a good strong gluten filled dough, as the gluten is what gives it the brilliant elasticity needed to fling that pizza dough like a real pizza man, but in light of the wheat reduction around these here parts, today I’ve use half wholemeal spelt, and half gluten-free flours.

It didn’t get the stretch, but I rolled it out, and it crisped nicely…. no complaints from the two pizza connoisseurs anyway!

This recipe will make four pizzas.

What you will need :

• 1 cup lukewarm water
• 2 teaspoons dry yeast
• 1 ¼ teaspoons sugar
• 1 ½ tablespoons olive oil, plus extra, for greasing
• 4 cups flour, plus extra, for dusting. I used 2 gluten-free, 2 wholemeal spelt, but I reckon plain i
• 1 ¼ teaspoons salt
• tomato paste
• garlic
• basil and oregano, dried and/or fresh
• your favorite pizza toppings

What you will need to do :

Mix the lukewarm water, yeast and sugar together in a small bowl until combined, then leave in a warm place for 5 minutes or until frothy. Stir in your olive oil.

Pop your flour and salt together into a large bowl and whisk it to remove any lumps because we’re too lazy to sift.

Pour the yeast mixture over the flour and use your hands to bring the mixture together to form a dough. Turn the dough out onto your clean counter and use the heel of your hands to work the dough for 5 minutes until it is smooth and elastic. Gluten free flours do not become elastic, so don’t panic if you’re trying a reduced gluten dough.

Lightly grease the inside of a clean dry bowl with oil and place the dough inside. Chuck a tea towel over the dough and leave in a warm place to prove for 45-60 minutes.

Normal flour will double in size, but wholemeal spelt, or GF only rises a little.

Dust a clean work surface lightly with the extra flour and tip out the dough. Give it a couple of hits to knock back any air, and roll into a nice ball, then cut into quarters. Roll each quarter into a ball and then work it into your desired shaped.

I used rectangular baking trays instead of the traditional round, just because it’s what I have. Place the dough balls on a lightly greased baking tray, cover and leave in a warm place to prove for 15 minutes, while your prepare your toppings.

I squirt a wad of tomato paste on the dough, and throw my crushed garlic on top and then sprinkle dried herbs. That way, when I smear it all over the pizza it all combines.

Then I do a modest sprinkle of cheese for myself and D Man, whilst Mister H likes it a bit cheesier. The thing about making them at home is you can create them exactly how you like them.

Perfect for a control freak pizza connoisseur. C’est moi.

Some topping suggestions are -

• thinly sliced potato, rosemary and Italian sausage
• roast capsicum, olive, pepperoni, sliced tomato and fresh rocket on top
• pumpkin, fetta, bacon and spinach
• Super Supreme – The Lot!

Chuck into a preheated 200C oven and cook for about 25 minutes, until browned and crisp.

Cut into pieces, and allow to cool for a minute so as not to burn the knobbly bit behind your teeth as you bite.

Hooking it up with Jess because I blog on Tuesdays…. Hiya, L’il J.

I do not identify with one particular religion, but regardless of your religious leanings, there is no denying that there was once a man named Jesus. This man did not claim to be the son of God, born through immaculate conception, who walked on water and performed miracles like magic tricks and dazzled people into following him, as the Bible would have us believe.

This man was an amazing public speaker, who preached of love and forgiveness in a time of great uncertainty. It was a time when Palestine had been invaded by the Romans, and life was harsh. You could be killed or tortured for a variety of misdemeaners and a simple toothache could spell your demise.

People followed Jesus because he made them feel safe and loved. His inner light helped them transform their own energy.

Jesus was a revolutionary. A leader.

Both the Romans and the Jews disliked him because he went against the grain. He was a threat to the hierarchy and he wasn’t afraid of the establishment. He taught freely that forgiveness and love were stronger than fear and greed.

I think I can relate to a dude like that.

Rev. Dr. Sahra Renata has written a book that goes against everything that the Catholic Church has taught for years, that Christ was a single man. She is even going against New Age believers that Jesus Christ was actually married to Mary Magdalene.

For centuries there has been speculation that Jesus and Magdelene were married and had children, thereby creating a lineage that still exists to this very day. There is many supportive writings on this matter with books such as The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail, and even the Da Vinci Code. Although both books are actually classified as works of fiction, they are based greatly on historical hypothesis.
In fact, Dan Brown freely admits he just chose 3 controversial and media-grabbing historical topics that would make a good thriller and put them together.

It begs the question -

What if Jesus, the dude, did have a brood?

