Rattling On...

Empty that veg box...

 

I'm not a fruit person. If I had to get my 5-a-day from fruit I'd be stuck. I like grapes and cherries, occasionally raspberries and strawberries (though they give me eczema) and will tolerate the odd apple but that's as far as it goes.

But I adore veg, all of it, cooked or raw. In fact quite a bit of it tastes better raw, cabbage and mushrooms to name but two. And peas, any sort, to name another...

I first made Delia's roast veg lasagne years ago, loved it then and love it now. It's really tasty. I usually just put in it whatever I have but it does taste better with aubergine, which I don't really have lying around often. I used red pepper because I like the taste better and added some fennel and sweet potato, both of which are lovely when roasted. I've used carrots, parsnips and broccoli in the past as well. I can highly recommend this recipe, and the roasted  veg on their own as a main or side dish.

Strangely, when eating lasagne of any sort I like apple as a side dish. Or a nice green salad, but not cold. I like my salad at room temperature...

Are we nearly there yet?

Coco isn't too fond of the hot weather, or at least she likes sunbathing but walking is a different matter. Even when on the lead she'll flop down anywhere, including at the roadside, which startles some people.

When we did puppy training she just used to lie down when she'd had enough. It isn't unknown to find her being carried part of the way. Spoiled brat.

When it's been warmest I've tried to combine the walk with something useful, going to the post office or having a coffee in a nice outdoor spot (very useful). She likes this as she gets to rest and also gets loads of attention. Loads. From young girls and old men and everone inbetween. She has awesome pulling power for a rum looking bird.

The goldfinch babies...

As I mentioned briefly before, the goldfinches built a nest in my damson tree in the front garden. I feel very honoured as they are shy little birds.

The parents are very attentive and don't like it when I get close, or even look out of the front window, they get very agitated. But today I caught a glimpse of this little one perched on the edge of the nest and nipped in for the camera. I daren't get too close, so the pictures aren't so good.

The nest is no bigger than a teacup but it's quite deep, so usually only a parental head is peeping over the top. Goldfinches are sometimes known as th ewild canary and have a lovely song. If you click on the link you can listen to it. The ones here though don't sound exactly like that and make a longer whistling sound, e=which is how I identify when they're around.

I've heard that birdsong can take on regional differences so maybe that's what's happened here? I put sunflower hearts in a feeder nearby as they like these (and niger seeds). But the naughty squirrel also has a taste for them and crept up even as I was taking these photos...

A richness of embarrassment...

Yesterday I decided to do some cleaning before I had a shower, messy stuff, like bleaching all those bits that fit onto the shower door to stop water running out. The ones that get really manky.

So, I'm in my loungewear (posh name for pyjamas) sporting a tatty old pinny with the stuff soaking in the kitchen sink. I have washing in the washer and some to hang out. I decide to hang some sheets on the line, partly to get the laundry production line on the move and partly to cool off as all that cleaning works up a glow.

I go outside and begin to peg out, the dog is scratching at the inside of the French windows which are the back door, and I hear a click. This is the dog knocking the bolt into place, locking the doors. I know the front door is also locked as it always is if I'm upstairs, I don't have my phone...

I am hot, scruffy, my hair is standing on end but I must phone someone (my Dad) to come and climb through the kitchen window that, hallelujah, is just open. I go across the road to G, the neighbour with a sense of humour and who is usually in during the day. She is.

Not only that, she offers to get through the window herself, she is smaller (ahem) than me. She does. And says I owe her one and she'll remind me of it as often as possible! We have a good laugh and she admires the garden, bless her.

Note to self: carry phone, unlock front door if going out to back (or at least carry the key). Alternatively, do not ever leave the house unless someone else is inside... possibly a bit drastic.

PS This is not my naughty dog, it's a lovely one I saw as Sheldon Day.

Kathleen...

Something very strange happened yesterday, I received a thank you card from France with the postmark dated 20-07-12.

