On Reading & Cooking

I finished two books this morning. The first was In the Castle of My Skin by George Lamming which I immediately wanted to reread. That is a rare feeling for me but I felt as if there was something there that I really needed to understand better. I will read it again.

The second book was Elisabeth Strout's Amy & Isabelle, a recommendation from London Sister. This one I didn't feel inclined to reread it but it did make me want to read another Strout. World Books on eBay here I come.

And speaking of World Books - I recently bought a pre-owned copy of Bee Wison's The Secret of Cooking. I paid top dollar for it, only a few quid less than a new copy and was very disappointed to discover that the previous owner had left some cooking splodges on it, in the form of stuck-together pages.  Of course, this meant that the book obviously encouraged cooking and if it had cost me a fiver I wouldn't have cared.  World Books were great about it and gave me a full refund which I have already spent on buying even more books from them. 

Tonight I made Mushroom Noodles with Peanut Dressing from Bee Wilson's book and it was superb. Probably the best salad dressing I've ever made in my life. It was the very definition of umami. Cannot wait to make it again. 

The Jeep has been in for a service this past day and a half. I've missed it. This must be how Vee feels all the time. No wheels. The car came back today and I was straight into town to buy all the special ingredients for the Mushroom Noodles etc. It was pension day yesterday and I longed to spend but had no wheels. I cracked around nine pm and replenished my spices from my online spice supplier. And I bought a book from World Books, The Trees by Percival Everett recommended by The Guardian and Ganching. I will probably buy Everett's James tomorrow if I can persuade Vee to Waterstone's.

PS This post should be more accurately be titled On Reading & Cooking & Drinking Wine for there was a really good offer in Tescos this evening.

Watching Blue Lights and Baby Reindeer. Gardening? Afraid not. It's far too cold and wet. Worst Spring in 70 years.

Busy Busy Busy

I've been getting ready for the visit of the Norfolkians - bedrooms to prepare, shopping to fetch, food to fix and general decluttering. I'll never get it finished. And now I've went and gone and broke my fire. Bang goes my dream of sitting with Katy in my cosy, private, secret sitting room sipping wine and watching Netflix. After the children have gone to bed of course.

The fire isn't irretrievably broken - it is just a bad crack in the glass door but it is a bank holiday weekend and the fire door shop will be closed, maybe for the entire week. 

Despite this I'm looking forward to seeing my Norfolk family and I have actually managed to prepare two evening meals in advance with another to go on Monday. One is a beef stew and the other a chicken curry. Monday's meal will be a vegetarian chilli.

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. I don't know what we'll have for dinner - maybe beans on toast. I quite fancy that.

Banana Gas

 

I have been feeling out of sorts these past few days and couldn't think of a reason for it. Everything was annoying me, particularly the weather, Bert and the pup. Sure, some good things happened - I had a visit from my cousin and I saw my two eldest grandchildren for the first time in three weeks. And I got my tooth thing sorted out and it cost much less than I expected although Cleo still owes me £42. Although I know I'll never get it because dogs don't have any money.

So, this morning before I properly left my bed I had a talk with myself. Today would be a good day. I would be kind to Bert and the pup and I would cook a lovely meal for Hannah and friends and I would be happy. 

But days never work out as you might expect. The first call of the day was from Clint. He told us that our nearest neighbour's wife had died. Bert was supposed to be hosting a shindig tomorrow evening - a blokey thing called Bazfest that involved camping in the woods, etc. etc. The campsite is only a field length from our neighbour's yard so Bazfest was cancelled. No big deal, the fellows understood. 

Then I cooked the meal, two curries, one vegan and one lamb. All the sides were vegan and one was Mexican. Hannah's friend said this is something called 'fusion'. I'd always wondered what that meant.

At some point during the day I figured out what had made me cranky. The visit from my cousin had sparked a renewed interest in the family tree. Consequently I spent more time in my private secret room updating the files. There was a box of overripe bananas in the room emanating overripe banana fumes. I am convinced that it was the gas from the bananas that had affected my mood. There can be no other solution. The bananas will be removed to the pig house tomorrow.

So ends a day that began with an affirmation and finished with a wake. All my crankiness is gone, and I am grateful for life.

Too Late For India

I have been reading Jane Gardam, halfway through the Old Filth trilogy and dipping into The Sidmouth Letters. I actually thought I'd already read The Sidmouth Letters but it turned out I’d only got as far as the first story, The Tribute. And what a delight it was to return to it, for it is a most excellent piece of story-telling and I plan to reread it before this week is out.

The most recent Gardam story I read was about youngsters from privileged backgrounds living the hippy lifestyle in Crete, in a place called Matala.

I asked Bert if he’d heard of it. He said,

Matala? Yea, I was there in 1978.

Did you live in the caves?

No. By the time I got there, there was a fellow that used to chase the people out of the caves. I had my own cave a bit in from the beach.

Was this before or after Marseille?

Before.

