love those cupcakes

Seven days and counting

The election is now just days away (we get to vote for a new mayor here, too) and, as with every other election since I was eligible to vote, I'll be trotting along to the mobile polling station round the corner and placing my considered 'x' in the appropriate box using the familiar stubby pencil.  

It would never cross my mind not to exercise my right to do this.  My parents were both politically active, though on opposing sides (which makes me wonder how they ever got together in the first place and then stayed together for almost 70 years), and I was always being told about the many who had fought for the franchisement of the ordinary man and woman.

With perfect timing (or maybe it was just luck), the library service, in conjunction with my old place of employment, our local university, arranged an evening in the university's library to celebrate World Book Night last week, which included a presentation by the author, a former academic, and one of the illustrators (who just happens to be her husband) of this book:

It's a graphic novel, a format I'm not usually drawn to I have to admit, but it was fascinating to learn about the process of producing the book which has a fictional main character, servant Sally, fighting for women's suffrage alongside the real members of the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU).

There is meticulous attention to historical detail in the book (including the force feeding of hunger striking women prisoners) which has been expertly illustrated in largely black and white panels, though Sally is immediately recognisable throughout by her vivid red hair whilst other flashes of colour are provided by the official purple, white and green of the WSPU. 

Highly recommended.

My free World Book Night choice was this Scandinavian crime novel,

welcome relief from the previous book at bedtime which, for my own mental wellbeing, I had to give up on. Elizabeth is Missing has been widely applauded but I found reading the descriptions of an elderly woman's confusion through dementia difficult, overpowering even. Sometimes, despite the awards and critical acclaim, a book just doesn't hit the spot so it's a thumbs down from me.

 

Nepal

I had a blog post written and ready to publish but with all that has happened and is happening in Nepal it seems far too frivolous and highly inappropriate.  So I'm watching with the rest of the world as the country tries to cope in the aftermath of the earthquake, remembering our stay in Kathmandu and other areas at the end of last year and hoping that our friends are safe and well.

 

Week in verbs

Starting the week with a meet up and tasty lunch with the Girlie in Harrogate.

Surveying the post winter grounds here.  It didn't take long, we only have a tiny, oddly shaped plot.

Spotting splashes of colour and signs that, between us, me, Boo and the slugs haven't killed off everything.   

Pondering just what it is about Boo that sometimes reminds me of my dad.  

Wondering if that makes me sound kind of weird.

Breaking three vases.  It was an accident, honest guv.

Finding a couple of cheap replacements in the charity shops.

Enjoying easy meals using tinned beans.  I'm not a fan of the humble baked bean but these giant Greek ones in tomato and herb sauce go down a treat.  Just heat, serve on a thick slice of lightly toasted home baked bread, add a simple salad and Bob's your mum's brother.

Growing tomatoes from actual seeds.  Go me.

Polishing off a banana, date and walnut loaf almost single-handedly.  What?  I was hungry.

 

Ups and downs

The ups:

Alice Hoffman's Here on Earth.  The dark side of obsession and why it's not always a good idea to go back.

A new mug.  Too big for the kind of coffee we drink here but handy for tea.  Or maybe pens.

A small batch of basic sponge cakes filled with jam and buttercream.

A quick and easy (no knead, just mix, bung it in the tin, wait a short while, sprinkle on a handful of seeds and bake) wholemeal loaf to eat with hummus.

A delivery of plants (smaller than expected but hopefully they'll flourish) to help fill some of the gaps in the borders. 

The downs:

Newly homed plants receiving a battering from giant hailstones.  And giant paws.

After being shown how to crochet in stripes by some lovely ladies at a crochet group, it's abundantly clear I'm rather crap at it.  Make that very crap.  

You may remember I was concerned at the outset that, instead of a blanket, I'd end up with a large triangle. 

I think I'd have preferred a triangle to what I've managed to create which, at best, could be described as undulating, at worst, the wonkiest mess.  

And there was I, merrily crafting away night after night, smug in the certainty that I'd got it off pat, confident I didn't need to count the stitches on every row (which in all honesty is a right pain in the nether regions).

I decided to iron out all the undulation.

Turns out the application of heat and steam just makes it much much worse.

So I palmed it off onto the dog.

Please ignore the 'What have I done to warrant this hideous heap of woolly undulation?' expression, he likes it.

No, he really does.

Well, possibly.

 

Easter weekend

There's been a fair bit of time spent pottering in the kitchen here, making rye bread (a first which resulted in a loaf weighing a ton and which almost ended up being added to to the rockery in the front garden but turned out to be surprisingly tasty), hot cross buns, a jam and cream filled cake and breakfast pastries.

After all those weeks of being righteously abstemious there's been chocolate in various forms. Meals have been much easier.  I've simply asked, 'What do you want with your chocolate bunny?'

The weather has been perfect for getting outdoors.  I've had a bit of a dig in the garden, where the camellia appeared to be doing rather well and smells from a neighbour's first barbecue of the year wafted over the fence, and planted new acquisitions in some of the many gaps. We've walked, down Manchester way during a flying visit to the parents-to-be and then a longer Easter Sunday hike across the fields round here.  It was made even longer by my insistence on heading in the wrong direction.  We passed a pub and decided to stop for a sit down and a drink but realised we were without funds as the mister was inconsiderately wearing the wrong trousers.  At least Boo could avail himself of the odd puddle or two.

Of course, there had to be lambs.  There were local ones at the farm up the road (with lots about to put in an appearance) and brand spanking newborn ones being hand fed (mum was doing fine, she just needed a bit of support) at the rather wonderful RSPB reserve at Salthome.

I love Easter, me.