Now, Sahra has come forward with a new book that claims that Mary Magdalene actually had a twin sister, also named Sahra. She says that Sahra and Jesus wed in secret, and her sister, Mary Magdelene, was a High Priestess who worked by Jesus’ side in his mission. She created a red herring to allow Sahra and Jesus’ children anonymity because they were all smart enough to know that their children would be in grave danger.

This tale has more duplicity and deceit than an episode of The Bold and The Beautiful and I was fascinated to hear it’s author tell how she believes that Jesus’ secret wife was actually publically married to King Herod. I bet if Herod knew that he would have been even crankier with Jesus (understatement of the centuries).

Holy schnauzer…. she was married to two dudes? Who were enemies? And one supposedly killed the other before he rose again?
What the???
The bible is unbelievable at the best of times, but this is incredibly juicy.
I am fascinated by the possibility that this is the truth. It’s like rewriting the ancient history books.

Could it be the biggest cover up that ever was?

I was intrigued to know where this new mind-blowing information came from. How did Sahra Renata come across this knowledge? Has she got access to the Vatican’s secret archives or discovered hidden texts, I asked?

No.

This information came to her in a much more profound way.

Ten years ago, I was given three months to live. I discharged myself from hospital, because I knew that it was between myself and God. One night, I thought I was dying. I made arrangements for my son because I thought I may not see the morning. I prepared every way I could to live, but I surrendered to the possibility of going that night.

She told me she thought this night was the end.

How terrifying.

She describes that night as ‘dancing with death’. As she was flitting in and out of consciousness, she felt herself traveling to another plain. On this plain, a man came to her side and comforted her.
That man was Jesus.

He filled me with light, she explained.

Doesn’t that sound incredible?

It was not her time that night, but something had opened up inside her, and over the next ten years Jesus came to her many times, guiding her back through time and he has shown her his story. Rev. Dr. Sahra believes she has resurrected ancient truths by putting it all together.

So, you write the story as it comes into your head?, I asked her.

The story doesn’t just come to me in words written on a page. I experience the sensations as though it is a movie, and I am one of the characters. I live it. It takes a massive toll on my body and I have even been admitted to hospital after receiving the most important parts of this book. 

That’s pretty kooky, huh? I mean, K.O.O.K.Y.

That said, I was struck by how un-airy fairy Sahra was. She is an articulate, incredibly intelligent and attractive lady in her mid-50′s and she was not at all weird or flaky. She is trained in psychotherapy, is an ordained minister, has an M.A. in Spiritual Philosophy and a Ph.D in metaphysics. Pretty serious credentials by anyone’s standards…

I believe in psychics, and I believe you can communicate with the other side. I believe celestial beings – angels – and ghosts communicate with us all the time. A song on the radio with a lyric that speaks to you, or some little sign that we are part of a greater thing…. so why not Jesus?

He’s just another dude, right?

Still, it’s pretty wild.

I ask if she ever questioned her sanity?

I used to wonder if I was just making it all up. The story was revealed to me very slowly, in pieces, and as it took shape I realised that this was actually my divine heritage. This is my job in this world.

Do you think you are blessed, or cursed?

Both, she laughed.

This is not the first time someone claims to have received information in this divine manner. The Conversations With God series, by Neale Donald Walsh, have been international best-sellers, and for good reason.
His words came ‘through’ him and onto the page.
Regardless of how his books came to be on the page the message in them is uplifting. They tell of a loving God and an open minded God who gave us free will, rather than a fire and brimstone Lord who damns people to hell for masturbating or fornicating.

I think the biggest thing that The Book of Sahra, Jesus’ Secret Wife and Conversations with God both have in common, is the very fact that if you can simply suspend your disbelief for long enough to read the story, there is much to be obtained by way of enlightening messages held in the text.

The Book of Sahra is a love story. It is one woman’s sacred journey and it is an allegory for all humans’ spiritual journey. There is a great underlying message contained within the pages that teaches us to live our lives as our divine selves.

 

If you would like more information on this book, you can find the website here, and Facebook page here. If you want to purchase a copy, you can get hardcopy on Amazon, or ebook on Kindle, now.

Flogging my blog on Friday @ With Some Grace.

I’m not a generally store-bought cupcake kinda gal but when I walked past a sign saying pistachio and rosewater cupcake, I knew one of those puppies had my name all over it.

When it came time to organise my wedding cake I knew this baby was it. The problem was I was getting married 2500 kms away from this shop. I explained my plight, thinking maybe they’d take pity on me and allow their recipe to wing its way to my cake maker in Port Douglas, QLD… alas, they merely shook their heads and said forget about it.

Bastards.

They also said that this cake would never withstand being larger than a cupcake as the mixture would cave in.

Dastardly bastards. They may as well have challenged me to a sword fight at dusk.

