love those cupcakes

Miscellany

Blue and yellow bikes of all sizes, along with colour coordinated banners and strings of bunting, have been popping up across the town in readiness for Stage 3 of  this.  I have to admit I'm not a huge fan of cycling, doing it, driving round it or watching it,  but the race is passing the end of our road and, well, large numbers of fit men in lycra might have some appeal.

The cherry blossom on the tree in the front garden finally put in an appearance.

Shortly followed by a bitterly cold wind and fall of snow.  No wonder I'm dreaming of dumplings.

I visited our local university the other evening.  There have been quite a few changes to the campus since I worked there, not least this new gold building, The Curve.  In a town that has had more than its fair share of knock backs over the years, it's good to see signs of significant investment at long last.  (We're also getting a vegetarian/vegan restaurant.  Who'da thought.)

The reason for the visit was to attend an event as part of World Book Night, with crime writer Helen Cadbury talking about her novels (I haven't read them but they're now on the list) and the process of writing and getting published.  From what I could gather, there are no easy shortcuts to either.  The evening ended with the library service dishing out free books and bags to everyone, both of which were most welcome.  

The new addition to the book pile will have to wait a little while (and, of course, once I've read it I'll be passing it on) as a re-read, To Kill A Mockingbird, is currently on the go. This is an old favourite and oh, so very very good. And also the reason the dog here is called Boo (full moniker on high days and holidays only).  

I'd be the first to admit I'm no crafter (and so in awe of my favourite bloggers who sew quilts, knit socks, produce their own soaps, crochet  baskets, make dresses out of pillowcases for charity and bake gravity defying cakes).  A lot of my forays into crafts of various sorts have resulted in me being (politely) asked to leave in the interests of safety or in some sad looking item being deposited in the bin and I can't even guess the number of times my crafting ventures have left me requiring first aid.  

One of the items I brought from my late aunt's house was a little wooden stool.  She'd had it for as long as I can remember, probably going back to the days she was still living at home with my gran.  It was in a sad state, with a grey coloured mock fur glued to the seat, but a coat of white paint (yes, there are the trademark drips), some padding and a new cover has improved it a tad.  It's now waiting for the littlest to perfect the art of sitting.

The renovation involved the purchase of an upholstery stapler.  The Boy, who was roped in to help hold the fabric taut, demanded control of stapling just as I was getting into the swing, with accusations of highly dangerous practice and muttering something about fingers coming far too close to being stapled to wood.  Honestly, some people.  Sheesh.  

A knitted cardigan proved slightly less challenging, although it took four attempts to knit the button band before the penny dropped that it was the pattern at fault rather than yours truly. 

Finally, I've become a member of the Yellow Waterproof Jacket Owners club.

 So, apparently, has someone else.

Copy kipper.

 

Week in verbs

Taking advantage of a sunny afternoon to walk round the park.

Noticing signs of Spring and plump squirrels.

Signing up for an additional weekly yoga session.  Another baby group but still, it all helps.  Right?

Continuing the Scandi love with a few beautifully wrapped treats.  For the house, not me.

Welcoming visitors with mango bellinis and nibbles.

Concocting a supper of savoury strudel, grilled courgettes, peas, feta and mint, and roasted peppers, sunblush tomatoes, mozzarella and basil, with fresh from the oven brownies, raspberries and vanilla ice cream to finish.  Quicker to make than to type.

Forgetting to take foodie pictures before the demolition squad moved in.

Surprising myself and everyone else by marking the 14th of the month with homemade offerings of peanut butter cups (excellent recipe from here) for the big people and a card for the littlest. 

Ignoring comments about some sort of plot having been lost.

Watching activity at the bird feeder.

Waking up to snow.

Wondering if it is etiquette to point out that someone has a little dab of something on their chin.

 

Snippets

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

But there have been pleasurable bits, too.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, 

and Boo rocks a beret.

