After All The World is a Beautiful Place

Baking...x

2012-01-27T10:10:00.002Z

"I've decided to be happy, because its good for my health." Voltaire

I totally agree! And as such I am making bread and cake today and ignoring the need to hoover the stairs! Come and see me if you love fresh bread and don't mind "fluff strewn" blue carpet!

The Perfect Gift

2012-01-18T12:11:00.001Z

Its an easy thing to lose sight of in times when we can access anything, purchase anything (not even necessarily within the realistic boundaries of our wallet) and can peruse the possibilities all day long (even if we are supposedly working?!) So a gift to someone, that we have thought of, found and eventually bought, can take on a life force of its own, somewhat.

Take a minute and think of a gift that brought you oodles of pleasure.

I am willing to bet my last rolo on the fact, that it was...

simple, relatively inexpensive, perfect

Such a gift came my way. Simply, perfectly, inexpensively joyous. It brightened my day and what more can we ask for than that!

A thought of me, for me, in the form of a gift.

Seville Orange Season

2012-01-12T14:19:00.000Z

So I have bagged my Sevilles...

No wonder they have long been highly prized. They are a treasure. Little ball of brightness in the dark of bleak midwinter!

As things are a little strapped, I decided not to buy 2kg of preserving sugar. Surprisingly dear, it would seem. Instead of which, I am going to make half a kilos worth of marmalade and half a kilo of Zesty Seville Orange Curd!

So while my pips and pulp are doing their pectin-y thing overnight, I will share with you the joy of home made Orange Curd!

450g of caster sugar

125g of unsalted butter

200ml of Seville Orange Juice

zest of three oranges

4 eggs (to make up 200ml of egg)

Using a bowl over a pan of simmering water, melt the butter into the juice, zest and sugar. When this has done its thing and the sugar is dissolved, then seive the eggs in, stirring occassionally. The curd will begin to thicken. Fill sterilised jars!

Just imagine, savour if you will, the idea of a swirl of this in thick Greek Yoghurt. Heaven! That is quite simply the Med in dessert form!

Joy!

So if you don't like Marmalade (as many do not) please have a go at this! Delicious, sweet and can be used in yoghurt, ice cream....on top of cheese cake...on a croissant....straight out the jar?!

P.S.

I also thick cut some peel to make into candied peel....which will no doubt end up covered in the darkest of dark chocolate too!

PPS....check out this utterly delish recipe too....chocolate viennese fingers dipped in aforementioned curd!

Marmalade Season!

2012-01-10T22:33:00.002Z

Sunshine for your toast!

Time to get all Paddington!

Marmalade Recipe

Its a short short season! Grab those bags of Sevilles while they are available! I have a lovely green grocer who sells them every year, but most big supermarkets have cottoned on to us "make it better yourself" types and are getting them in.

Zesty, fresh, with a hint of sugary sweetness...breakfast perfection!

12th Night

2012-01-06T10:52:00.001Z

I am up to my elbows in housework. Urgh!

Now as you may have heard me say, if one is in the mood, the zone, then hurrah for housework!

However if you are not and simply have to do it because your floor resembles that of a barn, your clothes have all but vanished to the great washing pile and, in my case, it is 12th night and you have to get those decs down sharpish, then it is....pure, tedious, murderous hell!

So I am putting on Adele (though perhaps Mozart's Requiem reflects my current black looks better?!) and marching through it!

"Right its you v me, Christmas Tree!"

A Little Night Baking

2012-01-03T23:43:00.003Z

sometimes there is just no sleep.

sometimes there is too much in your heavy heart.

sometimes the only way through is activity.

in those times, the kitchen at night, can be a place of great solace.

life can be measured out in so many ways...measuring cups of vanilla scented sugar, spoons of cocoa and sticks of butter. sometimes it is broken hearts.

...and perhaps when we feel our oldest, we are truly at our youngest still shocked at how brutal it all can be, with acidic swiftness.

it is then, by drawing your recipes about you like shreds of certainty, replete with calm, methodical predictability, we busy ourselves with measuring, tipping, blending and swooping. only then can you let your mind wander, knowing you have the strong leash of a recipe's directions to pull it right back when it has lost itself amongst the brambles of a fearful thought.

kitchen utensils seems to emanate a friendly loyalty. purposeful and familiar. with the oven warm and scents of molten chocolate, a pause in the soft glow, feels safer.

for you are sure, despite the viciousness, that love goes on.

in many forms.

An Olympic New Year!

2011-12-31T19:38:00.002Z

I gonna Be an Olympian, this year!

And I am not just talking sport....(but with a place in a marathon, sport is what's giving me sleepless nights!)

But in whatever you are doing, or dreaming of doing, or hoping to do, or halfway through doing....

Just Do It!

For me the battle is always with myself! Mental barriers, lack of belief, motivation busting zingers! What an exhausting, pointless and utimately unsuccessful waste of precious energy!

And so this year I am choosing not to heed to the self doubt, the tiny negative, but nagging inner voice, the prickle of anxtious fears.

Oh no!

I hope that talking the talk to my quaking trainers (26.2 miles?!?!?!!?) will have a knock on affect in everyday life. For Life is indeed a Marathon and not a sprint!

Happy 2012, ladies! Its Your Year!

PS Its New Years Eve sooooooooo....

she's so cool....*channelling my inner Pink*

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T21:41:00.002Z

Lovely Folk...

2011-12-24T21:42:00.001Z

To you, kisses and a pomegranate and prosecco if you fancy it x

Merry Merry Christmas!

I have at last found my camera cable....but I won't bombard you with a squillion photos of foodie prep (although so fun and delish!) or the Santa Express or the doilly bunting in the kitchen or the best red lippy (EVER) I wore when I was out OUT....

I am preparing parsnips and peeling spuds; boiling turnip and wrapping chipolatas; sousing trifle sponges and sipping a glass of pink bubbles!

I don't know if anyone else caught the programme "Living with the Amish"? To me, it struck a chord. And folk who know me will laugh, knowingly x

But I am remembering this (while trying to make sprouts edible!)...

"Do everything with all of your heart"

I think this maybe a wonderful New Years Resolution! *ponders*

Well again, I raise my glass to you all!

Much Love, Mrs B x

P.S.....

2011-12-21T13:52:00.001Z

Source: honeywerehome.blogspot.com via Tracy on Pinterest

Home for "The Holidays"

2011-12-14T18:31:00.000Z

I like this title...."The Holidays"!

Am I right in thinking this is a bit 'our friends' over the pond? An Americanism?

I don't remember it being titled as such when I was growing up. But along with "Trick or Treating" and peanut butter, it seems to have seeped into our day-to-day lives

*(though to be fair I know a fair few folk who still view peanut butter with a suspicious, sideways glance)*

So "The Holidays" are nearly upon us. Mr B is performing Herculean efforts at work to try and bring the To Do List to a manageable (survivable) temporary end...more a pause, really.

I am running down and through and sometimes plain past the never ending bakes, costumes, trips, class parties, non uniforms, celebratory dinners, assemblies and over for teas, having for teas, mulled wines and mince pie-ings, pantos and bring and buys, craft fairs and....

But, I say with hopeful exhaustion, the end is nigh.

We will push open the door, for that final time and stand for a blissful moment in our hall. We will shed our hats, gloves, boots, coats, duties, stresses and 'Lists'. We will breath in, breath out and sigh. We will close that door and hear the wreath thud gently. We will call out "I'm home".

Home for "The Holidays".

Home with the folk we love the most. Home with ourselves, as ourselves.

My sofa will be my lounger, my bath the pool and the tin of Quality Street my exotic food!

We are planning to have a Holiday, this "Holidays". We will read, build Lego, spend evenings with lovely folk, with a glass of cheer, we will sleep a little later, move a little slower. For there is time.

Stockport Vintage Village 11th December 10-4pm

2011-12-06T14:47:00.001Z

Is where I will be with The Lady and Lovely Day Vintage Inspired fresh flowers.

And because tis Christmas, alllllllllllllllllllll month long, we have lots of sparkle, whimsical woodsie creatures,

moss, snowy white flowers and a little touch of kitsch!

Here is a sneak peak!

If you are near, come and see me!

I will be making and selling wreaths, both quirky and more traditional; garlands for your mantle piece or stairs and have a few vintage treats up my woollie sleeve!

Drop me a line at lovelydayflowers@gmail.com if you have any requests or questions....or just what to ponder about "stuff" with me over a cuppa!

Thankyou for My Christmas Presents

2011-12-04T20:22:00.001Z

Thank you x

I have not forgotten.

Thank you x

They were not dismissed.

Thank you x

They are part of who I was and who I became.

Thank you x

For none of them are forgot!

1980:

The Big Yellow Teapot...that my sister and I were given when I was two (?) and did not discover had a garage complete with a car, under the handle until I was ten. The gift that keeps giving, hey?

*smiles*

1981:

Tiny Tears. I can still smell this doll's hair and face. She was joyous. She had a honeyed, Indian skin, and black, curly hair. I remember my Dad making her try to wee. Ha!

1982:

My Sindy Ballerina Doll. White tutu. Complete with stand so she could arabesque. That year I had a leotard with a frill and my first ballet shoes. Dad promised to take me to the ballet, one day. There is a photo with me and the labradour "doing ballet". It makes me *smile*

1984:

Matching Dolls Houses. Little tiny, model, realistic little people, who were forever doomed to be in a sitting position. A baby brother and potentially a new kitten...but perhaps my memory plays tricks?

1985-87:

Cyprus Years. Walking on the beach at Christmas time. Santa arriving by helicopter, fire engine etc. Rainbow Brite....I so wished to know all the words to Over the Rainbow and would pester and pester. I quit ballet.

1987:

Roller Boots! Cobalt Blue with a rainbow swish! My, oh my! The opening of these boots. I will never forget. The magic, the joy, the anticipation. This was the year my brother delivered his entire Christmas wishlist up the chimney with his little bare behind out and a huge avalanche of soot fell on his head. We cruelly found it (find it) one of the funniest things we have ever seen....I think it may have scarred him x

1988:

Knitting Machine. Genius. I made a scarf. We had our own Christmas tree, in our room this year. I remember, as I sit it the glow of my daughter's mismatched, bedecked, pink one. I think we may have had a trip to Scotland that Christmas. Complete with Watership Down, interrupted by the meter needing 50p and never ending selection boxes, at the Skye House. And bedding down in Glasgow, sleeping bags at the end of my Great Grannies bed. False teeth in a glass, illuminated from behindm by the glow in the dark clock hands. Sweenie Todd for a bedtime tale...and ensuing nightmare (still vividly remembered!) My Little Pony Castle....a never to be forgotten moment for us sisters!

