Rattling On...

Pass the sauce.

I'm not really sure why pots hold a fascination. I never use them for their intended fillings; jam, honey, mustard and such. I either decant those into small bowls for the table or (horrors) put the original pots on the table. We don't quite go as far as having the milk bottle on there as well, but we like to reduce washing up mostly.
I suppose these pots were originally sold because people made their own sauces and condiments, didn't just buy a bottle of ketchup or whatever. We take the availability of such things for granted these days, and the array on offer is staggering. Maybe some people still use them to disguise which brands they buy- like the recycling bins put out at the gate with all the labels carefully removed, so we don't know who buys cheapo baked beans...I'm not worried about any of that, although I do worry about the amount of wine bottles occasionally. Although the van only comes once a fortnight. This week, for example we only put out two cans and three bottles...but loads of paper. The week after Christmas is always an eye-opener, bottle-wise...
The beans are all Heinz in this house. I've tried buying cheapo, and low sugar/sodium. No-one will eat them, so that's not an economy, just a waste.
My Grandma used to hoard tins of food, a throwback to the war (and possibly the 70s shortages as well), salmon was something she had a cupboard full of. Until there was the botulism episode. A few people died after eating contaminated tinned salmon. Well, suddenly she was making a gift to my mum every week of several tins of salmon 'because she had lots'. Thanks, Granny. Good old family values. Our bin must have nearly crippled the dustman, there was no recycling thenaday, and they had to carry the bins. And they put them back after emptying.

Recent vintage finds.

Melamine. I love it, it reminds me of sitting in my Aunty's penthouse (which was actually a conservatory- the old fashioned wooden and glass type) and getting out the camping 'dinner service'. A blue melamine dinner service in its entirity. Just remembering it makes me feel good. I have a small collection, jugs and serving dishes in the main, in lots of colours. I like it to be scratch free so it can be used. Great for BBQs and picnics.

Gravy boats have become a bit of thing recently. I used to use a large jug, but now have several gravy/sauce boats. Some of them more successful on the pouring front than others.

Then there's cake plates. Serving plates, just plates...you can't have too many. I do rotate these, and most are in the cellar at any given time. I also have matching bits and bobs for most of them, milk and sugar sets- that sort of thing.

I often decide on a theme for lunch or dinner, 70s/floral/formal, that sort of thing. You need a serious amount of bits and bobs for that.

That's my excuse, anyway.

Second show.

It's gone noticeably colder here over the last couple of days. The leaves are falling in the garden and the plants are dying back.
This lovely rose is almost the last colour left. It suddenly bloomed again a couple of days ago, for which I'm very grateful.

A new lease of life.

Last year I bought a dress in the Boden sale. It was great, I loved the print and the crepe fabric. But the sleeves were awful, a really odd shape, not in keeping with the tea-dress style at all. More medieval damsel pointy-ended funnels.
Now, I'm no seamstress, but I cut them off anyway. I've put plain bias binding round the armholes, which I deepened a tiny bit, maybe one centimetre. (I have very wide shoulders.)

I don't intend to wear it without a cardigan. I very rarely go bare-armed, unless it's scorching hot, and even then only when I'm on the beach. It's a good job I'm going to have a cover-up as the workmanship wouldn't bear too close an inspection. I did it all by hand sewing. I just couldn't be bothered to set up and thread the machine for a small job.

I rather like it now, and can see it with opaque tights and a pair of boots. The cardi options are myriad due to the opportunities thrown up by the print.

I've been doing a wardrobe overhaul and I'm glad I decided to revamp this rather than add it to the charity shop pile. Which did have a couple of unworn items that had been lurking in the closet and making me feel guilty. They'll be off to a new home, along with loads of 'party' type clothes. My going-out days are not exactly long-gone, but are fewer and further between these days.

I still have some sparkly stuff in there...

Saturday saunter.

We do not want ze germs.

We were due to be hosting a French exchange student in mid-October, a visit already postponed by them once.

News came through yesterday that they're postponing again, until at least March. Why? Well, it's because of H1N1, aka swine flu. They don't want to catch it.

Have I missed something? I hadn't realised France had managed to escape infection. Or indeed that Northern England was a no-go area.

No1 is at a large 6th form college. They are taking extraordinary precautions. Antibacterial gel in all classrooms; desks, doorhandles and handrails all being wiped down between lessons and all manner of other practices.

Interesting. At my school we have the usual notices about using and disposing of hankies; hand washing signs and....and, well, that's it. There have been cases of H1N1 at school of course, but no-one seems unduly worried, and I don't think it's complacency. It's more a case of where do you start, and stop? Fatalists to a man, with Doris Day warbling through our minds...what will be, will be.

Surely it only takes a stray sneeze in the supermarket and...