 

Just now

“I am made for autumn. Summer and I have a fickle relationship,

but everything about autumn is perfect to me."

(Alys Fowler)

The season is definitely making its presence felt, possibly nowhere more so than in the garden.  Berries of various colours on shrubs and trees.  Cobwebs and their spinners on almost every plant.  A robin keeping a watchful eye on all the tidying activity from the safety of a high perch.  A cat relishing a roll on a seemingly endless supply of crispy dead leaves.  An evening visit from the biggest hedgehog you ever did see.  That unmistakable autumnal whiff in the air that stops you in your brush wielding tracks and has you breathing deeply.  Yes, no question about it, I'm with Alys on this one.  

*****

 Giveaway

The winning name drawn out of the hat (in reality a bowl but same difference) was Penny's from The Homemade Heart.  Thank you for all your comments.

 

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.

 

Random snippets from the lakes

After a gap of far too many years, we decided to take a trip up the A66 to the Lake District.

Our base for the week was a gorgeous little cottage (originally housing for gunpowder mill workers) on the riverside in southern Cumbria.

 

With gently flowing water, trees and a bridge just outside the front door, 

it was the perfect location.

Interesting neighbours, too.

There were opportunities galore for filling lungs with fresh air, gazing at stunning scenery, tramping across fells, wandering through woods, sauntering around lakes and just drinking in the peace and quiet.

Throw in picturesque villages to explore, waterfalls to visit,

streams to splodge in,

signs to read,

the home of a poet to investigate, 

and we had the ingredients for a wonderful week.

Motoring up 'The Struggle' and Kirkstone Pass was challenging, 

ditto avoiding the many jaywalking pedestrians,

but the views of Windermere from the summit were worth all the braking and pulling over into hedges.

There were treats, planned (yes, I'm talking shopping) and unexpected.  On the last day, we made our way towards Ullswater

and Pately Bridge

and drove down an increasingly narrow and winding lane, looking for the farm I'd read about which sells yarn produced from the farmer's own sheep and goats.  The timing was ideal as I was roped in (I didn't need asking twice) to help with bottle feeding a pair of Herdwick lambs (oh so very cute). Sadly, their mother is no longer producing milk but one of the lambs hasn't taken easily to being bottle fed and he just hung back (honestly, I was this close to weeping).  Sadly,  there are  no pictures, it was all so spur of the moment,  but they looked pretty much like these youngsters.

So, that yarn I bought.

Along with several balls of Herdwick double knitting, there's the softest angora. 

Want to see it?

Cleaned and spun, of course.

The week away turned out to be the calm before the storm and returning home was a case of coming back to earth with a bang.  The previous day there'd been a full on, break the door down emergency with the aged aunt who is currently in hospital.  Intensive home care services will kick in after a short period of residential care which hopefully will be a change for the better given the escalating difficulties we've been experiencing.

I'm still in the process of arranging what I think is referred to as 'professional trauma cleaning' of Aunty's bedroom whilst the Boy and I have taken advantage of her absence to continue sorting her house (and thankfully there's been no further sign of her four footed tenants).  

I've insisted, given the evidence of 'trauma',  we turn up wearing homemade protective gear.  With no access to hazmat suits, we tie Tesco carrier bags over our shoes, wrap scarves round our faces and wield Fabreze sprays.  Now if only I could remember where the swimming goggles are stored.....

 

Mixed bag

This week I.....

Made a disaster of a chocolate and orange vegan layer cake, using a new-to-me recipe.  The cake was intended as an entry in a local baking competition but, after zesting oranges, melting vast quantities of chocolate and making a right old mess in the kitchen, I concluded it wasn't up to standard.  (The lightbulb moment came as I found myself sitting in the car outside the venue, trying in vain to rescue the oddly gloopy ganache icing which was refusing to adhere to the top and sides of the monster bake.) So home it and I came, where a big slice was cut, tasted and hoyed in the bin, shortly followed by the rest of the cake. Shame, as I'd washed my hair specially and donned a clean pair of jeans because, well, you know,  just in case.  No, definitely not Star Baker this week. And definitely no pictures.