I went to my guru of cake. I described this cake to her with words like delicate, exotic and exquisite. She had never heard of such flavours in a cake.

There was only one thing for it. Express Post.

From the second she received the slightly sweaty, partly mooshed, icing smeared flying cupcake, she was onboard the adventure. She was dissecting it on her tongue, trying to recreate the texture and flavour. She did all that and more. She not only matched the delicate flavours, but she made it better… and then smothered it in white chocolate ganache.

Boom.

I didn’t throw a kids party for Kiki’s first birthday. I threw a late lunch feast for a few dear ones who love her to pieces. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to recreate our wedding cake. Maybe it’s a little bit weird, but I’ve actually been dying for an excuse to make it.

The beauty of it is it’s possibly the easiest cake ever. You make it in a food processor. No creaming, no sifting, no nuffing. You chuck everything in, and whizz.

Sha-wing!!

Note : This is to make one 8 inch round cake…. oh, and this batter is so freakin’ yummy, it’s addictive.

What you will need :

For the cake - 

• 150g shelled pistachios
• 150g self-raising flour
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 200g castor sugar
• 200g softened butter
• 3 medium eggs
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 2 tablespoons milk
• 2 tablespoons rosewater

For the ganache - 

• 120g white chocolate, plus a few pieces for garnish
• 60 ml cream
• a small handful of pistachios, chopped, for garnish

Preheat oven to 160C. Grease and line a baking tin.

Very finely grind your nuts in a food processor.
Chuck in your flour, cardamom and sugar and blend to combine. Add the rest of the ingredients and blend until smooth.

Tip into your tin and bake for 55 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. Leave to cool in the tin for an hour before turning out (although apparently it’s also divine warm with cream)

Chuck your chocolate and cream into a saucepan and melt together. Leave to cool for a good few minutes before you spoon on. Spoon into the middle and gently push it towards the edge until it runs down the side.

I then melted my remaining few pieces of chocolate and smeared in onto baking paper before rolling it and setting it in the fridge. When you unfurl it you have curls and cool pieces for garnish. Chuck it on with some pistachios and you have yourself a cake that’s fit for a wedding… or a first birthday.

Hooking up with Our Growing Edge. This month’s host is Sonya, at And More Food.
Go see who’s tending their growing edge this month!

In this old school Italian family’s home, I sat at the table with the happy couple and some dear old friends of theirs who had been married for 43 years.

This here marriage novice had the most insightful discussion with these nuptial heavy weights on the secret to longevity in a union. We ate cheese and figs and drank wine and in no time I felt like I was part of the family, and it was beautiful.

The big day was touched gently by sadness, as it also marked the end of a mourning period after the loss of a dear one, but I truly believe I saw many generations of this family present, those with us and those passed, all celebrating 50 years of amore and famiglia.

LOVE & FAMILY

What else is important?

Nothing.

I’m honoured to have been able to chronicle the day, and capture just a few of the precious moments that this family had.

The biggest thing I’ll take away with me from this experience were the words of the Groom, the evening we met.

‘In life, in the home, there will be storms, but soon, the sun… she come out.’

Sage advice for a novice.

Tomorrow, will be 365, and then you are one.

I can’t believe it. Although I clearly remember the second you were born, it feels like you’ve been here all along, or maybe you’ve just always been with me in one form or another.

You’ve had a couple of colds, you’ve got a couple of teeth, you’ve taken a couple of assisted steps. In many ways, on the grand scheme of babies, you are unremarkable, but that’s only  if you’re not looking properly.

Your great grandmother, Grand Nana, wrote you a letter saying how sometimes you just know that a child is an angel straight from heaven. It sounds a little schmaltzy, but Kiki, you have a light inside you. Such a tiny person, with such a big, shining light.

You just smile at everyone and they can’t help but love you. Your flashing dimples are like a prize that you give freely.

You’ve been known to throw yourself at people for a cuddle. Sometimes you know them, sometimes you don’t. You choose them, though, and make their day.

You’re fierce, too. You defend yourself well against your big brother and I can see you’re fiery. I like that in a girl, although I’m sure by the time you’re 13 I’ll reconsider that sentence, when you’re giving me a run for my money.

My darling, at 12 months you’re trying to walk and trying to talk, and trying to be like your big brother. You love food, often squawking like a gremlin if someone has something and hasn’t offered you any. You’ll put your head down, and determinedly crawl, with the force of a wombat, over to claim some nosh. You don’t care that you only have two bottom teeth. You’ll try anything. Your Papa jokes that the only time you cry is between dinner and dessert.

