love those cupcakes

A day out

On Wednesday I met up with the Gorgeous Girlie in London.  We wanted to see the exhibition of Scott's final expedition to the South Pole at the Natural History Museum and luckily managed to buy cheap-ish rail tickets.   

Sadly no photography was allowed inside the exhibition (which I found incredibly moving - such determination and effort and human endurance).  The purpose of Scott's expedition was primarily scientific research and the various scientists in the team set out to study antarctic weather, zoology and glaciology.  But Scott also aimed for a small group to reach the South Pole and be the first people to do so.  On 17 January 1912, five members of the team reached the Pole, only to find that Amundsen's Norwegian group had beaten them to it. All five perished during the return journey. 

There are lots of original items and personal artifacts on display and if you do visit the exhibition, which I highly recommend, make sure you take plenty of tissues.

Whilst I waited for my girl to arrive I had a mooch around the V&A which I don't think I've visited previously.  Too early for this, I would have visited the British Design exhibition there (they have one of my Trimphones) if I'd had more time but I didn't fancy paying and then rushing round the exhibits.

We also treated ourselves to afternoon tea at the Lanesborough on Hyde Park Corner.  It started with a reviving glass of champagne, followed by strawberries and cream.  Then came the highlight for me, a shot glass filled with a tangy orange jelly, buttermilk cake and the lightest chocolate mousse all topped with a square of chocolate, raspberry and gold dusted honeycomb.  After that was a variety of little sandwiches (baby brioches filled with egg, roast vegetable wraps, beetroot in beetroot bread, buffalo mozzarella, tomato and pesto in a mixed grain bread  and cream cheese and cucumber fingers), mushroom tartlets, cakes and little pastries.  Finally we were presented with scones, served with pots of lemon curd, raspberry preserve and clotted cream, and little toasted teacakes. Copious amounts of refreshing pomegranate (me) and apple and mango (Girlie) tea were drunk throughout.  The service was impeccable and we were even given the cakes we hadn't managed to eat in a box to take home.  (The husband polished those off in seconds.)

Kings Cross station has undergone considerable improvement and the new departures concourse is rather impressive.

I always forget that London means lots of walking and by the time I alighted the train at Darlington station I was aware I was moving very strangely. (Little did I know that putting one foot in front of the other was about to become rather more challenging but more of that in the next post.)

Oh, look what came home with me.

Ding dong indeed.

 

Filling in the gap

A three day drive through England, France and most of Spain wasn't top of my list of fun activities but with a couple of nights in pet friendly hotels and a comfortable seat  (admittedly less comfortable after 6 hours straight driving)  in the over filled car it wasn't so bad.  The Boo, I would have to say, behaved impeccably and proved himself the perfect uncomplaining travel companion. Having never been one for reading whilst travelling by road I wasn't anticipating digging into the stache of books I'd packed but once we hit the quieter (and straighter) motorways of France and Spain I just sat back (the mister did all the driving) and enjoyed a couple of novels which certainly helped pass the time.  

Our stay in Spain was puntuated by reading the remainder of the book pile plus a few extras (a couple of books deserve a post of their own), some gentle pottering (me) and odd jobbing around the house (him, though the services of Boris  had to be secured to tidy up our palm tree which is now taller than the house), a lot of eating (including the obligatory churros y chocolate and now I really do need to lose some weight), a little shopping (we came across a shop selling hand carved Pinochios of various sizes) and a fair bit of quaffing of the red stuff. 

Elaborate Semana Santa processions were in evidence over Easter, culminating locally in the Burial of the Sardine (yes, I did wonder if I'd heard that right) celebration with its strange mix of decorated floats each depicting the sardine and a Greek god, scantily clad Brazilian dance groups, Sardinero torch bearers in their tall, pointy hats and the throwing of thousands of toys to the crowds lining the streets before finally setting fire to the sardine. (No pictures, unfortunately.)

In his wisdom, the mister decided to drive home via a different route (up the left hand side of the map) with an overnight stay in Millau in the Mid Pyrenees, a town with an impressive viaduct and surrounded by the most stunning scenery. It was a pity we didn't have time to explore, especially the caves where the Roquefort is matured. Maybe next time.