Yea. I thought you’d have been put off caves by Marseille.

I had to leave that one. Rats drove me out.

Rats?

Yea. I kept bringing buns back to the cave. It brought rats.

See you can take the boy out of Cullybackey but you can’t keep him away from the traybakes.

Was the beach at Matala as gorgeous as they say?

Aye. T’was. There was a morning I was there and this Swedish girl came up to me. Asked me for a light. Naked as a jaybird.

Did you give her one? A light I mean…

Aye. She sat down beside me. I had everything on. And a duffel coat. I could hardly look at her,

Was she gorgeous?

She was. Sand sticking to her shoulders and all.

I thought you said you never looked at her?

Was only a glimpse.

Later on that day Swisser called and while Bert and she looked on I threw together a Singaporean pork thingy I’d been thinking about which involved pork, soy sauce, vinegar, massaman curry paste, peppers, ginger, garlic, tomato paste and shredded cabbage. Swisser said she’d have some despite being inclined to vegetarianism and only allowing herself meat once every two years. Believe that? Not I.

I was telling her about what I’d been hearing about Matala and it turns out she’d been there a few years before Bert, actually lived in the caves for six months but had to leave because she got cholera, dysentery, typhoid or some such and was advised by a fellow traveller to make haste for Tel Aviv before she died,

Swisser's stories always involve serious illness and near-death experiences. either her own or someone else's. I didn't mention that I'd fried the pork in clarified butter and left all the fat on. God knows what that will have done to her gall bladder and I expect she's having a near-death experience this very minute. 

'Hippies' at Matala. The young woman in the shades is the absolute spitting image of Swisser. After Matala, she checked herself into a kibbutz where she was tenderly nursed back to health.

Postscript. Do I envy Swisser and Bert for their youthful travelling adventures? Short answer. YES! 

It's All About Cleo

 

Cleo has been enjoying the summery weather as much as anyone - riding the quad with Bert...

Meeting Arlo for the first time. They had a lot of fun. He's just a few weeks older than her and they are going to be great friends.

She went to Bracknamuckley Wood for the second time. Although it might be the last time for a while as the Bann is moving slowly these hot, dry days and something floating at the edge looks like the blue-green algae (not really an algae) that can be lethal for dogs.

In other news, we had a hectic weekend. I cooked my first vegan meal (a curry) for Hannah's friends on Friday. And on Saturday we had Marty and Jazzer, Arlo and Dora for a sleepover. Other visiting dogs included Phoenix, Pippin, Tegan and Rex. The yard was a total health hazard.

Plans for this week are looser. Tomorrow is family dinner which will need to be yummy to console Zoe for the damage Rusty did to her potato rigs. Wednesday is a funeral and Thursday Evie, maybe Martha. We will need to make plans for Portrush. The girls have told me they are still not too old for the annual trip to Curry's Fun Park* 

*Formerly Barry's.

Granny Buns

Granny Buns

 

That picture is supposed to be me! I got it as a free add-on from a genealogy site. Upload 20 or so photographs and receive images depicting Nelly through the ages. The one above is a 1950s-style illustration.

The reason I like the image (despite it looking nothing like me) is that cosy, smiling, maternal woman is how I sometimes like to see myself. The sort of woman who makes her own jam and would knock up a batch of delicious scones at the drop of a hat. The kindly person who would never let anyone leave her house hungry. The sort of kitchen goddess who is never happier when cooking delicious food for people she cares about. One of the younger family members used to call my mother Granny Buns because every time she came to visit Matty baked fairy cakes. Perhaps that Granny Buns above is my alter ego.

Instead, I am a woman who has up and down moods. Sometimes I’m lovely and sometimes I’m not. I blame my parents who, when I was a curly-haired moppet would recite this poem,

There was a little girl,

            Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

            When she was good,

            She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

So when I’m feeling frazzled, down in the dumps or ‘horrid’ it affects my cooking. That is what happened last week when I had Zoe and family around. I was out of sorts. The dessert, a simple steamed pudding, turned out well but my potato dish and the broccoli were close to indigestible. Was it me and my glum mood? Or was it the weather in Spain? Maybe it was Brexit. Whatever the reason we all put on a brave face and were consoled by pudding.

So what upset my stomach? Was it the undercooked broccoli, the second helping of pudding or old age? Whatever it was I had a tummy ache, trapped wind and threw up before bedtime. Five days later I still don’t feel right. I may phone the doctor for some magic pills to make it all go away.

Here's hoping that I can get my act together by Tuesday when they're all back for supper. I'm already consulting Feast supplement in the Guardian. There will be no shop-bought broccoli. Go Granny Buns!

Feeding the Family

 

Zoe got back on the plot today. There wasn't that much to do in the polytunnel so she started planting native trees on the cleared areas where Bert was cutting down the larch. 

Then it was six o'clock and time for supper. I made cottage pie with sponge and custard to follow. The girls refused kale. The adults chewed it purposefully (it was a tad tough) whilst commenting on all the health benefits we expected. Whatever it is those girls are eating, or not eating they are both half a head taller than me. And only half as wide.

