love those cupcakes

This and that with the letter B

 

Blossom has appeared in the front garden

whilst the camellia is doing its blooming thing in the border next to the French doors.  In the Garden of Perpetual Autumn (no matter what the season, we are always knee deep in dead leaves and twigs in the little plot here), it's always a surprise when anything shows signs of life.

A baby blanket has been cast off

and buttons added to a cardi intended for yours truly.

Brownies (using this recipe) have been baked

and biscuits appeared in (and quickly disappeared from) the tin.

Meanwhile, in his own kitchen up the road, the Baking Boy made bread (a rosemary focaccia)

and blobs (wild garlic mayonnaise, to accompany a fresh from the oven herb and onion tart).  It's good to see presentation standards are being maintained.

Washing has been blowing on the line

and books (blimey, Harry, I really thought you'd breathed your last) read.

But it hasn't all been pink and fluffy.  I've been encountering bone related problems, specifically those in my right foot which have been quietly degenerating and growing bone spurs.  Nice.  Actually, not so nice at all, unsightly and at times excruciating.  The x-ray department has been attended and an up to date assessment is awaited.  A possible solution is filing the bones.  Much more of this painful hobbling and I may be tempted to have a go with the Black and Decker myself. 

In other news, poor Boo has been battling his own health issues.  There has been a raft of examinations and  MRI scans and eating the canine anti cancer diet.  On Thursday he's once again meeting with the vet (his least favourite person after Jeremy Paxman) for a biopsy and surgery.  We're keeping everything crossed that all goes well and he bounces back.

 

Update:  Convalescence day 1

 

Lately in verbs

Wandering the grounds and ruins of the 12th century Augustine priory which the Boy's apartment (it still feels strange to type those words) overlooks.   As views from living room windows go, it could be worse. 

Feeling crafty.  Nothing too ambitious, I know my limitations only too well.  Arthur was an enjoyable Easter make for the littlest,  a baby sized blanket was on and off the needles in no time and a huge granny square was intended to use up the bags of woolly oddments (hence the strange colour scheme) but which, predictably, resulted in a trip to the yarn shop for more supplies.

Sporting a snazzy pair of hand knitted socks (and yes, that is the feet up the bedroom wall pose so beloved of bloggers).   After the knitting workshop fiasco, the socktastically generous Jenny gifted these, salve, indeed, for a bruised ego. 

Enjoying dinner at a local pop-up, courtesy of a vegan cook who just happens to be a member of my favourite band and who, after a post meal chat at the tables, could be forgiven for a level of concern about a scarily enthusiastic fan.  Who, moi?

Celebrating Easter and Custard Cream Thursday with a variety of bakes.

Weeping over a book (not the first time and most probably not the last).   A large white creature suddenly appears in the woods.  What is he?  Why is he there?  Why is he trying to fly?  This is a beautifully told story (for children, for everyone) with exquisite illustrations.  And a polar bear.   If it doesn't have you shedding a tear, you're made of tin.

Recommending another read, an account of the slow unfolding of a relationship and an unlikely couple (he was formerly  her teacher and there's a thirty year age gap).  A short novel, this is gentle, poignant, with a strong sense of place.  And gallons of sake.

Reuniting with Harry Hole.  It's been too long.  

 

January days in verbs

Meeting friends for lunch at a favourite venue in the centre of town.   The art exhibitions aren't up to much but the food is so good here.

Driving to the coast to stock up on knitting supplies and reserve a place on a craft workshop.  Yep, going to try my hand at sock making.

Casting on a sweater with newly purchased yarn which is proving a tad annoying to knit with as it has a tendency to split.

Sniffing the hyacinths growing in a pot in the kitchen.   Double yolkers these, two blooms per bulb. 

Enjoying a regular home yoga practice.  With a friend.

Reading book number three (from the Christmas pile) of 2018.  I managed to read 52 last year so need to get my skates on if I'm to equal it this year.

Walking in the snow, though Buzz cat was the first to leave prints.

Looking round the local Dorman Museum when the littlest and the Boy coordinated their visits one weekend.  It's donkey's years since I was last in there though it was a favourite place to pop into with my dad when I was a youngster.  There's a mish mash of exhibits (dinosaurs, suffragettes, local pottery, the town during the war, the stuffed birds and egg collections I remember from way back and which probably date from the museum's early days) but it's a cracking little museum with free entry.