Visited the cinema early afternoon to watch the Shaun the Sheep Movie (essentially a silent film, very funny and thoroughly enjoyable).  We were most certainly the oldest people there and one of only two couples without a child in tow.  About half way through a young voice exclaimed loudly behind us, 'Dad, I need a poo.'  Cue much shuffling and sharpish exeunt stage left.

Started reading (with some difficulty as the pages keep falling out) a charity shop copy of Cranford which I'm really enjoying.  This was a set text when I was at grammar school though I managed to avoid even opening the book. I'd had much the same interest in Wind in the Willows and Northanger Abbey which probably explains my dire performance in English Literature exams.  In my defence, at the time, my group of friends was rather more interested in reading Juliette Benzoni's somewhat racier Catherine and Arnaud and I did fare rather better at English Language (ah, participle clauses).  

Bought daffodils from the veg shop.  At three bunches for £1, I'm running out of vases. Actually, that's a joke.  We're knee deep in vases here.  And daffodils.

Stopped to take a picture on the way back from the veg shop.  We've had a mixed bag of weather this week and the local high spot sported a light dusting of snow that day.

Acquired another new duvet cover and pair of pillowcases.  Seems my new 'thing' is bedding.  And maybe plates.  

Finished a hat and decided it was missing something so I added a big pompom (or is it a bobble?). Surprisingly, this one has actually been worn (on dog walks, in the dark, with my hood up, but still).

Started knitting a cowl to sort of match the afore mentioned hat.  Just simple moss stitch rather than double this time.  You can have too much of a good thing.

Waved off the Boy who caught the train to London where he's spending the weekend with his sister, primarily to experience the Harry Potter studio tour.  I just don't get HP's huge popularity (who was it who likened it to Billy Bunter with broomsticks?), though admittedly I've never read the books nor watched the films. I did go to see the first one but fell asleep after about five minutes and was admonished afterwards for snoring. Very loudly, apparently.

Took advantage of the absence (he doesn't eat fruit, strange boy) to make a peach and chickpea curry (this one with a bit of tweaking), sag aloo, homemade naans and rhubarb crumble for afters (which looked so inviting there may have been befores for someone).  

 

 

 

Week in verbs

Watching Wolf Hall (well, trying to more like, given the squint inducing candlelit scenes which make it almost impossible to see what's happening and also not being a fan of Damian Lewis) and Fortitude (having difficulty remembering who everyone is but at least there's lots of lovely snow and ice and the occasional polar bear, though we've had some of our own here this week, snow and ice, that is, not polar bears) 

Reading The Other Typist (link in the sidebar). New York.  1924.  Prohibition, speakeasies, rising hemlines, bobbed hair. Our unreliable narrator, Rose Baker, was abandoned by her mother, brought up by nuns in an orphanage and is working for the police as a typist.  Crime busting business is booming and another typist is taken on, the glamorously captivating Odalie Lazar. And so Rose's life changing obsession begins.  Highly recommended 

Celebrating the mister's birthday with pizza and Pinot Grigio

Baking a chocolate cake.  I didn't want to have the bother of making a buttercream for the layers and a ganache for the top and sides so came up with something which combined the two. 'How is it?' I asked. 'Chocolatey', replied the birthday boy.

Buying a new coat, a treat courtesy of some Christmas money and one of the last bargains of the sales

Failing to stop another book jumping into the basket in the shop when I'm supposed to be committed to reading from the book pile or the charity shop but as I paid for it with the remaining Christmas money it doesn't count, does it?