1989-1993

Norway. Snow. A new world of snoods, ski suits and helly hansen. My happiest childhood years. A huge traditional cardigan, with blousey roses knitted in. Worn over leggings and snow boots. We were trendy newby teens!

1994-1997

My Last Years at Home...these years are full of GCSE's, new boyfriend, Argos jewellry section and cinema trips. First kisses and New Year's Parties.

1998....I met Mr B. And so ensued the Christmas of Corgi BMW jokes, mixed tapes and a glow in the dark jupiter. Don't ask. It did improve.

2004 Christmas Wedding. Honeymoon in Banff. First Christmas alone. We were a little sad.

2005:

We announced the hopeful arrival of a summer baby, on Christmas Day. Oh the shocked faces. I phoned my Nana. She said "wonderful, Agool." She never met him.

2006-2011:

My Christmas Years as a Mummy. Which brings me back to my initial thoughts of thanks.

It takes thought and love and I know many hours to make a Christmas Special. Being Santa's Little Helper is a lofty position, not to be taken lightly. To my own Mum and Dad, I tip my hat, with recognition. Thank you for the wonderful memories and experiences. They were magical. x

Let the Decorating Begin!

2011-12-01T21:13:00.001Z

Let's start with the front door...

I find a slowly, slowly approach works best. Decorating when and where I feel the "magic"

The Mantle Piece Forest...

I am sure there is elvin mischief afoot!

And here are the "Believers"

The joy of chocolate for breakfast...

Christmas Wishes

2011-11-30T23:31:00.001Z

Hello Dear Friend,

Oh My, it is here! How is it that the moment has arrived?

I could say:

"How is it here again?"

"It is so much faster this year? "

"Am I getting old...I must be? What a cliche?!"

But that would be to utterly miss the point. We are all a year wiser, a year more lived, a year more experienced, a year...just "more".

Congratulate yourself. A little hug would not go a miss.

Christmas brings everyone its own tidings and sometimes they are sad ones, sometimes they are tough ones, sometimes they are just plain exhausted ones. But perhaps this is the way. Life is full of peaks and troughs, ins and outs, ups and downs...tangles. We measure out our lives, and indeed those of the folk we hold dear, in Christmas'. It is to be relied on that next Christmas will, predictably with a secure unswerving swiftness, arrive once more. Year upon year we cannot divine who we will meet in the mirror come Christmas morning but there you are all the same.

Congratulate yourself. Treat yourself to a little break, mental, emotional, physical. You deserve gentleness.

Let Christmas be what is must be for you. In all its forms. Whole Day PJ Christmas, Telly and Quality Street Christmas, Christmas as "Us", Christmas as "Me", Christmas as a "Party-Full"...new ones, remembered ones, recuperating ones, uplifting ones.

Find the folk you love and draw them near. It is a time to remind us how family, friends and all who hold our hearts dear, make us who we are.

And So....

*hum Christmas Carols while you shop!

*try to do it online....shops are so insidious!

*handmade, second hand, vintage, gift of time, gift of a skill are all the most joyous.

*what do you remember from last year....for that's what mattered!

Look Away Now...

2011-11-24T11:53:00.001Z

All those who don't want Christmas till December!

This house should come with a government health warning, due to dangerously high levels of 'Christmas Cheer'....Cheer-itis if you will!

We have written our Christmas Wish Lists! Covered them in gluey glitter and new, new handwriting, new shapes and careful drawings!

Then Daddy (as is the tradition) has sent them up the chimney...he does love a bit of drama! Up they go, vanishing!

Oh the magic of that moment! The occassional mini avalanche of soot! The incredulous little faces!

"Where have they gone? Can we look at the chimney outside?"

Its Stir Up Sunday this weekend. I am looking forward to pudding stirring, wishing and the knowing that December and Advent has begun!

....too cheery?! Quick hand me my Tax Assessment!

2011-11-15T10:05:00.001Z

such a lovely day x

2011-11-14T21:36:00.001Z

It was such a lovely day out on the Lady at Stockport Vintage Village! Pop over to lovelydaylovelyday.blogspot..com and we'll have a natter about it all over tea and toast x

hawaiin blue

2011-11-03T13:03:00.002Z

....You can have your paint mixed in any colour? Who knew? Well now my already rampant paint addiction will reach critical mass. My house will resemble the end pictures in Winnie the Witch. A kaleidoscope of rainbow hues!

You pick your colour, from a spectrum so wide I wonder how they do it, you pick matt, silk or joy of joys gloss! I love a good gloss! And off the clever folks go and make your own wee pot (not giant tankard like most gloss) of a glorious tint! No more Oxford Blue, Regatta Reds. Oh no! Hawaiian Blue!

Of course, MrB is thoroughly appalled with my enthusiastic application of my relished blue! And says I should "probably" turn it back. He's right...probably!

So I sensibly daub tester pots of cream, magnolia, antique and cotton white instead...

Still, I think, its going to be so clean and fresh and ready for Christmas Folks a-calling!

My wee minx is poorly and being the woman child that she is has been charging on! Well today she gave up and has obligingly taken a nap. So tea and knitting this afternoon, methinks.

What's unfolding in your day, friend?

Pop Over for a Cuppa x

2011-10-24T10:19:00.001+01:00

For all things beautifully Floral with a perfect pinch of Vintage charm....

Come and see me!

P.S. Follow me, visit me, be my friend *wink*

P.P.S. Tell me what you think? You know, that I know, that you know best!

Happy Little Cliches?

2011-10-20T12:36:00.005+01:00

This has been the view from my little desk, for pretty much ten days. It has steadily got colder and colder. The rain progressively sleety. Gazing at the raindrops chasing each other down trickly paths on the window, I pause. Watching, listening and feeling warm. I thank these lucky stars, suspended over the picture of grey gloom. I am warm and home.

Being an utter reptile, even if something looks cold, I feel cold. Seemingly I am incapable of warming my own bones. I need light and warmth. Like some hot house lizard. So, although, it has become a little "Nigella", I love sweet, glowy fairy lights. Its a cliche, because it is so "true"!

Tea, toast and strawberry jam. A cliche? Because its so "true"!

Perfect item in the charity shop. Meant to be. Cliche? Because its so "true".

What crazy perfect cups for Autumn, Squashy, Halloween-y times! My little folk were as enamoured as me with my wee surprise gift to them! I adore their early appreciation of kitsch!

Look at her gorgeous, chubby little girl hands. I am secretly gleeful when she lets me hold her hand.

And my man-child...*smiles*

Home-y home pleasures. Cliche? Because its so "true"

2011-10-12T14:25:00.000+01:00

Squashy Love...

2011-10-11T11:24:00.003+01:00

...the best kind surely? In all ways!

We went "punkin" pickin'! Which is well 'ard and totally rockin'.....urrrrr....man!

Forgive me.

(*too much coffee*)

The littlest B says "punkin" instead of pumpkin and which instantly conjures up rockers and neon flashed mohicans in my imaginings! Rebellious veg! Raaaaaaarrrrrrrr!

Oh doesn't it make you a little sad when your tinys stop using their fantastical, jumbly, heard and played with, totally unique vocabulary? It seems to happen with a bewildering abruptness. It broke my heart the day that 'Gongus' ceased to be my little man's word for Thomas.

Note to self - I MUST write them down somewhere, before time erodes all memory of them and they will be lost to the dusty past. Sigh.

Anyway, crikey, enough! So Punkins!

Aren't they a joy!? So round and comical!

Even if I had no idea what Halloween was I know I would be compelled to make something out of one of these! They cry out to be decorated and to decorate!

And of course, comfort eating heaven x I bought two Gem Squashes. Sometimes known as cannon balls! Ha! You would know you'd been hit if someone lobbed one of these at you! I cut them and a butternut squash (that I seem to have had living in my veg cupboard for approximately ten and half years) in half.

Roasted in the oven with a "nut of butter" (what a perfectly lovely description from Mr Hugh F.W.) and a scattering of chopped garlic. Once soft, scooped out the flesh and mixed it with chopped walnuts and goats cheese...(this week's Aldi "oooooh moment" L.O.V.E. Aldi!)

before spooning it back in to the skins, finishing with the "merest drizzle of honey".

Bliss. The words, the recipe. The food.

This was a dinner to be savoured, wrapped up in the candle lit gloaming.

Autumnal Comforts. Squashy Love.

2011-10-07T12:08:00.002+01:00

With the Stickers....

Or without...?

I know you'll know! x

2011-10-06T18:56:00.000+01:00

The Marmalade Pot

2011-10-04T11:46:00.001+01:00

Confession, Dear Friend, I adore anything with a lid...

Who knows where this odd compulsion sprang from. I can half imagine, dreamily see, tiny me on tippytoes peeping over the top of the kitchen table; into the dark green cool air of the pantry; over the glassily curvaceous top of a pink, curtained dressing table.

The impish desire to prise the lid off ever so carefully and peek in. To be drawn in, wooed by scents and promises of the delicious. The pull of the unknown, the hidden. Its the curiosity that got the poor, unfortunate feline!

So this is predictably, but utterly and enjoyably marmalade in an orange marmalade pot. But oh, it has a lid. It makes me happy.

A familiar ritual, Friend. Tea and Toast. Marmalade and Mornings.

'Twas My Birthday x

2011-09-26T16:33:00.001+01:00

This has been a lovely birthday. Thank you 32 and goodbye.

I do like an even number and am not enamoured with the sound of 33...so angular and eleven-y.

But hey! Bring it on! I wake every day at the minute and say thankyou! I get to wake up and know I am well. I get to play with my children. I get to run! I get to plan and hope and put my dreams into action. I get to do an awful lot of things!

Another year, another chapter x

Brambly Hedge

2011-09-12T13:57:00.004+01:00

I have been meandering (lonely as a cloud...well lonely as a Mummy with both babies newly in school. Oh hum.) The wind doing his very best to knock me off my feet. My soul is blown cobweb clear.

What a treasure trove! And I am a city girl. The colours, textures, variety make me long to be a painter. I can understand in this moment the urge to pick up a paint brush. Is it my human response, attempts to be involved with natures genius. Like a much admired creative friend, I want to play along side.

I used to have pockets full of conkers when I was at school. Not for an impromptu game! I did and still do pick them up and relish their jewel like gloss. Nutbrown smoothness. A transient treasure. Soon they dry out and dull.