Boiling fruit and sugar to make marmalade.  Whilst flavoursome, it did resemble soup but has since set sufficiently to spread on toast.  

Adding a jam funnel to the shopping list.  Filling jars with scalding hot sticky gloop is a messy and painful process.

  

 

Don't you just love it when...

... your candle matches your book.

 ... you finally finish the jumper you've been knitting for yonks, it kind of resembles the picture on the pattern, it fits and you might actually wear it.

 ... you commit to giving up cakes and biscuits for Lent and twenty days in finds you still abstaining (though you're eating M&S dates by the boxful). 

 

... the camellia springs to life in a corner of the garden.

 ...you meet a friend for a catch up over a  delicious lunch at your favourite venue in town, you're still there four hours later and return home so late you have to treat the family to dinner at Pizza Express.

 

... your postman delivers book shaped parcels at regular intervals.

 ... your Boy mentions wild garlic season, you remember where it grows locally and you pick enough to make..... well, something delicious.   Probably.          

 

... you find your kitchen completely covered in a thick layer of, ugh,  sugary stickiness after a boy's yumyum frying session and, even though it's really the very last thing you feel like doing on a Sunday night,  you end up having to.... oops, sorry, wrong list.

 

 

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

 

Filling in the gaps

Gosh, documenting the Arctic expedition took some doing.  I'm not sure if that was down to the inevitable post-adventure slump, disenchantment with blogging or preoccupation with a health blip (still being investigated).  Maybe a bit of all three.

In the meantime, life has been meandering along, as it does, with bits and bobs along the way including.....

Birthday celebrations.  Mine, this blog's (yep, love those cupcakes is now an unbelievable nine) and the littlest's first.

Polar bears.  In cake form, amongst others.  I'm becoming obsessed with these magnificent animals who really are living on the brink.  Seems I've also turned eco warrior, so far managing to stay this side of the law.

Boy bakes.  Someone else here is also obsessed.  With all things patisserie.  Italian meringue this, pâte sablée that.  Donuts, salted caramel creations, Viennese whirls, gingerbread filled Scandi rolls, so so many bakes.   Honestly, we need an appointment system for the kitchen. There was something of a Halloween bake-off, his ghostly cupcakes going head to head with my pumpkin cookies.  It was a draw.  Obviously.  

Books.  If anything, my passion for book buying has intensified to the point that I simply cannot pass a bookshop or charity shop or pop-up book sale.  The to-be-read pile will probably always be just that.  Unless some expert  comes up with a 'How to live forever' guide. Amongst recent reads, Truman Capote's 'In Cold Blood' was a standout. 

Walks.  Nothing far afield, just locally, enjoying the rich colours and unmistakable scents of my favourite part of the year.

Yoga.  Two classes each week but maybe increasing to three in the new year.  I'm not at all convinced I'm improving, my balance is crap and some asanas are just too much for this infuriatingly inflexible body, but I figure it must (surely) be having a positive effect and, most importantly, I love it.

Knitting.  Winter woollies for the littlest and a friend's newest family member.  Currently on the needles is a polo necked something for yours truly. 

Home improvements.  Well, just a smart new front door but it's a start.  Hopefully.

A day trip to London.  Not for any particular reason but a hugely enjoyable day out with my cousin and a splendid afternoon tea (vegan for me) in Soho.

Lunch dates with friends.  I'm the world's worst at keeping in touch with people (sadly, I've lost contact over the years with various people who were at one time or another a very significant part of of my life) but I have a group of close friends and catch up with them in one or other of the town's multiplying eating places (whodathought the Boro would have its very own Patisserie Valerie?).

Sky gazing.  At night, at the supermoon.

Christmas prepping.  The cake (my dad's recipe on a scrap of paper) has been baked (I'll make a smaller, shorter shelf life vegan one nearer the day itself) and the pudding stirred, wished on and steamed.   We'll be five, plus a little one with a huge appetite, for the main event so the planning has begun.  I love lists, me.

 

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.

 

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) . 

 

Snippets

What an emotional week that was; one which included birthdays of the closest of relatives no longer here; one when it was beginning to feel like each day brought news of the ending of someone's, both celebrity and family member, life.  Stark reminders indeed that no-one gets out of this place alive.

But there have been pleasurable bits, too.  

The crochet squares were retrieved from their Christmas hiding place in the loft ('Get up that ladder, Boy') and stitched together. With a sewing needle rather than a crochet hook, and in my usual ham-fisted way.  But it has the look and feel of a blanket in the making. Many more squares are now needed.

