Dearest ducks,

What a day and night we've had...your loyal correspondent here writes to you with sad tidings a plenty - I was voted off after the 3rd challenge! Travesty! Oh justice! O! Woe, woe and thrice woe.

It all began after a particularly arduous 2nd service, where, if you'll remember the infamous 'salt-gate' episode occurred. Dear god the shame. But after drinking 2 value cans of own brand cola, some beef and onion hula hoops and contraband Haribo stolen from Sir Ben's stash in the library I found my second wind - literally - and rushed around the kitchen with the others madly prepping for episode 3...

Yes, that's right, the ITV cheapskates could only afford 4 days at Maunsel House, stately pile of the 7th Baronet of Somerset and all round good-time guy, cad and commoner-hater. Therefore the producers announced the twist that we would be filming through the night the 3rd episode of the 5-part challenge as a time-saving measure. Good job I'd had drink all of that sugary cola and those 3 cups of tea, where the 4 of us that remained had to share the same teabag. Catering here is not so great, as you might have gathered.

JBR came in possibly hungover this morning. Today he had value multipack salt and vinegar crisps and a Tesco’s ham sandwich. He looked fucking grateful too! Oh the glamour. If you do get the chance dear readers, please look old JBR up on Google images and appreciate the likeness he has to a leathery pissed lizard. I have been forced to study his face for the last few days at alarmingly close proximity and it really is uncanny.

Anyway, back to the sad tale of yours truly and my elimination, The bombshell of the 3rd challenge was dropped and we were told that we would have to cook hundreds of canapés for a cocktail party, the canapés were our own creations (one recipe only, 80 canapés each) I made my own sundried tomato bread and smashed broad beans with mozzarella. P was on foul form all day and had to be reprimanded for bullying of the other contestants (not me, I hasten to add) as he said in his own words; "If you'd told me that I'd be having a conversation with a fat, tattooed, skint girl last week I just wouldn't have believed it. I never socialise with people like you. But for some reason I think you're great!" Ah, fantastic, I had unwittingly won the old buggers heart just by being good old me. And I didn’t even want to. Was rather hilarious thinking to myself that it was funny that he liked me but I secretly hate him and so I briefly lost my inner monologue and did a snorty laugh in his face. I think he took it as a sign of affection. Foolish man!

The 4 of us remaining - A, P, R and myself whizzed around for the next few hours - each with a camera in our face. Sometimes I'd catch something that one of the others was saying and become entranced. Did I sound like as much of a twat as them?! Yes, I fear, is the answer to that. In an amazing fit of foresight I spent the entire session gabbing to anyone and everyone that asked, about how I thought my dish was the weakest and that I deserved to go and that I thought I'd go. I also did a lots of saying "I'm not at all competitive... it really wouldn’t bother me if I left... the other 3 are SOOOO amazing" etc.

After a short break drinking more hazardous beverages and spending a particularly satisfying 5 minutes dreaming up ways of elaborately trapping and killing P using only my wits and an assortment of potato peelers, a mandolin and very, very dense ladle, it was time for our canapés to get out to the 3 or 4 eager diners that had attended the 3am fake cocktail party.

Then came the moment of truth...I don't want to ruin the show for you, so all I'll say is that I might have shed a little tear or two and gushed on about what a great time I'd had and how the other 3 were the best...but that would surely risk spoiling the surprise of seeing one of your oldest and dearest friends make a twat of herself on telly, and I wouldn’t want to do that! So you will have to watch the whole ghastly charade for yourselves!! Or at least the 3 hours of top quality entertainment that features MOI. Three out of five ain't bad.

But just a word to the wise, if you do happen to see a weepy writer getting booted of a reality cookery contest and then swearing at her competitors and shouting into the camera "turn that fucking thing OFF!" then remember to have some sympathy for her, as chances are she just been hugged and kissed by JBR the lizard man himself. That's probably what set her off.

So, my friends, I will be in from tomorrow and very much at your disposal for chats/tea/drinks/me to cook you something nice, so please get in touch so that I can try to be normal again.

I do hope I didn’t let any of you fine folk down; I did have a great experience you know. And its even re-ignited my blogging fever so I will let you know the address of my new blog set up if you fancy a read a long a day.

With much love to you all, ties I signing off to finally sleep.

Chloe xxx

The Country House Cooking Chronicles - Day 2

This is the post that I wrote on day two - about 10 weeks ago now, the day of the bubble and squeak cakes and dreaded quails eggs ...

Loyal Readers,

Today has been absolutely knackering! We have finished filming and I have just had my first meal of the day - two slices of white kingsmill and a packet of cheese and onion. The irony of being a contestant on a cooking show is not lost on me.

This is the sort of stage where I don't want to give too much away - just in case you happen to be in at 4 in the afternoon when this airs and you want to see for yourselves... I'll assume that you won't and so I can reveal that..........I got through the second round!

The day began very early when we told we were catering for a shooting party at the manor. Queue lots and lots of tweed, fur and horse-faces. And shrill laughter. And champagne. And dissaproving staring at my bedraggled and sweaty face. What joy! Sir Ben and his shooting party clogged up the manor and feasted on the labours of our hard work late into the day, which was already much delayed by M's shock decision to walk away from the comp.