I'm probably cancelling out all the goodness of the kale as I sit here drinking a Portuguese red.  But - I'm home alone, Bert is off gipsy jazzing with Les. Don't judge us.

Spring is well on its way. The witch hazel is almost over, the croci are beginning and tomorrow Jazzer and I are going to the zoo. Probably for the last time in my life. I need to say goodbye to the gorillas.

Bert Gets Cooking

 

The kitchen is full of wonderful smells. Spicy smells. Bert is making curry. And I am knitting.

There is other news about Bert - a good thing that came from a not-so-good thing. About a month ago we both had the coronavirus, Bert was much sicker than me, possibly because he neglected to take a booster jab in the Autumn. He threw up for days and was unable to eat, losing ten pounds.  During this time he didn't smoke. When he started to feel a little better I tentatively suggested that as he had been without nicotine for more than a week it might be a good thing if he took the opportunity to break the habit. He said, 

We'll see.

And I thought, let it be his decision. I won't push it.

A month later and he has still not smoked. He is starting to think of himself as someone who has given up. which is very positive. 

Of course, by now, that ten pounds has rolled back on - a good thing as he's on the slim side already. His appetite has improved and he is taking a great interest in baking and cooking. He is very self-critical of the results - the other night his fairy cakes didn't rise but his shortbread was delicious. He is devoted to Mary Berry and wonders why I use butter when Mary is all about margarine and I tell him to wise up, that was then and this is now and that's a really old book and I bet she never shouted for marge on the Great British Bake Off.

An Interlude

He shouted that dinner is served and it was delish and then we watched Happy Valley which was great and I am looking forward to watching it again tomorrow with Deirdre and Dmitri, fresh back from Lisbon, reunited with Lulu and cannot get iPlayer in lovely Leitrim.

Re the photo. I'm taking a picture of the current project every morning. It is not a giant hat, it is the bottom part of a multi-coloured stripey jumper.

What Kept Me From Blogging

On the day before Christma Eve Bert and I took the girls on separate outings. Martha and I went for a hunt around the charity shops and to find a present for Hannah. Bert and Evie went for a walk to the waterfall on Essathohan Burn. That turned out rather a damp expedition and they went home early to light roaring fires and watch telly.

But there was no stopping Martha and Granny. As always we had our traditional short-lived falling out which always clears the air and establishes that I just have to accept that we will be going into at least twenty different shops. And that Martha will dance. She does that – just starts dancing in the middle of a shop or on the pavement. Wherever there she sees a space she fills it with dancing. I don’t mind. She’s rather good at it.

Christmas Eve, I cooked, baked and wrapped the last of the presents. I had gifted Bert a promise that I would not get cranky with him on the three Christmas Days and found that I was able to share a kitchen with him as we each baked a cake. He was making a London Cheesecake, How To Be A Domestic Goddess, p152 and I was doing Sicilian Orange and Almond Cake, Penny Stephens Italian p234. They both turned out well. We had Bert’s on Christmas Day and mine on Boxing Day.

Christmas Day was all about the trimmings. Sad (not sad) that I forgot to cook the Brussels sprouts. We had Hannah and Fergus with us and afterwards, we played a rude and politically incorrect card game which was a lot of fun.

More cooking on Boxing Day. I did chicken and ham and made a couple of trifles, one alcoholic and one for kids and drivers. It was a family night and after eating we played charades, Truth or Dare and other silly games. Although Blind Man’s Buff was forbidden on Health and Safety grounds. 

Day after Boxing Day. We’d nothing planned and were looking forward to some peace and quiet. Then we weren’t as the Banjos were coming. More food! Jazzer brought her famous red pepper soup and a pavlova. After we’d eaten we enjoyed an entertainment we devised which involved taking turns choosing music on YouTube. This kept us entertained for nearly four hours and the music chosen ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous or, to put it another way, from Prince to Willie Drennan.

Marty Banjo introduced me to an amazing artist who goes by the name of LP. Somehow I’d never heard of her and, going by her androgynous and very fetching appearance, I actually had to go online to check her pronouns.

To finish, a good Christmas holiday but I’m awfully glad it’s over. We couldn't finish the pavlova though so Bert did something illegal and gave it to Rusty and Lily. Sorry DAERA but it was CHRISTMAS! The pigs loved it.

Friday Saturday Sunday Monday

Friday

We had Lulu from Leitrim staying with us for a couple of nights while her humans attended a wedding in Belfast. Friday was her last day so I took a few photographs to mark her visit. Her humans arrived earlier than expected (looking rather tired, if I may say so) and as is always the case with dog visitors she hopped into their car with nary a backward glance at the woman whose bed she had shared for two nights running. Never let it be said that I don't give visiting dogs a warm (1) welcome.

Saturday

Bert finally got around to putting up the nesting boxes that Dee Mac made for us. 