It was from Kathleen, thanking me for a scarf I made her and hoping my hand got better soon. Thing is I haven't heard from her for a long time, I've worried about that and emailed with no reply. And I made the scarf, and hurt my hand, two years ago...

If you're out there, Kathleen, please get in touch.

Free range...

Wrinkly eggs and ones that aren't even egg shaped. None of which would make it onto supermarket shelves. But that's the joy of buying at the farm gate, and they taste fantastic- which is the most important bit surely?

Is it really a fact that Joe Public will only eat regulary shaped and sized food, or is it the food industry that perpetuates this myth?

Certainly it doesn't bother me if my eggs are a bit on the interesting side, my apples different sizes, my potatoes unwashed. Though dirt seems to add a premium these days.

Are people so divorced from the production of food that they really don't know what it looks like? Surely if we ate it as it came then on the whole it would be cheaper and there would be less waste. Why has food been glamourised so much, become such a status symbol instead of fuel? Not that we shouldn't enjoy the presentation and consumption.

I have a lot of questions, but sometimes it all baffles me. Those of you who grow your own, have chickens, farm even, will know that it really doesn't matter what it looks like cosmetically. Many revel in the individual nature of home-grown, appreciating the added taste gained from not forcing something to be what it never was.

Would you, do you, buy food as it happened to turn out or do you demand uniformity?

Hedgerows...

Poppies, daisies, harebells and clover growing alongside my nemesis buttercups. The hedgerows are particularly beautiful this year. Even the thistles and ragwort are attractive in the right setting.

A lot of roads here are narrow and winding, there's often a bank on either side and a wall at the top. The banks are rarely mown, maybe just a foot or two at the bottom for a bit of clearance, same with verges, a bit of mowing to show where it's safe for cars to pull in to allow passing. Otherwise someone has to back up to a passing place. Now there's a head game for you. (And it's amazing how many people can't/won't reverse on these lanes- ladies it's time to man-up on this...)

I have to say the poppies are my favourite and give me a bit of a thrill whenever I see them. But then daisies are pretty, and clover tastes lovely...

When the sun shines at last...

There's a new cafe in town, Springs, it doesn't appear to have a website so I took some sneaky pictures.

I really like the decor, lots of contrasts which work very well together. A lot of thought has obviously been put into making somewhere more modern and not another twee tea room, though I would think it would appeal to a broad range of people. (It wasn't empty when I went but, as you may already know, I don't like people in my pictures unless there's really no alternative. I'll perform contortions to get people-free shots!!) Oh, the food was very good as well!

I spent a lot of yesterday gardening. The hard-grafty type not the tittling round dead-heading type. I went to Springs for a late lunch before getting stuck back in. A lot of the work was removing alchemilla/lady's mantle from the side of the drive. If you've ever had to do this you know the importance of not letting it get too well rooted... say no more.

I was aching so much by bedtime I had to have painkillers to get to sleep. But it does look better, and I revamped the front doorstep with some basic terracotta pots and blowsy flowers. Picture to follow if the sun shines on it and the flowers open.

I also took the rash step, while at the DIY buying plants, of getting paint to repaint the kitchen (following the water leak and subsequent staining). This is no small job and I'm not looking forward to it. But now's as good a time as any. I hate painting ceilings...

A Village Affair...

Yesterday was Sheldon Day (I've blogged about it before) and despite dire forecasts the weather was great. I arrived to find the usual car park, a field, was too wet to use and visitors were being shown onto any piece of land available by the villagers. I think they were a bit overwhelmed at how many people had turned up this year.

I had a chat with another woman in the produce tent regarding the winner of the Victoria sandwich class. It was very old school, only jam in the middle. The judges had eschewed the fancy ones with cream and strawberries in favour of a very plain looking one. Must have been based on taste, though we felt we should have been given a slice so we could see if they'd been right!

The village hall was serving cream teas and the scones were very good indeed. They were doing a good trade, as were the stalls set up at farm gates and in outbuildings. I came away with some lovely, and massive, eggs.

