...I'm choosing my summer wardrobe

Having generated some pretty decent pocket money through my ebay extortions, I decided to treat myself to some summer loveliness.

Now, you know I've whinged in the past about all the hideous things in the shops at the moment, and that still holds true for me alas. Thus, for the time being at least, I have forsaken the muckymuck of the high street and am currently pretty much the best customer of a little boutique shop DOWN THE END OF MY ROAD. Do you realise how dangerous this is?

The Front Room is a room packed with prettiness and stocked by a lady who seriously knows her stuff. I spent a pleasant hour there last week, discussing fashion and trying on frocks till I was quite giddy with delight. Everything in the shop is beautifully made and is fashionable whilst not ignoring the point that different cuts suit different people and everyone needs to be catered for. Intelligent frocking!

Envy the loveliness!

...I'm climbing like a liddle monkey girl

I'm not sure you can declare yourself officially in love with something if you've only tried it three times, but hey, I felt that way about Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream and I'm pretty sure I feel the same way about climbing.

Having long ago decided (perhaps not unreasonably) that my lack of upper body strength and a thriving fear of heights might not best qualify me for rock climbing, I threw caution to the wind three weeks ago.

I went to Awesome Walls in Liverpool, and what can I say, they have walls that are mightily awesome. After playing around for a bit, I got attached to the rope and started scrambling up some of the easier climbs, and do you know what, it's a piece of piddle! Despite the fact that I'm normally out of my comfort zone on anything higher than my six inch platform stillettoes, the fact that I was anchored on to ropes (which in turn were connected to my nice, heavy, solid shaped boyfriend standing on the ground) completely took the fear away and I loved it.

So I gained some confidence, ate some good cake - essential nutrition doncha know - and am developing some seriously toned muscles in my back and arms, none of which I am displeased about. The only truly awful moment came when it was my turn to be roped in on the ground, and my boyfriend fell off the wall. The only teensy tiny detail we'd forgotten was that if the person on the ground is lighter than the person on the wall, they need to be weighed down with sandbags. Oops. You've never known pain until you've been suddenly hoisted twenty foot in the air by your lady parts. Oh how we laughed.

Traumatic gynaecological accidents aside, I thoroughly recommend you giving it a go, if only because the boys that are into rock climbing are also heavily into having long hair, beards and massive muscles. Rock candy!!!

...I'm all about the cake

Oh yeah baby, ALL about the cake. Which is all well and good, except I'm not such a good person at handling sugar. I process it quickly so I can eat my cake, have my sugar high then collapse into hyperglyceamic unconsciousness before you've finished your second Jaffa.

So I have to take it easy on the good stuff. Baking without sugar is easier than you might think, and I have many devious tricks up my sleeve. But possibly not as many tricks as my new heroine Erin McKenna, who owns her own gluten, mostly non-sugar, dairy free vegan cake shop in New York. Wowzers. Proper cakes, with icing (!) that aren't even slightly bad for you. As well as lots of celeb admirers (think vegan-and-proud Pamela Anderson and Natalie Portman),, a whole heap of NYC models buy bulk orders as they know it's practically impossibly to gain any weight eating this stuff. Cakes: better than bulimia!

Should you wish to purchase this ode to delightfulness, Amazon is stocking it for about £15, I suggest me, you and everyone we know goes and buys it immediately and prepare ourselves for a super giant sugar-free bakeoff. Hell, yeah.

...I'm watching roobish on your behalf

Not just me but my friend Sel, author of the fabulous Never Enough Shoes.

We sink to depths some of you would rather leave unplumbed, but have a mighty curiosity about nonetheless.

Watch With Lel And Sel - check it out tonight for the lowdown on Britain's Next Top Model, The Biggest Loser and much much more.

...I'm cooking up a tiny little storm

Lamb chops - haven't had them for years but some caught my eye when I was having a butchers in the er ... butcher's this morning.