En route to Calais the following day, the sat nav warned of stationary traffic ahead and advised a detour which we decided to take. Progress from then on was incredibly slow as we stopped/started through endless sets of traffic lights, hopeful of re-joining the motorway at some point. 

Him:  I wasn't expecting to be diverted through towns.

Me:   Which seem to be getting bigger and busier.

Him:  I have no idea where we are.

Me:   Well, this road's called Avenue Victor Hugo. 

Him:  There's the Arc de Triomphe.

So it was.

Dead ahead.

Ever tried driving around Paris on a busy, rainy afternoon?

Thought not.

 

Easy Sunday

Breakfast pancakes.

 

Flowery gifts.

A delicious late lunch with perfectly chilled Prosecco, courtesy of the kitchen pixies who also washed up and tidied the kitchen afterwards.

Lounging with the papers, the latest novel and a box of chocolate gingers.

As my dad used to say, peel me another grape.

Filling in the gaps

The weather at the weekend was just how I like it, sunny but still bitterly cold, perfect for treating a little white car to a much needed wash and polish.  There was also a solitary afternoon drive to one of the many abbeys in these parts, with Barton Hollow at full volume on the CD player, and shopping for the dress with the bride to be (which turned out to be easier than anticipated).  We've had a family dinner in a North Yorks country pub where the wait was far too long for what turned out to be just so so food, not half as tasty as the cauliflower cheese we had for lunch.  Two cats and a dog have had their annual examinations and jabs  (one's too fat, one doesn't clean his nose properly and the other needs a special diet) and our bank account has been subsequently depleted.  Not much is happening in the garden (I didn't get round to planting any of the bulbs I'd bought) though the camellia buds are almost ready to burst into flower and the Corsican hellebore is brightening a corner.  Too many pancakes have been flipped and eaten with too much maple syrup. Biscuits, chocolate and cake will not be consumed until Easter Sunday.  

Marmalade hiccups

Armed with a shiny new maslin pan, I spent the best part of today making my first ever batch of marmalade.  It could well be my last.

The first hiccup was not having any muslin for the pips so I just threw them in the pan of water and boiled them for about 10 minutes or so.  Unfortunately it wasn't so easy to remove them but I did, with the help of a sieve and a variety of spoons. 

A bigger hiccup was the discovery that, after adding the chopped peel and juice, the mixture was sticking to the pan despite lots of stirring.  Then, once the sugar had been added and I achieved what I assumed was a rolling boil, the mixture at the bottom actually burned (and the new pan is now less shiny, more black).                                                                                 

I managed to salvage most of it as it didn't taste burnt (the black stuff stayed stuck to the bottom of the pan) and it looks like marmalade but I won't be in a hurry to have another go. 

Not least because, after I'd unpacked the pan, the Boy was heard to mutter "It looks like a cauldron".

 

Edited to add 12th February:  We had some of the marmalade on toast this morning and it tastes just like marmalade!  As for the pan, a good soaking in detergent and a gentle scrub has removed the black stuff and restored the shine.  Result.

 

A celebration

In answer to the question at the end of the previous post, yes, it could.  And it did.  Sort of.

Yesterday was the mister's birthday so, after he'd walked some of the dogs at the RSPCA shelter and opened his cards and presents, we popped up the road to Stokesley for a wander round and coffee stop.  I'd forgotten it was market day so we stocked up on fruit (I bought Seville oranges with the maybe overly ambitious aim of having a go at marmalade making), veg and flowers.   We took the scenic route back, through Great Ayton where the river was partially iced over and it was far too cold for an ice cream.  The day finished with the three of us going out for celebratory pizzas, the birthday boy's supper of choice, and then home for cake (Nigella's buttermilk birthday cake).  

Oh, I almost forgot.  I also got red hair.  How exciting is that?

