Number NinetySeven, Tapas Heaven

I would never usually write about somewhere this close to my home, but in this case, I can’t not. Living in Suburbia has taken its toll. I’m no longer down with the kids, and although Surbiton is rich in delicious, independent cafes, it’s also rich in big branded restaurants, (everything you expect from a family friendly ‘burb). I’m not a fan of the big brand and I have been struggling to find anywhere to call my local. Surbiton is designed for families and whereas I do really appreciate this, (I’m a proud owner of one little monster), how fucking amazing is it to go somewhere that’s just that bit too cool for the kids? I’m not a Pizza Express kind of girl, and it’s great that Surbiton finally has a fresh alternative for us Suburbitons, fighting the stereotype. 

Tapa literally means ‘cover’ or ‘lid’. In the beginning there were olives, almonds fried in oil and sprinkled with salt, and chunks of bread served with an olive oil dip. These are the original tapas. Simple foods, requiring little or no preparation. As the tradition evolved, tapas became more of a gastronomic event, with each new venue developing their own specialties. 

Tapas, is based on simple recipes and the imaginative use of seasonal vegetables and local ingredients. The concept of tapas is to share. It is essentially a style of eating rather than a method of cooking. 

Tapas (or one tapa) can be whatever you want. It is very popular in Spanish culture, the Spanish traditionally don’t drink without eating something, and originally these small snacks were given free as an accompaniment to a bought drink. Tapas can also be dinner with friends too. That’s the beauty of it. You can order as little or as much as you want.  It can be kept simple or be made more complicated. It can be a small snack  taken with a drink or two at lunchtime, an appetiser in the early evening before the main meal, or even as nibbles with a post-dinner cocktail. Whichever way you prefer it, I prefer mine best served with a gin cocktail amongst great company and a lovely atmosphere. Let me introduce you to this little beauty, Number NinetySeven

Tapas at N.97 is hearty and unpretentious. The ingredients are fresh, flavours are robust and the presentation is simple. In it’s own words “innovation and buzz of the city meets the openness and warmth of the country”. N.97 is a breath of fresh air and just what my corner of Suburbia needed. Oh yeah, and did I mention it has a Gin bar? It’s hip, sleek and perfectly cutting edge. My kinda cool.

97 Maple Road, Surbiton KT6 4AW

Open Tuesday-Sunday

Follow them on Instagram @numberninetyseven

Follow them on Twitter @no_ninetyseven

Find them on Facebook @numberninetysevensurbiton

Lindsay X

All pics were taken by me at Number NinetySeven and are of genuine dishes.


Zero Fucks Given

I’m not trying to be one of those cool sweary blogger mums, but my reality is I’m just a swearer. All the effing time. I can’t help it. I use it for enthusiasm and humour and just plain habit. I don’t think about it enough, to always rein it in.

I swear in front of my son. I try not too, especially now he’s talking and absorbing every little thing like a sponge, but sometimes a perfectly timed F-bomb just slips right out.

I have stopped worrying about it. I think that actually, it’s ok. Swearing has its place; it’s always my honest, and emotional reaction. It’s instinct. When I love something – coffee, art, a cool bar,  – I fucking love it. I am celebrating my joy in life, with words, and to be honest, fuck happens to be one of my favourites.

I want my son to see me as a real, honest and straight talking person, with real life feelings, and to see how I react and cope with normal daily life. I am trying to replace the shits with the sugars and the fucks with the fluffs but what’s the point, when 10 minutes later I stub my toe and an array of unstoppable, colourful words just pop right out?

I don’t want to tip-toe around touchy subjects. You will not find rose-tainted, sugar coated explanations here. I want to teach my son to be passionate about life.  I couldn’t care less if you think I am a bitch (I’m not!) or if you think I am a ‘bit of a dick’ for speaking out against discrimination, bullying or life’s unfairness. I will not be apologetic for standing up for my son, my friends or myself. I am not violent nor am I a hater, but anyone who fucks with my loved ones will be torn to pieces with my sharp tongue and explosive vocabulary. I use swear words to express my emotions, whether that be happy or sad, angry or fluffing elated . I swear my way through life’s tricky situations and well, at the end of the day, Fuck is just a word.

