Just following recipes without question can lead to over-catering.
Granted, the recipe for Nigel Slater's scrummy figgy puddings is for two medium-sized puds is to serve eight each, but when I'd weighed out all the ingredients, they filled two bowls which were twice the size of the pudding bowls.
Now, let's just take a moment here, I have previous for lack of volumetic awareness - there was the emptying of the bean bag contents into a small box incident. I'm still finding the damned things all over the place.
Somethig must have gone wrong somewhere. The two medium puddings have become four, with four mini puds to spare. As Noel would say, result!
Pudding anyone?
The countdown is on. Come January, Noel is shunning the world of computers, project management and all things technical. He's swapping his suit for salopettes , his briefcase for skis and his pen for poles. He's threatening to grow his hair into a pony tail, dye it blue and cultivate a gnarl stripe. He's gone on a cheese diet to prepare himself for three months of Swiss fondue and is practising punctuality, setting his watch to Swiss Precise Time (that's the biggest challenge). He's even brushing up on his German, though where he's going in Gstaad is just on the border of the French and German languages. Yes, Noel is going to be a ski bum. Well, not quite a bum, more of a buttock, as he's training to be a ski instructor.
He's not in the first flush of youth, so when he tells people he's leaving sensible and stable work to train as an instructor, he's met first with incredulity, then with envy then raging jealously.
'You lucky b@!!!!!!' say mostt
'I wish I had the guts to do that', say some
and....
'Will you teach me?!' say the rest.
Of course, I'm totally supporting hi in this - who wouldn't want to be married to a ski instructor? And, hey, we'll never be rich! We did the sums, it made no sense for him to hire skis - and as I will be joining him at weekends, we thought we'd try get discount for bulk. Naturally mine are orange - and phat. And they arrived today. Unfortunately, Noel's aren't here yet....
I understand it's snowing in Utah....and I have time on my hands......
I couldn't believe it, The meal was finished, the plates were being put away, Clare had managed to eat two portons of the very rich, very chocolatey pudding and was giving her full tummy a contented pat.
'I know you wouldn't expect me to say this,' she said 'But my favourite was the cabbage'.
There was a stunned silence, you could have heard the sound of chocolate melting.
I wasn't counting who of the six around the table had eaten what, I only knew about the pudding thing because there was just one left - and everyone knows that once it's out if the wrapper and put into a pudding, chocolate goes off very quickly, almost immediately, and must be consumed straight away.
It seems the same was thought about the cabbage as here was a general confession around the table that the red cabbage braised in wine was a great hit - even with Martin who has an aversion to all things brassica.
I think I'll make that recipe again - maybe I'll try adding chocolate...
Forget about packing the picnic hamper with potted beef sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer, this more discerning Five headed straight for the coffee and cake after the 60-mile drive to Chatsworth House.
Digital Knave (Nick), JinkyJim (Paul, who has never been called Jim, it's not even his middle name) BaggyJumper (Julia, whose jumpers seem to fit well) and Sicliff (Simon) along with myself were the Flickr Five let loose with cameras to capture the Beyond Limits sculpture exhibition.
We're a pretty arty lot ourselves, the joint navigational skills of Paul and myself were poetry in motion, though the motion was sometimes in the wrong direction. This set the tone for the day, frivolity and giddiness, plus giggling at the anatomical features of some sculptures - and discussions of comparative sizes, the effect of the cold and artistic licence. And us all grown up, I ASK you.
The sculptures were scattered around the beautiful grounds, framed in a fabulous setting and reflecting the blazing colours of autumn. Given the challenge of getting there, the wisdom of either Paul or me stepping into the maze was questionable, but it seemed such a small maze. How wrong can a person be? After a bit of wandering and a lot of about turns, we gave up, exiting to see Nick watching us from a vantage point, he'd already been in, found the centre, signed the book there and left. We couldn't really challenge him, which of us was EVER going to get to the centre to prove him wrong?
Our artistic sensibilities were challenged when we came across this coloured scooter -like sculpture. Was it a political statement, or maybe a representation of love and its many facets? Could it describe loneliness and desolation? We pondered but had no answers, though glad of the intellectual stimulation and fired up for more cake to fuel our thoughts, we headed for the cakery, only to be overtaken by a child who had taken the scooter sculpture and was about to beat us to the last slice of ginger and Marmite cake.
Who says art isn't fun?
'
......Two of the final lines from a little-known but very enjoyable 1980 film starring Walter Matthau and Glenda Jackson. I know them off by heart, along with pretty much the rest of the film, its sets, the costumes and those quaint late 1970s fashions.
