love those cupcakes

As January ends

London called, so me and the Boy went.  Just for the day but hugely enjoyable (oh, Ottolenghi's scrambled tofu, you beaut) nonetheless.

Then there was an outing to York for a mooch in the mist and a catch up with the littlest and his mother.  Seems someone is putting travel time to good use.

Feeling crafty, I made a card for a friend who's celebrating a big birthday.  There's a party tonight and I'm sparing the mister the agony of attending a large scale social gathering by popping along on my own.  Not something I particularly relish but I'll don the glad rags and pile on the slap.  Needs must and all that.

Clearly on a crafting roll, the pointy sticks came out and a cowl was cast on.  Easy knitting whilst browsing a new magazine and tuning into the second series of Fortitude.

Despite considering a throwing in of the towel several times,  I finally managed to finish Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow.  This was such an odd book and even now I'm not really sure what I think about it.  

There's the perfect setting (initially, a wintry Copenhagen and finally, the Arctic).  There's a tragedy (a young child dies after falling from a roof). Then there's gritty Miss Smilla Jaspersen, half Greenlander, half Danish, with a feeling for snow and ice and a nose for a crime to be solved.  Throw in a big corporation, some (baffling for me) science, a string of baddies and you'd think you'd have the ingredients for a riveting read.  

The story certainly begins with promise and there were sections in the book which were engrossing.  But it was by no means an easy read (there is an incredible amount of detail in parts) and, in a way, I was mirroring Smilla's doggedness by making it to the last page.  At times, it felt more like James Bond than Nordic noir and I wasn't always clear about who was who, what was happening and why, though maybe that says more about me than the book.   I'm sure it deserves a re-read but sorry, I'm out.

One of the reading aims for 2017 was to move outside of my literary comfort zone and I've done just that with the current book at bedtime.  Sci-fi, no less. There's a first.

With recent purchases piled up around me, there's now a self imposed book buying ban in operation.  

Yep, cold turkey and a stinking headache as a result.

Source

 

January days

The first month of the year has always been a celebratory time in my family because of all the birthdays.  Now there's just the one but I really don't mind these dark days at all and they give me the perfect excuse to switch on all the lamps and light all the candles.  Shame it hasn't yet been cold enough (our central heating is seemingly dancing to its own tune so I'm mafted most of the time) to warrant the wearing of a new Nordic jumper.

The current book at bedtime had been on the reading list for quite some time.

Then I came across a selection of Christmas reads, which included a copy, at a ridiculous price.  Some of the books I already have in different editions but five quid for eight festively 'wrapped' books?  A bargain that just could not be passed by. You're welcome.

Like other parts of the country, the north east was treated to a fall of snow at the end of last week but it was fleeting and by Sunday there was just a hint of what had been.  It seems such a long time since we've experienced a thick blanket of white. Yes,  I appreciate it can cause all sorts of problems but, oh, you just can't beat waking up to a transformed landscape and that unmistakable crunch as you first step out onto that pristine layer.

There was a Terry's chocolate orange, superfluous to requirements when filling the Christmas stockings, lurking in the cupboard.  So I selflessly made brownies for the other two here, using this recipe (I scattered big chunks of the chocolate orange across the top and gave them a dusting of sugar snow). 

They were quickly mixed, out of the oven and into mouths in no time.  As the munching progressed, I asked what they were like.  'Cake', was the helpful response. 

 

Week in verbs

Acquiring yet another piece of kitchen paraphernalia.  The New Year's Day Savoury Pie I concocted was delicious but would have been even better in a larger dish.  I came across a perfectly sized enamel version in one of those shops that sells all sorts of weird and wonderful bits and bobs at very reasonable prices. 'Where did you find that?', demanded another customer as I headed for the till, 'That's the very pie dish I was wanting'. I pointed in the direction of the shelf stacked with enamelware, advising her that mine was the last one in that particular size.  'But I looked there earlier and didn't see it. Look, I've ended up with a cake tin instead'.  She stuck with me as I joined the queue and then issued the challenge.   'I'll toss you for it'.  In your dreams, lady.    

Buying the first bunch of tulips, my favourites, of the year.

Watching some promising telly.  Eight part-er Taboo, with Tom Hardy wearing a dark mood and a natty titfer.

Swapping oats for rice.  Pudding for breakfast.  What's not to like?

Welcoming a colourful visitor to the garden.

Eating an entire (bar one, I'm not greedy) box of dairy free chocolates. 

