Tonight's Fish Night at the Pub, when they're putting on a special fish menu for £25. The Fox mentioned the event in his blog the other day. We've decided not to go. The Fox isn't keen on cullen skink, & since a bad bout of food poisoning a few years ago, he's nervous about mussels. Instead we're having fish night at home.
"Ah", I hear you say, "but you had fish last night." Quite right too. I have this habit of getting food obsessions, when ideas for meals follow a particular theme. I'm not even aware of it happening when I'm planning. It's only when I start the cooking I suddenly realise what I've done.
So it is that last Friday we had pouting en papillote. Saturday progressed into tuna & herb wraps. Yesterday was a cod & prawn fish pie. Today it's going to be a tuna pie. As it only needs half a tin of tuna, we will have to have another tuna meal before long. Oh, and yes there is a big difference between yesterday's meal & today's. Yesterday's was rosti potato topped whereas today's is in a puff pastry parcel. At the moment the filling is cooling & the pastry is thawing. (I couldn't be bothered to make my own puff pastry - too much faff!) So when I'm done here, I'll make up the tuna parcel ready to go in the oven this evening.
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Monday, 10 November 2008
Along the promenade
It's wild out there! I've just come back from a trip on my electric buggy, the Mean Machine, down to the fish shop.
I was aware of the wind even as I made my way to the promenade, but it really hits you when you arrive there. The sea is a dark, brooding, muddy grey. Great rollers are in evidence today. Across the Bay, the Lakeland fells try to loom on the misty horizon.
I head off in the direction of the shops. One man is walking his dog. He encourages the animal to go down the ramp towards the beach - obviously a favourite playground. I think the idea is to ensure the dog does not disturb me, or I him. Whatever the reason, the dog thinks it's wiser not to go for a paddle today & looks pleadingly at his owner. I carry on.
Now I come to a stony outcrop. The high piping sound of the oystercatchers tells me the tide must be about to turn. They are gathering, ready for meal time when that happens.
I turn the corner. Now the wind is really behind the tide. The rollers crash on the shore & rocks that form the breakwater. Spume leaps several feet in the air. Drama indeed.
Further on, I see a lone windsurfer. I hope he's a good swimmer. If he loses balance, I wouldn't fancy his chances of swimming in that tide if he isn't.
Finally I get to the shop, buy the cod for the fish pie I'm making for this evening, along with some potted shrimps just because they're utterly irresistible. I set off back home along the prom. By now, it's possible to see that the tide is slowly moving out. It's still wild. Now I'm going into the wind myself. More oystercatchers have arrived. The stone jetty is covered with them. Some gulls are circling overhead. The sun briefly peaks its head out. The scene is transformed as the white on top of the waves almost glistens against the steely grey of the sea.
I love living near the sea. You never know what you'll find. Its mood seems to change from minute to minute. Nonetheless, I'm glad to be home now, in the warmth, with a hot mug of tea to thaw me out again.
I was aware of the wind even as I made my way to the promenade, but it really hits you when you arrive there. The sea is a dark, brooding, muddy grey. Great rollers are in evidence today. Across the Bay, the Lakeland fells try to loom on the misty horizon.
I head off in the direction of the shops. One man is walking his dog. He encourages the animal to go down the ramp towards the beach - obviously a favourite playground. I think the idea is to ensure the dog does not disturb me, or I him. Whatever the reason, the dog thinks it's wiser not to go for a paddle today & looks pleadingly at his owner. I carry on.
Now I come to a stony outcrop. The high piping sound of the oystercatchers tells me the tide must be about to turn. They are gathering, ready for meal time when that happens.
I turn the corner. Now the wind is really behind the tide. The rollers crash on the shore & rocks that form the breakwater. Spume leaps several feet in the air. Drama indeed.
Further on, I see a lone windsurfer. I hope he's a good swimmer. If he loses balance, I wouldn't fancy his chances of swimming in that tide if he isn't.