Are all treasures such? Here for a time, but ultimately impossible to retain, despite locks, keys and treasure chests? Only perhaps love?

How many of you proffered these, wrapped in brown paper and string would be swept up. Your heart stolen. So much better then a dozen red hot house roses?

I am home and happy.

Flowers...Just Because x

2011-09-10T16:30:00.001+01:00

Threes

2011-09-09T10:23:00.002+01:00

I have been pondering this old adage this morning. Is it that bad things tend to happen in threes or is it a coping mechanism....or is it a load of old bobbins?

A List:

Received the toughest news
Daughter vomits all through the night
Trod and in dog poo and this morning broke the zip on the same, very much loved (and financially impossible to replace) boots and had to scrub said adored boots before I can take them to the cobblers!!

Now here I am ridiculously wondering if the dog poo and zip incident are seperate and whether I have two more coming my way to make up to sets of three.

Is anyone out there as ridiculously superstitious as me? Is there anyone out there who is of sounder mind than me, who can put me back on a more reasoned track? Is there anyone out there who can proffer a lovely, inspirational, nurturing treat idea, as I know a couple of souls in need of one?!

PS www.threes.com

And So We Bake x

2011-09-07T18:15:00.000+01:00

"You know," she said "baking should be on prescription."

Absolutely I nodded. Wise woman.

Life can be desperately cruel. Brutal in ways that viscerally shock, numb and wring out a soul. It should never be allowed. If only a wall...or a shimmery bubble perhaps, could encapsulate all you hold dear and hold back the arbitrary viciousness of It.

"But what can you do..." A breath. A shrug.

Nothing, everything...something?

And so we bake x

The stove is warm. The recipe known. The swirls and swoops, scoops and tips familiar and meditative. Escaping for this short time into scents and millilitres.

I bake for you and with you, my friend.

Turning...

2011-08-18T10:59:00.000+01:00

One morning, you step out of the door and just stop.

Sniff the air, look around and feel the hairs on your arms lift with a ripple of goosebumps.

Such a slight chill to the air, to be almost insignificant, but you know... you know.

The seasons are turning.

I love this time. I know there will be folk, beating their brows and wailing "but its still August!" and of course it is.

But its turning. The year is slowing. And I am happy with that.

I can hear wood pigeons, softly cooing in the trees and although I have no idea why this should be, it always makes me think of September, morning mists and new duffel coats.

We had a jug of Pimms between ourselves, yesterday evening, perhaps our last to the summer...a recipe swan song?

The Discovery is in season. One of the earliest British eating apples, available from early August.

"Bite" I tell him. "Look it's pink inside..." Eagerly I point. I was five and it my first term at school, perhaps it was my first walk to school. Stiff black shoes, grey pinafore and navy blue cardi. A bite out of a little pink apple, twenty odd years ago. It's pink inside. History repeating.

Cycles and circles.

Reassuring and calmly certain, the months slip by...glass beads on a string. The ebb and flow makes me happy to be living, in a temperate country. Temperate....a lovely word and quality. Fickle me, I relish each seasonal window of opportunity, to try out a slightly different 'me'.

Spring me in yellow wellies and green macintosh; asparagus and daffodils; brisk walks, planting and clear outs.

Summer me in vintage dresses and sandals; seafood linguine and homemade elderflower fizz; swimming and lazy wandering.

Autumn me in tartan and tweed; bramble jam and goulash; knitting and long long runs.

Winter me in red beret, bright woollie tights, a duffel coat; roasted squash and mulled wine; snoozing under warm sofa blankets and hushed candle light evenings.

Fun, frivolous but truly, this is nature's way.

A step and a stop every morning to see what the world has to say. And what we have to say in answer. It's a balm to rattled nerves, a tonic for weary souls. The world is as it should be and perhaps, if we let it, so are we.

Let's Talk of Many Things...

2011-08-13T11:56:00.002+01:00

...I don't really have anything of import to impart!

*smile*

But equally that won't stop us will it.

I have a hot pot of coffee

and a chocolate cake big enough to drown in! Let us dive in!

School holidays are an odd impossibility of time, aren't they? Time stretched, warped, wrapped itself round about and inside out. A Moment lasting forever. A whole day, at once, can seem a blink of eye, or an eternity.

As a child, the summer holidays were a life time. Stretched out before you, seemingly never ending. September a misty land only spoken of in adult myth.

The buzzy, calm of warm breezes; the smell of freshly mown grass; the sheer enormity of the world when viewed from the perspective of a My Little Pony!

We were fairie Queens or Rulers of Our Own Space Planet...each with a totally fabulous and unique indigenous space outfit!

We were Soldiers on exercise, in training. We roamed, whizzed and glided on a variety of wheeled vehicles: roller boots, bikes, Fiona Fraser's trailer and the girls next door skateboard!

We were the characters from Worst Witch, riding our "brooms"(bikes) side saddle or perfumiers bottling the scents of summer with concoctions of rose petal water and daisies! Did rosehip seeds really bring on intense itching if shoved down the back of a lad's t-shirt?

Club meetings held in the garage!

Secret pass words and invisible ink. Being in or out and the indignation of "Pippa" across the road throwing a strop and taking her walkie talkies home with her.

As I sit and look now from my lofty heights of 5ft 1 and 32 years, to the untrained eye, what can be seen is one large unholy mess. But really look closer, closer still...squint your eyes, conjure up nine year old you. There is a fort in the couch cushions; aviation experiments in the pile of scrap paper emptied on the kitchen floor; a taste moment, a memory formed, the only remaining physical evidence, the chocolatey finger prints on the white wall; the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, being scaled by the Lego man, his endeavours halted by Daddy stepping on him in bare feet, before coffee!

So, instead I calmly sip my coffee, marvel at their ingenuity and imaginative super powers. I dream of summer holidays gone and thank my lucky stars that I don't have to share toys with Fiona Fraser anymore!

August

2011-08-03T20:11:00.002+01:00

When the blackberries hang

swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.
Mary Oliver

I love this poem.  It sums up so eloquently, but with utter simplicity, the delight of foraging

in the summer months. In August.

The pure joy that comes from being amongst nature.  The stillness, the feeling of being

a tiny piece in the world's big picture.  It is a poem full of the graceful force of being

alive!  Eating, moving, stretching, roaming.

It has a reflected clarity so easily recognisable,

by any who have wandered, gathering berries, by the river, along hidden bramble banks, or

nettle-guarded woods.

In turn I have laughed to myself today, thinking about how sharply in contrast one of my

favourite blackberry haunts is.

The ginnel behind my house.  It hides the most perfect blackberries I have ever seen.

Even the birds seem to know nothing of its existence.  The berries grow to such proportions they would n't look out of place amongst the supermarket's gleamingly, mega farmed

specimens.

Away from the wildlife, hanging up high and over a wall, between houses, they

glean the very most sunshine, growing to be gloriously fat and liquescent!

After I have been tootling along with the small folk, by the canal, or across the old

railway bridge and gathered as many as little limbs can manage, I slip out through the gate

in the garden wall.   An Urbanite's Harvest.

Not for jam or to be hidden in cake, oh no.  These will be secreted away to the recesses of

the freezer, only to be brought back to the table, when the days are short and cold, and

mornings misty.

Then they will bejewel our porridge, bringing with them a little whisper, a poem about those long warm summers days past and of more to come.

Summer Time: Dreams and Realities!

2011-08-01T11:53:00.002+01:00

This is how I would like my summer to go....

There would be leisurely tomato salads,

days turning into warm evenings,

pink lemonade to prosecco with a splash of lavender syrup

watching of the world going laguidly about its business, with the occassional nod my way.

Bees in the lavender

and reading reading reading

The reality is more like this...

The Big Five Birthday with the party to follow,

fabulous guests to stay

Wednesday Margaritas

visits here and there

and the never ending social calender of my two (I think) still small folk. What will it be like when they are big folk??

Keep Dreaming...

2011-07-11T12:19:00.001+01:00

I wander round and round, a garden full of bee song and lavender scents.

There are herbs, edible flowers and the possibility of beehives.

I dream of a few pots of honey, of lavender soap and rosemary cake, of thyme syrup to ease a sore throat... A rain washed, blue shed. An imagined double camping stove, with a singing blue enamel kettle.

Friends know the tin the cake is in.

I am taking the first steps to this dream today, planting the seed... growing, nuturing the possibility of a dream life.

What are you dreaming of?

Twitchy Fingers

2011-07-08T10:20:00.002+01:00

Uh Oh!

The Urge is upon me!

I have no idea where this has come from! I am a truly seasonal knitter, only as the leaves are turning and the mornings misty, do I find myself under the magical spell of the sticks. I yearn to envelope myself in warm, bright wool, to feel it running through my fingers, the ball tootling around the floor, slowly unravelling, stitch by utterly perfect individual stitch.

And yet this morning, here it is in full force. I can feel the slight raise of heart beat, the darting of inspired eyes, the irresistible tingling in the finger tips, repetitive pattern dreaming, the draw of that relaxing, half meditative state....

I can resist no more. My will power is shot! I am off to the wool shop!

Good Exhausted

2011-07-03T20:41:00.001+01:00

Bone tired but glowing.

I love that feeling don't you? Your body aches, your feet throb, your skin is still radiating the days heat, but you have had the best time.

Its a wonderful thing, when your sighs of exhaustion are only from being physically active, roaming about in open air, pushing on, because it is just so damn good to be alive! Something not to be taken for granted, but to be relished and revelled in. Remembered.

I ran and ran and ran this morning before the air became too still.

We jumped in the little blue car and wound our unfamiliar way to a Cheshire Farm, on a hunt! A crusade for the fattest, freshest, juice-full Summer strawberries. Field fresh. The scent of adventure suspended in the ripples of warm air. But perhaps of course it was just the waft of sun cream?

Blisteringly hot, but with plenty of water, farm made ice cream and frequent hide outs in the shade of hedgerows we have literally spent the whole day from early morning, till dusk picking, playing, sauntering and happily pootling.

We have picked our collective body weight in fruit.

Cries of "Mummy...I found one!" making me smile, laugh a new at each wonderous discovery. In a field full of them. "This one is so juicy. What a dobber! This one is mine!" they chant.

"Oh perfect" I declare. "A jewel of a berry"

So beautiful. So many delicious possibilities.

Jumbleberry Jam, cakes and bakewells, pavlova, sorbet or icecream, coulis, smoothies, frozen served with a hunk of chocolate or suspended in ruby jellies.....oh the joyful, abundant possibilities of summer eating.

