love those cupcakes

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.  

 

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.

 

Same but oh so different

Like Dorothy, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. 

Gilead, more like.  Blessed be the fruit.

Drastic times.  Increasingly drastic measures.  Toilet roll wars.

A new, restricted way of living has been in place for less than a week. 

It feels so much longer.

With the usual routine out the window, I'm losing track of what day it is.  I only knew Thursday was Thursday because the binmen did their rounds.

And days have become longer, from the cats' wake up call at seven- ish to a now much later bedtime at two or three in the morning. I just can't switch off.  Yet, strangely, time isn't dragging. 

Being stuck indoors for lengthy periods with someone with dementia is very testing, and there have been tears. An abundance of tears.  But these are challenging times for us all, whatever our situation.

So, what's this 'same but different' life looking like?

I aim to get on the yoga mat at some point during the day, even if just for ten minutes.  My wonderful yoga teacher videoed a practice for our group to follow at home.  Just hearing her voice was a reminder of normality.  I sobbed. 

The knitting needles have been seeing a fair bit of action; one sweater has been finished, another one started  and Tucker the monkey is sitting next to me on the sofa,  patiently waiting for an introduction to the littlest. 

 

Of course,  there's never a shortage of reading material here but there were some new additions to the pile just prior to the partial lockdown.  The latest book at bedtime is The Long Call and I'm really enjoying it.  If you like a police procedural, this one could be for you.

Then there's always the telly to watch (this looks promising and this and this ), though it looked uncertain when the remote control suddenly stopped working.  But, with the help of Youtube and a kitchen knife, I managed to fix it.  I'm asking for a set of spanners for Christmas.

Comfort eating has been taken to a whole new level.  I'm still cooking meals of sorts, though there have been some strange concoctions. (Pasta made with chickpea flour?  Not recommended unless your preference is for soggy cardboard.) But I'm baking for England (still no cake for me). Biscuits, usually. Flapjacks.  Sometimes a fruit crumble.  Bread if there's enough strong flour.  The oven is rarely switched off.  I'm also eating for England.  It appears I've developed a Fry's Chocolate Cream habit. I don't even like them, so what's that all about?  Maybe it's the sugar-laden equivalent of wearing a hair shirt.  

Drier weather has meant time in the garden and the grass has been given its first cut of the year.  I'm always amazed anything flourishes in our inhospitable plot but, alongside the forget-me-nots, I discovered a clump of beautifully hued violets (which, incidentally,  I have no memory of planting).  I've also been left in charge of the pot of pansies the littlest planted the last time he visited.

Because of the current restrictions on exercise, evening walks (the later the better) are now enjoyed in the company of the dog (who, by the way,  is getting hairier by the day).  I'm not sure Boo appreciates the more, shall we say, military approach but he's stuck with it for the foreseeable.

The kitchen cupboards have never been cleaner or more organised.  Likewise the bedrooms.  The downside is the huge pile of stuff waiting to be taken to the charity shops.

And, in the absence of visits to the salon, I think i'm about to discover my hair's natural colour.  I've had a stab (pardon the pun) at cutting my fringe, though, in hindsight, maybe the dressmaking shears weren't the ideal tool.  It's probably no bad thing that I won't be socialising for a while. 

Like everyone, it's the lack of contact with family and friends that's the big struggle.   I don't use a mobile phone and rely on email for conversation, though that may be about to change as my Girlie has taken matters into her own hands (scrupulously washed, obviously).  I don't use Facebook or Instagram or Twitter, there's just this blog.  I'm fairly sure I'm talking far too much to the checkout operators in the supermarkets as I pack whatever groceries have ended up in the basket.   Likewise to myself.

Three months ago, Covid-19 wasn't part of our vocabulary.  Now we know that this new way of living isn't going to change for the better any time soon and our resilience is going to be tested to the core.

I'm signing off with pictures from my 2014 trip to Antarctica, the one place on earth free from coronavirus.......so far.

Stay safe, stay healthy, lovely people in my laptop.

 

Filling in the gap

Well, that was a long absence.  Actually, the longest gap in almost 12 years (what?) of blogging.

It wasn't planned time out but down to a number of unexpected happenings that got in the way.

Truth be told, I suddenly lost interest in all things blog related. Hopefully, it was a temporary blip and normal service will be resumed.  I've always enjoyed reading posts on my favourite blogs whilst using love those cupcakes to document life chez moi, a journal of sorts which has become a useful personal record to look back on.