You have the most amazingly soft skin, and you love to crawl naked on the couch. Up and down. Up and down. Must feel liberating or something because you don’t do it as much with your kit on. I love to cuddle you before bath time. I take your clothes off and just run my hands over your back and arms as you sit on my lap. The feel of you is intoxicating, and fills me with great, big, crazy love.

You have a husky laugh. Sometimes it surprises me because you laugh at the strangest things. I guess you get that from me. One day you, too, will be the only person laughing loudly at the cinema. It’s good to see humor where others don’t. Life is funny at inopportune moments.

You’re a very cuddly baby, and when you rest your little head into the crook of my neck, something inside me just melts. These days are going by so fast, and soon you’ll be a toddler, a child, a teen, and then grown. Sometimes it just flashes before me, and I want to hold you tight, envelope you into me and just keep you almost 1.

But then I’d miss all the fun we’re going to have. The learning about each other, and the discussions about life and the fights about freedom, and how much I don’t understand you because I could never possibly have felt like you and all of the crazy stuff that happens before you set off on your own.

I’ll just take a mental snap shot of this moment. I’ll take a gazillion photos, and write a few thousand words so I remember this year.
This has unarguably been one of the hardest years of my life to date, little one. For various reasons.

But let me assure you, that far outweighing the difficulties, this has also been the best year of my life, because you came to complete our family, and in many ways, you completed my heart.

Happy first birthday, Miss Kiki Wiggles. You are truly delicious.

Hooking up with Team Ibot over with EssentiallyJess, who is also pretty delicious, coincidently.

So, I was invited to join this new weekly linky called ‘The Lounge’, right?

It’s hosted by 5 pretty happening bloggers so when I received a personal invite from the Very Inappropriate Rachel (swears like it’s an art form), it felt like I was being invited to morning tea with the cool kids.

This week’s subject was ‘Things I thought I’d be better at’, and seeing as I’m shit at loads of stuff, I thought this post would write itself. I’ve been mulling it over.

I suppose I thought I’d be better at taking criticism, constructive or otherwise. I’m not too bad taking it from a stranger, but if I’m married to you? Forget it.

I could write about my foot and hand hygiene. I thought by now I would be better at washing hands before meals, not biting the skin on my fingers or filing back the rough rhinoceros dermis on my hooves.

A rhino’s interpretation of my feet.

I could write about tact and how I thought by 36 years of age I would have mastered the art of tact. I’m shithouse at tact. Even when I think I’m being delicate, I come across as subtle as a punch in the face. It’s part of my charm, or so I keep telling myself.

I definitely thought I’d be better at grammar. I recently wrote in an email to someone ‘you know you’re shit’ and created all manner of awkward confusion. The apostrophe catastrophe will go down in the annuls.

I thought I’d be awesome at deciphering my baby’s cries by now. I’m still fumbling around in the dark (metaphorically), as I fumble around in the dark (literally) and I’ve been doing this in one form or another for three years.Is she hot? Cold? In pain? Or just stubbornly not wanting to give up the last pre-dawn feed?

But if you really want to know what I thought I’d be better at……

Time keeping.

Not time as in I can’t tell the time. Or even punctuality. I’m very punctual.

Time, as in, writing stuff in a calendar. Keeping track of dates.

I imagine my brain is akin to iCal and the steel trap will not let me down, but time and again, I simply forget shit. Appointments, play dates, birthdays… You name it, and I’ll thank you, because I’ve forgotten it.

I should, at the very least, write down birthdays. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that I think I’ll remember, and then….. well, it’s not my birthday, so I don’t care.

I have one girlfriend who’s birthday I never wrote down but by some sheer act of God, I called her three years in a row, randomly, on her birthday. Sadly, I never mentioned the words Happy, or Birthday, but I think I got away with it just for sheer arsey flukey-ness. I missed it this year, however.
Should have jotted it somewhere as it seems my connection with the Universal Birthday Calendar has been severed.

I’m a shocker for the double book. Considering I really don’t have much of a life, I’m forever finding that I’ve told two or even three separate people that I’ll do something, or hang out, and it’s all one big cluster frock…..or whatever the expression is.

It doesn’t make me look popular, it make me look like a dick.

The other side of that coin is setting a date and it simply slips my mind.

So, back to the link for The Lounge…… I knew it was opening May the 2nd, and I was ruminating and contemplating and I was thinking that this ought to be my subject matter, this lack of diarising.

I truly thought, that by almost 40, I would be  miraculously organised. I would keep a diary, or use ical (Lord knows I’m on my phone AND computer enough) and not be as unorganised as a teenager. I used to be a producer, FFS! My entire life was schedules, dates and diaries…..but to be fair, I was pretty shit at it then too.