Swallows were diving all around and the cottage eaves were teeming with nests. Messy birds, though...

The ferrets were in the Pets class along with many rabbits, the poultry were in the same tent along with some mean looking turkeys. Welly wanging and vintage tractors, home made ice creams and the church flower festival. A proper village fete.

Puddled...

Do you remember I told you about our batty postie? Well, he's struck again...

I'd been waiting for four parcels for well over a week, all from different places, two of them signed for/tracked.

I'd rung and emailed all the senders and checked online etc. All was well at the sending end, they'd just never got here. So I rang the sorting office yesterday at about quarter to one. No, they said, nothing there, it would have been scanned/signed in/delivered already blah, blah...

About an hour later, back at work I received a text from No2. Guess what? All four parcels had just been delivered. What a co-incidence...

Later on No2 took a letter round to next-door but-one that had been delivered here by mistake, you're getting the picture??? Laughing, they handed over two 'Something for you' cards that they received yesterday, and were just about to deliver to us.

Card 1 reads: 2 packets to sign for, 1 to collect, 1 too big for post box. Collect in 20 hours from depot.

Card 2 reads: Please ignore the other form, it was left incorrectly (underlined twice). Thanx.

How much is it to rent a PO box?

PS Congratulations to Sonata who retires today. Not that I'm envious or anything. Have a wonderful summer and beyond, G x

Up, up and away...

Bees on honeysuckle, so what? Well, this honeysuckle has taken a detour from the hedge and grown up into the rowan tree. Maybe twenty feet so far.

Doesn't seem to bother the bees or the tree so for now it can continue to grow up there. Funny how the honeysuckle seems to limit itself, in the hedge it grows a foot or so long. Puts out a few longer feelers but stays roughly in check. But it shot up that tree last year and has kept on going up.

It's the penultimate day of term and I have been baking. You may ask why we don't save it until tomorrow, the actual end of term and a half day. Well, it's prize giving in the hall. Clapping until your hands look like raw beefburgers. It's amazing how many students feel ill every year...

Get 'em off...

Tench: an almost invisible fish. Dark of complexion and glum of expression.

On Friday I went for a facial. I have been twice before, all to different salons. That's three in total over the course of my adult life. The middle one was by far the best but the salon isn't there any longer.

Anyway, I roll up for 5.15, which is the time the therapist/facialist/beautician had booked herself when I called in previously. I thought at the time it was good that the salon opened so late as the facial was advertised as an hour long...

I have a cup of tea and am shown into a treatment room, very warm. So, she says, it's eyebrows. No. I say, facial. Slight look of panic but recovers quickly. Ok then, handing me a gown, get down to your knickers and I'll be back in a minute.

Hold on, says I, I'm here for a facial, I don't want fiddling with (and, yes, I did use that exact turn of phrase...) I've come in an old vest so it doesn't matter thanks very much. Ok, says she, just take off your tights. Well, at this point I ask for a full explanation of what exactly is meant by a facial, wondering if I've inadvertantly strayed into a 'massage parlour' or what have you.

Well, we usually start with a foot spa... At this point I almost bellowed No You Don't. I Want A Facial ON MY FACE. I don't like having my feet touched and certainly not when I've booked A FACIAL.

Eventually, I got a facial, on my face, with a neck massage. No foot spa, no nudity. Plenty of oil in my hair and all over the vest (but that was ok-I was expecting that bit!). Obviously the salon had closed, the owner was waiting to lock up and I felt like a mild inconvenience, though he was lovely. She'd obviously booked the wrong thing at the wrong time. She's obviously three sheets to the wind.

It may be that I shall only ever have had the three facials in my life. I can't stand the strain...

Carnival Day...

Unusually, yesterday morning was bright and warm. I decided to tidy the greenhouse and all was going well until I disturbed a mouse in his nest. I'm not sure who was more surprised!