The laptop also decided to play up, with irritating niggles at first and then a big problem which necessitated a long stay in laptop hospital and which even Dr. Paul couldn't fix.  (It was only a matter of time as I'm always dropping it or spilling a mug of something hot and heavily caffeinated on the keypad.)  So, the purchase of a replacement is somewhere on the to do list.

Of course, life doesn't just toss the lemon pips our way and every now and again a whopping great lemon hits the side of the head.

Long time readers may recall that, for over 6 years now, the mister has been treated for severe depression.  In that time, there has been no visible sign of improvement (quite the opposite) and, for a year, probably longer, I've harboured concerns that something else was going on.

Turns out there is and a few months ago he was diagnosed with dementia. 

It's a rare form which affects language, communication and the processing of information more markedly than memory (speech, the ability to read, write, understand what people are saying and eventually swallow is lost) but which ultimately will go the way of all dementias.  And I'm sure most of us are aware that that's not a pretty picture, from whichever perspective. 

Clearly, this wasn't part of the plan and being thrust into the role of carer will take some adjustment.

But it is what it is.  

Time to dig deep.

 

Tales of the unexpected

Rather a lot has been happening here, though not quite in the way planned.

1.  We're lucky to have more than enough, erm, facilities in our house (two up, one down, which works out at one toilet each when there's just the three of us) but it's annoying when one of the afore mentioned facilities suddenly decides to impersonate Niagara and merrily gush water ad infinitum.  A repair is beyond the mister's capabilities (though he did manage to dismantle part of it, exposing the innards and leaving the bits on the bathroom floor for people to stub their toes on, especially when they're using the striped towels that make your eyes go funny), so it's now a question of waiting for the plumber to fit in a visit in the middle of installing a sparkling new Christmas kitchen for someone else.  And of remembering the facility is not functioning.  I did stick on  a warning note but the ink leaked onto the lid which now shouts 'DO NOT USE ' in a lovely shade of teal.  And I'm mindful that my mother would have been most unhappy with all this talk of *toilets*.

2.  The mister then decided to do a teeny tiny straightforward refurb in the shower room by replacing the door seal, got carried away and, as a result, the shower is similarly out of action and we've now strayed into more than minor works territory, necessitating the ordering and delivery of various strangely shaped parcels and tools amidst much humming and hawing over Google search results.

3.  With the house looking worryingly free from Christmas, we decided to escape the sanitary sick and wounded and get the glitter ball rolling by popping out to buy a tree.  Two hours later, we're parked in a lay-by about 10 minutes from home, in a vehicle with a flat as a pancake tyre, waiting for what feels like forever to be towed home by the breakdown truck.  And, we observe, we're still tree-less.  And why do I always think about toilets (sorry, Mother) the minute I'm nowhere near one? 

4.   The Boy was in the kitchen baking industrial quantities of something with religieuse in the title on Sunday night to discover, whilst up to his elbows in egg shells, the waste disposal unit had given up the ghost.  Now I realise this was yet another first world problem but I'm so used to chucking disgusting stuff into that handy gadget  and I really dislike having to stick my hand deep into it to retrieve whatever it was I'd unthinkingly tried to get rid of in an environmentally friendly way.  And yes, I've seen that Final Destination scene and know only too well what can happen.

5.  Maybe deciding we'd had more than the usual three troublesome things, the waste disposal unit unexpectedly bucked the trend and somehow healed itself.   I mentioned it to the Boy.  'It's a Christmas miracle', was the muttered reply.

 * * *

(In view of the unsavoury nature of much of the content in this post, I give you a picture of vegan mince pies, baked by my own fair hand to my own recipe and intended for the freezer. They were delicious, by the way.  Every single one of them.)

 

Lately

Without doubt, we're living in testing times.   

An avid reader of newspapers (when I was growing up my parents always had two delivered daily; my mother used to go straight to the horse racing pages), and a keen listener of news broadcasts and watcher of current affairs programmes, I try to be as well informed as I can be.  But, with an overload of reporting on tragedy, turmoil, a titanic report and turbulence of one sort and another of late, it's become too much. You think that must surely be it.  And then you learn it isn't.  Just how many 'Breaking news' alerts can we take in a week?   A day?   

So, there's been an attempt at distraction here, focusing on all things pink and fluffy (metaphorically speaking), to try and soothe the nerves, to provide some respite from all the happenings.

Although time spent in the Garden of Perpetual Autumn usually dampens the spirit (a mature elaeagnus at the back of the pond has now decided to give up the ghost and is shedding its yellowed leaves by the shovelful, one of the rose bushes has failed to flower at all and a hydrangea has been demolished by I know not what), there are a few bright  spots.  The potted plants are (mostly) thriving, and there are splashes of colour here and there.  I have no idea what the lone blue flower is and don't remember planting it (maybe I'm nurturing a weed) but, whatever it is,  it's most welcome. 