Cor blimey - the drama! The tears! The cameras! I will never ever get used to being followed around by a camera all day long. You feel like a right blooming tit and there's nowhere to hide when you want to innocently pick your nose or moan about what a shitbag JBR is.

JBR, incidentally, likes a drink. All day long. I hope that when the viewers watch this they can see his steady progression from 11am onwards in to total pissed-ness. I wouldn't mind but he never offered me one!

Anyway, back to the hunt party. The course I was given was my bubble and squeak cakes with a poached quails egg on top. Sadly, I forgot to add the necessary 12 tablespoons of salt and the diners said they'd prefer it with some delicious ham. Can't argue with that! Thought they were a bit bland and wished I'd made them with smoked haddock! Bum.

R has totally toned down over the last couple of days and is now being very respectful and kind - he's still keeping up with the old racism; "what do you call an Indian lesbian" he shrilled this afternoon, "mingeater!" came is glad tidings and I watched him laugh himself into a mini stupor. I have done quite well at telling him to shut his fucking face, and have found that P is the really annoying one. I won't spoil the surprise here, but the bugger keeps oinking into his camera how little salt I use, the ruddy codger. Oh how I laughed into my camera. Laughed I tells ye!

When it came to the judging, I stayed. So did R and P. Tomorrow is another day!

I have to go now, as the Blossom Hill that I stole from the Risotto making area is beginning to cause me some grief.

With much love from your intrepid culinary correspondent who has been on site for 3 days - but it feels like 3 long weeks! Tell me, is Obama still president? Has the Middle East crisis been solved? Who's at number 1 in the Pepsi charts?

Adoration in delicious little quinelles xxx

Country House Cooking Chronicles...Day 1

Day one has just finished filming, and we have trudged back though the snow from the manor house to our cottage. It is 4am.

The day began at 9am with cornflakes and coffee (fetched by a very helpful runner) who was on hand to do out bidding throughout the day. Sort of. Well, if our bidding involved bringing us multi packs of Hula Hoops and coca cola.

Filming didn't begin until 2pm, and the first set of shots consisted of some incredibly cringe worthy walking shots of each of us walking up to Maunsell House, gazing in wonderment, uttering many a overwhelmed word and generally marvelling. Next was an introduction to Sir Benjamin and Lady Kirsty (tru dat) and their many dogs. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just politely fussed over the pooches and generally pretended that I had never been into a stately home before.

Soon the time came for us to get to eh kitchen and meet JBR. You know how some presenters put on a nasty act for the cameras? This was no act. The lizardy one was so foul, so lacking in charm and charisma of any sort... to describe him as a git would be a colossal understatement. He quickly informed us that we would be preparing a 6 course meal... and that I would be making the first of 2 desserts - Clementine cake.

To cut a long story short, it seemed to go okay. Having watched the show yesterday, it was very gratifying to see that the diners all loved it, even if JBR didn't. It was very bizarre and disconcerting to see the size of my arse on telly. Not to mention my big old porcelain plate head. I really didn't know that it was so HUGE.

Oh well. Also amused by these programmes and how the formats dictate that you have to pigeonhole each and every person. To compartmentalise me as the 'alternative one' was hilarious. As was listening to the voice over describe me as 'kooky', 'colourful' and 'quirky' respectively. Hilarious!

Well today is another day, I go through to the next round as you may have gathered from watching...

You will have to tun in at 4pm on ITV to see my progress today - and how the hunt party take to a vegetarian cook. Probably not well I am thinking.

Let me know what you all think and thanks for reading my ducks and doves!

On the brink of stardom... ITV daytime - Here I come!

Hello my darlings!

I can scarce believe it, but the hour is nigh, this time tomorrow I would have made my tv debut! Reality tv is certainly something that I had never previously considered... But after a random call from 'researcher 1' asking me if I'd consider cooking on telly, all expenses paid, I decided I could not resist.

Actually, what I really decided was that 2010 is the year to have some new experiences, hopefully positive, and certainly take a few more risks than usual. So I gone and done it. Spending a week of January in a remote country house cooking for the aristocracy. And if you want to see more, I suggest you tune in at 4pm tomorrow on ITV!

This weekend Rick and I went to see Capitalism: A Love Story at the Barbican. And blooming brilliant it was too. The we went for Filipino food and stuffed ourselves rotten! I probably should have restrained myself, but unfortunately was overcome by greed for exotic food. The best thing that I ate was purple yam ice cream. LUSH.

Now I am sitting with Ricky watching In the Loop and eating a chocolate and pear pudding and drinking wine. We live much like French dukes. It is our way. Bea is with us and it has been most lovely. I am excited about spending a day in the scareball before coming home to watch what may be the most embarrassing display of culinary skills ever before seen and screened to man.

Please let me know what you think, and more importantly, reassure me that you still want to be friends.