Later on I was just in the kitchen when I heard an unmistakeable noise and rushed outside. Yes, it was a spitfire flying low, it passed over a couple of times. The roar of the engines was very thrilling, last year we had a Lancaster bomber, I don't know who organises these things but I love them.

Towards 1.30 we got our things together to walk into town. It's impossible to drive anywhere as roads are closed and visitors have already parked everywhere. There were hundreds of people already lining the streets, listening to the band in the park and generally milling around.

The procession was a little late setting off and, no word of a lie, as soon as the band struck up the first raindrops plopped down. Fortunately it was just a short lightish shower and didn't spoil anything.

There were quite a few floats and bands and the old regulars who always turn out and make an effort. But there was so much that wasn't there, or rather organisations who used to take part and don't do these days. Time was when every bank, supermarket and pub put up a float. Not now, but a small independent children's shoe shop made this marvellous display...

The old woman who lived in a shoe. I can't tell you how much detail they'd gone into, even down to the clothes line with one pair of big knickers flapping in the breeze and the little satellite dish. A lot of work had gone int it and my photo doesn't do it justice.

And then there are the men dressed as ladies. this is a common theme and I suspect a lot of men really love doing this. Indeed, years ago when I was small there used to be a charity football match on carnival day, everyone was in drag. I have the photos of my uncle Ron diving for a header with balloon bosoms all asunder. The most famous lady boys in town are the Billerettes...

These men (and the occasional actual lady) have been doing great things for charity for a long time and are famous now. they always get the biggest cheer and the St John Ambulance Band march with them and play great tunes for them to perform to.

Whilst standing I had developed a very bad backache, this happens occasionally- usually at very annoying times. It stays for a couple of days then goes again by magic. While it's happening though, it's very uncomfortable.

No2 and I were off to a cafe for some lunch and I sent her ahead while I minced along slowly. When I got there I had to slide onto the chair. The waitress noticed and sympathised, she said she gets something similar on and off. We ordered and she returned with the drinks and a heat pack for my back. I could have cried with gratitude, I have these at home and they are great. I slapped it on while at the table. You can't ask for better service than that, and she wouldn't let me pay for the pack. Thank you to her, it saved my afternoon. (It's a great place to eat if you're ever in town, by the way)

One more big shower of rain while we walked home through the park, but no-one was bothered. The band were playing, the Billerettes doing a display and an antiques fair on. The roads to the market place remained closed all day and in the evening so families could enjoy the fair without worrying about traffic. This is the best change that has been introduced over the last few years.

It was a good old fashioned family day out. There should be more of them...

Traditions...

It's wells dressing time of year again and this is the main well in town. I've mentioned this tradition before and before.

I thought they might have gone for the Olympics theme but instead it has been kept local. The childrens' well in the town centre has the sporty stuff.

The annual carnival is tomorrow afternoon and I'll be off for the annual drenching, followed by a walk round the fair which pitches up on the market place every year. I don't go on the rides any more but I love to watch, and smell the candy floss and listen to the banter from the fairmen.

I've done some close ups of the well this year, to show the construction. It's a clay base with natural things like petals, grasses and seeds pressed into it to make the tableau. The only benefit of this awful wet weather is that it preserves the dressings for longer. Some years they dry out and fall to pieces in a couple of days if it's hot or sunny. Not sure I'm convincing myself there...

Meffins...

Blueberry muffins.  The blueberries were on special offer otherwise I wouldn't have bought them. Because I can't taste them, as in I find them to be without a taste. Funny that. But they look effective and colourful and other people seem to be able to detect a flavour.

These muffins are eggless as well. Which is good if you can't eat eggs for some or other reason. Or you don't like the smell of eggs, I find I can smell eggs in cake quite readily. Funny that again.

In Russia milk smells of cows and grass and general countryside, I'm assuming it isn't pasteurised. Most foreigners drink sterilised imported milk (very costly) but you get used to the local stuff, and it never did me any harm. I think.

Oh, and they say 'meffin' in Russian, there's no 'uh' sound...