I was better at the long lunch or wrap party part of my job. In fact,for a control freak, I’m quite the oxymoron.

Then, I looked at the date, and blow me down, it was May the 2nd yesterday and I hadn’t written a single word…and I ruminated and contemplated myself a late post……oh, the sweet, sweet irony.

It’s official. I’m going to do diary….

Would you recommend a paper diary or cyber diary?

What did you think you’d be better at by now?

Check out what other people haven’t got the knack of yet over at Misguided Musings, and hooking up with the floggers at With Some Grace.

Disclaimer – Not a real circus elephant….this one’s a famous actress.

As a little girl I really loved the circus.

Not Cirque Du Fancy Pants, Grande Chapiteau type circus, but the real McCoy, Big Top, lions and clowns and folk that date their cousins type circus.

When one was in town a while ago, a little flame of excitement sprang into my belly and I thought ‘cooooooooool’.

I imagined awesome photos for a photo blog, and having a cracking family day out with the colourful, carnival folk. I envisaged myself and D Man sitting there, breathing sighs of awe and wonder at the trapeze, tonguing fairy floss straight from the stick that leaves splinters in your tongue, and squealing with delight at the dancing horses (well, at least, that’s what I would be doing, he’d probably be picking his nose and eating it, or flicking popcorn into the hair of the lady in front)…..but when I mentioned it to a friend they said  ’no way, I don’t give my money to them. They have animals.’

Dancing horses are bad? I guess they are, aren’t they. With their spangly head dresses and scantily clad girls riding them.

Now, I’ll admit that I did think it was illegal to have lions and tigers and bears (oh, my) these days but they make the whole circus idea also got a bit more exciting. D Man LOVES lions and tigers………. now it was suuuuuuuuuuuuper cooooooooool.

Then I felt bad for not being more PC, and animal activist-esque. Is the circus no longer the done thing?

Oh no!! I love the circus. Those ponies are so clever.

Speaking of clever ponies… What about equestrian riding?

I’m sure that some of my readers would be pony lovers, so is equestrian ok? What’s the diff?

Jodhpurs and sensible headwear versus spangled g-strings and tiaras?

Miranda Kerr – splitting the difference.

Is it bad that I want my kids to experience the wonder and magic of the Big Top… To smell the saw dust and see the Ring Master call in the clowns.

Obviously, I don’t support emaciated bears or moth eaten lions, but I imagine if the animal is already a circus animal, it can’t be released into the National Park.

Wouldn’t the RSPCA be all over circus’, with their seriously strict codes of practice?

I guess by supporting them it encourages the practice to continue.

The ad for Stardust Circus (it even sounds like magic, doesn’t it?) says that the animals are treated like part of the family, so maybe they’re really loved. Maybe the lions are invited to Sunday roast and the monkeys all get pissed and give each other wedgies, just like real families do.

I’ve been going through the whole thing in my head. If the circus is no longer a PC past time, what about the zoo? Is the zoo out too?

I friggen’ love the zoo.

Does it depend on the level of accuracy in the enclosure – how alike their natural habitat it is, or are they all out?
I get that a flea bitten mangy lion is not a lion in his prime, more than that, it is a crime against nature, but if they are well looked after, does that make a difference?

We went to Mogo Zoo down on the South Coast. It was a small zoo, specialising in endangered species rehabilitation. They had bred some of these endangered species in captivity, thereby propagating the species. That’s a good thing, right?

As long as the animal is endangered, and in a breeding program it’s ok?

Just to recap, as long as it’s endangered,  it didn’t arrive in the country smuggled in a tube up someone’s butt (bird and reptiles, not big game), and is willing to procreate, we’re good to go.

It’s seems like there’s a hell of a lot of grey area here, no?

Anyway, I’m on the fence.

As a child, I loved the circus, as an adult, I get that it’s unethical.

Bloody hell, I hate being an adult sometimes.

What are your thoughts?

Would you go to the circus?

Blogging on Tuesday with my fellow iboters over at EssentiallyJess.

There are many things in this world that I find interesting, and this l’il ol’ blog here is my opportunity to share these things that tickle my brain.

If anything that interests me offends your sensibilities, I apologise, but remember that this world is full of interesting things, and it hurts not to have a greater understanding of what makes our fellow (wo)men tick.

The worldwide phenomenon that is 50 Shades of Grey is certainly not famous because it is a literary masterpiece. It has swept the world by storm because it touches on a world that most of us are unfamiliar with. A world of sexual domination and submission (not to mention awkward virgins being picked up by mysterious millionaires). A dark world of whips and chains, and nipple cripples, leading their recipients to mind blowing orgasms.