Big love and sweet dreams xxx

Nightshift horrors

It is 4am and I am not asleep. In fact, I am being paid to moderate comments on a selection of forums for a job that I have just been made redundant from. It all seems rather futile...but I love a crisis! And this latest money-based woe has caused me to hunt around for employment with a vengeance.

It has also (seemingly) forced me to watch 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' on 4OD, google 'Country House Cooking Competition' and click on each link and to eat a bowl of something called 'Nougat Pillows', which turned out not to be as delicious and dreamy as the name implies.

Ricky and I spent a very enjoyable day in the Gagosian gallery and Wellcome Trust - I watched a video installation until I got dizzy and looked at a poor man's eye which had been blown of and recorded forever in posterity by Damien Hirst.

We then had a very enjoyable Vietnamese dinner with the FP crew and Ruth, where I had too much wine then had to come home and eat coffee granules out of a jar to sober up before work.

And job hunt round 2. Less hurrah, more hurroo.

I hope that as I write this you are all having a lovely sleep!

xxx

The wanderer returns...

Well, my pledge to write everyday lasted for January alone it seems, for Feb has been quite the busy month. I think it could be summed up by saying the some sort of mini-breakdown has happened. But it's hard to explain. The important thing is that I am back! And resolved to write this blog each and every day.

Some changes have occured recently - not too dramatic - but changes none the less. Job, career (ha ha), friends and family...all my time has been taken up. As to these changes however, I cannot really go into them yet. But I will dear reader, one day.

This week has been taken up with job issues mostly, and it seems that I may shortly need to find a new one. Mostly I have been excited about seeing Brighton friends at some point for Billy's birthday and the long awaited end of Clash so that Ricky will finally stop working 7 days a week and will have 2 weeks off to hang out with me! This is the most exciting thing to happen for some time.

Aother development for those interested is a little matter of reality tv. ITV, 4pm, week beginning the 8th March. I will say no more.

Have a fabbo friday!

On Love

Today is Valentine's Day, and Ricky is taking me for dinner tonight. I am very excited by this prospect, as I am rather hungry. He has also bought me a poetry book and a card, in which he tells me that I am his 'first and last munch of biscuits' a truly romantic sentiment I feel.

Anyway, I am a lucky girl. I know this. Last night, being a Saturday, there were a lot of anti- Valentines nights happening - clubs, pubs and parties abounded like any other Saturday in London town. But we were off to little Jessie's birthday - the theme of which was 'ANDROGYNY.' A daunting prospect, as this is the sort of theme that actually requires you to have a think about what to wear (and also maybe a quick look at a dictionary)...Anyone who knows Ricky will know that he is rather an expert on these matters, an authority, if you will on gender studies and the like, he decided, in his infinite wisdom to go as a seahorse. Seahorses can and do change gender from m-f and back throughout their lives, also the men can carry pregnancies. This involved Ricky buying a purple sequined dress from a market stall (ox st, size 10) and then making a strange seahorse headdress and snout out of a pizza box and egg carton. Needless to say, he looked very good.

I had even more unkempt hair than usual - sticking out at least two foot from either side in different directions. I teemed this vagabond look with a tuxedo shirt and black jacket, bow tie and black trousers. The vampy red lips and black 'tasche were an afterthought, but most pleasing to behold. As you can tell, I didn't put much thought into it, I just thought about what was handy and shoved it on. Nice.

There were lots of lovely yooof at the party, and I felt as though I were 104 years old, clutching at my mug of wine and shuffling from chair to chair. Even at one point, after loosing the nice bottle of Bordeaux that we bought, turning down another glass of wine from a friendly stranger after scrutinising the bottle and declaring that I 'don't care for Merlot, and would try to stick to the Burgundy.' What a total ponce.

That statement was short-lived however, and I believe I came across that same smiling stranger a few hours later when foraging for contraband booze, coming across an dusty bottle of Drambuie and shrieking 'Ah! Loverly boozy potions!' in their face. I did, of course, drink everything in my path, resulting in a possibly unwise move to the Dalston Jazz Bar (always ace, always full) where I jived around til 3am then realised that I had to work at 9am.

And that is what I am doing right now. My brain is soggy and hurty, and I have just looked in the mirror to examine some of the stuff that is being held hostage by my hair. At the moment most of it seem unidentifiable. Hopefully just some sticky Drambuie or the remnants of an individual cheese souffle. Don't ask.

I will tell you tomorrow where we dined tonight and any other news. I am excited as it is Glee night and Ruthie will be here. I am also going to help Karen decorate her flat - possibly not as good as Glee, but still good.

Fancy dress - Do's and Don'ts:

DO:

Dress up. A bit. Go on! Make a little effort.

Bring plenty of delicious booze that you can clutch in your own bag all night (tramps handbag), chewing gum and possibly a Curly Wurly for the long journey home.

Keep re-applying your fake facial hair at regular intervals. Your persistence will pay off.

DON'T:

Eat only one small lightweight souffle before going to a party. It is made of air and will not line your tummy. Bleurgh.

Offer to pay a taxi driver in songs performed by the kerbside. They don't accept this as legal tender.

Drink Drambuie. EVER.

Have a lovely Sunday!

xxx