Not that Hopscotch is a great film, it's so-so, worth the admission price at the cinema. What makes it special is that along with Top Gun and the TV version of Pride and Prejudice, it's one of my comfort programmes. The programmes I watch when I'm poorly, sad or just watch to be massively self-indulgent. You see, I have Swine Flu. Well, probably not flu and possibly not porcine, but definitely a cold, or at least a bit of a sore throat. I'm not a very good patient, there's far too much to do and too little time to do it to spend languishing in bed coughing, spluttering, sneezing and making mucus (by the way, why IS it green?), but there comes a point where you just have to rest and let it takes its course.
One sure way of making me feel better when I'm poorly is to curl up on the sofa with a fluffy blanket and a steaming mug of tea, turn off the mobile, allow the cat to settle, usually making a warm nest on my tummy and zap the TV with the remote and let the credits roll. The sad and self-indulgent versions involve alcohol and chocolate, but as I currently have no taste buds, and feel dizzy enough, I'll go with the tea and save the chocolate for later.
I don't remember how Hoscotch became one of my comfort films, it's not soppy, or even a classic, I think it just happened to be on TV on one of the rare occasions I had to admit I was sick. I guess the same could be said of Top Gun which I can never watch too many times, what with all that fancy camerawork and fabulous flying and great, if corny, one-liners......ooooo, you can be MY wingman any time.......bullshit.....you can be mine. Pride and Prejudice is of course in a class of its own, I even managed to quote it in my dissertation, the wet shirt scene......gosh, I've come over all unnecessary. And do you know what? I feel better already.
Now, where's the alcohol and chocolate?
Noel and I had done it last year and, as with all experiences, the hard slog and gut-busting strain are soon forgotten when you cross the finishing line and head off for liquid refreshment...so I didn't think twice about suggesting the hilly and challenging course for Andrew's first 10k. All I had in mind was the lovely views, kind surfaces and knowledge that there would be a medal waiting for us at the end.
Andrew had checked the terrain and was slightly apprehensive. Actually, he was very nervous as the highest climb on his home training run is a bridge - and the camber in the road, that's Selby for you........ We were held up in traffic en route, so he got slightly worried as time passed by and he had no running mates, so he had to call to check we hadn't chickened out...as if...
The experience was once again fantastic. As we lined up to start, we were cheered on by Sam, Amber, Lou.Margaret and Glen. The children had pained a special sign - Go Dad! It made all the difference to see and hear them cheering at the start and the finish.
This was the Run 10k for Cancer Research, we ran our races for brave friends and relatives. My colleague Beck has an amazing story of her own to tell, but it was her mum I wanted to honour, 30 years fighting cancer, she's just finished a course of chemotherapy and wants to get back to living a normal life, what an inspiration. Noel ran for Uncle Trevor, who's just starting treatment for a brain tumour. Trevor is upbeat, positive and another fighter.
I can exclusively reveal that the circumference of my head is 55cm, not a measurement you take every day, in these times of one-size-fits-all, but it's very imporatant to get this particular measurement right. You see it's for my flat cap, not the one that comes Yorkshire-style with a ferret, but the one that has a tassle and a hood from the University of York.Yes, it's time to think of the graduation ceremony.
At least I won't have to worry about what to wear, I'll have a rather unflattering gown -in grey of all colours. Fortunately the hood has a red stripe. As for the tassle, I wonder if they'll let me add my own......There's an option to keep the gown for an extra week, presumably so we can play Hogwarts, but I think I'll give it a miss. At £42 for a one-day hire, I think they are pushing it a bit.
More than half the MA students at York are Chinese, so there's a graduation ceremony in Beijing which, as an alumni, I can attend. Tempting.......
I am determined not to be one of those middle-aged women who write sugary letters to Woman's Own gushing anecdotes of their grandchildren's antics and cute comments. For a start, every fibre of my being is in denial about having left adolesence, let alone hurtling towards and beyond middle age. Secondly, as I've said before, while I'm married to a grandad, that does NOT make me a grandma. Right, I've got that out of the way. So we're agreed this isn't a letter to Woman's Own, it's a blog.
We went to see said grandchild at the weekend. She has her own little chair next to the TV where she takes in the delights of Ceebeebies and Tractor Ted. When daddy wanted to watch Clint Eastwood the other night, she turned her attention to dressing him up in mummy's jewellery and doing his hair. It's a good job Tom's farming mates didn't see him dressed like that, he'd never live it down.