Finally I get to the shop, buy the cod for the fish pie I'm making for this evening, along with some potted shrimps just because they're utterly irresistible. I set off back home along the prom. By now, it's possible to see that the tide is slowly moving out. It's still wild. Now I'm going into the wind myself. More oystercatchers have arrived. The stone jetty is covered with them. Some gulls are circling overhead. The sun briefly peaks its head out. The scene is transformed as the white on top of the waves almost glistens against the steely grey of the sea.
I love living near the sea. You never know what you'll find. Its mood seems to change from minute to minute. Nonetheless, I'm glad to be home now, in the warmth, with a hot mug of tea to thaw me out again.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Brunei
I seem to have got out of the habit of daily writing my blog. I don't know whether it's to do with the change of site. Or whether it is that somehow, since our holiday in France, time just seems to be whizzing by, & I seem to have had so many things to do, to catch up on, that I haven't had much time just to sit down to write. Today, however, is grey & wet so I'm not going to church this morning. Sunday is always our big chore day. I sort the washing while the Fox does the cleaning. I'm always so shattered at the end of this that the Fox does the cooking, so I've not even got the meal to prepare today.
I've started to read about Brunei, the probable destination of our next long haul holiday. I've always dreamt of visiting, but never really believed I ever would. Lack of money, health or time always intervened.
Brunei is the land of my birth, but I came to England as a toddler of two. I'm not sure if I have any memories of my own of Borneo. My childhood home, though, was surrounded by mementos of life in the Far East. In the bookcase were books on Borneo. We had great aerial photos of Brunei. My parents would point out the houses where we lived at various times. They often talked about life there. There were Dayak hand-beaten silver trinket boxes to be polished. The tray we used was made from plaited palm leaves. My mother had a sarong, which I now still have. There were photos of my Dad with the works football & cricket teams - he was a keen sportsman, nearly playing professionally. Among the cookbooks was one on Malay cooking. Indeed, when I started to learn to cook, one of the first things my mother taught me was how to cook a Malayan curry. The table was weighed down with side dishes of various fruits, nuts, eggs, chutneys etc. When we first returned to England, I gather we used to irritate my grandmother by speaking Malay all the time, but now that is a language I've long forgotten.
I suspect I do have some memories. I've always recognised a pineapple plant without being knowingly aware how. I did instantly recognise a banana shrub but I admit, I do remember a photo of my brother, as a baby, being held by a family friend, his godmother, standing in front of a banana tree in our Bruneian garden.
The first time I ventured to the tropics since that epic trip as a toddler, was only a few years ago. We stopped for a few days at Singapore on the way to Australia to see that same family friend from Borneo days. As we stepped out of Changi airport, we were greeted by a thick wall of humid heat. I felt suddenly at home. I'd happily had pad thai (translated on the menu as "carrot cake" though quite why I don't know as it's a sort of prawn & rice mix) for breakfast on the plane. I subsequently bemused one official at the airport by having the local spicy, brothy, soup for breakfast as we waited for the ongoing flight to Australia. He couldn't believe that I, an obvious white woman, could choose it, but to me it seemed homely.
I wonder what else I will find that is somehow familiar & comforting on this trip, if ever we finally go on it.
I've started to read about Brunei, the probable destination of our next long haul holiday. I've always dreamt of visiting, but never really believed I ever would. Lack of money, health or time always intervened.
Brunei is the land of my birth, but I came to England as a toddler of two. I'm not sure if I have any memories of my own of Borneo. My childhood home, though, was surrounded by mementos of life in the Far East. In the bookcase were books on Borneo. We had great aerial photos of Brunei. My parents would point out the houses where we lived at various times. They often talked about life there. There were Dayak hand-beaten silver trinket boxes to be polished. The tray we used was made from plaited palm leaves. My mother had a sarong, which I now still have. There were photos of my Dad with the works football & cricket teams - he was a keen sportsman, nearly playing professionally. Among the cookbooks was one on Malay cooking. Indeed, when I started to learn to cook, one of the first things my mother taught me was how to cook a Malayan curry. The table was weighed down with side dishes of various fruits, nuts, eggs, chutneys etc. When we first returned to England, I gather we used to irritate my grandmother by speaking Malay all the time, but now that is a language I've long forgotten.