Another cookbook was delved into and another recipe tried.  This one was Rose Elliot's lentil and sun-blush tomato shepherd's pie with cheesy mash, for the two non vegans here.

The day after the first snowfall of the year (admittedly not that much, just enough to provide a wintry covering), a stunning sunset appeared outside the living room window. I  happily snapped away, with the fleeting hope that our neighbours over the road twigged what I was up to and my name doesn't end up on some register somewhere.

With more ice than snow for most of the week, walking (when it happened; some days I took the safer option of staying indoors and left the mister and Boo to it) has been perilous and more of the 'small steps, try to emulate a penguin' variety. But the local high spot in the distance has looked seasonally appropriate.

Books, the perfect sofa companions on cold afternoons (along with a mug or two of something hot and caffeine filled) have been purchased, revisited, enjoyed, though it was probably not the best idea to continue a psychological thriller/ghost story through the night until it was finished.  I can recommend all of these but have a feeling the Margaret Forster novel (I have re-read this so many times) is currently out of print. However, you should manage to locate a copy, used or otherwise, quite easily.

There was a chilly weekend walk by the river in the market town up the road, with a variety of much needed hot drinks and toasted sandwiches (save for the littlest in the group) in the coffee shop afterwards. 

A batch of chocolate and peanut butter cupcakes were baked for an early celebration of the visiting Girlie's birthday.  They soon disappeared, which is usually a good sign, though I'm not at all confident I could reproduce them as they were most definitely a result of the  'make it up as you go along, don't bother to measure' method.

Finally, 

and Boo rocks a beret.

 

Week in verbs

Finished a (charity shop bargain) book. No, not the one about Richard 111, I'm still just over halfway through that.  But I needed a break from all the arguing about who should sit on the throne and the ever changing loyalties and the battles, so many battles, you'd think they'd run out of soldiers.  

The Woman Upstairs isn't about a ghost in the attic but 40 something Norah Eldridge.  She's 'the woman upstairs', a good teacher in an American elementary school, a good daughter, a frustrated artist, single, childless, ordinary, invisible. She's unhappy with her lot.  And she's angry. Norah looks back on a particular time in her life, a year when she became infatuated with a new pupil in her class and his parents, a family which fills the gaps in her life, a family she becomes a part of.  Or so she thinks. This novel is not big on plot (most of the action takes place in Norah's head), and the central character is not particularly likeable, but it is well written and one I'd recommend.

Knit a hat.  Actually, two hats, one for me, one (a Halloween accessory) for a cat.  I rather like mine. The cat hates his.

Carved (same design as last year because if it ain't broke....) a pumpkin.  With some assistance.  I'm really not good with knives.  And, it seems, forks, if recent experiences with jacket potatoes are anything to go by.

Scared the living daylights out of the cat.  I swear, all I did was wear a pair of sparkly devil's horns for Halloween and all hell broke loose.  Maybe it was payback for the knitted hat.

Baked a batch of pumpkin and chocolate chip muffins with the leftovers from all the carving.  First time using the recipe and, as they were a bit of a faff and nothing special taste-wise, probably the last.  I ended up eating all of them.  Apparently I didn't do a very good job selling them to the others here who preferred to tuck into the bowl of chocolate treats by the front door.  Funny how the Milky Ways are always the ones left at the bottom.

Bought my first Christmas magazine.  I used to be an avid reader of the monthly glossies but they're just an occasional purchase now.  I do, however, buy most of the Christmas editions.

Played this continuously (and sang along) whilst out and about in the car.   I first posted about local band Cattle and Cane (and you can listen) here and can highly recommend the album 'cos they're dead good.

Crocheted a Remembrance poppy.  I needed a lot of help with this at crochet club.  In fact, I had to be moved to sit next to our group's leader and crochet expert.  At first, my poppy looked like a teeny basket. After the next attempt, someone remarked, 'You've made a snail'.  I got there eventually but the experience just confirmed what I already knew.  Crochet patterns are written in Hungarian and I'm useless with a hook.

Ordered a Thundershirt for the dog shaped scaredy cat here.  I should have saved my money.  It's made not the slightest difference.

Enjoyed the glorious colours of the season in the last days of the month.  Whatever else is going on at the moment, just walking, with the backdrop of autumn in all its glory, never fails to lift the spirit.