Realising I've been following a vegan diet for a year.  I'm not missing milk or cheese or eggs or butter, have gotten used to checking every label and asking questions, so am more than happy to continue, though have to admit it's not easy when eating out or on holiday

Sitting on my specs.  Fortunately, they were the spare pair

Enjoying the first bunches of daffs from the supermarket

Opening a box of posh soaps

Putting off packing for a little trip till the very last minute.  Back soon

 

Life lately in verbs

Relishing the most glorious weather and just being outdoors.

Walking every day, sometimes for an hour around the neighbourhood, sometimes spending a whole afternoon wandering down secluded paths and alongside harvested fields.

Noticing an abundance of hips, haws, elderberries, unripened conkers, yellowing leaves. 

Stopping occasionally to snip a late summer/early autumn posy from the hedgerows.

Adding yet more titles to the shelves.  

Calculating that I'll need to live to a hundred and eleventy twelve to have any chance of getting through the book stash.

Taking stock in the garden and concluding it really was no contest, the slugs and snails won.

Meeting up with friends, enjoying lunches out and visiting an exhibition.

Making jam with just picked blackberries.  

Hoping that anyone noticing the multiple scratches, welts and cuts on my arms will know they are the battle scars of fruit picking and not a desperate cry for help.

Spotting this scarf and casting on my own version.

Baking soda bread using a different recipe to that unsuccessful first attempt and anticipating something which didn't resemble a small grindstone.

Eating a couple of slices of the freshly baked and surprisingly unleaden and light loaf with a bowl of butternut squash soup whilst thinking, you know what, I'm really not a fan of soda bread.

Remarking on the nights drawing in and remembering my dad saying 'It's getting late early'.

 

Life lately in verbs

Watching  Frances Ha.  This was on my 'to watch' list so I took advantage when the Boy told me it was available on Netflix.  Filmed entirely in black and white, this is, well, it's a genuinely lovely (I can't think of a more appropriate adjective) film about 27 year old dancer Frances. She has a less than perfect life: no money, no proper job, no boyfriend, shares a Brooklyn apartment with her best friend, Sophie, who moves out. Throw in a decent soundtrack (Frances leaping through the New York streets to David Bowie had me wanting to join in) and you have one of those films that has you caring about the main character, wishing she was your friend and wanting to watch the whole thing over again.  If you like lots of action and a gripping storyline, this probably isn't for you.  I loved it.  

Reading Carol (the story of an affair between Therese,  a nineteen year old seasonal sales assistant and thirty year old about to be divorced Carol, which then turns into the kind of thriller we usually associate with Patricia Highsmith) and The Unknown Bridesmaid  (about Julia, her present as a child psychologist and some of the young people she works with, and her own troubled, guilt inducing, shameful past).  Two very different reads but both recommended. 

Buying a new and rather expensive lipstick (my absolute favourite makeup item and one of my desert island essentials) which looked perfect when I tested it on my hand in the shop but turns out to be an entirely different colour with a peculiar texture. 

Enjoying a free bottle of prosecco with our Friday night pizzas.  

Remarking how much better something tastes when you don't have to pay for it.

Noticing the colours beginning to change in the park and in the garden. I always associate the autumnal palette with my mother, maybe because she had gloriously auburn hair, maybe because she always had vasefuls of those huge copper coloured chrysanthemums for her birthday in October. 

Wondering where the fish went.  We have a pond in the garden which, at the last count, was home to twelve fish.  This week just two have been spotted.

Thinking maybe H is for heron.

Picking brambles from the plentiful bushes just round the corner from here early one morning.

Baking a pie with fruity pickings and almond pastry. 

Day tripping at Brimham Rocks.  Rock formations that resemble sitting dogs, gorillas, ET, stunning views, heather and bilberries, constantly changing light and weather that, at times, was nothing short of wuthering, a picnic (the first in ages) enjoyed in the car to escape all of that wutheringness (if that isn't a real word, it should be).  Wonderful.

Eating birthday cake.  My own.  Yep, another year older and very happy and grateful to be so.