love those cupcakes

2023 highlights

The second half of 2023 proved to be challenging and stressful for the most part but there were some highly enjoyable interludes and, if I don't record them here, I'll forget them.  So, here goes.

Please note:  Typepad continues to be problematic and there may be issues when viewing the photographs in this post.

There was a weekend staying in my favourite house in Hebden Bridge with the family.

There was an evening in Manchester with Jo Nesbo.

There was a birthday celebrated.  Just me, the boy and some alpacas.

 There was a winter light show in the local park.

There was a much anticipated trip to London which included the Chanel exhibition, a book tree at St Pancras, Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition, David Hockney, Antony Gormley, dinner at Marcus Wareing's restaurant in the Berkeley, the Tate Modern, panoramic views from a new viewing platform higher than the one at the Shard, champagne and nibbles at the Ritz, Borough Market, St Paul's, Fortnum and Mason, bookshops and so much more.

There was Christmas.

And that's a wrap.

 

 

London highlights (at long last)

I'm a terrible blogger.  This post has long been languishing in the drafts folder (partly due to ongoing problems with Typepad) and I almost pressed the delete button.  But this is where I record my comings and goings so, as they say, better late than never. 

At the end of November last year the Boy and I spent a few days in the capital.  It was wonderful, as always, and I'm rather hoping this has become an annual event.

The weather was kind, there were no strikes to disrupt travel and I managed to not fall down any steps.

We packed in as much as possible, including what appear to have become regular happenings when in London - kicking off with cocktails and lunch in Dishoom at Kings Cross, enjoying champagne, people watching and night-time panoramic views at the Sky Garden, spending several hours browsing, munching, stocking up at Borough Market.

So, the highlights.

The hotel, L'Oscar, in Holborn, was sumptuous with a colour scheme seemingly inspired by the contents of a tin of Quality Street.  Our rooms were spacious with quirky decorative touches and the extremely comfortable beds ginormous.  

Visiting the Natural History Museum to view entries and winners of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year Competition, for the second year running.  Once again, it didn't disappoint.  We lingered afterwards in Hintze Hall to view Hope the blue whale's skeleton.

 

 

Breakfasting on vegan apple crumble and limitless custard at Borough Market.  First in the queue.  On reflection, I don't think they'd actually opened.  I kid you not, there is no better start to the day.

 

Immersing in the Lucian Freud New Perspectives exhibition at the National Gallery.  Sixty five paintings, mostly portraits (some of the canvases are huge), were displayed and spanned a lifetime's work. His portrait of the Queen (photographs forbidden) isn't, perhaps, the most flattering but, as she is rumoured to have remarked on seeing it, at least he didn't paint her nude.  I loved this exhibition.

 

 

Meeting the charismatic Hodge at Southwark Cathedral.  Of course, I cried. 

Watching Matilda the musical.  This turned out to be memorable for all the wrong reasons  - muffled dialogue, props malfunctioning, clunky acting which at times verged on poor panto.  Maybe it was just an under par performance but we exited at half time and compensated with an evening stroll round Seven Dials and Covent Garden in the company of tubs of delicious ice cream (spiced chocolate gingerbread for me) before walking to Trafalgar Square for a night-time viewing of the new installation on the 4th plinth. 

 

 

Exploring a woven forest and other weavings that might (or might not) be suggestive of body parts at the Tate Modern.  In the 1960s and 70s, Polish sculptor Magdalena Abakanowicz created huge pieces from woven fibres which were suspended from the ceiling and which became known as the Abakans.  Many of these feature in the exhibition and photographs can only hint at their scale and intensity.  Truly impactful.

 

Scoffing lots of delicious food but the standout was a vegan lunch at Pied a Terre, courtesy of the Girlie.  There were many courses and I devoured the lot.  Both the Boy and I recognised a fellow diner at the other table (we were seated in a small room) and eventually twigged that we'd seen him on the telly in this, alongside Raymond Blanc.  Turned out he's also the owner of Pied a Terre.  We chatted.  We hugged.  We'll be back.

The radishes were served in plant pots and had to be 'harvested'.  The soil, by the way, was edible.

Buying Christmas gifts. And books, spices, Turkish delight and a festive necklace pour moi.  Because why not?

 

London calling

In March, the pause button on all that's going on at home, in the country and across the globe was pressed and another short break in the capital, in the company of the Boy,  was arranged.  It proved to be just what the doctor ordered. 

The trip coincided with a tube strike and a couple of days of heavy rain.  Whilst the plan was always to use Uber (cars and boat) and cabs and Shanks's pony like last time, the temporary closures of the underground, combined with downpours, had a massive impact on traffic (there was much more of it so progress was very slow) and on demand for taxis.  So much so that, on the last evening, we had to dump the cab which was well and truly stuck in a jam and make a run for Kings Cross and the train home. 