A word in itself, any word, isn’t harmful unless it is used in a harmful way. Harm is determined by how the word is used. If you’re using expletives to verbally and emotionally attack, then of course this is harmful. However, if you spill your Tea and your first reaction is to blurt out ‘oh, bugger’ then that my friends is just reality.

I am teaching my son to express himself in cathartic and productive ways. I do not want him to be worried about being judged by everyone around him, and I want him to be tolerant, empathetic and non-judgemental in return. I want him to know that when someone does judge him, and makes him feel anything less than brilliant, that fuck off is a completely acceptable response.

I don’t for a minute wish for you to think that I tolerate or condone this kind of language. I don’t want my son to swear, (and I will do what I can to discourage it), but I also don’t feel like I have to censor myself. He will grow up responsible and educated enough to appreciate that there are some things kids can do, and there are some things only adults can do. If I censor all of this, how can I expect him to work it out?

Language is a powerful tool. Being a parent has taught me that there is as much menace in “get down from there, now” then there is in any profanity I use when I stub my toe, and that “you fucking idiot” has the same attacking undertones as “you idiot“. Context is everything. So, when BV falls over and lets rip with a “dammit, mummy” (true story!) I will stifle a giggle and give zero fucks whatsoever….

Lindsay x

OMG the duck is freakin’

I remember when street food in London meant a ’99 for less than a quid or a greasy hot dog from Billy Bunters.

Spitalfields Market has become an area where many people pay top bucks for lunch, and the market is responding with much more choice. The Billy Bunter’s of yesterday, have been replaced by passion and talent, serving cuisines from all over the world. Working from vans, converted buses, caravans and yes, even an old train!

The ingredients are of a higher calibre and the dishes are undeniably healthier. Trendy street food has inevitably, become well, even more trendy.

Street food begun in communities where businesses with minimal start up and running costs thrived selling cheap, hot food to people on low incomes. Starting as regeneration, it’s ironic now that hip, street food is generally only available to those that don’t need much change from a tenner.

I’m spoilt for choice, come lunch time. In all the years I’ve worked around here, Spitalfields has never smelt so good! It’s time to write about Duck.

Founders  (Ed and Vernon), have spent years working with some of the best duck farms in the UK and have developed the best duck recipes, and cooking techniques. The result is The Duck Truck.

Rotisserie cooked, hand shredded crispy aromatic duck, with freshly shredded cucumber and spring onion, sweet hoisin sauce, and wrapped in a warm tortilla wrap or served as a salad. Tasty as Fuck, Duck

It sits there, stationary, all iridescent
Reflecting London, incandescent
The queue is long and time moves slow.
One crispy duck wrap, fresh to go
OMG the duck is freakin’
I queue again (my resolve is weakenin’)
Just one more, crispy duck wrap
The Original, the Best, and it’s on the map!

Try them out. They’re pretty tasty!

Find them on Facebook:

and follow them on Twitter: @TheDuckTruck1

and Instagram: @TheDuckTruck

6 Lamb Street E1 6EA – Open 7 days a week


Lindsay x

Happy Wife, Happy Life

This week, Mr Intrepid and I celebrated our wedding anniversary. 2 Years since we said ‘I do’, 732 days since I married my best friend.

The day has brought back happy memories of the most beautiful day we ever had together. Friends, Family, Art, Cake, Love, Skulls, Pineapples, Cacti, Tweed, Street Art, Bow, Yellow, Rockabilly, Pimms, London, Mexican, Tequila, Cake, Blue, Flip Flops, Dancing, Buttons, Rain, Sun, Red bus, Shoreditch, Oasis, Day of the Dead, Face paint, More cake…

I won’t blog about our wedding as I literally have no words to describe how amazing it was (cliché but true), but you can read about it here, and here on two of my favourite blogs: and



In these 2 years we have been married, I have learnt a few things. Marriage brings out who you truly are, and often it is not pretty or smooth. It is transitional. Together we are growing, improving and striving.  We are a team (Woohoo Go Team Lamb!). We have changed as individuals. For a start, we have become parents. We have added a whole new dimension to our 2. We are now 3.