I suspect I do have some memories. I've always recognised a pineapple plant without being knowingly aware how. I did instantly recognise a banana shrub but I admit, I do remember a photo of my brother, as a baby, being held by a family friend, his godmother, standing in front of a banana tree in our Bruneian garden.
The first time I ventured to the tropics since that epic trip as a toddler, was only a few years ago. We stopped for a few days at Singapore on the way to Australia to see that same family friend from Borneo days. As we stepped out of Changi airport, we were greeted by a thick wall of humid heat. I felt suddenly at home. I'd happily had pad thai (translated on the menu as "carrot cake" though quite why I don't know as it's a sort of prawn & rice mix) for breakfast on the plane. I subsequently bemused one official at the airport by having the local spicy, brothy, soup for breakfast as we waited for the ongoing flight to Australia. He couldn't believe that I, an obvious white woman, could choose it, but to me it seemed homely.
I wonder what else I will find that is somehow familiar & comforting on this trip, if ever we finally go on it.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
So much noise
Is there no end to all this noise? Last night, as we started to make dinner, the whizzes & bangs began. Just 5.30pm and they're off. The sky isn't so filled with colour this year. A sign of the credit crunch & people maybe trying to save a bit by buying less spectacular fireworks? I wonder. Bonfire Night being a school day this year, clearly parents have decided the fun should be had early so their offspring will get to bed at a reasonable hour. Still they go on late into night.
I'm up early this morning. Around 8.30am, the doorbell goes. Neil, the car mechanic, I think. (Read the Fox's blog to discover why I should think that.) But no. It's the roof repair man. Early in the summer the flat roof over the laundry room sprang a leak. Rivers ran down the inside walls. The ceiling dripped. Unfortunately the roof man was due to go into hospital for an op on his arm & was then going to need several months physio to recuperate. He put a temporary roof on - just as well with the wet summer this one turned out to be. He's finally arrived to repair it properly. So now there is all sorts of banging & hammering going on. Oh, & now there's the whine of an electric saw.
Is there no peace left in this world?
I'm up early this morning. Around 8.30am, the doorbell goes. Neil, the car mechanic, I think. (Read the Fox's blog to discover why I should think that.) But no. It's the roof repair man. Early in the summer the flat roof over the laundry room sprang a leak. Rivers ran down the inside walls. The ceiling dripped. Unfortunately the roof man was due to go into hospital for an op on his arm & was then going to need several months physio to recuperate. He put a temporary roof on - just as well with the wet summer this one turned out to be. He's finally arrived to repair it properly. So now there is all sorts of banging & hammering going on. Oh, & now there's the whine of an electric saw.
Is there no peace left in this world?
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
All herby
We're at the Pub. Al, our gardener suggests he comes round to tidy up our front garden. "All done," say I, "I did it this morning."
He blinks hard at this. "You got rid of that big sage?"
"Yes," I assure him. "I left the root in, in case it regrew next year." Sages are usually perennials, though I'm not sure about the Clary sage monster we grew this year.
"You harvested the coriander seeds?"
"Did that before we went away. And I cut down the stalks."
"What about the fennel?"
I had to admit I'd left that. I've got plenty of seeds for culinary use this winter already, so I thought I'd leave the seeds on the plants for the birds in the winter months ahead. I'm never a very tidy gardener where I see potential food or building materials for our wildlife.
"Cut that down," Al ordered, "Otherwise the garden will be overrun with fennel next year."
So this morning the fennel's been cut down.
On the whole I think Al was surprised by my competence. It's not that I don't know anything about gardening, or lack the enthusiasm to do it. It's more the physical ability to do it I lack. This herb garden we had built as a raised bed. I planted it for the first time this year. I can reach all parts from a sitting position. I love it. I loved not only the creative element in planting it. I've happily weeded it & kept it tidy. I've also appreciated the food possibilities with the herbs grown there. Today I enjoyed making up my own bouquet garni to put in with the pork that is plopping away at the moment.