But, with just a couple of adjustments, we packed lots in and, as always, had a wonderful time.  London never ever disappoints.

Our base was here, close to Buckingham Palace.  Dogs are welcome, with the promise of 'the full five star treatment'.  Don't tell Boo.

So, the highlights. 

After depositing bags and cases in left luggage, we had a mooch around Coal Drops Yard and Granary Square, stopping for a very delicious late lunch in Dishoom.

One of my Christmas presents was tickets for Cabaret and so, after a wander and snack stop in Soho, we made our way to the Playhouse via Trafalgar Square and Waterstones.  Eddie Remayne and Jessie Buckley were superb, well deserving of all the awards and accolades, and I'd have to say this has to be one of my best theatre experiences ever.  Afterwards, it was back to the hotel for the late night buffet and ice creams.

The second day began with coffee and pastries, dodging heavy rain afterwards with an impromptu visit to the V&A.  The Buddhist sculpture and fashion exhibitions were free and well worth a leisurely browse.  After lunch and purchases of pasteis de nata, it was our timeslot for the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition next door in the Natural History Museum.

Wow.  So many powerful, thought provoking, tear inducing images. 

Dinner at the Ritz that night (with a sighting of chef, John Williams, who'd popped out of the kitchen to chat with some VIP guests) was so very delicious.

The postprandial glasses of champagne and nibbles weren't bad, either.  

Day three began with the first visit of the day to Borough Market for a browse of what to buy later and a vegan apple crumble and custard breakfast (highly recommended).  Then onwards to the Sky Garden by way of Pudding Lane and St Dunstan in the East Church garden.

There was a second visit to Borough Market for a thali late lunch and to stock up on spices, sauces, chocolate and tea before heading for the pier to board an Uber boat to Westminster.

All too soon it was time to return home, but there were still a couple of days before everyday life resumed and we certainly made the most of them: unpacking bookish and other treats, visiting cafes, enjoying dinner in a favourite restaurant, spending time at the beach.  

One thing's for sure, though. 

I love London, me.

 

Time out

It really happened.

After much planning and jumping through hoops, I managed a short break, the first time away from home in two years.

Right up to the last minute, cancellation looked inevitable but, with the mister, dog and cats miraculously placed with their respective carers, me and the Boy boarded the London-bound train for a few days of just simply enjoying.

To say this was much needed time out is something of an understatement.  Settling into the journey with a novel and the Christmas edition of Good Housekeeping, there was such a sense of release I ended up with a soggy face mask (no, you're a crybaby).

Arriving at Kings X and being too early for the hotel check-in, cases and bags were dumped in left luggage. We had a wander round Coal Drops Yard before a most delicious lunch and festive cocktails in Dishoom, followed by a visit to the British Library.  It was a very good start to what promised to be a fun time.

After a mooch around Spitalfields and a nosey here, that first evening was spent strolling along the river before a relaxed dinner, then ending up here for a couple of glasses of champagne, spectacular views and indulging in a favourite activity of mine, people watching.

 

We'd pre-booked some tickets including ones for the Alice in Wonderland exhibition at the V&A which I'd been very keen to catch and which didn't disappoint.

Avoiding the underground because it seemed the appropriate thing to do, we travelled the city using black cabs and Uber cars (and sometimes Shanks's pony).   Yes, it's a more expensive way of getting around but you do get to see sights you'd otherwise miss.

London was looking fabulously festive.   As we weren't staying there this visit (we were based here),  we popped into the Ritz for a gawp at the Christmas tree. 

On the way out, I somehow managed to end up on hands and knees on the red carpet at the bottom of the steps.  In my defence, there was no champagne involved.  I'm blaming the steamed up specs.

A night at the theatre was on the cards and, after a spot of shopping in Old Compton Street and several bookshops, we settled down for three hours of supercalifragelistic entertainment.  

I love wandering cities at night and London surely has to be one of the best for doing just that. 

 

A trip to to the capital is never complete without a visit to Borough Market.  We arrived early as the stallholders were finishing setting up, allowing easy unhurried browsing and prompting much deliberation of what to buy, what to eat. When it was time to move on,  I was amazed to realise we'd spent three hours there.

The weather was glorious as we walked south of the river, hopefully shaking off at least some of those market calories and heading towards the Tate Modern.

This free exhibition was fascinating.  (I've tried to add a video of these floating machines but Typepad isn't playing ball.)

 

We did all of this and so much more, packing as much as we could into this visit whilst never feeling rushed.

Returning home to pets and snow, there were still a couple of days to catch up with family and slob on sofas with takeaway pizzas before normal life resumed, though with batteries well and truly recharged.

