love those cupcakes

Where I ramble on about not much at all

Where does the time go?

No idea, is the short answer. 

It's not the case that my days are filled with excitement and fun activities, quite the opposite.  But I'm still here, still breathing, a year older (though sadly no wiser) and somewhat surprised that we're in the last quarter of the year.  Tempus certainly fugits.

Three of us celebrated my birthday (well, the mister wasn't in a particularly celebratory mood but freshly picked flowers, cards and gifts more than made up for all the truculence).  There was a picnic and meander round Mount Grace Priory, dinner in a new to us restaurant with a great vegan menu and the day ended with enormous slices of Boy-made chocolate cake.  

I developed a cough and lost my voice.  For almost a week.  Boo and the cats cheered.  When it returned,  I sounded like a pubescent boy, switching from bass to soprano like nobody's business.  Of course, I did the sensible thing and booked myself in for a covid test which happily proved negative. 

The test centre was just down the road.  Nevertheless, it was a little solo jaunt (which happen so infrequently these days) and I made the most of it.  Hair was washed and eye liner and lipstick applied.  Staff at the centre were so friendly and we had a good old chinwag.  I really enjoyed myself and wouldn't be at all surprised if I received an invitation to their Christmas night out. 

The eucalyptus tree in the back garden was finally chopped down.   It was an all day job which provided a bit of outdoor theatre for people round about and culminated with an eye watering invoice for us.  A big part of me was sorry to see it go but it had outgrown its space (a bit of an understatement) and the kitchen is now somewhat lighter (especially when the previously obscured security light on a neighbouring house wall flashes on and off continuously through the night).  

Then the fish died.  Turns out the sawdust from all of that chopping down, which floated into the pond, oozed eucalyptus oil which I (and the tree surgeon) only discovered afterwards is highly toxic to fish.  I tried my damnedest throughout that night to save them as they gasped their last.  It was truly harrowing.  I couldn't stop crying and I still feel guilty. 

A couple of neighbours, who I didn't know, stepped in and spent two days emptying and cleaning the pond and disposing of the bodies (the fish were koi carp so rather large).  Amazing.   

I've since tinkered with the idea of turning it into a wildlife pond but recognise it's one responsibility I can probably well do without given the situation here.  So, next year (the landscapers are fully booked until spring) it's going to be filled in and the area paved.  Or something.

I had a go at making granola, though rather wish I hadn't.  It tastes so much better than the shop bought stuff and I can't seem to resist grabbing a handful from the jar whenever I pass it. 

The granola making is part of the challenge I've set myself to eat 30 different plants a week, which apparently is good for gut health and a lot easier to achieve than you might think as herbs, grains, seeds, nuts and beans all count.  Suppers of late have become rather green.  And crunchy.

A much needed haircut was made possible by the Boy working from our dining table for a day.   I was on the verge of hacking away with the dressmaking shears but common sense prevailed (actually, it was more a case of misplacing the shears).   Roots have now been attended to and about 4 inches chopped off the back (for some strange reason my hair grows in a V shape).  Interestingly, I go to the same hairdresser as a Dragon from the Den who is now a competitor on Strictly.  We haven't rubbed shoulders yet but I did get to meet her best friend.

Books have been read.  Standouts were The Kingdom,  Plainsong, Tall Bones, Unsettled Ground (links in the sidebar).  In preparation for Hallowe'en reading, I've ordered this which sounds promisingly chilling.  I might also add this to the pile.

Autumn arrived, a significant marker as we head towards my favourite season, winter.  Nights are drawing in (or as my dad used to say, it's getting late early) and candles are being lit. I'm enjoying the changing colour palette and the slightly cooler temperatures, though grateful that laundry can still be dried on the washing line.

The garden is crying out for a big tidy up but the plan is to chip away at the various tasks rather than tackling everything in one go. 

Let's just see how that goes.

 

Filling in the gaps

I've had to look through the pictures in the camera to recall what I've been up to since the last blog post.

Not a lot, it turns out.