This one is ours. 

And this is the one that Hannah picked. It has an elemental and slightly malevolent look to it and that is probably why she chose it. I'm hopeful that the birds will find and use them in the spring. 

I hate to say it, but Judy, Jess and Ziggy were glad to see the back end of Princess Lulu. Ziggy was also sleeping over and he was not at all pleased at having to share Aunt Granny's bed with an entitled Jack Russell terrier. Still, he had me all to himself on Saturday night.

Sunday

Ziggy and I collected Hannah from the airport on Sunday morn. They were very pleased to see each other.

I spent the rest of the day doing chores and even managed to drag myself outside for an hour. I chopped down most of the tomatoes (they are still fruiting!) and pricked out snapdragons I grew from the seed Les gave me. I also checked the fruit on the chilli bush (another gift from Les) and wondered if I should make more chilli jam.

It's a Carolina Reaper, supposed to be the world's hottest chilli. 

Monday

The weather forecast for the rest of the week promises temperatures of up to  19°c in some parts of the UK. Here in Northern Ireland, we can expect rain and lots of it. The rest of the news all seems to be about climate change, no doubt because of the coming Cop26 conference in Glasgow.

Meanwhile, in my kitchen,  my main concern is for this evening's family meal. We are having Tagliatelle Bolognese and I'm trying out a new recipe for coconut cake. It's a Nigella and is supposed to have Malibu in the icing but dearie me no. Malibu on a Monday? My Presbyterian (2) great-great-grandfather would turn in his grave up there at the Sallagh Braes. 

Nigella has this great idea of soaking the desiccated coconut in boiling water and it has made for a soft and delicious cake. Someday that's not a Monday I will soak the coconut in Malibu.

(1) Lulu really appreciated my electric blanket.

(2) There is a rumour that Jacob Steen might have been Jewish. I have 6% Eastern European ancestry in my DNA so perhaps he was.

Better Late Than Never

Monday is the day when Zoe tends to her vegetable garden and I make supper for everyone. When Martha was old enough to appreciate birthday celebrations I'd make a cake on the Monday closest to a birthday. It's lucky that none of our birthdays fall in the winter months as that's when Zoe takes a break from gardening.

Martha's birthday supper should have been two weeks ago but then they all got Covid-19 and had to isolate. Luckily Zoe was symptomless so could continue working. She can do her job from home so that wasn't a problem. Today was her first day back at the plot and Marthas delayed birthday celebration. She asked for enchiladas and Chocolate Guinness cake (Nigella recipe) and I obliged. No expense was spared with just one exception - I recycled the extra-long candles from Robin's cake. (Dougie's Goodies, delicious.)

Evie's birthday is next. Thank goodness Martha was quick about blowing out those candles. We'll get another turn out of them yet.

 

 

A Bicycle Built For Three. Not

 

Tuesday. 

My sore left knee wasn't too bad today but in order to rest it, I planned a family meal that would be simple to prepare and easy to serve. Spaghetti Bolognese, followed by Pear and Ginger Crumble. This must have been a good year for pears because we have had two separate gifts of bags of delicious pears. The second lot, the ones I used on Tuesday did not look like much but they tasted great. There's a story about how they came to be. Our friend Ron bought the tree in Lidl a few years back. He carried it around in the boot of his car for the best part of a year then decided he ought to dispose of it. The pear tree, a mere stick, was propped up at the back of his flat for an entire winter, its root ball wrapped in hessian. He kept meaning to take it to the council dump. Spring came and his wife informed him that the tree was budding blossom. He decided to give it a chance and planted it out. The first year there was hardly a pear to be seen but since then it has cropped well, so much so, that he's giving them to everyone and it is even getting scrumped by well-dressed Englishwomen in silk scarfs and pashminas.

The other thing that happened on Tuesday was I decided to pop down to the village to buy some Ben and Jerrys to go with the crumble. I haven't been driving but reckoned I could manage it. And then as I was climbing into our van something went in my right knee and afterwards, I could barely walk. It's only starting to ease now. Bert and the girls did the ice cream run and I was glad that dinner was all prepared except for the pasta. Zoe sorted that.

Watched The Crown.

Wednesday

I spent most of the day lying on the sofa, reading and resting. Called Kerry Sister to wish her well on her upcoming major surgery.

Watched The Crown.

Thursday

Bert collected Martha and Evie from school. I can walk now but would rather not drive.

Watched The Crown.

Friday

Kerry Sister's big operation. That's what Matty and her sisters would have called it. From five onwards my phone was never out of sight or hearing. The update came from my niece. It had gone well.

Watched The Crown

Saturday

My knee was feeling much better. I even got a few non-essential chores completed. But it is boring not being able to go out, even if it is only to the local shop.

Katy sent us all this picture of Miss Emily in her Ireland supporter's outfit. Very cheering to see even though the game did not go Ireland's way. It was a win-win situation for Emily as she is half English, or is it a quarter English and a quarter Welsh? 

