Curly Baps

It has taken me a little while to get back in the swing of things since my sojourn in England and London. I learned while I was away, that the capital and the country are actually different places* or, at least, so says LS who declared to me that she could 'never live in England' despite having lived in London ever since she graduated. Myself, I couldn't live in London but I very much love to visit it.

But first, there was Norfolk where I stayed with my daughter Katkin and her family. Master James was a delight, utterly obsessed with trains and other modes of transport but mainly trains. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely well when I was with him - treated us all to a spot of projectile vomiting, a skill he has inherited from his mother. If it were an Olympic sport she could have been a gold medallist. Thankfully, she grew out of it and so will James.

And, like his mama, he has lovely curly hair. Apparently, it had been due for a trim but his parents decided to postpone it so I could enjoy his curls. I was reminded of my old friend Sheena who doted on children with curly hair and would often snip a keepsake lock with or without parental consent. It seemed a harmless hobby back then. No doubt, these days,  she'd have been prosecuted. Sheena would have adored our James.

Katy and James at Brancaster

*This might explain the Brexit vote in London where 59.9% voted to remain. Very much at odds with England as a whole.

The Queen of the Mournes

That would be Rosie. Me? I'm the Hag of the Mournes.

Bert, Rosie and I had a great time staying at Hanna's Close. We stayed in the Carthouse where, by coincidence , Zoe and Dave had stayed previously. It was Zoe recommended Hanna's Close to us. Naturally it's dog-friendly.

One of the best things about the cottage was the open fire.

It had all the traditional accoutrements for hanging cooking utensils on and I must be one of the few bloggers that remembers these being used.

When I was very little, sometime in the late 50s, my Granny did all her cooking like that. I remember the big black swinging pan where she fried chops and made the traditional Irish breakfast of home-cured bacon, freshly laid eggs and her own soda bread. Glorious. She had a big black pot for boiling spuds and a swinging griddle for soda bread. She must have found it very strange when she moved to the council house in Whelan's Brae.

Bert and I did our small bit of cooking on the electric cooker. We didn't think The Man would have been too impressed if we'd blackened all his pots and pans.