Unsurprisingly, the mister's dementia has been steadily progressing and we've had a couple of hairy/scary incidents, since when there has been a raft of professionals through the door.  I've never done so much cleaning and tidying away.  And talking.  Well, you've got to get conversation where you can.

The still five year old and oh so much taller littlest came up for the day which meant a wander round the Priory followed by drinks and cakes in an actual coffee shop (I was wearing my big girl pants and sat inside amongst, wait for it, Other People) before coming back here to play the poo game.  I'm still finding little plastic turds under the furniture.

In the car on his way home, littlest remarked to his mum,  'I love going to Granny's.  I like the people there.'   Hopefully he was referring to us.

As we're so homebound I've been trying to use the time to crack on with some boring but necessary house jobs. 

The garage doors have been replaced.  No bells, no whistles,  but they look smart and actually open and close without posing serious threat to life and limb.  Now to tackle what's behind the garage doors.

The back garden has had a bit of makeover.  The ivy that was suffocating the garage has been removed, the grassed area re-turfed, shrubs cut back and the slate chippings replaced with gravel.  It's not award winning but it is an improvement. 

We're still waiting for the pond to be deep cleaned.  There are four remaining fish in there though I was convinced I'd accidentally killed them off after feeding them in very low temperatures earlier in the year.   I did order some medicine for them once I realised so maybe it did the trick.  Who knew fish get tummy ache?

The ginormous eucalyptus is being chopped down in a couple of weeks.  That's going to be an all-day job involving some serious kit.  The tree is a huge garden feature (it's probably also a local landmark) but I won't be sorry to see the last of the dead leaves which, at this time of year, it sheds in wagonloads.  Our neighbours are delighted.  I have yet to break the news to the pigeons.

The garden borders and pots have been springing to life, which is always a surprise to me as this isn't the easiest of plots in terms of shape, light levels and quality of soil.  And, of course, there's my hit and miss garden care. 

The tulips and narcissi have just finished.  Predictably, I planted them extremely late and wasn't at all hopeful.  And now it's the turn of the roses, my summer favourites.  I've added another one, Emily Bronte, because there's no such thing as too many roses.  The greenfly agree.

Lunches out with friends aren't possible at the moment (the mister is on the waiting list for a place at a day centre so, at some point, I'll have some free time to get out and about).  But, accompanied by the Boy, we decided to try a recently renovated eating venue, lured (well, I was) by the vegan menu.  Unfortunately, it  was closed that day but we admired the fountain and then stopped off for compensatory takeaway coffee and crisps on the way home.

When I was a little girl, my parents used to close their shop for a couple of hours on Monday afternoons during the warmer months and my dad would drive my mum round the countryside whilst she caught up on her Woman and Woman's Own reading, with a bag of Callard and Bowser toffees on the side. 

Seems I've turned into my dad, though our occasional little jaunts are sans the magazines and confectionery.  On one such outing the other day, I'd planned to park up by the river so we could have a saunter but then realised the mister was still wearing his slippers.  Next time.

Books are still a big part of life though reading them is a slow process.  It's just so hard to stay focused.  Consequently, the TBR piles are multiplying.  I dust them occasionally.  And take pictures.

A recent purchase was a copy of Hold Still (plus a copy for the littlest) as a memento (is that the right word?) of these strange pandemic times.  Some of the photographs say so much and made me blub (to be honest, there's not much that doesn't).

I'm still hacking away at my fringe with the dressmaking shears.  No idea why it grows faster than the rest of the hair on my head.  My hairdresser has offered to come to the house but I can't quite visualise him in our bathroom.

I've also given the dog a shampoo and cut which was later improved on when he was spending time with the vet under general anaesthetic ('We've also trimmed his ears and his trousers'). 

Poor lad (the dog, not the vet) has been having problems with his knees which we were hopeful could be fixed with surgery.  But that's out of the question now as he's been diagnosed with kidney disease.   

