13 April 2015

the 2015 asparagus post



In keeping with tradition, here is this year's first asparagus as it appreared two days ago marking the definitive start of spring. Everything else is miles behind - not a seed sown, or a potato planted though they are ready to go.

Time to get on. Hands to get dirty. Changes to be made.

09 April 2015

grey, grey, grey



It seemed until recently as if every day, indoors or out, was full of grey and somewhat perversely I was finding pleasure in it knowing that it surely would not be long before the wind died down and the sun came out. Looking out of the window on a cold, wet day made me revel in the warmth of my sewing room, the industry, the chunter of the overlocker on a wobbly table. Even the coat I was making was blue-grey. This is good, I thought. The colour of a cold spring day.

We had some time off and went out and about - to  Cliffe Pools to look out for birds across the bleak expanse of water. There were birds there of course but the most sensible were keeping out of the wind. Another time, when the cloud lifted later in the day, we whizzed down to Sheppey hoping to see some raptors (tick) and then through Elmley where the sun finally penetrated the murk and heartened the lazy hares and daytime owls. Redshanks paddled and dappled and lapwings mobbed a threatening harrier. I pencilled down the types of  birds we saw that day, some thirty odd.

From Harty, across the Swale

Back at home I tried to Walk in Her Shoes, but there is something about walking too long on hard pavements that plays havoc with my frame. In a determined walk from home to west to Bethnal Green, south to Shadwell and back again it was more grey that caught my attention, including some wonderful visible mending of the granite kind in the appropriately named Hemming Street. The next day my hip ached and I settled on a trip to the allotment for fresh purple sprouting broccolli and rhubarb to make this clafoutis for a group supper, not too heavy to carry up Highbury Fields on a windy night and suitable for baking in a dodgy oven. (Rhubarb clafoutis: not sure I'd vote with the ayes a second time round.)

Hemming Street stones

Then more  light at the end of the tunnel.  The sun came out. The air warmed, The buds on the horse chestnut tree on Mile End Road tentatively came into leaf. And it was in the lifting of grey, we said our last farewells out in the countryside to bright, generous friend, with vibrant spring flowers*, snippets of rosemary, gaunt trees hung with great natural pom-poms of mistletoe and wondrous birdsong. It was, despite the sadness, a rather glorious day. When we got home, I took myself off for a long circular walk for more birdsong, stepping out of the way of weary mothers and children, skateboarders and cyclists, all making their way home after time in the park. It ended with a beautiful sunset over London.

Now, back at home, I am quarreling with the wardrobe trying to find something that can deal with the fickleness of April, something versatile and cheering and preferably not grey. Might something blue be a start? Or green? Or maybe yellow is the answer? I can feel some comforting needle activity coming on.



*She especially stipulated "no bloody lilies".

24 March 2015

not weeding


He didn't hear me creeping up, but then there were planes overhead, descending towards Heathrow and ascending from London City, engineering work at the new sewer ring tunnel at the end of the plot and, a little more distant on the building site beyond the canal, a concrete breaker crashing away. Clearly not much work was getting done here though. In his head he may well have been having a glass of Sancerre sitting at a"zinc" courtesy of Georges Simenon.

A couple of days later he pointed this out to me as we passed through Whitechapel station and I snapped it quickly before we got off the train.



Sorting out my photos just now, the appropriate juxtaposition of the two became obvious.


Lovely, lovely.


01 March 2015

then it was spring


It started off like this one Sunday afternoon.


Then this happened.

And today the tete-a -tete were taken to the plot so they can come up again next year.

Not quite sure how it happened so quickly though I could hazard a guess or two.

23 January 2015

taking heart


There are times when the twenty first century gets the better of me: when I can't remember the password for this or that; when the internet connection fails repeatedly and the helpline suggests it's time to get a screwdriver out (what?!?); when the fridge you want from the dispiriting electrical store is on dispay but no longer stocked; when the kettle has given up the ghost and the the main oven has also slipped into a half life and a second mortgage. It's at this point that the shoulders slump invountarily, a vice grips the neck and a massive sigh rises from the depths of the soul. And shortly afterwards you come across an odd juxtaposition in the local yarn shop which just might be sending a message to take heart and count your blessings.

With many thanks for your generous and hearty suggestions for spicing up in general and best wishes for a warm and woolly weekend.

07 January 2015

in my spice box



My dentist and I are on quite friendly terms after all these years and this morning we were talking about cooking - probably not an ideal topic of conversation when your mouth is about to be assaulted, but there you are. She told me that her mother, who had given up her career when she had children, was a brilliant cook but had never passed on her knowledge so she wanted to make sure that her own children were confident in the kitchen rather than having to learn from books as she had. Her husband, she said, was also a great cook - Punjabi dishes, lots of meat whereas her own mother had cooked mostly vegetarian dishes. "Our spice boxes are very different", she said, "though I am very fond of his dal".

Such a lovely thought - each partner bringing different spice boxes and fragrances to a a family. As a child the most exotic thing we had in our home was white pepper, even though the bricks and mortar of Wapping were heavy with the scent of spices. In our own home we have only one spice box - mine - newly refreshed in winter for the pudding-fest but not exotic by any means. I think of it as a very "British" spice box - nutmeg cloves, cardamom the box, ground ginger, cinnamon, cumin, allspice. Nothing very adventurous and easily and cheaply replenished at any of the local grocers. I think it's time for me to try a little harder, be a little more adventurous, more confident. I've always avoided Indian cookery because I don't care for food that burns my mouth, but it's about much more than that and I want to be more adventurous.