Finished Watching The Crown.

Sunday

Long and tedious day. Clint came round and was tedious about Brexit. Still thinks it is going to be great. Doesn't like Biden. Says he is a Republican. What he means by that is that he fears 46 would support a United Ireland. Personally, I think the new President will have enough to be getting on with in his own country to be troubling himself about us.

Heard that Kerry Sister is taking little walks and hopes to be home in a few days. She has only one episode of The Crown left to watch. As I have none there is only one thing left to do and that is to update Nelly's Garden.

Sugar Rush

I was telling Bhrian about my serious sugar consumption over the holiday period. He told me about his healthy diet.

Porridge and fruit for breakfast, lunch is a salad, lean meat, a drizzle of ranch dressing.

Sounds good. What about dinner?

Ah. Dinner. Well, I make about three dinners. Y'know, kids wanting different things.

(He has a lot of kids)

Then, I can't be bothered making myself anything, so I eat bits of everything that the kids are having. And - the leftovers, so maybe dinner is not so good.

I said,

Well. I've been eating industrial amounts of trans fats and sugar. I woke up the other night and my pulse was racing. I think I was having a panic attack.

Fats and sugar are the worst combination. So addictive.

I know. I read a short story once about a morbidly obese man who bought margarine and white sugar and mixed it into a paste and ate that. That makes me feel a tiny bit better about eating four mince pies today.

At this, Bert cuts in.

Four mince pies! You ate four!

I said,

I hope you never have to go to an AA meeting. I can just hear you. Some poor addict would be talking about how much they were drinking and you'd be like - you drink gin straight from the bottle at eight in the morning!

I went on,

They'd kick you out for being so judgy.

I'm not sure if the AA people would do that as I've never actually been to a meeting. Yet.

Then Bhrian told us about a short break he and the family took to Letterkenny after Christmas.

Did you all go? 

Not the eighteen-year-old. He stayed home. The morning we were leaving he was practically pushing us out the door.

Bhrian described the holiday and it sounded idyllic. Lots of long walks on windswept beaches. I said,

I hardly know Letterkenny apart from passing through. But Uncle Vincent used to live there. He worked in a confectionery factory and I remember him telling us that if we only knew what went into sweets we'd never let them pass our lips. I was dying to know the details so pressed him on it and it seems that the vats of sugary stuff were very attractive to all sorts of flying insects and that they'd often end up in the finished product. Didn't put me off sweets one iota.

Bhrian agreed.

Probably made them even tastier. 

Yea. Hygiene is bound to be greatly improved since the 1960s, no more wasps and flies in our chocolate caramels and now they're nowhere near as delicious.

Tomorrow I plan to have porridge and fruit for breakfast and I've already researched bean sprouting. I think there might be some mung beans at the back of the cupboard. They've only been there for about eight years but I'm sure they'll be fine.

A Catch Up

Wednesday: On this day I was supposed to keep Hannah company as she travelled a job interview in a far away town. This was cancelled due to her being offered another job in a nearby town. So I went to the Tannaghmore funeral with the young brother. The man whose funeral it was came from a big connection. The priest who conducted the funeral Mass was from the United States, a friend of the family, his people originally from Ireland. Father Pat Universal. That is a name with a ring to it. The service was beautiful, very life-affirming. Nick Cave said recently that atheism is bad for songwriting. I get that. Cave goes on, "It doesn't matter whether God exists or not - we must reach as if he does." That resonates for me. I don't know if God exists, but I want to live as if he does.

Thursday: Roy was poorly so we took him to the local vet in Portglenone. What was wrong with him? He was spooked, edgy, couldn't settle, wanted to be outside all the time, wanted to be given a lot of attention. Not himself. The vet gave him a thorough examination. The only issue was a raised temperature, and him being a big fat boy. The vet thought he might have a high temp because of inflammation in his joints and gave him a shot of something anti-inflammatory. What about his weight? Should we put him on a reducing diet? Oh no. There is no point, he is too old. What about treats? Should he have less treats? Oh no. Give him a couple of treats a day. I love this new vet. The shot worked its usual magic and old Roy is back to normal. Often I think that animal medicine is much better than human medicine. We should all go to the vet.

Friday: I worked in the garden and enjoyed it very much. My energy levels are back to normal. Those blood tests I took? The only thing mildly problematical was my cholesterol levels. I have an appointment to see the practice nurse on Tuesday for blood pressure and advice.

Today: More garden work and I cooked a leg of lamb. A few slices for supper and I shall make curry with the leftovers. And always - checking out the pollinators.

.
 

Saturday

Woke up early.

Went into Ballymena to feed a cat.

Bought The Guardian and RJ Kerr soda farls.

Met some twins coming out of the woods and fed them Cheerios and Haribo.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam.

Sold half a dozen eggs to a good Christian man. Put in a prayer request.

Looked for hen's nests. Failed to find any. Decided hens were sleekit, cunning bastards.