I now blissfully, and with utter gratitude, take myself to bed, smelling of after sun and strawberries, longing for a mattress and the cool side of the pillow!

2011 So Far...

2011-07-01T13:22:00.001+01:00

This lady is sharing her six months so far....hop on and share yours!

I was busy looking back through my blog to see what I have been up to and it would appear that this is what I do....ALOT!!

Eating!

Spaghetti Yarns

2011-06-29T12:39:00.003+01:00

I cannot make my spaghetti bolognese without flavouring warm oil with a whole, peeled but unchopped clove of garlic. I plucked this sweet little hint in Tessa Kiros' homey, familyful book, Apples for Jam, and have been doing it for years now. It fills the kitchen with a warm, soft, unmistakable aroma, foretelling happy tummies and bringing eager sniffing noses.

I cannot fry the beef mince, without waiting for it to pop and sizzle, caramelising a little. I saw it on Sophie Dahl's cooking series and now love to watch it, listen for it. The smell, one so familiar and comforting, just a waft through the front door, is a glad welcome home.

I cannot miss a hefty dollop of Tomato Ketchup in the sauce. Mr B is the benefactor of this, now habitual flourish and despite my scathing derision at the time, I have since nibbled humble pie! He is quite right! It sweetens the chopped tomatoes a little, as all Italian Mammas would do for their brood (with a teaspoon sugar or bizarrely bicarb...it takes out the acidity), it adds a note of unidentifiable spice, a fullness to the sauce that compliments and 'bigs up' the tomatoeyness! The mini B's devour it as a result...and Mrs B would not be able to tell you it was there in a blind taste test! (what an insufferable snob I am, no?!)

I cannot plop the spaghetti in the bubbling water without twisting the fat bunch of pasta in my hands first and dropping it in in a spiral. My quietly foodie Dad does this and passed on this tip many years ago, with a look of knowing and satisfaction! He is spot on. The pasta cooks evenly, independently, easing into the pot gradually. No prodding, poking, no uncooked ends.

I cannot eat it or serve it, without a spoon, to swirl the pasta in, before popping it into a wide, birdy open mouth; eagerly hungry. My Dad once more, a ten year old me. Its such a trick. Miss B is determined in her pursuit of mastering this skillful cutlery wielding.

I cannot watch the devouring of this dish, without smiling my alter ego Mamma smile, looking on at the little orangey smeered faces! Because to cook for little ones and watch it vanish, rather than be pushed round the plate, satisfies an utterly primal part of all Mummies (and Daddies!)

How do you cook yours?

PS this article from today's Telegraph,(how I am on the same wave length as them?? Bearing in mind I took these photos on Monday?!)made me laugh....the Italians would be appalled!

No Such Thing as Bad Weather...

2011-06-24T16:28:00.000+01:00

Just the wrong clothing...

Birthday Magic Moments

2011-06-23T10:40:00.001+01:00

From this...

to this

in three, short, funny, busy, energetic, loud years!

Yellow Gloss Paint and Giant Cardboard Cupcakes x

2011-06-15T16:36:00.001+01:00

I would like to say, a warm thankyou, for all your lovely comments. They have come in person, over the phone, facebook and of course here on the blog.

It is a wonderful and truly life affirming thing. Friendship will always find a way. We are a wee mammal just looking for buddies, hey. I love that blogland has created this; a rich, inspiring 'kitchen table' of kindred spirits. It is no less real because it is over the cyber waves. We are a long distance buddies!

So today has been a energetic, 'sunshiney', bright one. Full of mainly silly and therefore totally soul satisfying activities.

We have made and decorated cardboard cupcakes, for the fast approaching celebrations of littlest B's birthday.

I love to sit with my children making something. Like men (true fact), children like to talk, when they are engaged in an activity.

It takes away all that pressure to make eye contact! You find out the best things when talking and making...

I have gone mad with the yellow gloss paint, thanks to this article in this months Country Living.

Not one to shy away from colour, it just filled me with a giggly, childish joy and encouraged a wild, brandishing of paint brush and a speedy production of lemon zest furniture!

Combined with vibrant, fat raspberry ripple roses and you have near perfection (For me. Oh you too?! Well I knew that of course!)

I have washed the sofa covers, rugs, blasted the toy room in prep for all those lovely, fun gifts that are bound to be coming her way.

The mini B kitchen is sparkly clean, the cake stand full and the tea pot ready for imaginative teaparties.

I adore my tiny's multifaceted personality...she rockets dramatically between digging, knee deep in mud, in a pretty, but 'highly-inappropriate-for-the-activity' dress to throwing herself fearlessly from the last step to making dainty cups of tea for all and sundry, real and imaginary. If only we could hold on to our own complexities, embracing all our different whims and fancies, rather than trying relentlessly to simplify, minimise and compartmentalise our very souls!

A good days work. I will sleep the sleep of a child. A slightly gluey, paint spattered, run out child. Bliss.

Come In, Dear Friend. The Tea's Brewing x

2011-06-13T17:33:00.004+01:00

Dear Friend,

I am writing this letter, filling you in on my day's doings. I hope, (I secretly know) that you will be interested, because like me dearest, you like to tiptoe up, peep in and smile. Watch life unfurling in its wonderful, quiet, slow, methodical way. Minute by minute, second by second. Each happening a little piece of theatre. Unique and utterly perfect.

Tis not voyeuristic but merely curiousness. An admiring appreciation of folk and the ways lives manifest themselves, in ways totally different but so recognisably the same as your very own.

Needles are picked up in houses, simultaneously. In a beat. The stitches the same. The reasons different; the approach different (hurried, slow and precise, sworn or hummed over...I pricked my finger Dear Friend and marvelled at how it made my heart thump); the end results so beautifully different. Like the stitchers. I am stitching names on little calico aprons, for the Littlest B's Baking Birthday.

Birthdays, how many occur each and everyday. It is like a single, honed, clear beam of light, piercing a crystal. The result: a shower of rainbow sparkling differences, bouncing, tinkling into the corners of Life. The emotions, the memories and hopes, dreams and frustrations, all complete and unique.

Birthdays of little ones passed on, the hardest (for all you Mummies of Angels...my love x)

Dear Friend, have you managed to dry your washing? Has the rain stopped long enough? My house steams with washing...it smells clean, fresh but feels like a sauna.

"The sun is supposed to shine tomorrow. I am planning washing" she said to me. I didn't know whether to laugh or hug her right there in the playground! Are we all the same?

Looking for the sunshine. A British past time. I have brought it's colours into the house. Handmade, shop bought, rescued, passed on...sprucing, improving, changing, swapping. Can't you see us all? A birds-eye Ikea advert?

I have run this morning. Sitting on the wall, breathing heavily, I looked at my legs. At once exhausted and heart thankful. Its a gift, yes. We can get up, go, run and run and run.

It is not six people that separate me from someone who cannot. An immediate friend and his wonderful wife. Hoping dreaming that one day, a future day will come. And that day will bring bike riding, walking unaided, playing football with his children, running the Daddy's race? I ran Race for Life, for this truly lovely, welcoming, warm family x Trounce it!!

Now, Friend, help? I cannot stop thinking about chocolate today. I fear that if I let just one of these passed my guard, that would be it.

I would have to be rescued from the confectionary aisle. Am I recognisable, can you give me a hint. Or can you sigh, reassured that you have eaten well and whole and pass me the houmous instead?!

The Lavender is in full bloom, the roses are fat. It makes me happy. Simply happy. Do you still follow my advice and bring roses in?

In my head, we have talked and talked, 'of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax; And cabbages and kings.' That is the joy of friends. For it does not need to be my kitchen table, or your back garden. We are always talking. These are what I would have started with!

Till next time...love always, MrsB

Man Down!

2011-06-10T14:04:00.000+01:00

Mini B has succumbed and is now 'poxed'

I feel drained. Like I am living my own groundhog day.... but I am not here to whinge, I promise.

She is as ever a little force of nature. Her mouth in no way seems to have been affected. If you know what I mean! In her ceaseless stream of conscious, she told us she was quite pleased with the spotty affect.

"I am like a lady bird. The Queen Ladybird. I am a mini beast!"

If one must have the pox, it should at the very least be put to good use as a helpful imaginary tool, don't you know!

But her little face is all swollen up, they are developing in her eyes too and her hair is full of hot, scratchy pox.

Wish the Queen Ladybird, myself (nurse maid to the Queen Ladybird) and all her minions luck. It is going to be a long, sleepless night....

Early Adopter?

2011-06-08T16:10:00.001+01:00

This term is used to describe terribly clever, generally young, rich folk who jump on technological band wagons, as fast as you can say iPad.

I am most definitely not one of this people. For many reasons.

But apparently according to the world of wikipedia, poor, old, slow folk such as myself are known as laggards! Oh Lordy, what a thoroughly horrible word!

So as the laggard that I am, I present this...

Apparently the world and the Daily Mail have been extolling the virtues of this wonder cream since 2008. I hold my hands up and fess up to the fact this all passed me by...perhaps I was so youthful that it had no resonance (*scoff*) for me.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1348125/Baby-Bottom-Butter-creme-la-creme-face-creams.html

It is obviously for babies bottoms, but mummies in the know everywhere have been slapping on their (face) cheeks! It has even been suggested it surpasses Creme de la Mer in its affects and at a bargainous £2.54 as opposed to nearly a grand, this is not a claim I am going to pass on. Particularly in these my advancing years! *wink*

Get yourselves to Waitrose, Laydees!

Summer Kitchen

2011-06-07T12:41:00.000+01:00

The colours, the scents, the possibility!

I love the kitchen in all seasons, but really summer beats them all. Even, dare I say it, better than the Christmas kitchen...no I take it back!! But certainly as good! And that is saying something!

Fat ripe June strawberries. So worth the wait!

Tomatoes tasting like tomatoes!

A dish in themselves with a hunk of ciabbatta and olives, with a fresh basil, from the kitchen garden.

Watermelon, watermelon...I can't help but wax lyrical about it. Its aqua scent is so refreshing, summery and light.

I love it for breakfast, for lunch with halloumi cheese, as a light dessert. Watermelon granita!

In the garden promises of fresh peas and garden mint,

jam jars of roses by the sink

and dreams of honey and pinenut homemade ice cream!

Blissful, buzzy summer...

So if your looking for me, you now know where I am!

