Wednesday 3 October 2012

Just tagging along...

My new bloggy acquaintance Sarah from Well & Cheaply tagged me for the answers to some questions a couple of days ago. Now, I'm supposed to ask a few other bloggers my own questions, but because I already did something like this a little while ago, I thought I'd do it slightly differently this time. I'd be really interested in how you would answer any or all of these questions, so I'd love you to indulge me in the comments. Also, if you have anything that you would like to ask me, shoot and I will write another post with the answers to your questions soon. Okay? Here goes.


Um. Hardly ever? I always thought that was because I didn’t like going to the hairdresser’s and getting your hair cut was so expensive, but even now that I have found a really nice one that is also affordable, I still do not go more often. I usually trim a bit of my fringe myself when it gets too long. Which reminds me: I got to book an appointment!

If you’re talking author: Ernest Hemingway. If you’re talking character: Phileas Fogg (from Around The World In Eighty Days). I part want to be WITH them and part simply just BE them (without Ernest’s shot gun suicide).


I usually retire sometime between 10 and midnight. I need a lot of sleep to be at minimum grump level, so I tend to have a similar bedtime during the week and on the weekends.


I love semolina porridge. Any kind of porridge is good, but semolina just has the best taste and consistency to be completely and utterly comforting. I like to eat it with stewed fruit. It reminds me of childhood.

I picture a round chocolate cake on a round plate, with three layers, chocolate cream filling and chocolate icing. On top is written “Happy Birthday” and there are little sugar flowers and a bunch of those little candles, one for each year. The cake is being carried to me by my husband Marco and his face is lit up by the candle flames. I have a vivid cake imagination. Does anybody actually have some cake for me now???


I have a list for news channels on Twitter and try and watch the evening news on TV. Sometimes, I must admit, I get my news by reading other people’s newspaper over their shoulder.


I think that changed through the years. I remember two toys I was really attached to and which both went through little tragedies. I had a little stuffed toy mouse called Beate, who once went overboard on a sailing trip. Luckily, she was rescued, and we were reunited. I also had a MonChiChi doll (I don't recall his name) which somehow ended up with a hole in its head after a playground visit.

Last year at this time, I was visiting my family in Canada. I had lots of guest posters, but on 3rd October, I actually checked in and briefly told everybody what I had been up to so far. I wish I was in Canada now. It always feels like home to me.

Coffee & eggs in bed. Windows cracked open to listen to the rain. The cats would be there, and they’d want cuddles. A drive to the coast and a long walk on the beach. Getting wet, but feeling refreshed. A pub with a view of the ocean and a fireplace, roast lunch and a few beers to get just slightly drunk. A museum. Sober up, drive back and buy cake. Get caught in traffic. That's fine, because there's music in the car, and I like hearing the windshield wipers. Back home, a fire and hot chocolate with marshmallows, cuddle up on the sofa, eat cake, watch an old movie, fall asleep. -- Oooh, I want to make it happen!

 Hm. Toughie. This one. I think.

Now you. 

Talk to me!
© Text & Photos - Annika - All The Live Long Day (unless otherwise stated).


  1. This is a fantastic post, Annika! Love the added interest with the questions in the accents.

  2. I want to have your rainy day too! I'm so glad I wasn't made to answer the Beatles question, I know I'm so evil to make you pick a favorite. Love the graphic layout of this post too!

  3. lol Annika, I just tagged you for this, too! Oops! I need to pay more attention. Bad blogger. :S

  4. no judging from me. . . do you know how many call me maybe mashups i have listened to? i can't even count them. .


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