Elizabeth is getting used to the idea of the telephone, as a two-year-old she can understand that the voice at the other end belongs to someone, but isn't always sure. So the other night when Noel was on the phone to Hannah, Elizabeth wanted to speak to him, but as the handpiece was passed to her, he could hear her saying. 'No, I can't do it, I can't do it........' She chats quite happily to Tom, but the other day he was in the tractor and the line was bad. That was it as far as she was concerned, announcing 'Daddy's gone wobbly' she hung up and wouldn't speak to him again.
Our visit produced a couple of gems, I went towards the bathroom and was about to close the door when I received her instruction:
'Don't be sick!'
Naturally I had to obey!
When it was time to go, I headed towards the farm gate to open it.
'Stop!' she shouted.
It was quite a command, so we stopped in our tracks.
'We'll do it, daddy will open the gate!'
It was daddy's turn to do as he was told.
Of course none of this is cute or anything. I'm just telling it as it is.......
The best thing about linear walks is, well, they're linear, and when you go by coach with a group, there's no faffing with parking cars at either end, driving in walking boots and kicking heels at the end while more shuttling goes on. We joined Liz and John's walking group to the Pico Campiguenos, when I say Liz and John's group, I think it may have been around before they arrived in Asturias, but they are such regulars that I think they get special mentions in despatches.
It's all very organised too, printed sheets with photos, maps and a chart showing ascent and descent. Of course it was in Spanish, but we were part of a group, folk knew where they were going and there was the promise of a bar and beer at the end, definitely my kind of walk.
The limestone terrain of Asturias is reminiscent of the Yorkshire Dales, but with attitude and altitude. The promise of a downpour and chance to use the brollies we'd lugged across in our one bag, refusing to pay extra Easy Jet for an extra one, was unfulfilled. It refused to rain, the temperature rose, out came the sunscreen, off came the zip-off trouser legs, it was glorious.
We trekked up the equivalent of Ben Nevis and beyond, then back down plus a further 200m, thank goodness for walking poles, though it was hell on the feet. The killer was arriving at the end of the track and having a further 2km to go on the road of many bends. I don't know how many times John promised it was just around the corner... Still, the bar and beer were waiting for us around the final corner. And, more importantly, we weren't the last to arrive. A couple of walkers cheekily blagged a lift, I wish I'd thought of that! At the time, it was quite challenging and ooooo my feet did hurt, but Noel, ever patient, prophesied that as time went by and the aches waned, I'd speak fondly, maybe even glowingly, of that day.How well he knows me.
John told us this crowd were the slow-paced, easy-going, non-gnarlers. Good grief, I'm glad we didn't ask to go in the keen car. The group has a website so I posted a couple of photos to them, apologising for my appalling lack of Spanish. I received a wonderful reply from Sabina:
'Thank you for your photos. Sorry my Englishman is very elementary'
My Englishman is anything but elementary, though sometimes he can be a bit silly......
Thanks to Liz for the photos, she managed to capture the whiteness of my legs perfectly.And yes, that's blood, I've no idea how I did it, and it didn't hurt a bit, but I thought it made me look rather gnarly.
The scene's the same, sleepy seaside town. The doctor is just as grumpy and afraid of the sight of blood, he has an on-off relationship with a local lass, he hates dogs, but they love him, his aunt llives in the village, the policeman is neurotic and it's all very pretty and quirky.
Yes, grumpy old Doc Martin, played by Martin Clunes in the ITV programme has come to Spain, where he is Doc Mateo. The series is filmed in the beautiful seaside village of Lastres where we visited and marvelled. Then retired to Liz and John's flat where we watched the Spanish version. We didn't understand a word, but we didn't need to - the stories are the same!
Here's some photos of us having fun. And yes, Noel needs new headgear....
Neighborhood
Explore friends, family, friends & family, or entire neighborhood.
Recent Comments
-
TahoeGirl said:
[this is good]Gorgeous skis! And yes, snow in Utah and Colorado <sob>. Not Tahoe. read more
on Well, MY skis have arrived..... -
matthieuf said:
At least you'll never go out of fashion, wearing grey.... read more
on The circumference of my head... -
matthieuf said:
Cool. Been there. Stood in front of that picture. Taken a picture of it. It's one of Helen's favourites.... read more
on April in Paris -
Phil said:
[this is good]Great story - love it and can just imagine the cat leaping about in the middle of the night and... read more
on While we are sleeping
And I notice you're trying them out on your bed? read more
on Well, MY skis have arrived.....