No amount of preparation can make you ready for parenthood, nor can any amount of assumption predict how your spouse will actually be, during those stormy days (trust me, the days are not always calm). However Mr Intrepid, my love, has remained my constant. He is my rock. We support one another, and we trust one another. He keeps me grounded and he keeps me high, and we tackle all stormy moments head on, together.  He is my witness, and I , his.  This is why Marriage exists.  Life is not all about the individual, it’s not about me, it is about someone else too. It is about us together.  I am a happy wife with a happy life.

Together, we pay the bills, take care of our son, fight battles, make decisions and laugh and laugh and laugh. We adore and endure each other, and life is sweeter.

Lindsay x

 All photo credits are by talented photographer Sassy from Assassynation




Toddler Wanderlust (Part deux)…scrap the toddler essentials and just pack wine

As it turned out, my previous post’s packing list proved to be totally useless. You can tell I am total beginner at this mum thing.

  1. Distraction toys. Unnecessary mostly. BV was happy with an IPad and slept on both flights. I bet I’d need them if I didn’t take them so for now I’m keeping them as an essential. ✅
  2. Sunscreen obvs. ✅ pop up tent? Pff considering we only made the beach in the evening this was a big fat no. ❎
  3. Baby carrier. Yes! #holidaywin ✅
  4. Beach shoes. Did you even read my Santorini with a toddler post?  #holidayfail ❎
  5. Baby powder. For Fucks Sake ❎

For our next trip i’ll start a fresh as clearly I brought more crap then was deemed necessary. However, I did bring one item that turned out to be the absolute shizzle.



Corksicle Canteen Keeps drinks cold for up to 25 hours or hot for 12 hours. This really is the best thing since sliced bread. Totally revolutionary and worth every penny of the £20 note I handed over. In fact I’m off to buy a few more..


Lindsay x



Santorini with a toddler

As Santorini is our first proper overseas family holiday (we did go to France for a long weekend last year whilst BV was still dinky) we booked the trip with Thomson, primarily to keep logistics simple (free hotel transfers) and the expenses low (Santorini is notorious for being costly).  This is my first (and last) ever package deal. I’m a lover not a hater, and I am not here to write a shoddy review. However I must stress if you do wish to book with Thomson then please do your research and read customer reviews on line beforehand.

After waking the rest of Fam-A-Lamb at 2.45am to catch the 6am flight, you can only imagine how horrendous the first day on Santorini was. Let me elaborate. The hour sat on the runway waiting for plane to take off was a bit tricky, but nothing RaRa the lion and an IPad couldn’t fix. The flight was an easy snooze fest for all of us (we were in a cab by 3am). However the shit really hits the fan when we check into our hotel…30+ degrees, tired, hungry screaming child who just wants to run into traffic and across the beach. Something I have to mention. Black Volcanic Sand, we packed beach shoes as knew it would be hot but something that no one bothered to report anywhere…it’s too fucking hot even for shoes. It’s like walking the path to fiery hell. So, 30+ degrees, no beach, no pool (as no shade) and on an Island which isn’t usually frequented by holidaying tots left us literally weeping and googling flights back home again! Day 1 #holidayfail

However it did get much better with day 2.
Turns out all BV needed to chill out and have fun was steps (of course!) and ice cream. Which was great as that’s something Santorini has an abundance of…

Read on for Fam-A-Lamb’s Santorini highlights:
Continue reading “Santorini with a toddler”

Toddler Wanderlust

At some point in my life (a few years ago) I held an aspiration to write a travel blog.

I have travelled extensively over the years. I hoped to someday visit every single country. (Pfff I can but dream). I’ve great memories (and great pics) to remind me how breathtaking and beautiful the world is. I am fortunate that I’ve been able to experience it’s diversity.

Motherhood meant putting my plans for world domination to one side. My priorities changed, however now that BV’s practically fending for himself (22 months), Mr Intrepid and I are thinking about further travels.

In the interim (and to start us off gently) we’ve chosen a simple family holiday (well it’s primarily for a friends wedding so it’s kind of chosen us!) to Santorini.
I know what you’re thinking, “taking a toddler to the island of love and honeymooners…?” You must be mad! Well, my friends indeed we are.