Both Al & the Fox thought I was a bit mad wanting a herb garden, especially at the front of the house. Our back garden floods regularly, which makes getting the herbs I had previously been growing there difficult to get to in winter. I was also confident a herb garden could be visually interesting to look out on. And so it's proved. We've had the orange/red/yellow of marigolds & nasturtium, the white of camomile, pink/mauves of lavender, purple & variegated sage, feathery bronze & green fennel, blue/purple of rosemary & Clary sage, pink pompoms on chives. All shades of green from the very dark of rosemary through the variegated lemon balm, to the limey green of the thyme we grow. A delight to behold as well as to eat.
He blinks hard at this. "You got rid of that big sage?"
"Yes," I assure him. "I left the root in, in case it regrew next year." Sages are usually perennials, though I'm not sure about the Clary sage monster we grew this year.
"You harvested the coriander seeds?"
"Did that before we went away. And I cut down the stalks."
"What about the fennel?"
I had to admit I'd left that. I've got plenty of seeds for culinary use this winter already, so I thought I'd leave the seeds on the plants for the birds in the winter months ahead. I'm never a very tidy gardener where I see potential food or building materials for our wildlife.
"Cut that down," Al ordered, "Otherwise the garden will be overrun with fennel next year."
So this morning the fennel's been cut down.
On the whole I think Al was surprised by my competence. It's not that I don't know anything about gardening, or lack the enthusiasm to do it. It's more the physical ability to do it I lack. This herb garden we had built as a raised bed. I planted it for the first time this year. I can reach all parts from a sitting position. I love it. I loved not only the creative element in planting it. I've happily weeded it & kept it tidy. I've also appreciated the food possibilities with the herbs grown there. Today I enjoyed making up my own bouquet garni to put in with the pork that is plopping away at the moment.
Both Al & the Fox thought I was a bit mad wanting a herb garden, especially at the front of the house. Our back garden floods regularly, which makes getting the herbs I had previously been growing there difficult to get to in winter. I was also confident a herb garden could be visually interesting to look out on. And so it's proved. We've had the orange/red/yellow of marigolds & nasturtium, the white of camomile, pink/mauves of lavender, purple & variegated sage, feathery bronze & green fennel, blue/purple of rosemary & Clary sage, pink pompoms on chives. All shades of green from the very dark of rosemary through the variegated lemon balm, to the limey green of the thyme we grow. A delight to behold as well as to eat.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
A social afternoon
I'm feeling curiously at a loose end this morning. We went out yesterday to visit a friend & stopped for a meal on the way back. A large part of my mornings are usually spent preparing dinner but I did that yesterday so there's nothing to do today. If the weather holds I might venture into the garden and try to tidy up the front garden, my raised herb garden.
We had a good afternoon chatting away to our friends, Helen & MK. MK unfortunately has Motor Neurone Disease (MND). As time goes on he is slowly losing the use of his muscles. For a while his upper body has been affected, but now his legs are going too. Like me, he is now a part-time wheelchair user, but the rate of his deterioration is considerably faster than mine. While we were on holiday, he had a fall. His legs gave way under him & his family, who were with him, hadn't been able to stop the fall. He's now nervous of going out much. It's the transfer from wheelchair to car that really worries him. He's got a new aid on order which should help, but for the moment he's reluctant to go out much. So instead of them coming to the Pub, we're off to their place to see them. Fortunately MK is still mentally on the ball, still able to talk & laugh, to communicate & appreciate life. It's always a pleasure to see them.
On the way home, we decided to stop at our usual Pub for a meal. I was feeling too weary to be bothered to cook, or even wait around while the Fox cooked. While we waited for the food to arrive another friend appeared - Joan K. She is a lovely lady, a retired hairdresser. She is in remarkably good health for someone of her age (80+ I'd guess), but she does find these days it can be a struggle to make the effort to get dressed & get out to socialise a bit. I know the feeling! The getting up & dressed I manage. But I sometimes wonder how much going out & socialising I would do without the Fox's encouragement, if I was a widow as Joan is.