Schools and kids are full of germs. I can't imagine it's any different in France. No1 is off to Slovakia on Saturday (she's got the travel bug as well) on a Euro Week exchange. They are not so fussy it seems. Thank goodness.

Getting wound up.

Months ago I bought a book of patterns from my local yarn shop. I enquired about buying the yarn as well, but was told they'd never been a stockist. Say no more. I'd seen this cardigan featured in a knitting magazine and I really wanted to make it, so I thought I'd just get the yarn on-line.

It's Auracania Toscano, a hand dyed Chilean yarn and nigh on impossible to get hold of. I put the book away and gave up, thinking i'd calculate for a substitute yarn sometime. Then, a few weeks ago I was at a yarn sale somewhere in Staffordshire. I say somewhere as I'd had to borrow my Dad's sat nav as it was in an out of the way place, a church hall in the middle of a row of cottages on a one way lane. Stress factor ten, as the carpark held three cars, with no turning space. Inside it was stifling hot and packed out but there was a hell of a sale on.

Anyway, over in a quiet corner I spied my yarn on sale at half price. Just enough. As it very luckily turned out...when I got home and actually read the pattern. Sold. Green of course, just for a change. And a nicer blend than in the book picture.

The only thing I can find to moan about is the fact that it came in skeins that you have to wind yourself. I have no willing child or charming vintage wool-winding-whatsit. So, it's the back of a chair and mounting frustration for me. I do not glean an ounce of inner peace or satisfaction from this tedious process. It's anti-therapeutic, if there is such a thing.

It knits-up beautifully and is very soft. I hope there's enough yarn after all the winding. I really must learn my lesson and go to this sort of event with a list of some sort instead of trying to remember/guess what I need. It's like seeing curtains on offer and not being quite sure of the window dimensions...my mother has them with her at all times. I, on the other hand, have many pairs of vintage/bargain curtains that don't quite fit anywhere. (Always too short.) I have all good intentions of doing something creative with them all. One day.

End of season.

I did some of the jobs that needed doing, but I've kept putting off, on Sunday. Cleaning the car was one of them. It really needs some sort of nuclear blast, as there's lots of insect crap embedded in the paintwork and I just don't have the stamina or inclination to scrub at it the required amount of time. ie for more than five seconds. I threw a bucket of cold water to rinse it off, which missed the car and soaked my legs and feet.

The other job was clearing out the greenhouse. Which I actually enjoyed as I picked the last of the red peppers. Yes, red. These last days of sunshine have ripened them up.

Or, at least, most of them. They're not prize winners, due to their somewhat stunted and mis-shapen appearance.  Fortunately this has no bearing on the taste. I roasted them in a bit of olive oil and crushed garlic and they were wonderful.

Overall the peppers outshone the blighted tomatoes. I might give the tommies a miss next year, as I fancy giving pumpkins a try. Or those fancy gourds. I'd like to think I could grow them outdoors but I'd need a cold frame at least, which is what our unheated greenhouse is really-a plus-size cold frame.

A murder in the garden.

A bit of leftover bread on the bird table morphed into a scene from Hitchcock's 'The Birds'.

I of course was Tippi Hedrenesque in twinset and pearls, as the crows swooped very low overhead, mouths full to bursting. They took refuge in next door's chimney pots.

Derren Brown must have had a hand in that bit as I don't know how ten or so crows managed to squeeze into two small pots.

Which got me thinking. How many crows make a murder? Extensive Googling yielded very little, just that 'a number' of crows grouped together does the trick.

Autumn leaves.

I'm often impressed by the way some people can take an object and photograph it in such a way that it is added to by the process. I aspire to such an ability, but realise this is rarely a natural talent, but something gained by trial and error.

There are obviously some that have a gift for colour or combination, or both if they're really lucky. I often look at a particular thing or scene and think how well it would look as a photo. But it never comes out quite how it looks in the real world.

I suppose this is why there are courses, degrees even in photography and cinematography. It is not simple. If it were I would be able to do it. It has taken a while for that idea to really sink in.

My Dad, when he was probably roughly the age I am now, went through a phase with photography. He used to disappear for hours, camera in hand, snapping away at cars and farm animals in the snow. We have albums full of the product, and he became really quite good. Amateur radio became the love of his life, however, but he can still be relied on for a good picture. So, maybe it's a genetic thing, this desire to get it just right, only now making itself apparent?

Whatever, I'm embarking on some more challenging setups. To start though I thought I'd try out a few different backgrounds- see if it made any difference. It does.

I know which one I prefer. The mosaic maker has also become a favourite. I always liked these on other blogs I read and really wanted to find an easy to operate one. This is Picasa, a Google application, and free- which is always a bonus. It means you can link photos with a theme,which may or not have the merit to stand alone, or just look plain better en masse.