I mentioned recently that when I went to Sexpo I found someone fascinating. We chatted briefly and I discovered that Kim is a consensual slave, who lives with, and is married to, her Master. Kim does not generally refer to Master by name, as is their arrangement.
She serves his meals first, sits on the floor at his feet, and asks permission to take a pee.

Although she is married to her Master in the traditional sense, this ceremony was mostly for legal purposes, and their union as Master/slave (big M, little s) known as collaring, is one that she cherishes most of all.
I was entranced by Kim’s love for her Master. She described how this relationship changed her life, and Master took her and her then teenage son under his wing.

A middle aged couple, soft around the edges, grey haired and bald, Kim and Master Joe look like your next door neighbours. When I called Kim, she was drinking a cup of tea and knitting a teddy bear for her niece.

What? Not tied up in a dungeon with crotchless leather knicks and nipple clamps?
Preconception number one blown out of the water.

As a feisty, back-chatting wench, my first question was about whether, upon receiving an order, Kim ever wanted to tell her Master to take a hike.

‘Of course, sometimes I’m in the middle of something and Master wants me to make his lunch, or do something for him. I may ask if I can finish what I’m doing but if he says no, then I must do as he says. If I get frustrated, I just remember that this is a choice I made, and I tell myself suck it up‘.

Wow. I know that this is not for me but I guess in many cultures, where males are dominant, women live like this, without it being a choice. Also without the eroticism of the other side of their relationship.

I asked Kim what she thought of 50 Shades of Grey, and she said it painted a terrible picture of people who choose this lifestyle as broken, disturbed people. She insists that it simply isn’t the case.

Hmmm, could this be preconception number two busted?

Kim was married twice before meeting Master Joe, and in both relationships she concedes that she wore the pants. Although she had dabbled in writing erotic fiction, her sex life was fairly ordinary, or vanilla, a term 50 Shades made famous.
When her second marriage broke down, she was left a single mother who had to be everything for her son.

The nurturer. The provider. The story teller. The spider killer.

Kim says relinquishing this need to be in charge all the time is actually incredibly liberating.

Relinquishing control has set her free.

Kim had always fantasised about being spanked, and her husbands had never wanted to explore this with her. She decided as a 40-something-year-old single lady, that she was going to delve into this world she knew nothing about.

I asked Kim where she thought this desire came from.

‘I don’t like to think too much about it‘ Kim replied ‘I just enjoy being spanked‘

I delved a little further, questioning if her father spanked her as a child.

‘Of course, but that hurt, it wasn’t pleasant… but perhaps I liked the attention?‘

I had a lover who spanked my airborne butt once and I dissolved into the giggles. It felt like trashy porn to me. When he mistook this for enjoyment he slapped me again, to which I think I said ‘slap me again and I’ll punch you in the throat’, or something equally seductive.
It seemed like a mildly ridiculous thing to do, but also, it stung like a bitch. I didn’t enjoy that.

‘It only hurts if you want it to‘ she tells me.

I don’t think she meant mind over matter, I think she meant the slap and tickle bit, more tickle, less slap, or whip, or riding crop.

Kim told me that they work their way up from small stinging slaps to full-blown butt paddling, and the sensation is intoxicating.

‘Nothing else matters. Your entire existence is hanging in the next blow, and then the sweet sting. It’s like riding a wave‘

Yeah. Nah. I’ll take surfing any day of the week, thanks.

When Kim first started researching BDSM and she came upon a website that had forums and support groups, and also an avenue to meeting potential playmates, I guess you could call it RSVP for kinksters.

I was fascinated hearing about Kim’s first play date. I could only imagine how this middle aged, normal lady felt as she met a stranger on what’s essentially a blind date, with a view to trusting them enough to hurt you, just a little bit, and then have sex.

Was it a revelation? Was it mind-blowing? Was it all that?

For Kim, it was.

Not necessarily the sex part, which wasn’t like a scene from 50 Shades. She was nervous, and he was a virtual stranger, but finally being able to explore this fantasy was exhilarating and titilating. They didn’t make a lasting connection as he wanted her to call him ‘Daddy’. It was just too weird for Kim and a deal breaker for her Dominant.

Yeah, ‘Daddy’ is kinda funky.

Aside from Big Daddy, Kim had some negative experiences, that would have left me hightailing for vanilla sex.

One dude didn’t respect her safe word, and ended up burning her terribly with hot wax, before leaving her tied up in a room on her own for hours while he drank himself senseless. I guess the idea of dominating someone is incredibly powerful, but some people are never meant to wield such power.
Although I’m sure many people who explore this side of themselves are quite normal in every other way, there would definitely be many people for whom there is a darkness inside.