PS the smallest B as yet is unaffected by the pox?! should I be breathing a sigh of relief or preparing for the outburst in the next 24 hours?

A Pause

2011-05-31T11:05:00.000+01:00

Crikey me, what a weekend!

I won't go into the gory details, but I tell you this, pox in the eyes, is the possibly the most torturous, heart breaking thing I've ever had to witness.

So round the house, are many potions and lotions, that are designed more for distraction than relief, it would seem; many cups of stone cold coffee; crumbs; half drunk juice drinks and various bits of craft activities started and left incomplete due to a lack of energy. In short one huge mess.

I am watching the smallest like a hawk, checking her 'trunk' every morning, ready for the wickedness of the pox. I am ready for you! I am a little more clued up now.

It is in times like these, when as a family you are all in it together, quite literally in this case quarantined, that you test your metal!

I have learnt so much from Mr B, who is endlessly gentle, thoughtful, comforting but certain. A wonderful, calming combination when poorly, perhaps a little scared and very much in discomfort. Perhaps he missed his calling? He seems to know just what to do in the dead of the night to ease a little soul. A cold compress for the eyes, a story, a cuddle.

I have learnt so much from Master B. He is stoic in his response to being poorly. On the announcement that he had the pox, I watched a brief look of fear, flicker across his face; watching him searching for a story to tell himself, some knowledge that would tell him that it would be ok.

"P_ had them too and my best friend L_. And V_ had them in France. Are they from France?'

With his usual gentle nature, he has even managed super human levels of patience in the face of a two year olds continuous questioning and need for play and her big brother.

I have learnt that there is a great deal of comfort to be given and gleaned in the phrase:

'I will look after you'

In all the scratching, discomfort, worry and very sleepless nights, there has been fragrant bowls of chicken soup;

cupcakes eaten in the rainy gloom, cuddled up with blankets, cups of tea and The Gruffalo on repeat.

There has also been patience, consideration and care... and lots of kisses. All of the nicest things in life.

N.B. if you have not seen the animated version of this book, please do at any opportunity, it is just beautiful!

The Pox....The Pox Be Upon Us!!

2011-05-27T09:38:00.002+01:00

Keep clear!!

We have the pox! Chicken pox, just in time for the half term! Excellent timing son!

See you on the other side!

Its Just a Little Thing

2011-05-26T16:53:00.000+01:00

I made these cupcakes because....well just because.

When Big B came home from school he wanted his cupcake iced with blue icing...no green...no blue. And the Small B wanted hers in pink....only pink!

So I made up pots of shop bought frosting, in different colours and chucked some sprinkles in a bowl.

This was a joyful, quiet and thoroughly satisfying twenty minutes or so.

And look at the work of art we produced! Rainbow Cupcakes A La B!

Activities with your kids, doesn't need to be time consuming, or take up the whole afternoon. Just go with their flow, their ideas.

They are so much better at it then we are.

A Little Sparkle

2011-05-25T10:25:00.002+01:00

I love Elderflower Champagne.

It is an utterly joyful drink! Perfumed, sweet, slightly musky with the mood enhancing addition of soft bubbles! It is the perfect picnic accompaniment. A bottle of this pretty sparkle and a punnet of sun warmed strawberries in your basket, your prettiest dress and fun folk. Now that is what an idyllic English Summer is made of!

It's said that summer starts when the elder's flowers appear, and ends when its berries are ripe in late August. Now isn't that a lovely thought! Could this be the start of summer?

Isn't it truly inspiring that we have these fabulous plants in our hedgerows? I am as yet pretty clueless at foraging but I am fascinated all the same. All the various plants, fruits and roots that we have in our surroundings is mind blowing. It quite literally is Nature's Larder. How many years have I walked passed these dinner plate sized, frothy white heads of miniature flowers, unaware of the wonders that reside there?

They are said to be full of Vitamin C and antioxidants. The berries contain a chemical that can shorten the symptoms of flu and is actually present in the Tamiflu medicine.

The elder can also be used as a natural garden insecticide, by crushing up and bruising the foul smelling leaves you can leave them around young plants to deter aphids and caterpillars. Obviously as they dry out and the smell disappears they need to be replaced.

Farmers used to hang bunches of elderflower above their horses before insecticides were used to rid flies, and dairy farmers used it as they thought it had properties to stop the milk from turning sour.

And Skye folk take heed, people used to wear a small sprig to keep midges away.

I am enthralled by the ancients knowledge, use and reverence of the Elder. It was said to ward off witches! Cottages on the Isle of Man have one planted outside their front doors for just this purpose! And the Fairy King and Queen pass under one on Midsummer's Night Eve.

Well if it is good enough for the Fairy Queen then let's get cracking!

Makes about 6 litres

Ingredients

4 litres hot water
700g sugar
Juice and zest of four lemons
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
About 15 elderflower heads, in full bloom
A pinch of dried yeast (you may not need this) I did...perhaps this is due to when it was picked as I think that does affect natural yeasts that are needed to get the fermentation going?

In a spotlessly clean bucket, pour four litres of hot water, add your sugar and stir until it has dissolved.

Add two more litres of cold water, to make up to six litres.

Grate in the lemon zest...a uplifting activity if ever there was one!

Pour in the lemon juice

Tip in your blossom.

Cover with a muslin for two days, in a cool airy spot. Peek after a day and see how it is doing. It should be frothy on the top. If not then you can add a pinch of yeast to get things going.

After this time, strain through a muslin and bottle. I bottled mine in plastic bottles last year to avoid all the explosions I had heard off. This worked fine for me. You could tell when the gas was getting to a high point as the plastic went rigid. I would then open the tops a little and let it out. I would then decant into pretty, vintage-esque pop bottles (from M&S! SO pretty!) when off on an outing!

But I think it is generally done in flip top glass bottles. I leave the decision to you!

Happy drinking!

P.S. Mine is busy brewing but pop over to the Big Stove blog to see how it went last year

Piece and Jam

2011-05-23T11:47:00.003+01:00

I bought this lovely boxed set of Sheffield stainless steel butter knives on Sunday. A lovely wee treat to myself I thought. I was not prepared for the tidal wave of memories they would bring in the morning.

They bring back my Nana to me.

There she is in the kitchen, leaning on the counter top, drinking milky well brewed tea (there was always a pot on the stove, keeping warm, stewing).

There I am, at the breakfast table. I can see the formica table top, the perfect colour of green larder. The butter dish and a knife so like this one. Robertson's Marmalade. The shiny silver teapot, with a wooden handle. Floral china cups. Sweet tea for me. Broadford, floury, breakfast rolls and the smell of bacon.

I even hear the wind, whistling round this Skye house, years gone. I catch a glimpse of Queenie or Mitch (the sheep dogs), watch the bracken being blown flat, under a mountain that has a Viking Princess buried at its summit. I hear the crunch of white Skye marble gravel, as the post lady pops in.

As I make a piece and jam for my little girl, I am once more a little girl myself and in this moment I miss Nana terribly. I remember the nights she would bring us piece and jam (my sister and I lying feet to feet in a squashy feather mattress bed, with the blankets tucked in so tight you could barely breath, feeling so secure and warm. A hot water bottle.) with instructions to clean our teeth and say our prayers. She would sit with us while we repeated the 'Child's Prayer'....(the more harrowing version!)

I wish so much this morning, that she could be with me now. I think she would 'like' me so much more. My tough teenage edges rubbed down (a little), our common experience of home, children, food and china! I would love to tell her how much she has influenced my tastes, my home, my food. I hope somewhere, she knows this anyway.

When someone passes on, it seems to me, that although the grieving never truly ends, its like they are always with you, and they pop round. I suppose the trick is to take comfort in those moments and enjoy their presence with you.

Flow

2011-05-18T13:33:00.001+01:00

Go with the flow...

Should be easy right?

But we all know its not. We all spend an inordinate amount of time worrying, feeling anxious for no immediately apparent reason. It can feel like a pervading fog.

My cure for this (and I am not winning any prices for originality here) is to get outside. This could be a walk to the shops, my morning run or (and this is where I am at) gardening.

I am not entirely sure when this happened to me, or why. I am a late convert to the garden. But I am fast becoming an evangelical one.

I wake up thinking about it, I find jobs to do in it everyday,

I wander about it after I have put the small folk to bed.

I watch over my lavender with a mother's eye. I am so proud and hopeful for its progress.

I could spend the whole day, from sun up to sun down and not even notice. I am fully in the flow, unaware of the passing hours. Its not until my tummy rumbles do I stop and stretch and think perhaps it would be a good idea to eat.

And when I cannot be planting roses, I am sewing them.

Current Lunch Love

2011-05-17T13:39:00.002+01:00

I am a giving sort of a gal, so I thought I would share my current lunching love affair with you!

Believe me, you are going to thank me!

Not that that is why I am doing it, of course! This is an utterly altruistic act of foodie generosity.

Some things just go so beautifully don't they? Well this is a little marriage of flavour soul mates... carrots and coriander; lemon and houmous with the added excitement of radishes!

Simply take a warmed tortilla spread thickly with houmous (oh heavens, love this stuff) and cover with sliced, cool from the fridge, pink radishes.

Now grate a carrot over the top.

Sprinkle with fresh coriander

Squeeze lemon over the top

And wrap up.

Devour!

What do you think?! Light but filling, fresh but fun...yes?

2011-05-16T12:32:00.006+01:00

Isn't it beautiful? A peony from the front garden. It has just gone on and on, everyday more joyous. Even as it drops its petals, it looks newly wonderful. The perfect still life.

Just how pretty is this?

Stocks x Utterly wonderful. Best when fat and squashy and heavy with their clove-y scent. It makes me smile thinking of my florist days, when we would bury our heads in the newly delivered boxes full of stocks. Breathing in deeply and sighing, before insisting the others did to...'go on, smell it'. Giddy with the scent and knowledge that summer days were not far off.

The above is just one of the many glorious coloured plates from my 1971 'thrifted' Blandford Press 'Garden Annuals and Bulbs' from the local charity shop. Such a prosaic title for a simply magical book. Imagine my joy on first discovering the floral treasure hidden beneath its unpromising 70's dust jacket. I could sit for hours, gazing at this book and dreaming of a hazy, sometime, future. My 'Flower Farm'....dreams x

We get flowers from all over the world, now. The supermarkets able to sell them to us at a snip, but as with food, perhaps we aren't richer for all our abundance. I am an old fashioned girl in so many ways, unsurprisingly this stretches to my choice of flowers too. I love the seasonality of flowers, the scent, the seasonal ties, the simple honesty of home grown UK garden flowers. A posy of lavender, scented garden roses, sprigs of mint and rosemary, filling jam jars tied with string bows...So good, so real, so homemade in all the best ways.