After a bit of research, and finding blogs and articles that advise against taking toddlers to Santorini (especially in July-gulp) I’ve decided to (panic!) ignore it and hope nothing’s as bad as it seems 😳Watch this space for my follow up.

My 5 essentials to pack for a toddler in Santorini:

  1. Aeroplane distraction toys and snacks for the flight (standard)
  2. UV pop up tent and sun screen. Because obvs.
  3. Baby carrier (all them bastard steps!)
  4. Beach shoes. Hello! Hot Black Sand.
  5. Baby powder (rub it in and the sand brushes straight over. Genius)

It’s taken me 2 days to even make a bit of a dint in the packing and I’ve realised two things:

1) BV needs so much more crap then anyone else, and 2) he doesn’t get his own hold luggage so somehow I’ve got to squeeze it all in with mine.

I will definitely need a holiday after this.

Lindsay x

Start each day with a grateful heart ❤️

I recently stumbled across an article online that was written by a girl whom I no longer speak to, nor have seen for more than 10 years.

She was once in my original Girl Gang, a great friend throughout my teenage years. We went to school together, hung out together, partied together, and eventually lived together.

I cannot pinpoint where it all went wrong to be honest. One day we were great friends, the next we were not.

I decided to go travelling with my boyfriend which meant moving out of the flat we shared together. One day during my week of ‘packing up’ I came home from work and she had gone. It was a tricky time. The rest of the gang were still friends and for a while there was lots of nonsense floating about, “she said this, I did that, her friends did this, this happened…” You know what I mean, don’t you?  That’s often the down side of having a Girl Gang. When there’s trouble in paradise, girls are the worst for stirring it up. Especially teenage girls. We never spoke again and gradually over the years the rest of the gang spread out and followed new paths.

I did see her in a club once and tried to make friendly drunk conversation, but it never went past the ‘how are you’s..?’  We finished up on on bad terms and after all the things that were said, there was a grudge.

Anyway today, she popped up and for the first time in years I remembered her. Downtrodden. That’s the first word that came to mind when I thought of her. I knew her to be moody and negative. After reading her article, I’ve realised now she was just unhappy. I can’t believe now I didn’t realise that at the time. I let my own teenage angst rise above everything. How different we’ve become as adults? 

She has written a few books and they have been published. I am surprised, shocked even at her outlook at life, and the biggest surprise of all?  I’m not bitter, I am inspired. The article does her a great justice, her life is very different now. I am grateful that I paused to read it. She starts each day with a grateful heart. I cannot reconcile in my head, the person I once knew, with the positive person she is now. Despite the fact we are no longer friends, I am full of gratitude that our lives once crossed paths.

Lindsay X

Girl Gang – We is a sisterhood, innit?


It has been 20 years since The Spice Girls released ‘Wannabe” (man I am old!) and I remember it well. Rumoured to have been written in just 20 minutes, it topped the UK Singles Chart for seven weeks, eventually becoming the best-selling single by a female group in the world, and selling over 7 million copies worldwide by the end of 1997. Wow.

The Spice Girls helped pave the way for us women ( I am not forgetting there were plenty of empowering, legendary women previously… but that’s a different story…). The Spice Girls were trailblazers of independence, assertiveness, ambition and sexuality. They knew the power of a sisterhood. They gave us Girl Power, and are the epitome of Girl Gang.


I was part of a small clique whilst I was at school, back then I was the runt of the litter, adopted by a group of sassy girls after a few years of loneliness. They were my Girl Gang.



We lived the 1990’s. We survived falling in a bog (you know who you are) on our Duke of Edinburgh Award, we sang our heart outs to Oasis and Pulp, and pretended we didn’t like Take That, we used fake ID’s to get into clubs (it’s rude to ask a lady her age!), and covered for each other with boys, parents and teachers! There was an unspoken agreement of support and unity. Despite spending all of the 1990s sat on a wall in the worlds tiniest mini skirts, we had each other’s backs.