My dentist is going to think about what books might help, and suggested that in the meantime I should get myself down to Forest Gate to eat. By the next time we meet I hope to have cleared out my store to make room for some fresh flavours and a new book or two.

What should I make room for do you think? What's in your spice box? What would you recommend?


06 January 2015

before I forget



In our house, the festive season doesn't end until twelfth night. The cake's gone, the last of the cream has been put in the morning porridge, and there will be soup today to use up any solitary parsnips, carrots and scraps of cheese. I've closed the shutters on the driftwood tree and today we'll take down the greenery and settle down by the fire with a drink and possibly a spicy ginger star biscuit. Next year I won't make so many. I've already reset the alarm clock for dark and cold instead of light and cold. And then the job of shimmying into a shiny new year will be well under way. Before I do though, and at the risk of making you yawn, here are some of the things I want to remember...

Birdsong and the incredible number of robins this year round here. Taking walks at dusk to  hear them. John's delight at seeing a nightjar and mine at coming across that woodcock round the corner.

Taking the bus and sitting on the top deck. The pleasure of doing circular journeys; tube, walk, overground, bus. It's not called the freedom oyster for nothing.


The pleasure of reading again and no qualms about disposing of some books onto the "life's too short" pile. On the other hand, Beryl Bainbridge, Penelope Fitzgerald and Tove Jansson would come with me to my desert island.

Going to the cinema, best of all on wintry afternoons, on my own.

Sewing. I made lots of dresses, seven in total I think. Some were more successful than others, and some were inspired by those trips to the cinema. I learnt a lot.

The seaside. Obviously. The day we spent there to celebrate a significant birthday. A lovely funeral in a windswept corner of Norfolk. It was midsummer and we stayed in a coastguard's cottage overlooking the sea, close to where our friend lived. It was all so right.


Glastonbury with my boy. Warm, generous, uplifting, clever, funny friends and family.  Loads of new babies and new mothers. The women I worked with this year. I don't think they realise how much they've taught me. Nigel Farage can go hang.

Scania - or should that be Wallander Country?
I wasn't brilliant at lightening the load last year- thank you Oliver Burkeman for cutting some slack. At a push this year I might manage to rise and shine.

Wishing you all a shiny time too.

27 December 2014

and out the other side


"Hours go in walking thought. Be like a time of flu." (The Country of Ice Cream Star, Sandra Newman)

It was what a friend calls the 100 day cold that got me, except it was only 20 days. It sort of crept up and floored me somewhat. Christmas shopping? Not even a list. I managed to get to a local craft fair and buy some small gifts, walked at dusk to get some fresh air and listen to the robins singing, crept off to see Paddington one dark afternoon at the local cinema and had the place to myself (all the better to weep at the sad bits without anyone noticing). It was all a bit grim.


Then, thank goodness there was a loosening up, a lifting of the achiness and low mood. I may even have smiled. All a bit late in the day, but instead of scratching Christmas altogether - there had been talk of sandwiches and a flask of tea - we managed a scratch Christmas instead. Last year's driftwood tree came in from the garden, a tin of spicy star-shaped ginger biscuits were rolled out and sent off, several variously-sized fruit cakes were mixed and baked using a favourite recipe, some cranberry vodka was decanted from a couple of jars in the cellar.  


Much to everyone's surprise, especially mine, and some hard work from the green-fingered members of the family, it sort of came together after all. Hope your celebrations did too.

Now then: time for a small glass of something and a bit of reflection.

02 December 2014

not just for dogs


This makes me laugh all year round as I cycle up the canal- you learn quickly to ignore the rest of the graffitti. It seems a shame that the message has been overwritten by a danger sign, but on the other hand perhaps it adds a very relevant cautionary note for the time of year.

01 December 2014

defence against the dark


December, at last, possibly even the arrival of winter. Three weeks until the solstice, a few days more until Christmas, dark mornings, long nights. More time indoors with the radio on, listening or half-listening, depending on what else I'm up to.

There have been some sparkly little gems tucked away on that radio recently: the last reading from Margaret Forster's "My Life in Houses",  Jarvis Cocker's exaltation to us baby boomers to join in Molly Malone at the end of the nostalgic Singing Together programme (I couldn't because of a lump in the throat); throwaway words of wisdom here and there. Ruth Padel particularly caught my ear this morning on Start the Week when she said that making is our defence against the dark. How very perceptive.

Here then is a double offering to start this week, the season, and Advent. I stirred them up at the weekend but, unlike plum pudding, these were not for storing on top of the kitchen cupboard until Christmas day. First up, a pear and chocolate upside down cake. Very easy to assemble, some delicious bowl-licking, a bit more difficult to get the timing and texture exactly right. I left it to cool in the tin overnight - too long! - it was slightly soggy by morning. It tasted ok though I'd be inclined to add some spices to pep it up a bit. The second was an anglicised version of Smitten Kitchen's recipe. Well sort of. I made a crumble with no pie base, and added apples and dried apricots with the cranberries to temper the tartness adding no more than light sprinkling of sugar to the fruit.  I tend generally to be quite puritan with my crumble toppings but I've been converted by this one - butter, nuts, sugar, the lot. It's possibly the best I have ever tasted after years of searching.

I made double the quantity and there's some left in the fridge. I like to think of it as a defence against the dark. Deferred gratification can wait until another day, don't you think?