Sowed runner beans and French climbing beans.

Pricked out hairy-stemmed poppies and papaver somniferum.

Went into Ballymena to feed a cat.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam. And Haribo.

Gave second granddaughter sequinned dress bought from eBay.

Checked out Jasper Conran party dress for first granddaughter on eBay.

Ate toasted soda, cheese and chilli jam. And Haribo.

Kept tight eye on Jasper Conran party dress on eBay. 14 minutes left and going for £2.

Took phone call from friend regarding important matters,

Phone call lasted more than 14 minutes. Jasper Conran party dress re-listed.

Contacted seller, offered £1.50 more and 'won' Jasper Conran party dress.

Cut orange in half and used it to tempt pigs from field for early bed-time as Nellybert invited out to supper.

Rewarded good pigs with half an orange apiece and put them to bed with early supper.

Tried and failed to gather hens for early bedtime.

Went to good friends and served delicious supper all recipes from Yotam Olenghetti Jerusalem cook book. Felt slight frisson of guilt as was planning to boycott Eurovision Song Contest but food sublime.

Left after delightful evening of good food, conversation, wine and chocolate (no Haribo) clutching Jerusalem cookbook from which I am to photocopy favourite recipes.

Returned home and did livestock count. Foxes 0, Chickens 15, Rats 4.

Updated blog.

Goodnight.

Christmas Eve

It's seven o'clock and I've had four hours sleep. Awakened by Roy barking to be let out. I'm not pleased. I look outside, then I go outside to look at the sky. Sun's not up, the moon is waning gibbous but so bright. There is a passenger jet blinking past and Venus is dazzling in the east. I think it's Venus. I decide to have coffee and keep and blog Christmas Eve even though I've already got plenty to do. Who hasn't?

Who hasn't? Well - Bertram for a start but he'll find something useful to be getting on with as the day progresses. Just like yesterday when he took over my kitchen to melt beeswax, something I think could have been postponed until the festivities are done.

Blog excerpt from ten years ago.

And on the home front, Bert has embarked on his traditional Christmas preparations. This always involves a large, messy and thoroughly non-urgent task that he has been putting off for at least three years. I think it was last year he decided to demolish the turf shed and this year he’s building (from scratch) a sliding door between the scullery and the hall. The house is knee deep in sawdust and I’m terrified the kitten is going to decapitate itself on Bert’s Makita.

Two minutes past eight. The eastern sky is brightening and I'm off back to bed with another coffee. I won't stay long.

Just long enough to read another few pages of Fire and Fury. I've got to the bit where Bannon's still in the West Wing but teetering.

By nine o'clock I had the Heavenly Chocolate Pudding on the hob. It's Evie's favourite. Bert is still in bed but awake. I asked him, ever so nicely, not to embark upon any project that encroaches upon the domestic sphere. He promised he wouldn't. Actually, he said he might stay in bed all day. Surely in jest?

Twenty-five past ten. I'm tired. Hens fed and watered and a Christmas gift from one of the red girls. A big brown egg. They've all been off the lay for weeks except for the white one and she lays out. Her current nest is underneath the palm tree which is very inconvenient as collection entails having to kneel in the earth and stretch in to lift them.

Eleven forty-five. Managed to get Bert (he did get up) and Vancouver Brother out of the house for an hour or two and am eating a favourite breakfast of toast, strong cheese and my own chilli jam. I have produced a giant bowl of breadcrumbs for the turkey stuffing. I still haven't laid eyes on the bird.

A quarter to two and the boys are back after breakfasting at Grafters. I've had a shower, read a bit of my book, took some photographs with my new (to me) camera, cleaned out the fire and peeled a dozen onions. I am at present drinking a cup of peppermint tea and feel very tired.

Much more practice needed with this camera

Three hours later. Nearly 5 o'clock and I have a new lease of life. Trifle started - the fruity, cakey alcoholic bit and with the help of Vancouver Brother vegetables and meat prepped for tonight's supper. Melanie has just arrived bearing gifts. I got two geranium Rozanne. Apparently I said on this very blog that I wanted those. Who needs letters to Father Christmas? I just tell the blog and I get everything I want. Martha, Evie and their parents will be here any moment. Aha! That's them now. It will be a few hours before I return to blogging.

A quarter past seven. Listening to Dixieflyer (our brother-in-law) on Mad Wasp Radio. We've eaten, exchanged presents and said goodnight to two extremely excited young women. Supper was good, sausages, mash, veggies followed by my choc pud, Bert's ganache and vanilla ice cream. Banjo Man has been and gone and I'm not the slightest bit tired.

Great-Uncle Eamon and the noisiest girls in the world.

Nearly half-eight. I've had a glass of wine, courtesy of The Bun, and a little doze so now it's time to load the dishwasher and make the turkey stuffing. Bert has offered to chop onions and grate carrots. The turkey has been weighed. It's a big one and will need the most of five hours in the oven .