Cue the buying of various supplements.  Because I have to feel I'm doing something to help.  Cue Boo spitting out various capsules.  Because he has to have the last word.  Dogs, eh?

Like I said, not much has been happening here, certainly nothing exciting.  So, what next?   

Well, I'm gearing up to a visit to the car wash, the first in over 12 months. 

It'll be quite the occasion.

The big question is, what shall I wear?

 

Lately in verbs

Ordering new bowls online. I'm pretty sure they didn't look like this on the website.

Watching The Great, 'an occasionally true story' about Catherine the Great.  It's hilarious, very bawdy, with plenty of effing and blinding and, erm, vomit, and I love it.  I'm a big fan of Nicholas Hoult and he's brilliant as Emperor Peter, huzzah!  Also enjoying this and this and, of course, The Great Pottery Show Down (like Keith, I cry every week).

Eating everything in sight. I don't know whose appetite I've acquired but I wish it would return to it's owner.  If I'm not eating, I'm thinking about eating. I'd like to say I truly savoured this unexpected gift of chocolates (and, if you haven't yet tried Paul A.Young's confections, go treat yourself) but, in all honesty,  I couldn't shove them in my gob fast enough.

Anticipating the weekly supermarket delivery.  It's become the highlight of my week.  It seems I've developed quite the knack for ordering the wrong size/quantity (who knew sunflower oil was available in such teeny bottles or that coriander came in bouquet-sized bunches?) so we're never quite sure what we're going to end up with.  Ooh, the excitement.

Telling porkies.  The Boy was here when last week's order was due to arrive. 'Are you putting lipstick on for the Sainsburys driver?'.   'Don't be ridiculous, my lips are dry and the lipstick helps'.  Okay, so I lied.  

Walking during daylight hours.  Unusually for me, I fancied venturing forth before nightfall and wandered beyond the immediate neighbourhood.  Way beyond.  So beyond I had to ask a passing walker for directions home.

Regretting walking so far as my poor broken feet protested loudly. For days.  Actually, it's a week later and they're still protesting.

Casting off a sweater.  Another homemade piece of clothing which I'm unlikely to wear. 

Casting on another, no doubt also destined for the charity bag. At least all the knitting keeps my hands out of the biscuit tin.  For a little while.

Celebrating the mister's birthday with a Boy-made cake.  Sadly (or should that be fortunately?) not vegan.  Incidentally,  those pretzels on top were hand painted gold, silver and copper. Personally, I couldn't be arsed but to each their own.  

 Delighting in all the snow that's fallen our way.  Mr. Boo enjoys all this cold white stuff as much as I do.  The cats, on the other hand, refuse to set foot over the doorstep.  

Loving how the garden table resembles a giant waffle.

Waffles.

Now, there's an idea.

 

 

Summer's end in verbs

Taking stock in the garden.  I was surprised to see a second flush of what are possibly my favourite roses out there, Abraham Darby, and equally surprised by the strong vanilla scent from the white nemesia, which is just glorious.  The yellow flowers growing in two parts of the garden were another surprise.  I have no memory of buying the plants (no surprise there) and not a clue what they are.  

Adding to the book pile.  Always.  The weaving book is a new publication from blogger, Mary Maddocks, with a number of projects to tempt and attempt.  No prizes for guessing what I'm adding to my Christmas list.

Finishing a couple of books at bedtime, bringing the total to 38 so far this year, not that anyone's counting. Lazarus is the seventh title in the Joona Linna series and not one for the faint hearted or weak stomached.  But if, like me, you like your crime fiction Scandi and noir, you might want to give it a try.  Although it would work as a stand alone story, I'd suggest reading The Sandman first. Fifty-Fifty is a cracking legal thriller and highly recommended.

Chucking a recently completed sweater in the bin.  I wasn't at all happy with this make (it was far too short and the neck opening was for someone with a head the size of a ping pong ball).  In an attempt to make it wearable by re-knitting bits, I tried to take it apart but that ended in unmitigated disaster.  Currently on the needles is a long-ish, olive green cardigan and much more likely to be worn.  I do love a cardi.  I've turned into my mum.

