love those cupcakes

Hallowe'en-y

When I was a child, Hallowe'en was all about carved turnips rather than pumpkins, which were only seen in books (before being transformed into glass coaches).  String handles would be attached for easy carrying and they would be lit with candles (not mine; my parents were safety conscious so I had to use a torch). 

We didn't knock on doors for sweets, either.  The aunties and some of the neighbours would give us cousins small amounts of money as we walked up and down the street with our lanterns and the church used to organise a party where there was a competition for the best turnip. (The photograph was taken in my aunt's house, just before me and my cousin were taken to one of those parties.) 

I won once, with Marley's ghost, though I didn't have a clue who Marley was.  My dad did all the veg cutting which seemed to take forever.  Then he stuck two knitting needles in the bottom of the turnip from which hung one of my brother's white shirts. Wooooo!!!!!!

Earlier today, I hacked away at the pumpkin.  It's now on the step outside the front door, attracting lots of lovely trick or treaters.  Hopefully the sweet treats don't run out.  Last Hallowe'en I had to supplement with chocolate biscuits from the tin.

This year I was determined to reduce waste and so we've had pumpkin, carrot and ginger soup with roasted chilli pumpkin seeds, followed by maple frosted pumpkin cookies. 

We're pumpkined out.

So is the cat.  

Once the knocks on the door have petered out, I'll be watching my favourite Hallowe'en film  (he's a tinker, that Michael Myers) and finishing the day with a ghost story.  

I love October 31st, me.

 

Lately in verbs

Walking in the park.  I'm continuing to enjoy the seasonal changes, though that unmistakable and rather wonderful smell of autumn is still absent.  (It probably needs colder temperatures and a hint of woodsmoke in the air.)   

We're lucky to have this public park on our doorstep. There's a walled garden, museum, lakes and a monthly farmers market. The site of the cottage where one Captain James Cook was born can be found here, too. (Yep, arguably the world's greatest ever explorer is a fellow Smoggie). 

Persuading one of the park's many resident squirrels to pose for the camera. It did involve a bit of lurking behind a tree (me, not the squirrel).  Fortunately, there was no-one around to wonder what on earth I was up to. 

 

 

Bringing some autumnal colour indoors.  I associate chrysanthemums with my mother who was always given a bunch of those huge standard bronze coloured ones for her birthday.  They're not so readily available these days but I picked up this potted plant (I think it's a Korean 'mum) in Sainsburys. 

Returning to basics with a spot of simple baking.  I don't venture much into the world of patisserie these days (the mister has a reduced appetite and my jeans are far too snug).  There's the weekly batch of chocolate chip cookies to coincide with a visit from the Boy or the littlest or both, supplemented mid week with something similarly quick and easy, like these buttercream topped buns, or Granny cakes, as the littlest calls them.  Just enough to keep my hand in.

Replacing a fatsia japonica which had given up the ghost.   The original plant had lived outside in a pot next to the kitchen door for years,  seemingly quite content. Until this summer, when the pot became inexplicably waterlogged, the leaves turned yellow before dropping off, leaving a soggy stump.  I've no idea what the problem was but clearly it was time to start again with a shiny new plant.

Meeting my cousin for lunch.  She'd been given an early Christmas present and brought it with her.  

The coffee shop  (in neighbouring North Yorkshire) was dog friendly (one Bedlington, one Cockapoo and two Skye terriers were already enjoying the facilities) and the pup was very well behaved.  Quiet as a mouse, actually, and almost the same size.  Best not mention the outing to Boo who is very partial to a toasted teacake.

Stocking up with a variety of Spring bulbs for the pots in the back garden.  Who knows, maybe this will be the year I actually get round to planting them.

Reading.  Of course.  Book number 55 this year was the debut novel from the creator of the TV series, The Killing.   

Set largely in Copenhagen, this is a crime thriller/police procedural about a murderer with a unique calling card.  It's a hefty read but the pace is maintained throughout, with strong characters, great atmosphere and a complex storyline that kept me guessing right to the end.  But subtlety isn't one of our killer's strong points and the murder scenes are gruesome, though not gratuitously so.  If you like your crime fiction to be Scandi and noir, then this is probably one for you.  If you've a sensitive stomach, best leave it on the shelf.

 

Octoberish

The tenth month of the year. 

One of my favourites.

In all honesty, I could quite happily hibernate every summer, only emerging once the diary page has been turned over to October 1st.  

Nights are now drawing in (as my dad used to say, it's getting late early), temperatures are droppping, leaves are falling, the hot drinks menu in the coffee shop has suddenly perked up and I've succumbed to the urge to dabble in the magic that is jam making. There's just a modest stash of jars on the shelf as no-one else here is a fan, but seeing them sitting there is oddly comforting.   Elderberries from the tree at the bottom of the garden have been turned into immune system boosting syrup which is proving to be deliciously colourful atop a bowl of porridge.  

October is also the month which will forever be associated with my mother's birthday.  Or, to be more accurate, birthdays. 

Until her 60s, she celebrated  on the 25th.  Then, a copy of her birth certificate was required to support her first passport application and she discovered the date her birth had been registered was the 23rd.  My dad suggested she celebrate on both days thenceforth.  So she did.  

When the (now 4 year old) littlest visited with his mama recently, we spent an afternoon in the Priory near the Boy's apartment.

Leaving the littlest defending goal and his uncle attempting to score for the Reds, I wandered the otherwise deserted grounds where the hues of late summer were vying for attention alongside the autumnal palette.

The colours of October are undeniably stunning -  the reds, yellows and oranges.   Though I'd have to say I wouldn't be seen dead wearing any of them,  nature does showcase the whole range  so very well.  It's an absolute masterclass on change.

Oh, yes, I love Octobers, me.