love those cupcakes

Miscellany

Blue and yellow bikes of all sizes, along with colour coordinated banners and strings of bunting, have been popping up across the town in readiness for Stage 3 of  this.  I have to admit I'm not a huge fan of cycling, doing it, driving round it or watching it,  but the race is passing the end of our road and, well, large numbers of fit men in lycra might have some appeal.

The cherry blossom on the tree in the front garden finally put in an appearance.

Shortly followed by a bitterly cold wind and fall of snow.  No wonder I'm dreaming of dumplings.

I visited our local university the other evening.  There have been quite a few changes to the campus since I worked there, not least this new gold building, The Curve.  In a town that has had more than its fair share of knock backs over the years, it's good to see signs of significant investment at long last.  (We're also getting a vegetarian/vegan restaurant.  Who'da thought.)

The reason for the visit was to attend an event as part of World Book Night, with crime writer Helen Cadbury talking about her novels (I haven't read them but they're now on the list) and the process of writing and getting published.  From what I could gather, there are no easy shortcuts to either.  The evening ended with the library service dishing out free books and bags to everyone, both of which were most welcome.  

The new addition to the book pile will have to wait a little while (and, of course, once I've read it I'll be passing it on) as a re-read, To Kill A Mockingbird, is currently on the go. This is an old favourite and oh, so very very good. And also the reason the dog here is called Boo (full moniker on high days and holidays only).  

I'd be the first to admit I'm no crafter (and so in awe of my favourite bloggers who sew quilts, knit socks, produce their own soaps, crochet  baskets, make dresses out of pillowcases for charity and bake gravity defying cakes).  A lot of my forays into crafts of various sorts have resulted in me being (politely) asked to leave in the interests of safety or in some sad looking item being deposited in the bin and I can't even guess the number of times my crafting ventures have left me requiring first aid.  

One of the items I brought from my late aunt's house was a little wooden stool.  She'd had it for as long as I can remember, probably going back to the days she was still living at home with my gran.  It was in a sad state, with a grey coloured mock fur glued to the seat, but a coat of white paint (yes, there are the trademark drips), some padding and a new cover has improved it a tad.  It's now waiting for the littlest to perfect the art of sitting.

The renovation involved the purchase of an upholstery stapler.  The Boy, who was roped in to help hold the fabric taut, demanded control of stapling just as I was getting into the swing, with accusations of highly dangerous practice and muttering something about fingers coming far too close to being stapled to wood.  Honestly, some people.  Sheesh.  

A knitted cardigan proved slightly less challenging, although it took four attempts to knit the button band before the penny dropped that it was the pattern at fault rather than yours truly. 

Finally, I've become a member of the Yellow Waterproof Jacket Owners club.

 So, apparently, has someone else.

Copy kipper.

 

This and that

You know you're enjoying a book when the highlighter pen comes out.  I read far more novels than non fiction but this one jumped out at me (and it's endorsed by Pollyanna herself, Hayley Mills).

A lot of the content seems to be the usual stuff promoted widely for keeping healthy - regular exercise, a balanced diet, keeping hydrated, getting sufficient sleep, avoiding refined sugar etc -  but I've already taken some of the advice on board, like drinking a mug of hot water with a slice of lemon on waking (though you can't beat that first cup of coffee of the day) and I've increased the range of supplements I'm taking (that noise?  It's me, rattling).   Whilst no medical expert, I would have to say I disagree with the assertion that veganism is 'more suited to people who have a smaller bone and muscle structure (such as Asians)' and, even though I'm not in possession of either, won't be changing my dietary preferences.  

Actually, there have been two books on the go of late, not something I manage very often as it takes all my concentration to keep up with one plot or argument.  This turned out to be Margaret Forster's final novel, the story of Tara, recently released from prison and attempting to restart her life with a new identity and a changed personality in Cumbria.  It's a slenderish book, with a slow burner of a plot, and probably not the author's best work (I've written previously about The Bride of Lowther Fell which is one of my favourite books of all time) but it's an absorbing read and one I would definitely recommend.

The weather changed rather dramatically last week and one afternoon we followed the sun to the beach.  

The world and his wife were there but the tide was out and there was plenty of space for everyone to do whatever it was they were there to do.

Boo chased his ball and I tripped over my feet.

No idea who Brian is but apparently he's a pedant.  

The better weather also prompted a wander and stocktake in the Garden of Perpetual Autumn here (I kid you not, whatever the season, it's covered in leaves and  twigs).  Despite a fair amount of backbreaking digging out (of well past their prime shrubs in the border at the bottom of our little plot) and copious planting (clearly a waste of money as most of the plants haven't survived) last year, there are far too many gaps.  Back to the drawing board.

Meanwhile, in a kitchen in another part of the country, someone was stuffing his face with freshly baked broccoli and cheese muffins.

Next week's lesson:  table manners.

 

Week in verbs

Finished:  A knitting project which really shouldn't have taken as long as it did.  The little bear's eyes might be a tad more staring than planned but at least it fits the still small recipient.  And to make amends for the delay I went to the bother of making the card and wrapping paper.

 

Bought: Books and more books.  Now I just need to perfect the art of reading at least three simultaneously.  There was also a surprising purchase of a shirt/blouse (complete with tags) in the charity shop for not many pennies at all.  