We had a good afternoon chatting away to our friends, Helen & MK. MK unfortunately has Motor Neurone Disease (MND). As time goes on he is slowly losing the use of his muscles. For a while his upper body has been affected, but now his legs are going too. Like me, he is now a part-time wheelchair user, but the rate of his deterioration is considerably faster than mine. While we were on holiday, he had a fall. His legs gave way under him & his family, who were with him, hadn't been able to stop the fall. He's now nervous of going out much. It's the transfer from wheelchair to car that really worries him. He's got a new aid on order which should help, but for the moment he's reluctant to go out much. So instead of them coming to the Pub, we're off to their place to see them. Fortunately MK is still mentally on the ball, still able to talk & laugh, to communicate & appreciate life. It's always a pleasure to see them.
On the way home, we decided to stop at our usual Pub for a meal. I was feeling too weary to be bothered to cook, or even wait around while the Fox cooked. While we waited for the food to arrive another friend appeared - Joan K. She is a lovely lady, a retired hairdresser. She is in remarkably good health for someone of her age (80+ I'd guess), but she does find these days it can be a struggle to make the effort to get dressed & get out to socialise a bit. I know the feeling! The getting up & dressed I manage. But I sometimes wonder how much going out & socialising I would do without the Fox's encouragement, if I was a widow as Joan is.
Monday, 3 November 2008
A new boiler?
I'm still feeling I'm rushing around catching up on things.
This morning the plumber comes to service our central heating boiler & gas fire. We're contemplating having an extension to our kitchen in the new year. Among other things we want to level off the floor levels between the kitchen & the laundry room, so getting rid of some steps. As I slowly deteriorate in my mobility skills, this would make life a lot easier for me. The only thing is it would mean raising the laundry room floor & the central heating boiler with it. So it is I ask Norm, the plumber, whether our ancient boiler would survive the move. No. However, he does suggest I should have a word with Warmfront. As I am disabled, in receipt of the appropriate benefits, I should be able to get a new boiler from them free.
After Norm goes, I give them a ring. I know that they will not replace the existing boiler for a more efficient one until it irrevocably breaks down. I explain the situation to them. Yes. In those circumstances, when the work is essentially to improve access & in the process the boiler breaks down, then they would pay the first £2700 towards a new boiler. Norm reckoned a new one should cost in the area of £2500, so, with a bit of luck, that bit of the extension won't add to the overall cost. Now we just have to raise the other thousands for the rest of the work! And at a time when our savings have gone down due to the recession & "credit crunch", and it's not so easy to borrow money! Oh, hum! One thing's for certain we're not having any work done until the spring & a bit of warmth. This is no time to have exterior walls knocked down, a kitchen out of commission so no hot food, & no central heating.
Who knows, by then, the credit crunch will be over. The finance markets will be once more stable. Banks will be lending. Or maybe some fairy godmother will have come & waved her magic wand & our problems will be solved.
This morning the plumber comes to service our central heating boiler & gas fire. We're contemplating having an extension to our kitchen in the new year. Among other things we want to level off the floor levels between the kitchen & the laundry room, so getting rid of some steps. As I slowly deteriorate in my mobility skills, this would make life a lot easier for me. The only thing is it would mean raising the laundry room floor & the central heating boiler with it. So it is I ask Norm, the plumber, whether our ancient boiler would survive the move. No. However, he does suggest I should have a word with Warmfront. As I am disabled, in receipt of the appropriate benefits, I should be able to get a new boiler from them free.
After Norm goes, I give them a ring. I know that they will not replace the existing boiler for a more efficient one until it irrevocably breaks down. I explain the situation to them. Yes. In those circumstances, when the work is essentially to improve access & in the process the boiler breaks down, then they would pay the first £2700 towards a new boiler. Norm reckoned a new one should cost in the area of £2500, so, with a bit of luck, that bit of the extension won't add to the overall cost. Now we just have to raise the other thousands for the rest of the work! And at a time when our savings have gone down due to the recession & "credit crunch", and it's not so easy to borrow money! Oh, hum! One thing's for certain we're not having any work done until the spring & a bit of warmth. This is no time to have exterior walls knocked down, a kitchen out of commission so no hot food, & no central heating.
Who knows, by then, the credit crunch will be over. The finance markets will be once more stable. Banks will be lending. Or maybe some fairy godmother will have come & waved her magic wand & our problems will be solved.
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