I've also started to really look at pictures in books and magazines; the way they're put together. I've noticed that to do a really good minimalist photo you have to be a very good photographer. And probably have some serious kit, an assistant, a studio and some of those silver umbrella things.

I'm not sure whether the Krapomatic will be up to the job of what I'm visualising. One can but try. Still, I hope you all have low expectations. Then you won't be disappionted...

Cosmopolitan, or what?

Yesterday No2 daughter and I decided to have a day out, whilst not actually leaving town.

We went first to the Museum and Art Gallery where a work colleague was having a small exhibition of his illustrations. It was called 'Mr Hope on the Landing, the upper landing being the site of the show.

A nasty lady with an annoying sniff and fascist leanings was busy imposing a photo-embargo, so apologies for the hasty, badly lit, snaps. (I'm sure Tom wouldn't mind as it's all publicity.)

He's written some children's books himself and I've seen the work he puts into these. I'm considering asking if he'd do a picture of Coco, I think she'd translate well into his style.

After that we went to the Thai restaurant for the express lunch. I had a number 11- marinated beef in a red wine reduction. It was so seriously good I considered licking the plate. But I have an image to maintain.

The Pavilion Gardens was hosting a Continental market, so we strolled around for a while. There was much to tempt, but we went for the sugar-rush and bought some chocolate fudge and baclava from a Greek stall. The two stallholders were a real double act, one smiley, one very grumpy and moaning away in Greek. We pretended we understood and tutted at his comment about a lady (a good guess). He was sheepish, and it goes to show you never really know who's about. Even if they are having you on.

Lots of French plastic tablecloths and bread at incredible prices. I hadn't realised the Euro was quite so dire at the moment. And a stall that purported to be German Pick and Mix. Not absolutely sure what made it German as it looked pretty standard issue stuff to me. Must've been the accent.

Nice atmosphere....hundreds of wasps. They are everywhere at the moment. Last week at school three boys playing football were all stung during break, one of them four times. One had a neck still so swollen the next day he had to go home.

Roll on the first good frost...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am having terrible problems with posting at the moment. Typepad randomly changes the font, text size, and keeps shutting everything down. I've loaded Firefox, which has solved the I.E. shut down problems, so far, but I have to keep going over and over the text to correct it all. P.I.T.A- big time. Have put in a help ticket, but am not holding my breath...

Eek, a mouse!

Every year I get shoeboxes ready for the Christmas Child donations at school (No2's and my own). The idea is you get an empty shoe box, cover it with suitable paper and fill it with items for a child that may not have very much in the way of material possessions. You put a label on the outside suggesting the suitable gender and age range.

I usually put crayons and stationery, toothbrushes, a recorder, toy cars, small dolls, soap, hair bobbles and ribbon...some fun and some practical stuff, it can't be perishable or have any reference to violence (toy soldiers and such). This year I decided to try and make some toys as well. Mr Mouse is one such effort. I like him very much but he is large, much larger than I'd imagined- he'll fill most of a box on his own.

There have been all sorts of stories about charity organisations meddling with the boxes, swapping gifts and adding bibles. Well, they are Christian organisations, and Christmas is fundamentally a Christian celebration. I'm not religious myself, but I love tradition, the idea of giving (and put up the Nativity each year), and admire people who put their money where their mouth is and do something for these children.

In Moscow the British Women's Group** used to collect for a large orphanage and take essentials to them several times a year. This included toilet tissue, sanitary towels, soap, disinfectant, flannels etc. The state gives next to nothing to support 'orphans', who might be in homes due to disability or family problems. Disability is also not supported by the state and facilities for transport and schooling are very rare. Drink related deaths and domestic violence stemming from it are rife. I did visit a 'Baby House' while I was there, but that's a story all by itself.

At Christmas (Russian Christmas is celebrated later than ours- they stick to the old calendar, Julian as opposed to Gregorian) we had a separate collection and bought fun things instead of essentials, wrapped them and put them in named bags. Most of these children had never had a personal gift before. The staff at the orphanage put on a special party and had food, games and balloons.

Moscow seems to be cropping up a lot at the moment, I'll call it a day after this for a while. It's a good point of reference, though, to highlight very different attitudes and customs.

Anyway, the boxes are sent well before Christmas to have a good chance of hitting their destination at roughly the right time. I need to get busier with the needles.

**I just want to say here that it wasn't a case of flouncing about like Lady Bountiful. Lots of women did hands-on stuff like painting & decorating, gardening and helping at the orphanages.

More memories.

 

Many people think Moscow is cold all year round. Not so. Summers are hot and humid, with frequent impressive thunder storms. They make the most of the weather and outdoor bars and resaurants spring up in parks and boulevards overnight. The Russians are also very fond of a theme. Hence the Wild West Wagon establishment.