I try, where ever possible, to buy British grown flowers, buying with the seasons. Flowers grown here have not been refrigerated for an age and shipped hundreds of miles. They are better scented and have a longer vase life. I am over the moon when my own garden springs to life. The house is never without fresh flowers in the those months.

Give yourself permission, don't wait for anyone else, go buy yourself a little bunch of flowers, cut some from the garden. Fill jam jars and tealight holders. Mark your daily path out with them. It will make you smile.

2011-05-12T17:05:00.000+01:00

"I'd like to add some beauty to life," said Anne dreamily. "I don't exactly want to make people KNOW more... though I know that IS the noblest ambition... but I'd love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me... to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn't been born."
— L.M. Montgomery (Anne's House of Dreams)

2011-05-11T17:32:00.000+01:00

“When one has tasted watermelon he knows what the angels eat”
Mark Twain quotes (Am erican Humorist, Writer and Lecturer. 1835-1910)

Spit Spot, Pyjamas, Fizzle, Squelch and Mooch

2011-05-10T17:45:00.004+01:00

Words, voices, songs and sighs, lyrics, lines and limericks.

Secret

Such a whisperful word. Onomatopoeic in its soft, shushed s' and the tight lock of the final t. Words like these bring out a childish glee in me. I like to play with them, rolling them round my mouth like sweeties before popping them out to see how they look.

Listening out for them is a secret pleasure. I hear all the ups and downs, twists and tangles in accents. Supermarkets being, in my opinion, the best place to fully engage in this nosey past time. Visiting a new place, my dawdling up aisles with a far away look, is a certain thing. My joy at the check out, listening to the familiar, is tangible. It is the same song sheet but a new melody. The mimic, not often a character who garners much affection, has my understanding. I am sure it is a recognised -ism, to notice, pick up and on occassion, despite resistance play back. Playing with sounds.

Caramel

And it is when said with my father's 'pleasantly modulated' Glaswegian accent it truly takes on its onomatopoeic qualities. The 'a' losing my sharp Englishness, elongates, softens into a golden arrrrrrr; the 'r' rolls into the next gooey layer; the finish is lingering, not muffled in the mouth, lost in a flat 'ul' but in an bright, enthusiastic 'el', its the pinch of salt in a perfect toffee!

I squirrel away lists of favourite words, perhaps over zealously using a juicy one for longer that strictly necessary... A six year old me would spatter every conversation with the word multiplication. It just felt such a grown up, thoroughly multi syllabic word to be conversing with!

Please tell me what your favourites are....? Share, won't you? Its more fun. Or so I tell the small folk!

ambient
anathema
arc
bobbin
brouhaha
bumble
bustling
codswallop
caramel
coax
dulcet
duplicity
effervescent
enamored
enigma
epiphany
felicity
finesse
flabbergasted
gumbo
hippy
hopscotch
hobbledehoy
indubitable
ingénue
jaded
kerfuffle
lackadaisical
lilt
linear
lithe
lucid
magnanimous
melodic
mollycoddle
multiplicity
mulch
perusal
pinnickity
poignant
posh
ratchet
ricochet
sassafras
saucy
scintillating
sumptuous
silhouette
sphinx
sultry
squelch
ticktock
tidal
trollop
turgid
ubiquitous
unilateral
utterly
velvety
verisimilitude
wafting
wildebeest
willowy
woebetide
yam
yodel
youngling
zippididoodaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

x

PS Mr B and I are currently embroiled in a heated Scrabble related battle, which may account for this post. This is due to him laying waste to my plans for domination, with his word benzoate....

Gah!

Chemistry A Level Student should not be obliterating an English Literature student of my caliber (...and humility!)

Pea Green

2011-05-09T14:23:00.003+01:00

It was a tiny back garden, but a perfectly magical one. A little lawn, catching the sunshine, just enough space for a paddling pool. Visitor - your newly acquainted eye, would travel round, round, up and then in. Shady, woody and trailing. You're drawn in, intrigued.

An apple tree, as small in stature as its habitat but proudly fruit bearing; come in, more fruit trees, pears, plums and then, quite unexpectedly at the very back of the garden, where you think, believe, there are blackberry brambles, your eye catches. Lingers. Is it? Can it be? Stepping in, you eagerly follow the trailing vine, up the wall. Your gaze halts. Perfect, sweet clusters. There are grapes growing, hiding, a perfect garden secret.

Wisha, wisha, wisha. The trees swaying gently. A child's laugh.

There I am.

Sitting, listening to my breath. Outside noises, softened: birds, trees, breeze. I am hidden. A wall of twisting, gently grabbing tendrils, reaching up to a point above me, surrounding me in brilliant sunlit green. The perfect place for a four year old girl to day dream - a pea wigwam.

It was here that I had my first taste of freshly popped peas. Straight off the stalk. I would of, if I could of, eaten the wigwam bare. It was and is to this day a flavour, that makes me utterly happy, in the moment. There is simply nothing quite like new peas. Grassy, sweet, but singular, bold. Wonderful enough to be eaten with nothing more than fresh air.

I have spent the day building pea wigwams. Creating little hiding places. Building new memories.

x

Strawberries and Cream

2011-05-08T15:35:00.004+01:00

We have been zooming, zipping and exploring all over the country side this Easter hols, courtesy of our little automobile.

It has been an utterly joyful time. We have been welcomed by friends and family and made to feel special, loved and then missed again.

We have visited Ms Fish and the loveliest growing up fast Girl Fish, whose birthday we were honoured to be part of. We have stayed with Nonna and Granda, in the lovely Norfolk countryside, enjoying castle visits, Cromer fish and chips and cream teas.

We have been pod dwelling in Sherwood Forest's Clumber Park.

It has been two weeks of memory making,

jaunt taking, bubble blowing,

treat tasting and all round holiday-ing. Once you give into it and its haphazard routines, you draw your

first deep breath, submission, finally feeling that glow of complete relaxation.

"It is our holidays, after all...." becomes a new family motto, rolled out with an ease belying its frequent usage!

'another glass of wine? Why not hey? It is our holidays, after all!'

'another slice of cake? Why not? It is our holidays, after all!'

'shall we take a drive to Bakewell, on our way to Clumber Park? Why not.....(you get the idea!)'

Royal wedding watching, Easter Egg hunting, Jersery Royal and Asparagus eating, BBQ-ing, day dreaming on buttercup strewn lawns.

And April's festivities made all the more memorable by the wonderful weather.

As we ease into May the weather has become mischievous, with playful winds, blousey clouds, bright clear sunshine and the occasional naughty shower. But the garden is loving it, soaking in the rain fall and growing with a fervour that reminds me of the small folk! Stretching and bursting at previously roomy seams!

So today is the last of our holiday days and the weeks must return to the formal and the familiar. No more 'Prosecco hours', no more week day pleasure trips, a lot less treat consumption, back to early bedtimes and the school run.

But perhaps that is no bad thing...there's always the weekend...'Why not? It is the weekend!'

Strawberries and Cream Cupcakes (Primrose Bakery Cupcakes)

('it is our holidays, after all')

110g (4oz) unsalted butter, at room temperature
225g (8oz) caster sugar, preferably golden
2 large eggs, free-range or organic
150g (5½oz) self-raising flour, sifted
125g (4½oz) plain flour, sifted
120ml (4fl oz) semi-skimmed milk, at room temperature
1tsp good-quality vanilla extract

Method

Preheat the oven to 180C/160C (fan)/gas 4 and line a 12-hole muffin tray or 3 x 12-hole mini muffin trays with cupcake cases.

In a large mixing bowl, cream the butter and sugar until the mixture is pale and smooth. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing for a few minutes after each addition.

In a separate bowl, combine the two flours. Put the milk into a jug and add the vanilla extract. Add one third of the flour to the creamed mixture and beat well. Pour in one third of the milk and beat again. Repeat these steps until all the flour and milk have been added.

Spoon the mixture into the cupcake cases, filling them to about two thirds full. Bake in the oven for about 25 minutes (regular size) or 15 minutes (mini size) until slightly raised and golden brown. To check they are cooked, insert a skewer in the centre of one of the cakes - it should come out clean.

Once cool, make a small hole in each (I used the end of a teaspoon) and spoon in a 1 tsp of strawberry jam. Warming the jam, makes this easier.

*I swirled a dollop of shop bought vanilla frosting on top and a sliced (dried off) strawberry. But they would be wonderful with a good splodge of whipped cream if you were serving immediately. Summer treat bliss!*

Perfect end to a perfect staycation. Perfect with your afternoon cup of tea in your May garden....('sublime' was the word MrB used! High praise indeed!)

Green and Pleasant Land

2011-04-27T12:20:00.003+01:00

"Oh, to be in England now that April's there." Robert Browning

The glorious sunshine has caused an almost riotous outburst of fresh leaves in newly hatched catepillar green, early flowering of wisteria, lilac and drifts of cherry blossom petals that the small folk have delighted in as 'pink snow'. The breeze has become gentle, warm and calming. The year is softening into early summer in a wholly sweet way.

I feel a little sun-kissed and indeed, freckles have made an un-seasonally early appearance upon my nose.

Good weather suits England. She seems so much more amicable, characterful and her beauty becomes apparent in the brighter light, her new outfit of blossoms and green look perfect despite her age!

I know, I know that it seems I have come over all Constable and 'Blakian' in my rapture for this bout of beautiful weather, but really it is a little easier to feel a little swell of pride and enjoyment to be living here. In this 'green and pleasant Land'....and I live in the 'Industrial North'!

Our Spring is indeed quite a unique, idiosyncratic happening. It is a force to be reckoned with, from both the Mother Nature perspective and our reactions to it. The changeful winds, the greeness of our green, the joyous bursts of bulb flowers and blossom, farm land positively hopping with new life. Out of our homes we all rush, garden furniture soaped down, beer gardens packed to seal colony proportions, the scent of our newly mown lawns and the hastily purchased BBQ, because you never know....'this could be summer!'

I love it! How fun...how funny!

We have another long weekend ahead of us and regardless of your opinion of the up and coming event, it is a piece of this Nation's history and in my opinion the chance to revel in a little Britishness!

Let's relish the chance to hang out bunting, to eat scones, drink tea in the garden and celebrate with a glass of English fizz, which they say rivals Champagne!