Watching the final episode of this and bawling my eyes out (I'm so predictable).  Jennifer Aniston is unexpectedly good (though the same can't be said of Reese).

Stocking the cupboard with jars of jam. I'm not sure why I bother as I'm the only one who eats the stuff and I really don't need more sugar in my life. The fruits (plums and strawberries) were nothing special,  just supermarket and veg shop purchases, but is there a more satisfying sight than a pan of sugar laden preserve in the making, bubbling and spitting away on the hob?  Feeling a tad reckless, I strayed off piste this year and added cinnamon to the plums and rose geranium leaves to the strawberries.  Get me.

Celebrating the tail end of summer with a pie, using good old Bramleys and freshly picked brambles from the hedgerow round the corner.   I'd intended to cover the top entirely with pastry stars but got bored.  Happens quite a lot here.  It weighed a ton, it was so packed with fruit.  Unsurprisingly, I ate most of it.  With custard and Rennie chasers.   Nope, not even a little bit sorry.

Harvesting wild strawberries growing in a pot in the garden.  The plant was in the supermarket reduced trolley with a 59p price tag earlier in the year and home it came with me.  The flavour of these teeny weeny berries was intensely, well,  strawberry-y.  I also managed to grow two tomatoes (yes, just the two) which turned out to be inedible. Luckily, my next-door neighbour has an allotment and she knocked on the door the other day with a present of a bag of cherry tomatoes she'd grown.

Including a bunch of sunflowers in the shopping order because I do like a vase of seasonal flowers.  Sainsburys did not disappoint.

Relishing the rumblings of change, as one season begins to segue into the next.  It's no secret I'm the biggest fan of autumn and, my absolute favourite,  winter. Already my mood is lifting.

With a nod to cooler temperatures, porridge oats have reappeared on the menu, in baked form (yes, embracing all the comfort food here).  I use this favourite recipe but have tinkered with it and ditched the carrots, subbing a layer of sliced fruit on the bottom of the dish (pears, apples, peaches and plums work well) and a scattering of blueberries or raspberries on top. 

It's delicious, with its soft, fruity base, autumnal flavours of cinnamon, ginger and maple syrup and the addition of crunchy nuts and dried fruit (you could easily leave out these last two but I'm a throw everything at it kind of cook).  Once cut into portions, it can be frozen so there's always a little stash.  Serve with a dollop of coconut yoghurt and Bob's your mum's brother.

Feeling thoroughly fed up with continuing hamstring pain, it was time to consult with the physiotherapist. After a lengthy assessment (this particular physio was recommended by my yoga teacher as he takes a whole body approach), it turns out the problem is most likely my shoulder.  Who'da thought?   I've been given various exercises (talk about snap, crackle and pop, other people can actually hear the noises my shoulder makes as I practice them) and follow up appointments, so no doubt time will tell.

Spending an hour or so in the company of Monty Don.  I really enjoy these In Conversation With ...  events which, because of covid restrictions,  are currently taking place online (I've previously seen Margaret Atwood in Birmingham and Nigella in Gateshead).  The ticket for this one included a copy of Monty's latest book which looks most promising. 

I learned quite a lot in that 60 minutes, about nature and the man himself.  Who knew no-one is sure where house martins spend their winters?  Yes, they head for Africa but where exactly?  And I now know the difference between mouse and bat poo (bat poo is crumbly, mouse poo is squidgy).  And did you know Monty is scared of bats? 

Next month it's Nigella again (you can never have too much of Nigella in my opinion), with her latest book also part of the deal I opted for.  I'm really looking forward to it.  Especially as I can watch wearing my pyjamas.

Wondering what lies in store for us all over the next few months and beyond in this strangest of years.  It struck me that we've seen the littlest and his parents just the once since early March.  

Hoping we recognise each other the next time we meet.  

 

Filling in the gaps

August already.

My birthday month (I'm Liz and I'm a Leo, grrr).