 

Recovering

Thanks so much for your well wishes.   Still not firing on all cylinders (that was some bug the Boy brought home), I've continued to be housebound apart from a (makeup free because of the eye infection, quelle horreur) dash to the shop followed by a quick visit to check on Aunty M. at the weekend  

Of course, this means I've had no excuses for putting off the consultancy work I committed myself to and I think it's fair to say some progress has been made.   The laptop breaking down the other day and being carted off to laptop hospital might have been reason enough for doing nothing but, no,  I have a back-up machine so have been able to plod valiantly on. 

At other times I've been watching this, admiring the flowers on the only bulb I planted last year

 

and enjoying my first (free) snack box from here.

Can it get any more exciting?

Below par

For the last seven days I've been laid up with the worst cold/flu/bug I can remember having.  The Boy brought it home, the mister was next to succumb and then it was my turn.  

It started with a pounding head (which has continued every day since and which the Nurofen has consistently failed to reach), a load of iron bars stuck in my throat (or so it felt) and the sound of the sea constantly in my shell-like. 

The iron bars have since departed (more or less), leaving me with a late night/early morning cough.  Then yesterday I woke up with one eye swollen and stuck fast and the bloodshot other hinting that it might follow.  (It did.  This morning.)

I've wallowed in hot, deep baths for hours on end, because that's the only place I feel comfortable and who knows, I might actually manage to sweat the bugger out.  I've rested (in truth, hardly moved from the horizontal), self medicated and tried to keep taking in fluids (which isn't easy when your throat is full of iron bars but I must have taken in more than enough as evidenced by the overflow from my eyes and nose). 

I did venture out on Saturday to celebrate the Girlie's birthday with dinner here (of course I couldn't taste a thing and felt full pretty quickly) and threw some cakes together for her to take back to Manchester on Sunday. (Maybe I should have worn gloves and a mask during the making of them.)

 

Unbeknown to everyone, the Boy quietly cracked on with making some Jammy Dodgers, just in case I wasn't up to baking.

I think he did a pretty good job and the Girlie got an extra present.

 

Lately I've been......

.....enjoying the last of the granola I made (adapted from this recipe) between Christmas and New Year.

.....trying to motivate myself to crack on with the consultancy work I've taken on so that I can get paid.  But there are so many distractions.......

.....catching up on series 2 of this.  Having learned that a third series is being filmed, I've just one thing to say to the producers.  Tak.

.....baking Roman style ("crusty, crumpety") spelt bread, using the very straightforward recipe on the back of the flour bag.

.....watching this, one of my Christmas presents.  Very different from the usual "wagons, roll!" Western, and with minimal dialogue, this film is about the struggle of three families travelling the Oregon trail in 1845.  It's bleak, it's grim, it's powerful.  It's going to leave you feeling very thirsty (and possibly wishing for a different ending) if you watch it.

.....marvelling at someone's efforts to get at the catnip.  Just look at that tongue!

.....listening to this, another Christmas present.  I love it.  You can get a taste here.

.....booking a (planes, boat, train) holiday.  More on that later.

Getting there. Sort of.

The cards have been written and mailed this morning.  Too late for those recipients overseas but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?

One Christmas cake has been iced and boxed and is ready for its journey to the north west.

The tree has been bought and is currently lounging in its net against the wall in the garden.  We went for a Nordman fir and will be decking it tonight (after the nimble Boy has finished work and been sent up the ladder and into the loft to retrieve the boxes of decorations).

The Ikea trip happened last night.  After successfully completing the giant jigsaw puzzle in the car boot (at one point it seemed likely that I'd be hitching home), an assortment of Expedit units are now piled up in the hall (along with the inevitable impulse buys), awaiting their moment to transform an entire wall in the guest bedroom.

I've also received a couple of surprises in the post this week. 

HM Revenue and Customs awarded me a four figure tax rebate.  Most welcome, thank you very much.

The extremely talented Natasha over at Amelie's House generously hosted a giveaway of her amazing bakes and what do you know,  I won!

The parcel contained iced gingerbread cookie lollies, mini Christmas cakes and chocolate dipped gingerbread sticks (which we've scoffed already and yes, they were delicious).

Just look at that handpainted icing.

You can read more and order here or pop into Selfridges if you're in the vicinity and treat yourself from their display.

Now, shall I have one of those cookies or a cake? 

Oh, decisions, decisions.