 

Visited:  The optician.  Though I have annual eye checks (thankfully no longer at the not particularly local hospital) because of a family history of glaucoma, I was more happy than usual to attend my appointment last week as I've been experiencing double vision of late.  Of course, being my father's daughter, I'd self diagnosed something nasty in my brain.  Turns out I had wonky specs.  And breathe.

 

Baked:  A lemon cake, classic Victoria sponge mix with a lemon curd flavoured buttercream and basic glacé icing to finish. And a batch of hinnies of the singing variety (recipe at the end of this post).

 

Walked.  In the big park down the road on a gloriously sunny Sunday with the visiting Girlie and the littlest.  'We can take a short cut to the car park across here', said a certain Boy when we decided it was time to head for home.   Turned out to be a short cut through a seemingly endless and bottomless bog. Which was followed by lots of hosing down and clothes changing back at the ranch.  And maybe a little bit of swearing.

 

Overheard:  'Who would have thought we'd turn out to be family who ate crostini with prosecco before dinner?'.   Actually, they were very tasty little nibbles (even the cheese-free vegan ones) - just thin slices of baguette, toasted on both sides, rubbed whilst warm with a garlic clove, spread with a slick of Boursin garlic and herb soft cheese and topped with sunblush tomatoes, mozzarella, olives and teeny basil leaves. Sadly, no pictures as they were very quickly demolished.  As was the equally delicious prosecco.

 

Visited:  One of the streets in town has recently undergone a transformation and what were derelict terraced houses are now, or soon to be, stylish (well, for us) eating and drinking establishments.  We gave the excellent coffee shop a try (smiles all round) and now can't wait for the cocktails, burritos and woodfired oven baked pizzas. Things are definitely on the up here.   

 

Spotted: 'Why is Boo so interested in looking at the garden?', asked the Boy on his return from work one evening.  We joined the dog at the French doors, looked out and there it was....... a ruddy great heron sitting on the fence.  Right next to the pond which is home to some very large and very expensive to replace fish.  Cue one screeching fishwife racing outside as fast as her ancient legs would take her, closely followed by a keen to join in Boo. The poor fish are still traumatised.  I can't speak for the heron.

 

Missed:  For some reason (apart from a slight upper back ache) yoga was a bit of struggle (not that it's ever that easy but still) and not half as enjoyable as usual. Strange. I decided to simply draw a line under it last week and didn't participate in the second session. Hopefully this week I'll be full of the joys of Spring.  And the proverbial beans.  Namaste.

 

Grown:  Littlest is now seven months and has recently been working hard on producing something (update:  make that two things), which, it seems, he's more than happy to keep sparkly clean (supervised by his black and white feline friend) . 

 

In like a lion, out like a....

On the last day of March and on the way back from buying buttons in the market town up the road, we noticed some new arrivals in the field near home. Luckily, the public footpath goes through the middle of the farm so, after parking up and enduring a noisy greeting from a couple of sheepdogs, we walked past the drift of daffs, through the mud ('I'm glad we're in your car', someone was heard to mutter) and had a gander at the expectant mothers before cooing over the lambs which, predictably, were either fast asleep or camera shy.  I managed to snap one and then, as no-one was looking, I picked him up, popped him in the car and named him Gerald.  

Don't worry. That last bit only happened in my head.

 

Idle chatter

Sweet smells are an important part of my life.  I wear perfume every day, use scented hand creams (the current favourite is ginger), there are fragranced candles and melts dotted about the house, we have room sprays and those little bottles of smelly stuff that you plonk sticks in.  I buy things like bathroom sprays, shampoo and washing up liquid,  laundry powder and handwash (ooh, chocolate orange and bubblegum) purely based on their pong.  

Memories, as we all know, are so often tied up with scents.  

Like my mum's face cream, my gran's Sunday lunch apple pies, Lyons' coffee bubbling away on the gas stove in the percolator 'bought' by my parents with Embassy cigarette coupons, the first bottle of scent ('Miss Americana') I bought for myself.  

Like the sawdust that covered every surface in my friend's grandad's workshop which we visited to collect little offcuts of wood and which I discovered many years later was where the coffins were made for his undertakers business.

Like the calomine lotion dabbed on 'midgie' bites in the summer, teeny paper wrapped rectangles of cinnamon flavoured Dentyne chewing gum, ink stained fingers after practising joined up writing in junior school using scratchy pens dipped in inkwells filled by that week's Ink Monitor, the perfectly folded packets of Beecham's powders my brother always insisted cured every ill.

Like the kitchen sink being scrubbed with Vim, the green blocks of Fairy household soap my dad used to wash his hair, the mister's aroma of patchouli oil when we first met.  

So so many, a whiff of any of which would catapult me right back. 

A recent present from me to me (why, thank you) was another candle.  

Oh my goodness.  It's the smell of packets of crunchy Parma violets, of little bunches of purple flowers with heart shaped leaves which used to appear on the nature table at the back of Mrs Whitehouse's classroom, of Yardley Christmas gifts bought for my mum at the Co-op chemists with a ten bob note from my dad and enough left over to buy something for everyone else on my list.  A tad expensive but so beautifully packaged and so highly fragranced, I may not need to light it.

A new (to me) aran jumper also found its way through the letterbox (actually it was left by the garden gate).  It's a lovely handknit and, after a careful wash (I'm renowned for my efforts at keeping Barbie's wardrobe well stocked), now smells of what the container describes as 'Sunburst'.  

Still doesn't make me look like Alexa Chung, though.