Time marches on. 

Although it feels like it stopped at the beginning of the year.

The days are by no means dragging but it's like I'm treading water (not that I've ever tread actual water).

Despite some easing of restrictions nationally, I seem to be still mostly living life to the lockdown beat. 

There's food shopping once a week, dog walking every night, and whatever I feel like the rest of the time.

The garden's had more attention than it would usually and stuff is actually growing.  The rose display was the best yet and now the hydrangeas are putting on a good show.  The pond is still problematic. There was an emergency when the water stopped flowing, which had implications for the remaining fish, and I didn't have a clue what to do.  Cue much Googling and Youtube video watching and hey presto, pond pump located, cleaned and up and running once again.  I've found a local company who can undertake a proper maintenance and cleaning job on it and just need to persuade the now far from rational/ reasonable mister that this would be the best option (for me and the fish).  

Two conifers in the front garden had outgrown their space (I was forever reversing into one of them) and it was time to have them removed.  The resulting space has been strewn with grass seed and watered religiously.  At the moment it's looking a tad, erm, tufty but hopefully will fill out over time.  

Talking of filling out, if the size of my backside is anything to go by, there's been far too much baking going on.  Cakes, biscuits, flapjacks, buns, crumbles (using redcurrants gifted from my neighbour), bread.  You name it, my oven has delivered it.  I've called a halt for the time being and am trying to cook and eat sensibly  (definitely not on a diet, a less cereal, more fruit kind of thing, but I would like to become reacquainted with my jeans).

Sometimes there's a bit of knitting (I've been buying kits from here, three so far) and, despite an ongoing issue with maintaining focus, there's always a book on the go (I've just finished what is undoubtedly the best book I've read so far this year and which may even be one of my best reads ever) and I'm currently loving this.

Unfortunately, yoga hasn't been happening much at all after I injured a hamstring, probably as a result of stupidly over stretching (at my age, you'd think I'd know better). 

I've (somewhat nervously) left the house for reasons other than buying food.  There's been an appointment with my GP ('Wear a face mask'.  'I haven't got one yet'.  'Well, just cover your face with something'. The buff I found in a drawer seemed a better option than a tea towel) and then one with the oncologist ('I like your face mask.'  'Thanks. I've just bought it.  Cost me 45 quid.'  'Someone saw you coming.') at the hospital in another town (don't worry, I'm fine). 

I've been to the dental surgery three times after the crown (neither my dentist nor I will ever forget that particular day) from my tooth fell out (I'm never chewing gum again).  More recently, I've had my hair cut and coloured and I've braved the local park for socially distanced catch ups with a couple of lovely friends.  Yesterday, after a highly stressful start to the day, I got in the car, parked by the river, sat and read my book, people and dog watched.   It helped.  

Deprived of conversation most days, I'm probably still talking far too much to supermarket staff (and to the poor bloke who came to fix the washing machine) but, thankfully, since we've been part of his 'support bubble', the Boy has been able to pop over at weekends, providing some much appreciated company and chat (and help with the removal of bags and bags of garden rubbish).

Then, last Sunday, the littlest and his parents drove up from Manchester to join in the Boy's birthday celebrations (a picnic in the Priory followed by mint choc chip ice cream cake and champagne back here), the first time we've seen them since February. 

The soon to be 5 littlest has grown.  A lot.  And currently speaks with an American accent ( 'Hey, Mom!').

So, that's what I've been up to since I last posted.  Nothing wildly exciting.  Not all bad.  Ticking over. 

But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a permanent knot in my stomach, that living with someone with dementia isn't testing me to my limits, that I wasn't missing my old life, that I wasn't wishing for the old rhythm.  

I know there'll be no neat and tidy finale to this seemingly interminable pandemic and that the way ahead is paved with oh so much uncertainty (difficult for those of us who like to plan and have adventures of one sort or another in the pipeline, to have something to look forward to).