As an adult I’ve (without intent) formed a grown up Girl Gang. They don’t differ too much from the young girls I knew 2 decades ago. I’ve worked with them and lived with them, partied with them, cried with them, travelled with them and said goodbye to them. These women have supported me during relationship woes, carried me home drunk, carried me through the mud at Glastonbury (whilst 6 months pregnant) planned my hen party, been my bridesmaids, cooked me meals, ate my meals…. I’ve missed them and I’ve loved them. They keep me sane and focused, and wild and drunk (less so now I’m a mother-that would be irresponsible…) They do not all live in close proximity, and they are often busy but, I have them.


I lost myself when I became a mum, I was lonely. I didn’t know how to combine my old life with this new one. Until now.

Last week I went for dinner with a group of mums in my local area. We are a local Facebook group, a Whatsapp group and a mum group. These women are beautiful and strong. I have gotten to know them in the last couple of years. Most of them are women I have met at coffee mornings and baby groups. They are all different. Some of us are women whose paths would never had crossed if we hadn’t become a mum at the same time. In some cases, it’s the only thing we have in common. As I sat there scoffing my face with pizza and red wine, listening to these women talk and laugh together, I looked around at these mums and I realised something. I am once again part of a girl gang.


We can chat, or we can cry. Drink too much coffee, drink too much wine (hic!), talk about our husbands and our kids, talk about work or lack of it. We can bitch and vent, and laugh. Or we can simply just be (netflix and chill?). Sometimes theres a birthday or a playdate or a happy hour but always, its us, the Mum Gang.

I am thankful for my Girl Gang . We are there for each other no matter what. Just like our 90’s sisters before us, we have each other’s back. ‘We is a sisterhood, innit?’ 🤘🏻


Lindsay x



Follow the hipsters and join the queue…

Growing up, I was such a fussy eater. I know I caused my mum endless embarrassment. Like when my dad regularly ordered “6 ’99’s’ and an ice lolly ” from the ice cream van…  I just really didn’t like ice cream (grew out of that phase, thank God), and our treat from the Chippy on holiday, “6 fish and chips, and a small ‘just chips’, no salt and vinegar on the ‘just chips’…” (obviously). My poor mum had to deal with all of the judgy strangers who convinced themselves I was being punished (“Poor kid-not getting a 99….”). Awkward.

My friends used to joke that if it had any flavour whatsoever, I wouldn’t like it, and to be honest, they were always right. Travelling the world has fixed me, so to speak. There are still many foods I have yet to ‘learn to like’ (Tuna – bleurgh!) but my taste buds are pretty much open for business these days.

An Ethiopian friend introduced me to Ethiopian and Eritrean food a long time ago. It’s one of my favourite cuisines.  In Ethiopia, mealtimes are big, happy social occasions, even during times of woe and hostility.
It’s an exciting cuisine, and it’s not meant to be eaten alone. Traditionally served on a communal platter, it’s ideal for sharing, and Injera is it’s foundation. Eat with your hands! Yummy!

(Omg, just writing this is making me foam at the mouth. I love Ethiopian food!)

Injera is made from an ancient grain known as teff. It’s ground into flour, made into a batter, slightly fermented, and then fried on a heavy skillet. The result is a spongy and lightly sour pancake.

Ethiopia is one of the worlds largest producers of live stock. Great for meat eaters, as the traditional meat dishes are delicious too. Just double up your injera as cutlery and tuck in.

I’m not a vegetarian, but what most people don’t know, is that Ethiopia also produces some of the best vegetarian food in the world. (Yep all true).

On that note let me by introduce a little gem I discovered recently:

…(drum roll please)….  Merkamo Ethiopian

An hour to chill and procrastinate?
Head to Merkamo for the Injera Plate
Vegan and healthy and packing a punch
Perfect for those looking for lunch
Professionals, students, tourists too
Follow the hipsters and join the queue
Greeted warmly with a great big smile
That alone, makes it worth all the while
Find them in Spitalfields, the bright green stand
The best Ethiopian food in the land.

Merkamo Ethiopian is A-Maz-Ing! The food is packed full of flavour and they’ve actually made Vegan food appealing!

Find them on Facebook: and follow them on Instagram @ethiopian.spitafields

They are open daily 12:00-17:00                                                                                                                   Old Spitalfields Market, E1 6EW


Lindsay x

P.S You’re welcome