Everything changed when she met Master Joe, and he was able to take her to places she had never been before.

I queried whether every time they had sex it was the whole shebangalang, or whether they had the odd vanilla quickie?

‘There’s alway an element of dominance‘ she replied,’but it is hard to find the time these days, between our business, MJ’s Toybox (a custom made BDSM toy company), and other commitments. We often mark a play day on the calender’

Scheduling? Seems it doesn’t matter if you’re vanilla or tutti frutti, everyone needs to schedule it in these days.

I knew that Master has ‘clients’. People that come to him for a good flogging, or whatever takes their fancy. I asked if this made Kim jealous, because I assumed that every flog comes with a happy ending.

Not so.

It’s not sexual for everyone. Master has male and female clients, that pop over for a beating and then go on their merry way. No sex. For many, it’s not even a turn on.

It’s feeding a need to be dominated.

For some reason, perhaps because I read 50 Shades, I wrap all of this dom/sub business in the kinky sex category. I can’t get my head around people doing it just because.

Obviously, there are degrees, but I saw one girl with terrible scars on her breasts in the BDSM arena at Sexpo. I think a good rump slap and drawing blood are two very different things.

My gut instinct tells me that there really is something a bit dark in someone who needs this, needing someone to draw your blood is akin to self-harm in my book. Is it a lack of self-respect, or just one man’s pain is another man’s pleasure?

I suggested this to Kim, and she said that there are many things in the scene that make her uncomfortable, sometimes, she’s forced to turn away, or leave the room. There is a saying in the scene -

Your kink might not be my kink but that’s ok.

An accepting bunch really. Probably something in that for all of us.

If you’re interested in reading more about Kim, you can find her website here.

She has also written a book. It’s fiction, but it’s based loosely on her experiences, so I reckon it’s kinda faction. I’ve not read it, but after reading 50 Shades, it can only be better than that!

You can purchase Kim’s book, Souls in Chains, through her website, MJ’s Toybox site, or Amazon and Book Depository.

I’d like to thank Kim for her honesty and for allowing me to tell her story.

In the spirit of flogging, I’m flogging my blog with Grace and the friday floggers…..

I was stuck in the house on a torrentially wet day. It was the kind of day you wonder if you should crack out the Paddle Pop sticks and start building an Ark, but my glue gun is AWOL and GluStick was never gonna cut that shit.

D Man had had a bad night with a fever and I thought an early morning dose of Panadol was a wise move.

Au contraire, mon petite chou fleurs.

His morning milk curdled and my Big Gay Salmon (official colour title) couch was the recipient of a candy-pink Linda Blair special. Of course, I felt for him, but I also felt for the BGS couch, oh, and my hair. Once it’s in your hair you’re smelling da vom-vom all damn day.

He dozed on and off for hours, with his fever ebbing and flowing. He’d pop his head up for a few minutes, like a little blonde meer cat, then rest it back down as if it was too heavy for his neck.

It really breaks your heart when they’re poorly.

My head goes to all kinds of weird places thinking it’s some horrible exotic disease, rather than some 24 hr bug. Maybe the fever will give him brain damage or spark epilepsy, or, or, or any one of many other horrible fates…I’m a rather dramatic type.

As sad as it was to see my external heart ailing on the sofa, it was nice to have a few moments of peace.

Straight to hell, me.

I needed distraction. There was only one thing for it.

Biscuits.

Not for him. He was sick.

For me.

After a couple of abysmal false starts, I’m really enjoying experimenting with coconut flour.
It definitely has a slightly cakey consistency but I can work with that.

Coconut flour is very high fibre so needs more liquid, and you use much less of it than you would wheat four…..which is lucky because it ain’t the most economical of flours. It does last quite well, however, as you actually use about a quarter as much as normal flour. That said, you don’t cook with it like normal flour at all.

It will never make an awesome crusty sourdough (I discovered it kind of ferments in the process and goes somewhat boozy smelling and bubbly – could be my get  rich quick scheme? Boozy bread), but it can make for some interesting and healthy baked goods.

I’m learning that the fats in coconut oil and coconut flour can actually aid in weight loss. The medium chain triglycerides are digested differently than other fats. I won’t bang on about it, but if you’re interested, read about it. I’m not actually trying to lose weight, but many people would contest that coconuts are full of fat.

It’s good fat, that’s all.

These chocolate biscuits cheered me up no end. All thoughts of childhood disease were banished.  In fact, the reason there’s only one in the picture is because it’s the last one left… I needed to be sure I banished them bad thoughts good.