My Royal Wedding Shopping List

You Are My Sunshine

2011-04-19T09:16:00.003+01:00

The house is bathed in liquid gold this morning. Its a joy to sit here, with my cup of tea, watching it make its progress through each room. Everything looks softer, prettier, gentle. The small folk are playing in patches of it, surrounding themselves, with a halo. It makes me smile, to myself.

I read recently that there is concern that we in Britain and particularly in Scotland are not getting our full quota of vitamin D. The months between November and April being the worst. We love to talk about the weather and it would seem for good reason. It affects our health as much as our well-being!

It has long become a habit for me to sit on my front door step, in the morning. Even if just for the time it takes to breath, slowly in and out. Even better if I can sit there, for a while with my cuppa. I know it makes me feel calm, more in tune with day, grounded and prepared for the world's happenings.

I hope you have a moment to pause, close your eyes and soak up a little of this health giving sparkle x

I Should...

2011-04-07T12:20:00.002+01:00

But

I'd rather...

I whole heartedly agree with Jane Brocket's statement that there is a world of difference between being domestic and domesticated! I am utterly domestic, a happy homebody and quietly houseproud. But it is the day in day out drudgery of household chores, that makes my soul sigh most mornings, when all but Miss B and I have departed. Endless hoovering, washing, dish cleaning, window wiping of grubby handprints, not to mention the endless rounds of picking up....toys, socks, towels, food stuffs, shoes, bike gear, reading books, lego!

So I take a deep breath....

And make chocolate cake instead!

Gift Voucher

2011-04-02T10:39:00.000+01:00

"Calling all ladies...

This is a limited offer for Sunday only. Use it wisely, foolishly, luxuriously, hilariously, silently....anyway so long as it is enjoyably!"

We are all so many things, we are all working to be so many things, we are all responsible for so many things (and beings!), we are aspiring and striving towards so many things.

We should all be thoroughly proud of each other.

Take this ten minutes...(I have provided you with the voucher to prove it to all around).

It is of no significance to anyone else, it can be found when everyone else is busy not looking (throwing cheerios across the kitchen table, trying to find their socks, searching in the bits drawer for their wallet, keys, head...'just put it in the same place every time???').

It is important. This ten minutes is just for you. Find somewhere, anywhere, it may take a little searching, where you can be alone for ten whole minutes (the front door step, the top stair, the garden...the attic, whatever it takes). Breath in, breath out. This is only for you, about you.

Happy Mother's Day x

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. ~Margaret Atwood

2011-03-28T19:58:00.003+01:00

Every year, with a joyful, optimism that defies logic, reasoning and prior knowledge, I bound into the garden centre. Show me all the seeds, composts, possible pots, pails and buckets and I am won over!

I am gonna grow stuff!

We have planted approximately a gazillion pumpkin seeds, simply because it was so delicious to push your finger into the dirt, leaving a hole so the exact dimensions necessary for a pumpkin seed to plop in and snuggle down, that the action had to be repeated again and again!

I plan to plant them out along under the camellia and rose bushes, in a great long line, running down the garden. Can't you just imagine the sight? Seven or eight glowing orange pumpkins lining the lawn!

We are dreaming of a glade of sunflowers by a certain little girl's garden den. I yearn to be mini and run amongst them, hide in the circle of sunshiney faces and look at the sky.

Tomatoes and basil warm from the sunshine, straight to the plate with a glug of olive oil, a sprinkle of sea salt and a splash of balsamic. Green and yellow cougettes sliced in ribbons, doused in a lemony oil...

Growing something in a garden, on a patio, in a pot, is inextricably tied up with home. By planting something we say to ourselves, this is where I stay. You are growing summer dinners, summer play, summer dreams.

This year, this year....I hope.

P.S. I am day dreaming about one of these.

The Friendly Cookie

2011-03-22T15:01:00.004Z

Nothing fancy. Nothing colourful or surprising; exotic, clever or smug. A simple chocolate chip cookie.

I did ponder the many varieties that perhaps maybe made in the time I had. Perhaps peanuts...no so many folk hate peanutty things. Perhaps dried cranberries and white chocolate...oh no, no white chocolate and Miss B is not fond of the little red berry. Perhaps nutella cookies by this lovely lady....oh and it came close! But then the cookie baking would have been purely for me (I can, and will eat Nutella with a spoon)....and no one likes a greedy hostess.

So plain, good quality chocolate chip cookies it was, with a little sprinkly of sea salt ...

(click for link to Mr Hugh F.W's gorgeous Ten Minute Cookie Recipe....fabby to make with wee ones and a very economical ingredients versus cookie number output ratio!)

Such a friendly thing - the homemade cookie. No nonsense; no embarrassing frosting moustache (a la the cupcake dilemma...eat with a cake fork or dive face first in, with no shame??); no 'will I, won't I like this' sense of the unfamiliar; simple and honest, quietly perfect.

Being handed a jar of homemade cookies to dunk your hand into, while balancing a cup of something, made just for you, on someone's squashy couch, cannot fail to bring about a sigh, a smile and a good natter.

Give thanks for uplifting, kind, generous friendship and the humble, but always chummy, cookie x

Mend and Make Memories

2011-03-19T11:48:00.001Z

I woke up this morning, under a dreamy butterfly strewn duvet cover.

A day ago, it had been discovered, at the bottom of the linen drawer, relegated to the too-pretty-to-throw-out-but-unusable pile due to a long tear through the age-softened cotton, right at the top. It had become a tube rather than an envelope.

I pulled it out and sat amongst its billowy whiteness, spotting each butterfly, thinking back to the day I fell in love with this joyous linen set. Spotted in a basket, beneath a shelf, in a sweet, little shop in Sheffield's Forum, 12 years ago. I was smitten that day and still, this morning. So springy and uplifting. To sleep beneath a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

It cost a small fortune, then and really it still would. I was a student, newly living with a certain, a little younger, less beardy MrB and it was more than a weeks budget. But you know, when you know, right? Sometimes something is so right, will be so loved and used, again and again. I think, (whether rightly or wrongly) an investment into an item that is useable and at the same time utterly beautiful, joy giving, is the best way to spend your pennies. If you know you will appreciate and love something you have bought, it will never be throw away, frivolous or a waste.

So out of the washing machine, fresh with lavender soap powder, dried on the line, spritzed with linen water, I piled it on to my table. And relished every minute of mending it.

plunk plunk plunk

Mending with a hand turned Singer, is soul soothing. The action of turning, turning and watching each little stitch form perfectly, quietly, gently seems so right. Truly a meditative act. You have time to think, meandering through your thoughts, listening only to the needle work its magic. Perhaps I was Amish in a last life, friends tease me. I am befuddled by machines...bread makers, fiercely fast, clever sewing machines...Twitter! I breath a sigh of relief when I can pick up a needle and thread, a pair of wooden knitting needles, a pencil. I can feel fairly sure that I am not going to cause any catastrophic situation due to speed. I am someone who requires 'slow'. I have no idea why, or what this says about me. I am sure it wouldn't be attractive. But I am beginning to understand it is no bad thing to embrace.

So this morning, I awoke, smiled as a little blue butterfly fluttered by, carrying on its wings whispers of the past, happy memories and of sunshiney, bright mornings still, Fate willing, to come.

Gooooooood Morning x

2011-03-14T07:53:00.004Z

Oh breakfast! How I needed you this morning!

We all fall in such different camps when it comes to breakfast. Some can't bear the thought of it and shudder visibly; others could not move another step until they had had their tea and toast; and for all those for whom a tiny, strong, revving, reviving espresso will do the job nicely, there are those for whom breakfast is a meal to relish, almost an occasion, to good to miss...coffee, tea, juice, toast, cereal or perhaps pancakes, fruit salad, yoghurt, bacon and eggs, creamy porridge. The endless possibility of this, "The Most Important Meal of the Day" (click to read my sister's inspiring post on food...she's a Personal Trainer Extraordinaire!)

Which field do you fall into?

Either way you look at it breakfast is necessary. You need to fuel your body. You can visibily, physically spot the unfuelled! Crabby, bleary eyed, dragging their fatigued bodies to work, school and elsewhere!

A Breakfast Burrito by Sophie Dahl is simply the most perfect way to start a morning.

I felt compelled to say, don't worry this is for the weekend, a Sunday breakfast, but you know it could be for anytime you need the body strengthening, hunger banishing affects of a good dollop of scrambled egg, anytime your vavavooom is feeling a little spent and chilli flakes are an enlivening God send, anytime the soft, warmth of a slightly pan charred tortilla will provide a filling sustenance with the added benefit of comfort and anytime you just need cheese (we all have those times!)

It really takes no time to make at all. Scrambled eggs, if you are wicked, like me can be done, with a careful eye and efficient whisking force, in the microwave. Pan fry the spring onions and chili flakes, add the tinned chopped tomatoes, mix about, sling in the scrambled eggs, that you have added the cheese to and your done. Into the warm tortilla it goes, scatter with parsley (which truly brings a wholeness to the dish and feels very purifying!) Fold up your little parcel of goodness! Start your day as you mean to go on. Paying attention to the really important things, moments, experiences in life. Food and your energy has got to be two of the most sacred, surely!

It is as good with tea as it is coffee...juice....a smoothie....

Enjoy!

Make It Special...Now

2011-03-09T10:37:00.002Z

Let's talk about perfection.

I will not deny it, I am someone who feels the draw, hears it calling, siren like. I recognise the obsessive behaviour, the heightened anxiety, the yearning for the unachievable 'perfect'. And therefore I feel equally qualified to say...'what a load of nonsense'!

Your idea of perfection, is different to mine, mine is different to everyone elses. The striving for perfection is nothing more than a rod for your own back. Particularly when it comes to 'home'.

Your home is somewhere you can be imperfect. Its imperfections should be what make it individual, comfortable, memory full. Yes that cushion doesn't match the others but you found it in that shop on holiday when you were twenty and it takes you straight back to that time, of mint teas and poker played with gummi bears....or something. You get the idea. Your home is for living, for now.

Now.

Now is an important idea when it comes to home life, as it is all about your senses (I am going to talk about this again, apologies!). What can you see now, what can you feel now, what can you smell now, what can you taste now, what can you hear now? If you can find ways of delighting your senses, with what surrounds you in your home, you can't go far wrong. You will always have a haven, somewhere you'll always feel welcome in, to return to after a long day, to loll in happily...!