Half-past nine. Eamon and I finished making the stuffing, Bert cleaned up and we completed another stage of the sherry trifle. The men are cooking the ham and no doubt they'll eat a whack of it after I go to bed. But that's OK. They're good fellows, they deserve it.

Wishing everyone who visits the Garden a peaceful Christmas.

And hit publish.

A Challenge

 Chilean guava plant or Ugni molinae 

Favourite fruit of Queen Victoria

We have two small Chilean guava bushes, a gift from Les, and they are currently fruiting. The berries are small, slightly bigger than a blackcurrant, and they are delicious. They taste good as they ripen but when they are fully ripe the flavour is sublime. So far, we keep ours in pots in the polytunnel.

Berries weren't the only thing I ate today. It was family supper day again and the family were late because it was also the day when parents get to hear how their children are getting on at school. Apparently, Martha has a reading age comparable to a 14-year-old. I told her that this was great and that when she is sixty her reading age will be the same as mine is now.

Her fine command of the English language must be the reason why she corrected me on my grammar Thursday last. I asked her if she'd ever heard of the proverb,

Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs.

Which she hadn't and I chose not to tell her what it meant as I like to keep an air of mystery about myself. What I did tell her was of my very good results in English examinations at all levels and that using incorrect grammar was my personal choice. Obviously, her father had to check hers as she was still learning. But, to console her, I said that she would most likely be very good at English as it is a family trait on all sides. And it looks like I was right. Again.

But I digress from food. Martha started with Bert's pea and ham soup, Evie declined this course. It was still several hours before supper was served so both girls had a couple of pieces of Haribo* then went outside to bounce it off on the trampoline.

I made macaroni cheese and a steamed toasted coconut pudding. The girls tired of the trampoline and went searching for Bert to play with them. They roared and shouted for a while then came in saying he couldn't be found. I said,

He's probably hiding from you.

He was, so for badness I let them call him on my phone. He answered, expecting it to be me.

Bert! Where are you? We looked everywhere for you.

I'm in the woods.

Right! We're coming to get you!

And off they went to drag him back to play with them.

I may have mentioned before that Martha can be a harsh critic of my cooking. Cakes like biscuits, pizzas a bit dodgy. Today was different. The macaroni cheese was delicious and creamy and what kind of cheese did I use? I never mentioned the two big dollops of English mustard and the half glass of white currant wine. Just ordinary cheddar cheese, Martha. Pudding was also received well.

That's two weeks in a row you've made a delicious meal Granny. Last week's meatballs and spaghetti and this creamy, delicious macaroni cheese. If you can just do delicious meals for the next two weeks that'll be a whole month of good cooking!

Oh Lord! The pressure. Evie said she'll give me fifty pence of her pocket money as a prize if I manage it. Guess I'll have to give it my best shot.

Now, I've a confession to make. I write these posts and publish them with only slight editing. Then, the next day I read over them and change words here and there and fix spelling and grammar where needed. Just saying, because those early readers who see posts before I go back to them might wonder how I got those good marks in English examinations of which** I boasted to Martha.

*Haribo - ever since I got the pension I've been buying it wholesale.
**'of which' - I'm not sure about that. I might change it tomorrow.

Things Bert And I Have Argued About

Crabbit - Ireland and Scotland, from 'crabbed' meaning bad-tempered.

Some time ago there was a regular column in The Guardian called Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About. The writer was Mil Millington, (I just googled that) and it was always an enjoyable read. Of course, Bert and I never argue but we used to - quite a bit. Actually, that's a lie. We still do argue but it's different now. Different because I don't take myself as seriously as I used to.

Yesterday's argument arose because he stood too close to me while I was making dinner. This is what happened.

I was making risotto from one of my new Jamie books. It was the 30-minute meal book. I might not know much about risotto but I know it's not a dish to hurry. Jamie was pretty optimistic with his 30-minute timing especially as I was expected to do a salad and a dessert in the allotted time frame. Ridic! I just did risotto and it took forty minutes.

The risotto was supposed to be mushroom but I didn't have mushrooms so I was planning to use smoked mackerel and bits of things from the garden, mostly peas and fresh herbs, flat leaf parsley, rosemary, marjoram, some lemony thing that I couldn't identify and my own garlic. The base was onion and celery both shop-bought. I also used a big glass of my own white currant wine to start it off and all was going well. Especially as I was drinking a big glass of my own white currant wine as I chopped and stirred. Bet you Jamie doesn't do that. Too many kids around for him to be drunk in charge of a high sided frying pan. When it comes to cooking and drinking I tend to favour the Keith Floyd way of doing things.

Then Bert came in from outside. He wandered over to the cooker to see how things were going which was OK with me. But then he didn't go away! Instead, he starts struggling out of his boiler suit and removing his heavy boots whilst standing six inches from me. He always tries to take his boiler suit off first and he's half caught up in it, standing on one leg, trying to unlace his boots and tottering! Tottering six inches from me and my high sided frying pan and my gas cooker! I was raging and I'm afraid I shouted at him. Something along the lines of,

Size of this kitchen, size of this house! Why stand on TOP of me whilst I'm COOKING! Wriggling out of that STUPID boiler suit *unmentionable adjective*, *unspeakable noun*.