The Boy continues to hone his skills in the kitchen and the latest bake on the cooling trays was a batch of madeleines (some plain, some dusted with icing sugar, some dipped in a lemon glaze).  As usual, I couldn't partake so I made vegan custard creams. And polished off the lot in one sitting on a particularly news heavy day.

There's been the annual open gardens weekend to raise funds for a local hospice.  You can't beat a good nose round other people's gardens (though maybe a good nose along their bookshelves would win that particular contest).  There was a wide variety of plots to visit, some teeny, some large, some seriously sloping, some with interesting neighbours, some with cake to keep the mister happy, lots to envy. Unfortunately,  I took very few pictures, I was so distracted.

There's nothing like getting stuck into a cracking read to escape reality and the current book at bedtime is really hitting the spot. Substantial, at almost 1200 pages, it's written 'in the Dickensian style' (more Dickens than Dickens, as some have commented) with a late Regency setting.  It's complex with a raft of characters, historical detail aplenty, twists, turns, adventure, conspiracy and mystery as the varying fortunes of young Johnnie Huffam and his mother are related.  Highly recommended.

 

Then there's the Boo, always full of the joys of Spring and ever willing to distract with a game of ball or chase.   But this week, not so much.  He had to spend a day with the vet (possibly not his favourite person) and undergo some much needed, erm, cosmetic work. He returned home a tad groggy and feeling very sorry for himself.  But, whoah, his gnashers are positively gleaming.

Of course, a picture by email of the always smiling littlest never fails to brighten the day.

Seems someone else needs a bit of distraction.

 

One of those weeks

You know the ones, when....

You buy flowers, you buy some more and then you're given an enormous bunch on Mothering Sunday.

You run out of vases and have to employ a coffee pot to display the overflow.

You add to the substantial TBR pile with yet more bargain reads. And then some.

You realise you've already read at least one of them.

You stop, look round and finally accept that you'll never write that 'My journey to minimalism' post.  Me and my stuff?  We're meant to live together.

You arrange a working lunch in the local art gallery with your friend, only to pass like ships in the night because someone who isn't you got the time wrong.

You just can't seem to shove in enough broccoli.

You meet your Girlie and the littlest for a day in York.  No plans, just time to wander, catch up, eat good food, drink good coffee.

You share an otherwise empty train carriage with the shiniest, most well behaved traveller and his owner on the journey home.  Ah yes, the perks of first class rail travel.

You stumble down pothole ridden paths in mud laden boots in the dark one night with a complaining  ('will you just let me off this lead?') canine and a moaning ('will you just point the torch over here?') mister to try to catch sight of a steaming beauty.  And maybe, just maybe,  you did. 

 

Capping it all

You know how it is.  

You're busy, busy, busy yet manage to tick off just one thing on your extensive list.

So you  decide to call it a day and catch up on the latest episode of Masterchef: The Professionals with a welcome cuppa and a slice of sourdough toast .

All of a sudden, you realise you're chomping on something other than toasted bread.

Yep, you broke a tooth.

Cue an unplanned visit to the dentist for an emergency repair with the prospect of further dental work in the New Year.

The smile was wiped off someone else's face, too, after his mother dressed him as a Christmas pud.

Reminds me, I must add cornflour for the rum sauce to the list.

 

A mixed bag

Slow progress is being made with the current book at bedtime, The Sunne in Splendour, the novel about Richard lll.   I'm only halfway through (it is a whopper), the Houses of York and Lancaster continue to knock nine bells out of each other on a regular basis and Richard is just coming up to his 19th birthday, so there's a way to go.  But it's a cracking read and quite the change from my usual choice (well written twisty crime, serial killer optional).

I don't often have two books on the go at the same time (my addled brain struggles with just a single storyline to be honest) but this one, a memoir with end of chapter yoga sequences, was purchased on the back of throwing myself (possibly a tad too enthusiastically if my loudly protesting back is anything to go by) into my weekly yoga class.  

A bit of inner peace wouldn't go amiss, actually.  There have been very difficult decisions to be made in respect of my aunt, decisions taken with (what I consider to be) her best interests very much at heart but, even so, far, far from easy.   A sharp reminder that life isn't always pink and fluffy.

Autumn in all its colourful glory has been helping.  I took myself off to the big park down the road (I wrote about it here) one afternoon to wander down paths and kick leaves and watch dogs chase squirrels and just take it all in.