Pretty, spring (imperfect) bunting; squooshy cushions, woolly blankets on the couch; clean washing, warm linen scents of lavender washing powder....(clean bleachy smell in bathroom. Am I wrong to love this smell??); chocolate cake by the coffee jar; jazz on the radio and toddler singing 'loudly' to herself...!

This bunting was made to make the shelves look special, to bring a little colour, to celebrate Spring with some joyous yellow gingham and a little vintage rosey fabric! It is not perfect or even finished, still pinned...

Drawing pins holding it up...

But thats between me, you and the washing up! It makes me smile, everytime I see it!

It looks lovely, pretty and fun, NOW.

A Recipe for Life

2011-03-08T14:14:00.004Z

Picture this, a long, busy, messy breakfast table, covered with news papers, glasses of juice, milk; a child to each seat, loudly chattering, squabbling, giggling, bodies, arms across the table, conversation bouncing down, along and through others...

But in a one perfect moment, all eyes raise, mouths gape open, heads tilt back and a resonant silence falls thickly over this band of excitable, screeching chimps! Above our heads is a platter, piled high with soft, golden, fluffed discs. Scotch pancakes...

This was my very first experience of a night away from home. It was a house inhabited and ruled by what seemed a mob of much older, therefore strange, indifferent brothers and sisters, who because of their very age, carried the faint scent of danger about them. I was awe struck and a little afraid and I can't remember feeling comfortable or anything less than flighty that whole weekend. But that memory of the appearance and the eating of those pancakes stays with me always.

To me it seemed such a luxurious but utterly homey thing to eat for breakfast. The perfect, thickly fluffy, biscuit sized circles, ready for your unique creation. Picking carefully a favourite and totally individualistic topping. Strawberries, zig zags of drizzled honey, chocolate spread, apricot jam, a thick curl of pale butter. It spoke to me of family ritual, rhythmic life, traditions. I knew in that instance, with all the certain wisdom of my 12 years, that this was something I would serve at my own busy, noisy, breakfast table, when that time should come in the dim and impossibly distant future.

I am fascinated by traditions. I am unashamedly nosey and delighted by other's family quirks and habits...

....bacon butties before a Saturday football match, each always on one slice of white, folded in half, with only brown sauce, the bacon in a single layer; a mum's perfect, uncomparable Christmas roast potato, fried in a huge roasting tin on top of the stove; the same glass for morning milk, and only for this morning milk, chunkily embossed, in the thick, green, milk bottle glass with a cow; tea and toast before going up to bed; Sunday lunch made by Dad, every Sunday, even after leaving home, with boiled, roast and mashed potato; a passed down painting, rich in made up stories; stir up Sundays; a very early morning cup of tea, brought to a wife in bed, all the years of marriage; picnics in gravel pits; rolling eggs down a hillside; ten minutes, snuggled in bed, with each baby, as they fall asleep listening to their sleepy, meanderings, their thoughts, days events, worries or dreams...

These are the happenings in our daily lives that make us feel truly at home. And this does not have to mean the same four walls. Houses come and go, but the folk who inhabit them, their familiar habits, carefully nurtured and repeated traditions, the care that goes into these important little rituals, this is 'home'....the sense of security, of comfort, of certainty, of love.

The ones I relish, savour and soak in, are the those that have been carried out by generations. There is an unshake-ability in the predictability that come rain or shine, in good health and in poor, up or down... there will be pancakes for Sunday breakfast...mum did, her mum did and so will you. The world will keep on turning.

Recipes, meals, the food we feed our families...in each lies this same tiny ritual, a blessing, a way of saying 'I love you'. I like to think, each time I make Master B his favourite chocolate cake, or MissB her 'numberjacks' (flapjacks to me and you) or relent and make bacon butties in half a slice of white for MrB, that what I am actually doing is making and creating 'home' for each of them.

Recipe

Fresh x

2011-03-04T11:19:00.001Z

Freshness.

It's truly a sensation.

The sight and taste of doorstep, morning fresh milk. Thank you as always cows *doffs hat*

The uplifting, rich, invigorating aroma of fresh, coffee (and to just to add to my personal joy, it is also Organic....as MrB put it, 'only African rain has fallen on these beans'....*wonders off in head to steamy African coffee bean plantations*)

Fresh faced after morning shower.

This lovely lady wrote a rather timely post on high street, budget beauty products...and on her advise skipped into Boots to get some witch hazel to cleanse and tone! Oh my, what is not too love. It tones in a way you truly can feel those pores shrink, it obliterates any left over grime, it is cheap as chips. I can honestly say my skin has not looked so bright and fresh in ages! I whole heartedly recommend this natural, effective and purse friendly addition to my bathroom cabinet! Thank you, Thrifty *doffs hat*

And finally my fresh, out of the parcel vintage find. A daisy fresh dress. The sound of a reassuringly vintage metal zip. The feeling of sure, heavy cotton. The sight of ruffles and a sweetly bold, kitsch daisy print.

I find out often (after forgetting...frequently!) that the only real path to happiness, is honing in on your senses. What is it you can see, hear, smell, feel and taste now. This is now. A gift...the present!

Homemaking and Honey Cake

2011-03-03T14:34:00.004Z

'What are you?'

I always find this an odd turn of phrase. It seems to crop up with disturbing frequency 'round these parts'.

Of course what they actually mean to say is, 'what job do you do for money?'

Well for a year I have had a little job. One that I was very pleased to have. One that allowed a little loosening of the fiscal belt. After our past four parenting years on one salary it was a source of joy to have a little spare, for zoo trips, a little DIY, driving lessons.

However this has ended and once again I find myself with no real answer to this question.

What am I? *wonders off, pondering*

Such a pretty view, I am so glad I filled these pots with narcissi.

I can't think of anything more welcoming at a front door, than pots of flowers, it is a hint at the warmth and possible cosy pleasures that may reside, behind the front door.

Surely a house with flowers, is a house with cake? I imagine the smile, the sight of this little pot of jolliness coaxes out, when visiting folk wind their way up the front path.

Cup of tea, methinks. A necessary prerequisite to navel gazing?

The sun is just making my world glow.

Is Spring, springing, sprung? I am looking forward to hanging out fresh white laundry on the line again. I am daydreaming about morning cups of coffee, sipped on the doorstep, enjoying the crisp start to sunny days. Bees in the lavender....

Oh now that sounds divine! Nutty, dense, soaked through with sunny sweetness.

Hugh F.W. your food, your approach to eating never fails me. It is honest, with a hint of richness, new in a manageably challenging way, but never pretentious or overwhelming.

A dollop of greek yoghurt, I think. This is just a minutes holiday. Savouring Sweet, Sweet, Sweetness off set with Cool, White, Luxurious Tartness. It comes as no surprise that this is vanishing with astonishingly rapidity!

Phone rings...'any new cake?'

Cheeky...but secretly I am proud! I know, smugly, that its going to be cinnamon rolls, made to an ingenius scone/ biscuit recipe, I have book marked. Cinnamon *sigh*... not that I am telling him x

Now where was I....'what am I...what am I...?'

2011-03-01T14:29:00.001Z

Seriously....?

Has anyone else seen this...anyone?

A simply perfect piece of domestic art in machine form

Complete with instructional notebook, with guidance on extremely clever stuff that ladies used to be able to make on one....talk of aspirational!

And a little, Singer embossed tin, full of wonderous, but completely mysterious and slightly medicinal looking 'stuff '.

It is in mint condition and I found her in a Barnados! Well I couldn't very well walk away?

I wonder about her, where she came from, did anyone sew dresses and dreams on her, complete with ruffles, lace edged hems and pintucks.....*sigh*

Hearts, Flowers and Folderols

2011-02-15T14:09:00.001Z

folderol (countable and uncountable; plural folderols)

(uncountable) Nonsense or foolishness.
(countable) A decorative object of little value; a trifle or gewgaw.

Hands up who else a fondness for a little folderol? *smiles affectionately* at all you kindred spirits!

(I now intend to use the word gewgaw more in every day conversation!)

Valentines, love it, hate it, keep it simple, buy giant teddies and cards that cant fit through the door, commercialism gone mad or simply the chance to say I love you to all folk special to you! I personally hold the American way closer to my heart. All the American children in my school would bring all their friends a card and we (the Brits) would snigger, because we were hoping secretly one would come from a much eyed crush! But you can see the 'American Way' takes all the pressure, the broken hearts away and simply makes 'love yous' a generous, heart warming thing to tell your BFF!

I adore that in the truly awful last days of winter we have an excuse to plan a little 'festival'. We made handmade cards for the mini B's

We made some terribly but wonderful camp cakes!

And just filled the house and hearth with folderols! Of no value to anyone else, a mere trifle, but we did enjoy our nonsense!

And after this the Spring seems so much closer....

(Primulas from B&Q planted up in thrifted china cups and saucers)
I get yearnings for all things floral. I want to see them, wear them, wake up and glance across at vases of them.

(Old ugly, ubiquitous blue tub chair, recovered with some a fabulous, old Laura Ashley duvet cover)

I am dreaming of blousey garden roses. I hope the rose bush I bought and planted last year will bloom fabulous quantities of fragrant pink English roses. I want the lavender to hum with bees, while I sit breathing in the herby, early morning air after a run. I want my garden.

(cushions spotted in charity shop for 50p each!)
I am using these last days of dark sleepiness to plan for summer dreams, outdoor eating, garden days, planters of herbs, tomatoes, courgettes and rocket, elderflower fizz, picnics in the car....

Melancholy

2011-01-19T16:51:00.002Z

Oh poor Sophie (Dahl) how folk mocked when she used this phrase. How she was goaded for being smug, pretentious and out of touch.

But you know I knew exactly what she meant. Its not that you are depressed or even sad as such, just a shade of blue...mood indigo.

I feel a little slow motion today. I feel ponderous and 'hermitty'

I am drinking mugs and mugs of tea...always in my prettiest cup! I could sit and stare for hours at nothing more than how fabulous tulips look as they grow old so gracefully, utterly beautiful right to the end.

I want to make fruit cake with a thick, crunchy brown sugar topping. I want to wear big jumpers that feel like a big cuddle (Mr B's grey lambs wool if I can lay my hands on it). I want to read Anne of Green Gables...or watch Amelie!

I know melancholy is upon me, when I start to scour the cyber world looking for pretty inspiration. I know I need a treat! Its not that I want to buy something at all. I want to transform something, change it and make it wonderful. Something that will light up my day when I look at it. It is at these times I want to bake, or sew, or paint.

*sigh* am I Victorian or simply hormonal? Oh Lordy!