Heeding the advice of the wellbeing gurus, I'm trying to focus less on what isn't possible and can't be planned for and more on what I have and can still do.  Being more comfortable with the uncomfortable.

It ain't easy.

Baby steps, baby steps.

 

Lockdown rambling

I finished another knitted jumper.  It kept the old fingers busy (fingers covered in skin that would be at home on the back of a crocodile, it's so dry with all the handwashing) but is probably destined for the Wear That? Not On Your Nelly pile.

Boo was on the receiving end of a shampoo and cut (actually cuts, I've had two goes so far) yesterday. He'd gotten so hirsute he was beginning to resemble Cousin It.  He seemed to enjoy the experience, although maybe all the tail wagging was more a case of 'I'll keep it moving in case she hacks it off'.  Now he's more Barry Manilow than cocker spaniel.  I'm thanking my lucky stars that I'm responsible for the evening dog walk.  In the dark.  

I had a stab at cleaning the pond which was looking uncared for (probably because it is, like a lot of stuff here these days, although the cutlery drawer is pristine).  This involved working out how to operate the vacuum cleaner to remove the sludge at the bottom, which, apparently, is a bad thing.  With the help of a YouTube (naturally) video, I managed it, although I was concerned I'd suck up the fish (not that I've spotted any; if they've any sense, they'll have already upped and offed).  The water doesn't look any clearer but I'm reliably informed that that's not a bad thing.  Next,  the filter and pump need degunking but I need to locate them first.  I suspect they're immersed in the water and it might help if I knew what they look like before trawling the depths in rubber gloves.  

The comfort eating here has reached Olympian heights.  I'm going for gold.  Lunch one day was a giant bag of salted popcorn.  Dinner was an entire packet of Oreos and a hot cross bun (no 'butter', I didn't want to over-egg the pudding).  Supper was what was left of a vegan chocolate bar, two Polo mints and a Rennie.  Last night's menu was more about real food - crispy coated polenta cakes topped with ratatouille, puy lentils and griddled tenderstem broccoli, finished with a sprinkling of nutritional yeast for me, finely grated Italian cheese for the mister.  It was very tasty and looked pretty but there's less washing up when you eat crap.

Cherry blossom is strutting its stuff in the front garden, the camellia is doing the same in the back.  The grass (that's stretching it, it's more mossy clumps than rolling greensward) is ready for another cut but the green bin and a green bag are already overflowing (I have no idea why the garden is continuously covered in twigs and branches, though I have a funny feeling about one of the houses that backs onto ours) and collections haven't restarted yet

I grew up in a shop and I love shopping (as did my parents and brother, come to think of it).   But the weekly circuit of the supermarket is anything but enjoyable.  It's the exact opposite of enjoyable. The Sainsburys branch I use has now installed crowd control.  Well, that was the wording on the back of the bomber jacket the elderly man sitting on a fold-up chair outside the entrance was wearing.  The crowd waiting to be allowed in was well behaved (well, it was just me and Crowd Control called me Madam). 

Once inside, it was more about dodging the other trolleys to keep the required distance, and avoiding doing anything that might be construed as loitering, than finding essential items (unpacking at home was interesting).  And everyone I encountered glared, like I was riddled with nasties.   It was a relief to get back into the car where, armed with a pack of treasured antibac wipes, I scrupulously cleaned  hands, steering wheel and door handles.  I shoved a wipe up my nostrils, too, just to be on the safe side.  

Easter will be very strange in this, the year of the virus, but I've hung little wooden eggs on some pussy willow branches and a modestly sized Simnel cake (just the vegan Christmas cake recipe with the addition of a ton of marzipan) will be baked.  I think I have all the ingredients.  If not, I'll substitute.

Or as my dad used to say, there is no bread. We'll have to eat toast.

 

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.

 

Lately in verbs

Marvelling at the profusion of butterflies attracted to the garden of perpetual autumn by the buddleias.  There have been so many years with few, if any, sightings of the colourful visitors and then, this summer, butterflies in droves.  A veritable snowstorm on a daily basis.

