love those cupcakes

Up,up and away

 

When I arrived home from work yesterday I couldn't resist photographing the froth of blossom on the cherry tree in the front garden.  I've been a tad impatient, seeing other trees in the neighbourhood in full bloom, but it was well worth the wait.

It's looking likely that we will be flying to Spain later today after all (there was a bit of hasty packing last night), though with the series of cancellations we've experienced we'll no sooner get there than have to turn around and come back!  Well, not quite but you know what I mean. So, it will be quiet here at Cupcake Towers for the next week.   Adios.

Tuesday lunch

I'm still aiming to eat healthily although I doubt I'll ever completely cut out cake from my diet.  That would be a step too far.  Lunches at work can be a bit samey - a homemade sandwich, yoghurt and maybe an apple - but yesterday I was working from home.  There's so little food of any description in the house as we're ever hopeful of getting away on holiday but I managed to come up with this (with inspiration from this blogger who always produces delicious looking and health conscious meals on a budget):

I quickly whizzed up some houmous in the blender (that's paprika sprinkled on top) and found half a cucumber and a couple of baby plum tomatoes lurking in the fridge.  There's a little pot of rocket growing on the kitchen window ledge which I snipped at to add a bit of garnish.   A couple of crispbreads popped onto the plate and Bob's your uncle.

Tuesday update

Still here and it's looking unlikely that we'll be getting away, despite rescheduling flights.

Good job I forgot to cancel the milk.

Will we, won't we?

This was meant to be a post about flying off to our little house in Spain.  But this .......

 

..... may prevent us going anywhere.  Apart from back to work, of course.

Ah well, we can only wait and see.  In the meantime, I've been pottering in the garden, trying to clear some of the debris that collected over the winter and planting spuds. 

Oh yes, and I've made an orange frosted carrot cake because cake fixes everything.  Right?

Swanning about

Reading about this little girl's first experience of going to the ballet reminded me of mine. 

I was a little older than Yoyo, 8 or thereabouts, and had been attending dance lessons for several years.  After one ballet class my dance teacher, Miss Ella, announced that we were being given the opportunity to see the Bolshoi Ballet performing Swan Lake.   I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  My dad had bought me a record of ballet music and the Swan Lake excerpts were my favourites to prance about to in our little living room.  

All of us budding cygnets squealed with excitement and, along with the other mothers, my mum promptly paid for two tickets (which looked suspiciously like raffle tickets with a bit of handwriting on the back), one for me, one for her.  It seemed like we had ages to wait but the date on the tickets eventually came round.

We'd been given directions to the venue which should have set the alarm bells ringing in the various mothers' heads.  My dad worked in our shop which stayed open until 10 o'clock every night and as my mum didn't drive (remind me to tell you about her first, which also turned out to be her only, driving lesson under my dad's instruction), we had to get the bus.  I remember it was dark and wintry as we set out and it took forever to get to our destination.  But get there we did.

The venue turned out to be a tiny, ramshackle community hall in what was at that time an area of heavy industry (think ICI and strange smells) and where all of the houses had been demolished some years previously.  The hall hadn't been in active use for a long time so it wasn't heated.  Of course, there was no such thing as "refreshments".

As for the much anticipated Bolshoi Ballet, it turned out the mothers had paid for us all to watch an extremely poor quality reel of film.  A silent film, I might add.  This was fed into the projector by the caretaker who coughed continuously whilst chain smoking and who loudly bemoaned the fact that he'd had to leave his cosy fireside in the nearby town.   It didn't appear to cross his mind that we were all equally if not more uncomfortable.  (I suspect those of us who were gloveless were tempted to warm our hands over the lit cigarette ends).

I spent the rest of that night snuggling into my mum's coat sleeve (nobody was brave enough to remove their outdoor clothes), feeling so very disappointed (for heaven's sake, I'd taken my autograph book with me) and wondering how I was going to talk about "the performance" at school the next day.  Naturally, I'd told my teacher and fellow pupils all about who and what I was going to see.  My head mistress was very keen to bring culture into the lives of us little girls from the terraced streets so I'd been tasked with standing in front of the whole school to share my experience and maybe even give a little demonstration of some of the ballet steps I'd watched.  It would have helped if I could have actually seen, through what seemed to be indoor fog, some of the dancing on the small white (ish) portable screen that we were all seated in front of.

Getting back home proved to be problematic as the buses ran infrequently.  There was no way of contacting my dad to come and pick us up (we did have a phone at home but we couldn't locate a public phone in working order.  Well to be honest, we couldn't locate any public phone, working or not.  And anyway he'd still have been working in the shop).  A bus did come along at some point (there were no street lights and I just remember us all huddled together, mums and girls alike, in what had been a bus shelter in a previous life) and we arrived home long after my usual bedtime.   At least my dad had thoughtfully put the electric blanket in my bed.

As for school the next day, dear readers I blagged it.  I pretended I really had seen the Bolshoi and managed to execute a few pirouettes and plies in my much admired pink satin ballet shoes.  (I don't remember faking autographs to show people but, who knows, maybe I did).   Anyway, when I finished everyone clapped so it must have been OK.

The whole experience didn't dampen my enthusiasm for ballet or live performance. 

But I'd have to admit I've never felt quite the same about Swan Lake.

And I have an idea my mum gave Miss Ella an earful.

Not a cupcake

With the cake tin empty and the need for a break from paperwork, I rummaged in the kitchen cupboards, mixed together some ingredients and came up with ........

......... an almond and orange cake.

A change from the cupcakes I often churn out, the texture was pleasingly moist due to the inclusion of what was left of a packet of ground almonds.  Whilst the cake was still warm I brushed the top with an orange syrup to give a slightly sticky glaze.  Now all I need to do is try to remember what else I threw into the mixing bowl if we're ever to eat it again.

On a completely different note, a little while ago I won a blog birthday giveaway and, thanks to the generosity of Pink Cat, was the happy recipient of an assortment of goodies.

I love aquilegias and hope the packet of seeds will produce some welcome flowers in our soon to be reinvigorated garden.  Yes, we have A Plan.

Bits of Saturday

Baking:  a tomato and basil focaccia using this recipe.  To be eaten as part of an easy "indoor picnic" supper tonight with a selection of cheeses, salads, olives and maybe a tortilla.  The healthy eating regime I was meant to start this week?   Meh.

Dipping in and out of: 

Making:  gift tags using this method from Pebbledash.

Planning to watch:

Spotting:  a lime green corner in the garden.

Easter weekend

Consumed yesterday:

Assortment of finger sandwiches

3 cheese and pineapple sticks

4 baby scones with strawberries and clotted cream

1 Easter biscuit

3 slices of passionfruit Pavlova

1 Hotel Chocolat Eton Mess egg

5 chocolate mini eggs

To be eaten today:

Leftovers.....

Starting tomorrow:

Healthy eating regime.