 

 

A milestone

On 27th November 2009, I was admitted to hospital to undergo radical surgery for a gynaecological cancer.  One of the rare ones, malignant melanoma of the vulva.

On 27th November 2019, I travelled to London with the Boy for a short stay, to mark 10 years of being cancer free.

The intervening period hasn't been without its hiccups and there have been further surgeries to remove potential nasties.   But, I'm still here, still breathing, and so very very grateful (I'm well aware many women with a similar diagnosis are not so lucky).

So, that trip to London.  

The mister couldn't be included as dementia is really making its presence felt now and, apart from a couple of eventful days in Vienna at the start of the year, holidays have fallen by the wayside for us (how happy am I that we undertook those big, life changing adventures when we did).

The aim of the two days in the capital was simply enjoyment - celebrating life, escaping the challenges of the situation at home and pushing the boat out just a wee bit. 

We stayed here which was where we were having dinner on the first night and which was also the perfect springboard for everything we planned to fit in.  The Christmas decorations were a bit of alright, too.

A must-do on the list was a visit to the Royal Academy (conveniently over the road from The Ritz) and the Antony Gormley exhibition (although it's now closed, you can read more about it here).  It was wonderful, absolutely stunning, from the first encounter with the almost overlooked Iron Baby on the paving in the courtyard to the final smell and cold air of 'Host', the gallery floor covered in earth and salt water.  It's impressive.  It's thought provoking.  It's one of those experiences that stays with you a long time afterwards.  I loved it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, we packed in as much as we could, including the first mince pie of the season (the floodgates have been well and truly opened) and visits to the British Library (there was a lovely exhibition of children's literature and an excellent shop), Borough Market, Southwark Cathedral, Seven Dials, Soho (with a wander down my favourite Old Compton Street) and a very festive Fortnum and Mason.  Lots of walking, lots of hopping on and off tube trains, lots of food and coffee breaks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 This really was the best way to celebrate such a significant milestone.

I love London, me.

 

The Eve Appeal is funding research into and raising awareness of the five gynaecological cancers.  You can find more information here.

 

Posh nosh and other stuff

People who know me are very well aware that one of my favourite activities is to indulge in a proper afternoon tea.  So, a few weeks ago, I met up with my Girlie in London and off we went to Claridges to sample their vegan and vegetarian versions.  'Are you celebrating a special occasion?', asked our waiter. 'No', says I, 'Just, erm, life.'  Did we enjoy it?  You bet.  Every last morsel.

Last week saw a return to the capital for a stay of couple of days, in the company of the Boy this time.  Our base was a hotel on Russell Square (highly recommended) but the main purpose of the visit was to have lunch (again, one vegan, one vegetarian) at The Ritz, a first foray into the world of Michelin starred food for us both. 

Honestly? I had no idea a plant based meal could be so beautifully presented and, at the risk of sounding a tad MasterChef-y,  packed with layers of flavour (I think I now understand what Marcus Wareing bangs on about).  It really was outstanding, from the teeny tiny crisp amuse bouche to the final plates of melt in the mouth 'frivolities'.

Amuse bouche

Salt baked beetroot with pickled blackberries and walnuts

Cauliflower risotto with wild herbs and tonka

A shiny shiny chocolate and banana delice 

The Boy's rum baba

Frivolities

The remainder of the time was spent pounding the pavements, visiting the Charles Dickens museum, browsing the stalls at Borough market, perusing book displays (and buying this), enjoying a performance at the Prince Edward theatre, devouring a sticky rum and pineapple doughnut (me) and a pastel de nata (him), and reliving That Lunch.

 

 

 

 

I love London, me.

 

Lately in verbs

Celebrating the mister's birthday with pizzas and chocolate and peanut butter cupcakes.

Looking up at stunning skies and a super moon.

Visiting an open garden to check out the impressive collection of snowdrops and be mithered by a professional singer (retired) cum volunteer hospital driver (I know because she told me a hundred times and no, I wasn't counting but it truly felt like a hundred).

Participating in a sock making workshop at the coast.  Using tiny needles with points at both ends.  Four at the same time.  Just two words.  Never. Again.

Baking crumbles with the pinkest of Yorkshire rhubarb and syrupy stem ginger.

Watching Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace (I loved the novel) on Netflix.  Highly recommended.

Reading.  Always reading.  I've enjoyed every book so far this year, though some more than others. Highlights have included Little Deaths by Emma Flint, based on a real life crime committed in 1960s New York and about the dangers of making assumptions when presented with difference, Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, about parents, babies, adoption, rights, and Alex by Pierre Lemaitre, a twisty turny crime thriller which is very much a tale of the unexpected.

Catering for hungry visitors of the feathered variety.