Supervising Bea Cat who had also clocked the preponderance of  butterflies.

Tending  a bee which couldn't fly but, for two days, traversed a vast (for a bee) area in the garden before eventually giving up the ghost.  He was given a decent burial.  No, you're a crybaby.

Baking a batch of jammy coconutty madeleines, a blast from the past, for my cousin's son who'd mentioned he just fancied some.  I don't possess dariole moulds so used paper cupcake liners and then simply upturned the cakes to decorate.

Viewing  (several times) the Knife Angel in the town centre.  Here for a month as part of a nationwide tour, the statue, constructed from 100,000 knives which had been seized or handed in at knife banks established in every police authority across the country, is a "monument against violence and aggression". 

Spending an afternoon with the family, complete with picnic, at Mount Grace Priory, just 20 minutes up the road.  Boasting the best preserved Carthusian monastery in England (it was founded in 1398 and functioned until 1539 when Henry VIII stuck his oar in), with manor house, gardens and reconstructed monk's cell, the site has been significantly developed since our last visit.  Whilst there, I bought plants and a book and took out a membership of English Heritage, so there's no excuse for not returning soonish.

Sensing change in the woods, noticing, despite record breaking temperatures, signs of summer on the wane and a new season waiting in the wings.  Nope, cannot lie, I can't wait for that moment, that first, unmistakable whiff of autumn in the air.

Wondering if there's anything more comforting than spending an afternoon in the company of a promising read and a trio of favourite chocs.

Making a wish on a suitably vegan chocolate and caramel cake (courtesy of the Boy) whilst the littlest shouted, 'Quick, it's melting!'.

Loving birthdays.

 

Lately in verbs

Life's been much of a muchness, lately, with (mostly) the usual activities punctuating the days and weeks. 

Bending, stretching and om-ing at the still continuing twice weekly (sometimes there are three) yoga sessions. I don't seem to get better at it but oh, I love it which is surely the point? 

Classes were spiced up last weekend with a yoga camp in town, comprising of lots of tasters, both of the yoga (aerial yoga?  I think not) and food variety, over two days. 

Venturing into the garden after the winter hiatus.  It's not a big plot by any means but it's a challenging one.  An odd shape with generally poor soil, it's overlooked (for over ten years we backed onto a field from which a housing estate sprang up) and a large part of it gets very little sunlight. 

Of course, with two cats and a Boo, it's regularly trampled by twelve paws of varying sizes.  But it's not completely barren out there and, if you look hard enough, there are signs of life and the odd spot of colour.  

Abstaining from book buying. I wanted to give up something meaningful for Lent and so, when the Girlie suggested not purchasing any books for the duration, I thought why not? How hard could that be?

Ooh, turns out it's a killer for someone who cannot walk past a book shop/stand/pile and who carries a notebook to jot down the titles of future reads/purchases. It has to be much harder than cutting out chocolate (I don't eat that much these days) or cake (no-one else here appreciates vegan cakes so I don't bake any) or biscuits (apart from the occasional vegan flapjack in Costa, I haven't indulged lately). 

The only other possible contender for abstention was porridge, but if I gave that up I'd very possibly expire (I eat a lot of it, at all times of the day. And night).

So books it was.

Is.  

Reading has still featured.  Of necessity, I've been dipping into the (substantial) TBR pile (one book was an accidental re-read which seems to happen rather a lot these days) and borrowing from the library.  I should do the latter more often but have a 'thing' about books which have been in many hands (I only borrow recent acquisitions).  I suppose I could wear rubber gloves whilst reading. 

Recommending, from the books read so far this year (links in the sidebar):

• Dark Pines (a small town in rural Sweden, a young journalist, a brutal murder)
• The Stranger Diaries (a chilling piece of Gothic literature seems to be being played out in real life)
• The Hunting Party (a group of old university friends meet up in the Scottish highlands.  One of them will die.  But which one?  And whodunnit?)
• Us Against You (the sequel to the equally excellent Beartown.  If you haven't already devoured these two, go binge read).