Bottom left is Dyetski Park (Children's Park) which was very near where we lived. Looming in the background is the Russian White House, seat of the parliament. The park backs on to the back of the building and you can get surprisingly close. Bottom right shows the memorial outside the park to those who died in the 1993 attempted coup. This road was where the tanks ploughed through the barricades. This whole area is called Barrikadnaya as it was where the Revolutionary barricades were set up.

 

Moscow Day, and it was Moscow's 858th birthday (though this happens every year). All the roads are closed and there's a real party atmosphere. There are thousands of people on the streets, in rough zones with security as you pass through each one. There's entertainment, dancing, military and rock bands, balloons and flowers. Children feature heavily and have lots of special events laid on for them. There's always alcohol on the go in Russia, but very rarely any trouble, unless it's very late at night. We never felt threatened at any time we were there, and we always used public transport and local shops. I have been all over Moscow, on my own, using the Metro, buses and on foot.

 

Now, in Russia, and in the cities especially, if you are desperate to get somewhere quickly and you aren't near the Metro or a bus stop, then you just step into the road and stick out your hand. Any number of cars (usually Ladas) will screech to a halt. These are ordinary Joes going about their business. You ask if they happen to be going your way and negotiate a price for the lift. These are called chastniks, gypsy cabs. They're a combination of entrepreneurialism and the hangover of Communism, when only the very wealthy had cars, and so offered lifts for a very small price to those less well off (ummm, how did that situation arise in a Communist state....?) Foreigners are advised to never, ever take risks in these. I used them all the time. Young Russian girls use them to get to school as a matter of course-they are very reasonably priced if you're not afraid to haggle like a demon. The only ones to avoid are the obviously clapped-out or any driver smelling of booze...

I once hailed one with No1 in tow. She had to go in the back (no rear door), with me in the front. Not the best arrangement. I'd spotted a steering lock on the back seat and told her that if there was any problem she should take a swing at the driver. We had a giggle and I chatted to the driver in Russian. As we got near our destination he said, in passable English, 'Are you from London?' Poor man, he must have thought he'd got the only two psycho expats in his car.

I also once hailed one where the driver took a turning I wasn't expecting, I though I was being abducted and told him I knew it was the wrong direction. He was mortified and had to explain we needed to get on the one way system...

Anyway, the top two pictures show Mr H in the ambulance (yes, really) that stopped for him. Everyone in Moscow needs the extra income. The bottom two show Baku Citadel, very beautiful (can you just make out all the birds circling over it?), and sheep grazing in the centre of Baku. And why not?

Memories.

Mr H was doing a bit of a (late) spring clean of his laptop the other day and found lots of 'missing' photos from our early time in Moscow. I now have the files and it was great looking back through them.

I thought I'd share a few...

 

Melons.

 

More melons. Prodigious amounts are eaten over the summer, and impromptu stalls sell them on every street corner.

 

Crime won't crack itself, especially when the police are in the park playing chess. In summer there are rows of giant and ordinary chess sets in the central parks and anyone can wander up and have a go.

 

Veteran's Day, and people hand flowers to the veterans and have photos taken with them. There is much respect and it's a rather touching and humbling day. Russians have Days for lots of reasons. Border Guards Day, International Day, City Days and International Women's Day all spring to mind. On the latter most women get the day off work and receive flowers from all and sundry. The girls went to school in Moscow and were surprised when all the boys arrived with flowers, usually carnations or roses, and handed one to each of the female staff and students. All the restaurants are full of women having a good day...and night...out. No men allowed.

 

Mr H travels a lot in Russia and all the CIS states. He usually has an animal photo for me on each trip. This tabby was asleep on a roof in Baku (Azerbaijan).

 

This is inside Astrakhan airport. Can you imagine that level of tolerance over here? Me neither.

More animals, but back in Moscow now.

 

Some parade or other in the city- I think it was Moscow Day.

 

The Russian premiere of Madagascar in the Russia Cinema in Pushkinskaya, the oldest and most famous cinema in the city. Obviously there has to be an elephant...

A small step forward.

Back in May I wrote this about the general state of a few of the public buildings in my town. I have good and not so good news to report.

The good news...

  

The large fanlight at the railway station has been refurbished with high tech toughened glass, and the paintwork has had a facelift. It looks so much better. That's where it ends, though. The station has had the hoardings painted blue...ummm. We are assured something will happen, but no indication of when.

 

The bad news is that St Anne's Pump Room stands empty and is getting tattier by the day. This is where all the spa water was pumped up to a fountain, the masses could then 'take the water'. It used to be very smart inside, marble and tiles and matron-like women in uniform handing out small glasses of the water. (More info on the waters here.)

 

The beautiful Crescent remains boarded up and in a very sorry state, awaiting the refurbishment so very long in the pipeline. The plans are outlined here. 

One day we just might get a glimpse of their former glory, it's in the hands of the developers for now.