Poking around the 12th century with that feeling of being watched.

Gazing out on a decent fall of snow and stamping welly prints in it on night time walks with the Boo.

Packing for a city break.

Crossing everything that we actually make it to the airport.

 

Goings on

I went to a friend's retirement presentation (she's relatively young for a retiree, one of the high salaried, well pensioned lucky ones). The venue was in a nearby town.  It seemed a good idea to go by taxi.  The taxi driver called me 'babe'.   A lot.  I declined his offer to wait outside for me.  The presentation went well as my friend took us on a hilarious journey through her career.  There were mountains of chocolate brownies and many faces from the past.  As an ex colleague sitting next to me said, as we played the game of Name The Latest Arrival, it's funny seeing people you'd assumed were dead.

I hopped on a train to London (and hopped on one back, obviously).  I met up with the Gorgeous Girlie and off we trotted to Ottolenghi's for a late breakfast.  The food was good.  The service was abysmal. Someone was making it very obvious he wasn't happy in his work.  We mooched about Spitalfields and crept quietly around Dennis Severs' house, trying not to trip over in the candle-lit gloom. We had afternoon tea at Fortnum and Mason.  The pianist did a passable impersonation of the very smiley Russ Conway. 

I made curry.  The Boy made Ferrero Rocher lookie-likies.

The buddleias bloomed briefly in the garden.  The butterflies weren't attracted.  Not one.

We went to Butterfly World.  No buddleias but butterflies aplenty.

I read Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behaviour.  More butterflies.  Lots more.  And climate change.

We celebrated the Boy's birthday with triple chocolate cake (I baked it but couldn't eat it) and dinner at our favourite local restaurant.

We headed to the coast for a food festival.  Along with thousands of others.   We ate chana chaat naans and macarons.   We bumped into old friends.  We quaffed cocktails. The weather was alternately sunny and stormy.  As was the littlest.

 

Lately

We've been spending time (not to mention mucho dinero) on replacing a raft of boring but essential items which had seemingly conspired to simultaneously give up the ghost.  Things like a bed, a fridge freezer, an oven, a washing machine, a steam iron and a garden pond pump (two of the biggest fish were sad casualties of this particular malfunction, though they were given a decent burial under the whitebeam at the bottom of the garden which I must remember before embarking on the usual slap-happy spade work).

Then, as we worked through the ever increasing catalogue of ailing appliances, the dog stopped eating. Initially someone joked he was just helping ease the financial situation by reducing his (specialist dried stuff for sensitive doggy tums) food intake. He became so bony, we all stopped patting him in case he broke.  There followed a number of blood tests and investigations under general anaesthetic and then a vet's bill so large I wished I'd been anaesthetised before being presented with it. The result? Nothing untoward was detected. Nothing at all. Yet the refusal to eat continued despite the wafting of normally bite your hand off treats under his nose, such as cubes of vintage cheddar, scrambled eggs, marinated tofu, and sometimes all three together.   As a last-ditch attempt to tickle the taste buds, the switch was made to those pouches of gravy soaked chunks.  The result?  He scoffed every single scrap, with an air of, 'Thank goodness and about time, too', and has done at every meal since.   Even the cat licks out the dog's dinner bowl.  I've now started another Things To Be Replaced list as my car needs new tyres, the power washer hasn't recovered from my attempts at cleaning the paving slabs in the back garden and I'm wearing crooked specs (thought I'd developed a neurological problem but thankfully it was just down to all the wonk). 

London called one Saturday so off I went, in the company of my cousin.  We met up with her boy, who lives and works in the capital, for coffee and a good old chinwag and then wandered the streets of the city, eventually heading across London Bridge towards the resistance-is-futile stalls of Borough Market before finally ending the day with another delicious afternoon tea here and my first vegan macaron.

Last weekend we supported a charity fundraising open gardens event in the North Yorkshire market town up the road.  You really can't beat a good nose round someone else's plot, however small, for inspiration, ideas and cheap plants (and, in the case of the mister, regular top ups of tea and slices of homemade cake), even when you've visited some of the gardens several times over the years.   One thing's for sure, the garden here would never meet the standard for public inspection.  Well, unless the dead leaves (damned enormous, constantly shedding eucalyptus), twigs (despised white buddleias that were supposed to be blue not white and much less snappy) and trampled plants (too many big furry feet plodding around and I don't mean the mister's) theme becomes de rigueur.

Just before the oven died, I managed to nab a little time in the kitchen (someone else here is still obsessed with all things patisserie and is now making up his own recipes - lemon meringue eclairs anyone?) for a spot of gentle pottering with the piping bag.  Yes, the Boy might be Star Baker but I'm still the Buttercream Queen.

 

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.

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