Then he retorts, something along the lines of,

Crabbit *unutterable noun*!

Then he cleared off out of my way and said that thing again. Under his breath but I heard. And did not care because my personal space was not being intruded upon. I also did not care because I am a crabbit *unutterable noun*.

The risotto turned out very well. Delicious, in fact. I can hardly believe I've never made one before. Did I mention the Roquefort cheese I added before serving? The argument was over, finito. Mostly that's the way it is these days. Bit of a reaction to an annoyance, some might even say over-reaction, then let it go. It's almost always me who starts it.

A photograph taken a long time ago. That corner is now part of a fifteen-acre wood and that was our very first dog, Danny. We argued a lot more then than we do now.

Jamie Ya Bollix

Started clearing out my scullery cupboards yesterday using the recommended decluttering method, which is 5 boxes designated as follows,

1. Bin
2. Recycle
3. Donate
4. Mend
5. Restore to Proper Place

By far the fullest box was Restore to Proper Place and the emptiest, containing one piece of cardboard, was Recycle. This tells me that I am very good at recycling and very bad at restoring items to the proper place.

I'd hoped to have a really full donation box as the cupboards I was decluttering are the ones where I keep my fancy vintage china. It wasn't easy to part with it. I managed to donate a couple of vases, two bowls and an outsized mug belonging to Hannah. The rest I kept, including three butter dishes with lids in various styles from hand-painted to Pyrex. I toyed with donating the Old Foley but after checking eBay prices realised that it could fetch a sum between £2.50 to £33 so thought better of it.

Today is the day I pick up the girls from school so I packed my box of bits and pieces for delivery to the nearest charity shop. Whilst there I bought four cookery books (50p each) and Evie chose a mug for herself (20p). The cookery books were in very good condition, three Jamies and a Nigella. Evie and I browsed them in the schoolyard whilst we awaited Martha's release. I was especially taken by Jamie's 15 Minute Meals. What a challenge! I can make poached egg and toast in 15 minutes but Jamie can do marvels. Apparently, the secret is having the right equipment and a very well-stocked pantry. He's a helpful soul is Jamie and he provided a list of all the essential store cupboard ingredients a person should have to hand. Just one hundred and twenty-six items. This included 13 types of dried pasta, 11 kinds of nuts and 13 ready-made sauces. Nine kinds of tinned food must be available and as no one is going to have just one tin of anything I'd say that would bring the necessary items to over 150. Either I get rid of all that crockery or a new pantry is needed.

But - Jamie says that there is no point in serving up all this delicious, nutritious food if it's dished up on random, everyday plates and bowls. He advises using painted boards or vintage crockery from flea markets. Doesn't have to be expensive y'see. Now the painted board thing. Not happening in this house. I'd serve the chow on them just the one time and later on that evening Bert would have them in the wood-burning stove. Looks like the vintage crockery is staying and, as I've probably already got around half of Jamie's recommended pantry list, all I need is to shop for the 75 items I haven't got and a two-tier bamboo steamer for all the dim sum I'll be making. 

Monday Suppers: Spag Bol

I tried something new today. Spaghetti Bolognese. Spaghetti Bolognese! The dish that even students can make and that everyone else has been serving up for over half a century. I have made it before, probably at least 480 times before but today was the first time ever I used a recipe.

And this is the book I used. It's a great favourite of mine although generally I just make desserts.  

This is the recipe. Usually, when I make spag bol I go overboard with the herbs and throw all kinds of vegetables in. That's what happens when you've been making the same dish since you were twenty. Bad ideas become a lifetime habit. This recipe just uses onion, tomatoes, garlic, carrots and celery. Not a bell pepper in sight. And the solitary herb used was oregano. I cooked everything far longer and slower than I normally would and the only variation from Penny Stephens' book was using damson and blackcurrant wine instead of red plonk.

The verdict? It was very tasty. Dave called it a 'triumph', Zoe had a small second serving and Martha and Evie cleared their plates and asked for seconds despite having already eaten spag bol for school lunch. Bert said it was nice but too many carrots. I'm having the leftovers on sourdough toast for tomorrow's breakfast. Hannah said that Thai people would be horrified by what Irish people eat for breakfast. She was referring to something she called 'slop' and I would call 'porridge'. Apparently, Thai people eat supper's savoury leftovers for brekkie and so shall I. Tomorrow anyway.

And these are the grandchildren with Hannah and Mel. They are drawing nicely with every Sharpie, colouring pencil and oil pastel in the house. Last week they had that table upside down in the middle of the yard with my blue silky cushions padding it and a small dog wearing a pink plastic tiara perched on top. I'm afraid I was cross and I regret that. I should have taken a photograph instead.