What you will need :

• 1/4 cup butter or coconut oil
• 1/3 cocoa powder
• 3 eggs
• 3 tablespoons sugar, plus 15 drops of stevia (if you’re not watching your sugar, use 1/3 cup sugar)
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon vanilla
• 1/4 cup coconut flour, whisk it separately in a bowl to remove lumps first.
• a few cheeky dark chocolate chips if you’re so inclined

What you need to do:

Preheat oven to 175C

In a saucepan melt butter over low heat. Add cocoa powder and stir to combine. Remove and leave to cool.

In a bowl, combine eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla, and stir in your cocoa mixture. Whisk your coconut flour in ensuring there are no lumps.

Leave to rest for 5 minutes, it will thicken and puff slightly as the flour absorbs the liquid.

Add choc chips now if you’re going to.

Drop teaspoon sized dollops onto baking paper on a tray and whack in the oven for 14-15 minutes. Makes about 16-18 cookies.

Store in the fridge.

Easy, ready in 20, and yummy! The recipe was courtesy of the Bruce Fife, N.D. Cooking With Coconut Flour Book.

It turns out that we do have something a little bit exotic, if you like a little farmyard with your childhood illness.

Hand, foot and mouth disease.

Just the words make me think of Mad Cows going crazy and eating each other.
Apparently, it’s super common in kids, and highly contagious.

After my blues last week, I’d filled my week this week with great, fun, nurturing outings for us, but now we are sentenced to a week of quarantine.

That should lift my spirits.

Better make some more biscuits….. think this calls for some real ones, no?

Are you a comfort eater?

Eat to live or live to eat?

Hooking up with the fabbo Jess, for Ibot. Head to EssentiallyJess for some more blog love.

I had a little meltdown this week. It wasn’t really a private affair.

In fact, it was a little bit public.

Not public like pulled-my-undies-up-over-my head-and-wailed-in-a-supermarket type public, but public enough that a few of my friends rallied and came to my aid as they could sense that my frantic waving may actually be me drowning.

Public enough that some of those friends saw my tears because I felt squashed by the enormity of this playing grown-ups malarky.

After chatting and crying and laughing and drinking lots of tea, I feel like I’m back on top, but I’m left with a residual embarrassment that my friends now may not see me as a croissant baking (yes, I will milk it) super homemaker, juggling children, writing and chainsaws, all without breaking a sweat.

Now the truth is out there.

I am not Wonder Woman.

I would totally have a crack at wearing her outfit, but I would be nothing more than a pouchy-bellied, hairy-legged, mortal wearing a costume.

Why does this shame me?

It makes me wonder about women in general, I mean, what is up with us chicks, and dudes?
Dudes aren’t immune to this overwhelming sensation of being swallowed, surely.

The exhausting newborn phase, the frustrating toddler phase, the mind-bending child rearing business/juggling act while you work, keep the house, tend the garden, have nutritious dinners on the table not just once, but 7 times a week, and keep your sanity in check, day in and day out, is a damned hard slog and no one escapes without feeling like it’s all too hard sometimes.

I must once more applaud the solidarity of the sisterhood (sorry, lads. It’s not an exclusive club per se).
I cried out and my girls were there by my side.

On one sunny morning, on my back deck, 4 of my girls and I drank tea and talked about where we’re all at and suddenly I realised that this shit of mine is not unique.

I am not a rare species, so unusual that no one can perceive my plight.

I am not alone.

My friends were saying their relationships aren’t perfect and their children aren’t perfect. Other people’s lives aren’t as amazing as they may seem on the outside. One friend said she used to hear her neighbour yelling at her kids and wonder how you could speak to your darlings like that…. and now she feel like she has become that lady.

I sometimes feel like that lady.

I am not Wonder Woman.

Do you ever feel like that lady?

Probably, because you are not Wonder Woman either.

I mentioned on my FB page that I felt like I was not coping very well last week, and my online community poured love onto my page. How awesome is that?
Some people I’ve physically met, but others don’t know me in person, but they were there with advice and love.

Some great words of wisdom came from that. I want to share a few, you know, in case you ever feel like going for a long walk off a short pier -

If you start to feel like it’s all too hard, call a friend, and go for a cup of tea.

Take a walk in the sun, or dance to some music that you love.

Honour your feelings. Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling, but be kind to yourself.

Nurture yourself.

Slow down and breathe.

Have a date night.

My personal favourite was have a whiskey. Whiskey always helps.

I just really want to impress upon you, if you’re feeling blue, you’re not alone.

Tell someone you’re struggling because there is no shame in not being Wonder Woman, and sharing the struggle brings forth wonderful women…. and wonderful men.

Flogging and flashing with some great linky link ups,  With Some Grace,  Hi, Mama G, thanks for having me!