Time spent pottering in the kitchen has also helped.  A simple fruity tea loaf was quickly made (soaking the dried fruit in hot strong tea for just half an hour helped) and quickly demolished (by yours truly) and a Very Important Visitor and his mummy, who were up here for the day, were welcomed with a batch of rhubarb and custard flavoured macaroon topped cakes (of course, the VIV couldn't eat any as he doesn't have any gnashers yet).  I didn't make the macaroons, which were some of the Boy's rejects, but I thought they'd add a bit of crunch.  There were definite nods of approval.  

Firework season has started here, Boo's least favourite time of year.  Actually, for a gun dog he's surprisingly terrified of bangs (he hates fireworks even more than he hates Jeremy Paxman, and that's saying something) and his fear and anxiety seem to be increasing each year.  He definitely needs to undertake a desensitisation programme.  Too late for this year, unfortunately, so I'm dreading the lead up and Bonfire Night itself, when he'll be a quivering, panting wreck.  I'm considering buying him one of these.  I may buy one for myself.

 

The good, the bad and the giveaway

The good

The sun was shining and there was nothing in the diary so I decided to give my little car some tlc.  For two hours, I shampooed, rinsed, polished, brushed, cleared (ooh, lovely, a pound coin), dusted and polished a bit more.

The bad 

Him (having just returned from the car wash in his own vehicle):  'You did a terrible job on your car.'

Her:  'What do you mean?  It's gleaming. Inside and out.'

Him:  'You missed a bit.'

Her:  'Where?  Show me.'

Him:  'There.  See it?  Bend down.  Now do you see it?   Not there.  There.  On the wheel trim.'

The good

I managed to not slap someone across the face with a wet shammy (or chamois if you prefer).

The bad

After all these years, someone clearly hasn't learned when to keep their trap firmly shut.  

The good

I baked a batch of extremely chocolatey brownies with just the right amount of squidge.

The bad

I ate most of them.  And I picked off the bits stuck to the baking parchment.  I may even have chewed the baking parchment.

The good

I bought the ingredients for a new knitting project.

The bad

The pattern turned out to be far too complicated with an unfathomable multi size/multi piece chart instead of instructions and on which 'x' meant both knit and purl depending on which row you happened to be on. So I ditched it after three attempts and started something more manageable.  Hopefully.

The good

I cleaned the oven.

The bad

Said oven went into shock and stopped working.  

The good

I couldn't cook anything more elaborate than beans on toast for several days until the Oven Man could work his magic.  It was like being on holiday.  A very basic holiday, admittedly, but still.

The bad

Someone should have told me the Oven Man would need to poke about in the cupboard where I chuck all the bags of flour and icing sugar to find the main switch. When he'd finished, his right side looked like it had been caught in a blizzard.

The good

This book.  A tricky subject (domestic abuse).  Two storylines (a journalist writing a book in the late 1960s about an ongoing criminal case and the story of the accused, in her own words with an interweaving of the perspectives of others).  Highly recommended.

The bad

Not bad, exactly.  It's just that I've already read it and have a copy (different cover, in my defence) on the bookshelf.  I do this rather a lot these days.  Though I should have realised with this one as I have a collection of most of Anita Shreve's novels. But Strange Fits of Passion is such a great story, and I couldn't remember a lot of the detail, so a re-read was no bad thing.

The good

An enjoyable evening with writer Joanna Trollope.  We're not friends or anything and there were others at the event in our town's main library.   A reminder, too, of just how lovely this building is.  

The bad

I bought another book.  Couldn't not buy after hearing Joanna (yep, on first name terms now) talk about her research (she spent time in Stoke and at the Emma Bridgewater pottery) and the writing process.  She wrote in it.  And I started reading it that night.

The good

The signs are there.  Nights drawing in (or as my dad used to say, it's getting late early), changing colours, heartier meals, the distinctive tang of summer on the wane.  We are definitely on the cusp of a new season.

The bad 

The er..........erm............nope, nothing bad.  I love autumn, me.

The giveaway

To mark the blogging milestone mentioned in the previous post, and as a big thank you for your visits, support and comments, I've put together a few bits and bobs, a little selection of some of the kinds of things that have appeared here in some form or other over the last eight years which I hope you'll enjoy.

  

 1.  Rifle Paper Co. labels and stickers   2. Melt scented candle   3. To Kill a Mockingbird brooch made from a page from the book

4.  Rifle Paper Co. set of notebooks   5. Copy of the novel 'Astrid and Veronika'   6.  Book of National Trust baking recipes 

7.  Packet of Sarah Raven Pictorial Meadow seeds     8.  Bar of drinking chocolate

 

Just leave a comment on this post by October 3rd and I'll do the name out of the hat thing.