love those cupcakes

Making and marking

It was 'Make a Christmas decoration from scrap' at my WI group last night.

Suggestions, materials and help came from the lovely volunteers at Percy.

I opted to have a go at fashioning a large snowflake from some old SureStart leaflets (hence the 'Pathways to Prospects' text).

I thought it was an improvement on the Easter chicken/rooster and hung it in the living room.

The Boy here walked past, trying not to laugh.

There's just no impressing some people.

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In other news, today marks four years since I had radical surgery for a gynaecological cancer. *

Still no room for complacency, still a way to go, but we have cake and we're celebrating a milestone.

 

*I understand that awareness of the five gynaecological cancers is generally at a very low level.  You might find these information leaflets from the Eve Appeal helpful.

 

The to do list

Buy Advent calendars, chocolate for the Boy, traditional for me.

Book seats at the panto.

Order charity Christmas cards.

Bake Christmas cake using my dad's recipe.

Make Christmas pud.

I can tick that one in about four hours.

 

When is a scone not a scone?

When it's a fat rascal, of course.

These perfect-with-an-afternoon-cuppa baked treats are often associated with Betty's (I wouldn't dream of visiting Northallerton, York or Harrogate without buying a couple to bring home) who this year celebrated 30 years of baking them with their trademark cherry and nut faces.  But they have a much longer history, particularly with my home area here in the north east.

We called them 'fatty cakes' when I was growing up, though they were less like scones and more a cross between pastry and a biscuit.  In those days, people often resorted to the quick and cheap version utilising basic shortcrust left over from making whichever pie. This was rolled into a rectangle, sprinkled with sugar and currants, folded in half, cut into rounds (or simply left as a large rectangle like my dad used to do) and baked.  There was even a little rhyme we used to sing as kids:  'If you have the bellyache, rub it with a fatty cake'.*

I still make them that way every now and again but thought I'd push the boat out and attempt a batch Betty's-style using an egg enriched dough and with the addition of spice, cherries and almonds.

Fat rascals are deliciously filling and really don't need any accompaniment.  I know some people treat them like scones, splitting and spreading with butter and jam, but round these parts we prefer them as they are.  It goes without saying that they're best eaten on the day they're baked and ideally whilst still warm. 

There are numerous recipes out there but I used this one.

 

* Health warning:  There is no scientific evidence to support the assertion that rubbing the abdomen with a big fat scone is an effective treatment for stomach discomfort and pain.  And it's a waste of a big fat scone.

 

Seasonal baking

For the cake stall at the animal shelter Christmas fayre.

Sparkly gingerbread cupcakes with caramel buttercream....

and a batch of chocolate orange cuppies.

I fell in love with this little chap.

And then I ate him.

 

That time of year

Making soup.  This one was spicy sweet potato, coconut and lime, enjoyed with a still warm cheese scone.

Making another blanket.  The usual round after round, large granny square.  I don't seem to be able to manage anything different.  A bit like the Mary Jane baby booties I've been working on.  Seems I can't knit one for the left foot.  Now, what to do with the three right ones I've produced?

Thinking about Christmas shopping.  The Girlie and I met up in York at the weekend with the aim of making a start.  In truth, very little progress was made (I blame the wet weather and frequent stops for shelter/coffee) but a long natter over a late lunch (homity pie for me, mushroom burger for the Girlie) in Goji was thoroughly enjoyed.

Savouring gingerbread lattes.  For me, this drink just shouts autumn, especially when topped with  white moustache inducing whipped cream and a little gingerbread boy. So far, I've knocked back three.

Knitting potential stocking fillers.  Washcloths, copying Gillian at Tales from a Happy House, using this pattern and intended to be paired with posh soaps.  I don't think I've ever given a handmade Christmas present.  Actually, I'm not sure I'm brave enough to give these less than perfect examples.

Choosing the winter book pile. When I was younger, I used to love matching what I was eating or drinking with whatever the characters were munching or guzzling.   It helped that we lived in a shop in those days, with a range of food and drink to hand.  Fortunately, my parents were far too busy to notice I was nibbling their profits as I attempted to enhance my reading experience.

I don't go to such lengths these days but I do enjoy matching the setting of the novels with the time of year I read them.  Some of these are old favourites. And I wouldn't be at all surprised to find myself inhaling a batch of this when I re-visit Narnia.

 

Remembrance Sunday

Remembering. 

Reflecting.

Thanking.

Enjoying autumn

I found myself on my tod (bar two sleepy cats) yesterday.  So, with the sun shining and the bread dough proving, I donned the new trainers and set off for a walk round the neighbourhood. 

Dodgy ankle permitting, I walk, interspersed with a bit of running (my version of running, that is), most days for about 50 minutes (conscious of what they say about using it or losing it) but I decided to venture a bit further. 

Sheep have reappeared in the field at the end of our road though, sadly, in the adjoining field the building of almost 300 new houses is progressing apace. 

Over the road, the verges were covered with leaves, perfectly crunchy.

Catching sight of the local landmark through a gap in the hedge.

Onward, crossing the railway line and local authority boundary, past the secondary school the Girlie and Boy attended, with the backdrop of the Cleveland Hills, towards the top of the bank.

This is an odd field, no idea who it belongs to, surrounded by housing but still being cultivated. The council would love to acquire it for yet more housing.

Then down the bank, one of the main routes into and out of the town. On a clear day, there's a panoramic view of Teesside, with the Transporter Bridge, the football stadium to the right of it, industry (what's left of it) and the wind turbines in the distance.  (Of course, it would have helped if I'd had the camera on the right setting so I've labelled the Transporter which is just about discernible.) This was the view I was so homesick for when I was away at university as my family home (after the shop we lived in was demolished) was just at the bottom of this bank. 

Turning off the bank, down the lane past the church and the entrance to Ormesby Hall towards and then through Stewart Park.

Spotting the urn which marks Captain Cook's birthplace.  It's inscribed with the text "This granite urn was erected by H.W.F. Bolkow of Marton Hall A.D. 1852 to mark the site of the cottage in which Captain James Cook the world circumnavigator was born Oct 27th 1728".

I've been visiting the park all my life and have never come across this temple, from the original owner's garden according to the sign,  before.

Out of the park and across the bridge over the dual carriageway. 

Signs of autumn everywhere.

Then home to deal with the dough which had behaved itself for the two hours I'd been out and about and was baked and ready for eating not too long afterwards.

Today I'm hobbling. 

Damn those new trainers.

Damn that dodgy ankle.

 

Enjoyed lately

A night at the theatre in Manchester with the Girlie, staying overnight at her house and catching up on each other's news until the early hours.

Savouring the first box of buttery Stollen Bites. If you like stollen, you'll love these from Lidl.

Browsing a few Christmas magazines.  I've drastically reduced the number of magazines I buy but I can't resist the festive issues.

Lighting a new candle.  Cinnamon pumpkin.  Appropriately seasonal.

Buying books.  The one about sewing?  Maybe it will help me reacquaint myself with the sewing machine.

Baking a chocolate cake.  Actually a chocolate orange Nutella Malteser cake.   Made up as I went along and which rapidly disappeared.