Attending a meet the author event, where Martin Edwards talked about the golden age of crime fiction and his latest novel. It's always interesting to hear how authors approach writing. 

Of course, all the afore mentioned Lenten fasting meant I was unable to add to the book stash from the stall in the corner but, fortunately, I'd bought one of his books (my first and the current book at bedtime which is proving to be very enjoyable) before the ban which was then duly signed on the night. 

Re-connecting with the knitting needles. I bought a kit from Etsy which, hopefully, will be transformed into something cuddly to include in someone's Easter parcel.  So far, so good, but I need to get a move on.

Searching for a new lunch venue.  The cafe in the town's modern art gallery, which was the perfect meeting place (the food was delicious and it was spacious enough to linger for hours) for lunch and catch ups with friends and family, was closed down suddenly (the local university currently manage the building and have 'plans'). 

I'm now on a mission to find an alternative that meets some exacting criteria.  The first on the list was a newly opened cafe in the recently renovated Town Hall.  An article in the local newspaper had promisingly likened it to Ottolenghi's.  Being a fan of Yotem and very familiar with his London eateries, I was optimistic.  The reality was disappointing.

The quest continues.

Sauntering in the Priory near the Boy's apartment before heading off for coffee and cake. I was half tempted to pick some wild garlic (it was everywhere) but couldn't decide what to do with it.   Plus, erm, dogs.

Venturing into the forest when the littlest paid a visit.  We stuck to the easy trail but intend to return soon to venture further.

 

 

 

 

Lately in verbs

Watching  (nay, binge watching) You on Netflix.  Apparently, I've read the Caroline Kepnes' book but can't for the life of me remember doing so.  Anyway, a bookshop, New York, yoga, what's not to like?  Well, maybe the psychopathic stalker.

Treating myself to a piece of art.  A teeny weeny painting measuirng just 2 ins.  A wintry scene, naturally.  Sweet, yes?

Reading from the book pile (added to after visits to the charity shop and Waterstones).  The current book at bedtime (keeping me on my toes as I try to keep up with who's who or rather who's in who) is number 6 of 2019.  According to the sidebar, I read 42 books last year.  I was thinking of setting a reading target for 2019 but, you know what,  it ain't a competition. 

Enjoying a Burns Night supper (with peas alongside the neeps and tatties because there has to be something green on the plate) a day late.  There's not a drop of Scottish blood in either of us (as far as we know) but I'm rather partial to a homemade vegan haggis.

Familiarising myself (or at least attempting to) with the bells and whistles of the new car.  At the end of last year, the mister made the decision to stop driving (as you may remember, he has his problems which are currently being further investigated).  His tank of a vehicle was too big, my cute runaround too small so, taking a leaf out of Goldilocks' book,  we went for something in between.....ish. We're also familiarising ourselves with the workings of the local bus service as I'd prefer not to embark on a new career as full time taxi driver.  Let's just say one of us is faring better at this than the other but it's early days.

Testing the car's fancy hill start assist system on an incline at the coast.  I think I prefer a good old hand brake.

Baking brown sugar chocolate chip cookies because there were no eggs for a cake and the biscuit tin was empty.

Aching in body parts I didn't know I still had after a 7 week (enforced) absence away from the yoga mat.  

Hatching travel plans (nothing too adventurous).

Spotting a clump of snowdrops in the front garden.  Seeing them always reminds me of the time I was a 10 year old in Mrs Whitehouse's class in junior school and we planted snowdrop bulbs.  I got to take the bowl (it was green) home for the Christmas holidays which my dad advised would be happiest in the cool of the musty pantry where he stored the boxes of Daz and Oxydol washing powder for our shop.  Nothing emerged from the compost, which I remember was so disappointing as we'd made a chart to plot the progress of growth.  

Proving I wasn't to blame for the snowdrop non-show with a pot of soon-to-be crocuses.  Just call me the corm whisperer.

Caffeinating.  Always.

Appreciating quite a lot.