I have of late, wherefore I know not...lost my cooking mojo.

I seem to be channelling my inner Hamlet at the minute with these post headlines. It must be my education coming back to haunt me although maybe I should have paid more attention in home-economics as these past few weeks my abilities in the kitchen have taken a knock or two. I've gone from (self proclaimed) kitchen diva to kitchen disaster in the time it took to realise that grown-ups at work actually have conversations and don't just say 'Please can I have' swiftly followed by 'Why?' every five minutes. Perhaps I am still reeling from the shock and when I get my balance back so the cooking mojo will return.

Big tall hubby and I still enjoy monthly £10 dinner dates, this month it was my turn to cook and I set out determined to be Mrs Organised and deliver a delicious taste sensation in three easy courses despite it being on a Friday and me not getting home from work till gone six. Attending the girl-guides all those years ago hasn't been wasted on me, oh no, I can be prepared with the best of them. So Wednesday I'm planning a menu, loosely around an Andalusian theme, Thursday I begin to get things prepped. We're starting with Gazpacho, which would have been fine but for the fact the blender broke.The resulting food processed soup lacks that, smoothness, the velvety touch, but I ploughed ahead with it anyway. Then I attempted the pudding, a mango tatin, which went horribly wrong not once but twice. Second time around I was too tired to care and plonked it on a plate hoping lashings of ice-cream would disguise the burnt-caramel top.

The real Gazpacho - look at the glossy liquid in that glass!

Friday arrives and in a crazy, 'ooh I've got a paycheck' frenzy I decided to make an extra course (clearly flaunting the £10 rule) of dates wrapped in bacon. Sadly the balsamic reduction goes the same way as the mango tatin. So we're 'enjoying' and I use the term loosely, burnt appetisers followed by grainy lumpy soup for starters.Thank heavens for Sainsbury's special offer on Rioja!

Things start to look up with the main, polenta crusted pork with a chili buttered rice and green beans (thank you Delicious Magazine for that). That we wolf down all smiles. Although, by this point it could be the Rioja kicking in. Then comes the dessert, with mangoes so overcooked they give rubber a run for its money. You could have tiled roofs with them, I swear. Hubby, in a bid to cheer me up announces the pastry 'is lovely and goes well with the cream'. Much to his amazement this throws me further into a foodie-funk - I bought the pastry ready made - the only edible bit of the whole dessert was not from my own fair hand. Sigh. Abandoning culinary delights for coffee and rum is a much wiser move and ensures we finish our date with a flourish. These things are for the fun, not the food, I remind myself; there is more than one sort of mojo out there...

Still, there is a summer fete coming up and I'm down to bake a cake...please sir, can I have my mojo back now?

To Bee or not to Bee

Golly it has been a while hasn't it? That's what getting a job does for you; no time left to do all things you did when you didn't have a job; well not a full time-all the time one anyway. Now I have to get up every morning I can see why I liked freelance. Still, on the plus side my bank manager can heave a sigh of relief and my purse is officially upgraded to a nice large glass of Rioja.

Job or no job, mummy duties remain. And what can be a finer (or more demanding) mummy task than creating the ubiquitous Fancy Dress Outfit. Why do these educational establishments insist on hosting events that involve dressing ones child in a costume that is near to impossible to pull together from an old tea towel and some sticky backed plastic? What happened to the Nativity being the only time when you had to transform your wee one into something marvellous? I have not one but two of these things in the space of three weeks; I ask you do they think we all have mini-costume wardrobes at our finger tips? My house isn't a storage facility for the BBC. These things take time. They take thought. They take it out of me, they do, they really do.

Now that is a bad-bee. My bee was better I swear! If only he'd worn it so I could get a photo...

These days you can pick up fancy dress outfits for a modest price and the wee ones do love a bit dress up; so it could be an investment. But filled with the desire to be a good-mummy I whipped out the needle and thread and got creative with some fabric, knicker elastic, coat hangers and fabric paint. It seemed like a good idea; cost effective even. Hmm. Me thinks it may have been a false economy. My small boy was due to sing at the Bugs Ball, so inspired I set about forging him a Bumble Bee outfit. This comprised of black tights, a long sleeved black top, deely-boppers and a handcrafted yellow and black striped bee 'shift' elasticated at neck and ankles to give that 'puff-ball' look, complete with mesh covered coat hanger wings. Honestly it was not as bad as it could have been. It could have been so much worse. Hubby declared himself dismayed on our wee man's behalf. 'He's not wearing it' he declared. 'Oh yes he is' I insisted - I'd finished this masterpiece at midnight - on a work-night too. It was not going to waste; not on my watch. That was my stance as fell wearily into bed...

As it turns out my first born, a small and growing boy did not sing as a Bee. He sang as a slug, permitting all but the bee bit of the outfit anywhere near his tiny frame. So in answer to Hamlet's eternal question, it is clearly 'not to Bee'.