Here's a very quick but very tasty way to prepare them. Allow 2 per person (coz they're freakin tiny, right?!) and shove in a plastic bag with 2 teaspoons mustard (Dijon is nicest, but use whatever), some dried rosemary, ground black pepper, a couple of chopped garlic cloves and a tablespoon of red wine vinegar (or balsamic will do).

Leave for as long or little as you like, then grill for about 6 minutes each side.

Serve with steamed green beans, covered with this mixture:

1 tsp sesame seeds, toasted
1 tsp grated fresh ginger
1 tsp soy sauce
Half tsp honey

Present to those gratefully lurking around the dinner table, and feed until NOM.

...I'm quite the little entrepreneur

Now I think I'm quite easy to buy presents for. There's loads of things that I love, I'm very much a multi-interest person, if that phrase isn't too horrendous. Put it this way instead, I'm into loads of different things and have bags of enthusiasm for really quite random stuff. So it always surprises me when people get stuck on my birthday, and end up producing an epic FAIL.

Please don't think I'm too churlish, obviously it's lovely to receive anything, and I appreciate the time and money that have gone into the purchase, if not perhaps the level of thought. But I'll admit to being more than slightly surprised to receiving a money box in the shape of a shoe, a Cath Kidston wash set, two almost impossibly disgusting handbags, and an outsize black lace dressing gown.

I suppose all these things come somewhere near the mark - I like shoes, but have no need for a clumpy platform money box version decorated with seventies flowers. I like washing myself, but not with twee lavender soaps. I like handbags, but hate ugliness, and I'm very fond of lingerie, but am definitely more of the Agent Provocateur than Bhs persuasion. And adding insult to injury it is three sizes bigger than me. Believe me, a lot of cake falls by the wayside to ensure that I don't actually become that size, so it's always a little galling to have someone estimate it as a good fit.

All this moaning is going somewhere, I promise. It's pretty much all leading up to the point where I extol the virtues of Ebay. Me and Ebay are working quite closely together to make me a bazillion pounds and leader of my own country.

Of course, I'm a realist, so I'm starting small. But over the last three weeks I've made nearly £120 selling (shhh!!!!) my own tat. And people snap it up, which is even more surprising. Like a friend in work, who willingly volunteered the information that she had bought a pair of shoes that were in DIFFERENT SIZES. Why? Because we hate to be outbid on something we have expressed an interest in. I've done it myself, got so caught up in the bidding frenzy that it's only after I've won the item that I've admitted to myself I don't even really want it. So I sell it again, in the great circle of commerce that is Ebay. Elton John should write the soundtrack.

Seriously though peeps, get yourselves on there. For a small investment of your own time, you can start bringing in some welcome cash, even if it does just get ploughed straight back into the Ebay machine. They say the country is lacking entrepreneurs, but I'm willing to bet that kidding people into thinking they want to buy your skanky old sweatpants is one of the most enterprising things you can do. I should also point out that sitting in work, quietly checking on your Ebay balance growing and growing, is intensely satisfying. Happy selling!

...I'm shopping

Although many people thought the day would never come, I must admit that I've been a little shopaphobic over the past month or two. For some reason, I'm just not loving what I'm seeing - the silhouettes, the colours, the not-very-subtle references to bad parts of eras best forgotten.

I do love me a little retro, but I'm more comfortable with a passing nod than a full-on tribute - pretty much just one item per outfit. Browsing the high street the other week, I felt trapped in some never-ending nightmare where I am being slowly strangled to death with a pair of leggings, whilst being stabbed with a neon knife.

Don't get me wrong, saving all the money is normally spend on clothes has been good for a person who stood in line at the Job Centre more recently than she cares to remember. But I miss the good times, you know, the frisson of excitement at the till while you pray to the God of Credit that your card will hold. So, I have launched myself onto the intertubes today with the express purpose of finding something, anything to buy.

I'm liking this, and no, I don't plan to wear it with leggings, because that would be Bananaram-appalling. I would however, consider wearing it with black cigarette pants, green stillettoes, big massive dirty hair and bags of 'tude. That would do nicely.