Looking a tad green around the gills.  Not even sorry.

Finishing book four of 2017.  In my eyes, Joanne Harris can do no wrong.  Highly recommended.

Reconnecting with the yoga mat after the festive break. Namaste.

Making marmalade and a sticky mess in the kitchen.

Entering the world of steam cleaning.  Well, I have the appliance.  Just need to get to grips with the science.

Feeling kind of balanced.

 

 

Reading roundup

 

Totting up the titles in the sidebar, I read 49 books in 2016.   Less than one a week but still, not bad going. 

Many were crime fiction (it seems I have a taste for murder and all that twisty turny unpicking as the police do their investigative stuff),  a couple were re-reads and the rest were whatever I fancied picking off the to-be-read pile.

Some favourites:

In Cold Blood, Truman Capote.  I'd wanted to read this for quite a while and luckily came across a secondhand copy.  It's described by the author as a non-fiction novel which, I think, categorises it rather well.  During the early hours of 15th November 1959, four members of a prosperous and highly regarded Kansas farming family, the Clutters, were savagely murdered at their isolated farmhouse.  There was no apparent motive for the crime and few clues to the perpetrators.  This is an account of an actual crime, its effect on a community, one man's obsession with finding the killers and, right at the centre, the guilty pair themselves.  Highly recommended.

Burial Rites, Hannah Kent.  Another work of fiction based on historical events, the setting is Iceland in the early 1800s.  Agnes Magnusdottir, found guilty of murder, has been sent to a remote farm to live out her final months as she awaits execution.   We know the outcome from the outset but the writing gives a wonderful sense of time and place, of lives being lived in the harshest of landscapes, with the Icelandic sagas woven through. 

I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith.  I imagine most people know the opening line to this novel ('I write this sitting in the kitchen sink'), even if they haven't read it.  Written in the format of 17 year old budding writer Cassandra Mortmain's journal entries, this is the story of a family down on its luck, living in a dilapidated castle.  A gentle read, full of description and eccentric characters, I guarantee it will make you smile.

 Arthur And George, Julian Barnes.  The Arthur in the title is a certain Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; George is one George Edalji, a small claims solicitor.  The novel starts with alternating biographies of both men.  Then there is a spate of strange crimes in a small village and the lives of the two men cross.  The story is based on real life events and it had me gripped from the very beginning.   I loved it. 

Sharon Bolton's Lacey Flint series was a welcome find.  There are currently four titles and I thoroughly enjoyed reading them all (I was given the first on World Book Night), each one featuring Detective Constable Flint with her chequered history, her flaws and her amazing intuition.  These are well written crime thrillers which, although standalone stories, I'd probably recommend reading in order. 

A very recent read was The Girl In The Ice by Robert Bryndza.  Erika Foster is a DCI , recently widowed and transferred from Manchester to London to lead a murder investigation.  The story moves at just the right pace, with lots of twists and turns, and I found it hard to put down.

It's true, there really is nothing like a comfy seat, a cup of steaming coffee and a good book.

 

Welcome, 2017

I know for many people September heralds the start of something new but for me the promise of a slate wiped clean, of possibility, of potential, is always associated with the unfolding of a brand spanking new year.

New year's resolutions have long since been abandoned here in favour, in more recent years, of a guiding word to provide some sort of focus for a life simply being lived.  

Yes, I have a number of small goals for the year, such as sorting out the house, reading more widely, cracking on with a writing project, learning to practise meditation, wasting less.  The usual sort of stuff.

Hopefully, travel will also feature. I still have an untamed wanderlust and intend to see as much of the world as I possibly can whilst still able to place one foot in front of the other (and whilst funds permit).  

Unusually, there are no definite holiday plans.  I know the places I want to visit but the mister is less keen.  Having said that, he's not keen on very much these days, an unfortunate fallout of an almost three year battle with depression.   The lack of communication, enthusiasm and motivation is so hard to live with, for both of us, but it is what it is and I'm sure I'll carve a way through.  

Which leads very nicely to my word for 2017:  acceptance.

By that I mean allowing things to be as they are. Accepting that which I cannot change instead of being frustrated or critical or overwhelmingly disheartened when it doesn't.  Like my body in yoga.  Like the people in my life who are as they are.  Like the situation my life so far has led me to.  My reality.

That's maybe coming over as a bit of hippy dippy psychobabble but heck, it's surely worth a try.