Teen Trauma

Teen overdose this weekend.  I ended up unexpectedly working on a river cleanup with about 50-60 teens from the Challenge Network, an organisation that aims to "connect and inspire young people in order to strengthen their communities with programmes that create a rite of passage for 16 year olds, promote social mixing and support community engagement."

This is a very admirable organisation and we have had some of their kids along to our general cleanups recently but, my word, a whole flock/gaggle/herd of them on a muddy river bank (smelling of dog pee) on a chilly autumn Sunday was a challenge in itself.

Don't get me wrong, they were great kids - full of life, energy, laughter, hysteria, shrieking, boredom, idleness, energy, helpfulness, shyness, self consciousness - just typical teens really.  But I now realise how long it's been since I have dealt with teens en masse. I turned into my mother. "Please don't sit on the table - it's only plastic. Don't sit on the table (blank eyed stares in return). Can you get off the table! Off the table now!" (as it tips and collapses)....

I spent much time soothing girlie hysteria (Argh! A used condom! I'm not touching that! (despite being clad in waders, rubber gloves and wielding a 3 foot long litter picker). Pointing desperate boys to secluded bushes for a pee (why can't they hang on for 20 mins?). Sluicing them repeatedly in hand sanitiser and eyewash (they took the health and safety talk about Weils disease very seriously) and lecturing that would be no cake until they finished their sandwiches....

Ruminating afterwards, you realise what learners teens are.  I wouldn't be a teen again for anything. There were some who were incredibly helpful, polite and appreciative, some who were strong, sassy and funny, some who were just drifting along and unengaged and some who were desperate for the attention and approval of their friends and frankly, acted like dorks. Gosh, life at that age is such a drama!

Overall, though it was a strain at times (good thing that I have a strong pair of lungs for being heard over the uproar), I think it was good for me to reconnect and remind myself what it's like being 16, and be thankful that I NEVER HAVE TO GO THERE AGAIN!

An Ode to Nigella

The new Nigella series is out, and already I'm feeling the vibe.  Aside from the lovely production values and her general gorgeousness (I love to see generously curved and proportioned women in the media - there's hope for us yet), two particular recipes from the first episode struck me last night.

Firstly Meatzza - a godsend to the carb challenged amongst us and something I've already tried based on the weekend insert in the Mail on Sunday a few weeks ago.  Yup - that's going to stay on the menu.

And then last night, in a completely timely way she pulled Eggs in Purgatory out of the hat.  Reading my previous blog entry, you will know that boiled eggs have been a step too far for me in the past.  But poached eggs even more so (the epitome of flobber and goo).  However, the idea of eggs poached in a fiery garlic and chilli tomato stew with a dusting of Parmesan, well that really set the synapses alight. I fully intend to give that one a try this week - it may well be the first poached egg to pass my lips in 3 decades...

Onya Nigella.  I shall follow the series with anticipation (Monday nights will become Nigella night on the sofa with a cuppa, a pad and pen).

On boiling an egg.

I have a confession to make.  I don't like boiled eggs.  I haven't liked them since I was about 6 years old.  I have distant memories of gleefully eating the top off Daddys egg when I was a very wee girl, but since then boiled eggs have been food of the devil to me.

I don't know what put me off them.  Maybe the occasional underdone egg, with flobbering translucent white and sticky, lukewarm yolk drooling down the side.... Or the way that egg yolk sticks to your teeth and makes them feel unpleasant and almost powdery.

Never mind, this morning I decided that the boiled egg must be revisited as they are a handy protein packed snack.  To my embarrassment I, the great cook, had to look up online how to actually cook a boiled egg. A little humiliating....

More humiliating was the fact that I got it wrong on my first 2 attempts. Taking my eggs straight from the fridge (and therefore at around 4 degrees Celsius) both my initial attempts delivered uncooked white and runny yolks.  Needless to say these hit the bin. The third attempt was closer, although still too runny for me - however, by that stage I was unwilling to sacrifice a 3rd free range egg, so I popped it into an eggcup, on a plate with surrounding condiments - salt, white pepper, celery seeds and Nandos peri peri sauce.

You will be no doubt pleased to hear that I managed to work my way through the egg without serious disgust. In fact I'm considering another one later on in the week. It's time to address those old prejudices!

If you are interested, I have decided the winning combination is a soft but not runny yolk (see the middle egg above), a little sea salt and a dip into the peri peri sauce. Eclectic, I know but I have always been a sucker for something fiery in the morning.....

Colours of Autumn

Love them.  Lots of interesting skies at dusk. Gaudy, flashy even... There is still some heat in the sun but now it's accompanied by a cool breeze, and the evenings are definitely drawing in now.

And the produce.  It's been a triple purple day today.  Damsons I picked at a friends (not pictured - they went straight into the freezer) - they are going to end up in some gin this year I think as I'm still carrying Damson Jam from last year.

And the beetroot and mulberries came out of the garden (both are buggers for staining your fingers). The mulberries are gorgeous mixed with juicy white nectarines and fromage frais for breakfast....

Gastropub menus also signal the change in season - lots of meaty pies, belly of pork with beetroot, autumn harvest veg and robust fish dishes cropping up on them (as I discovered on my little country pub exploration yesterday). Roll on autumn....

Junk Talk

My garage has to be seen to be believed.  It manages to accumaulate all sorts of things - some useful (preserves/sloe gin, lots of supersized catering equipment) and the less useful (bags of empty jars, mostly empty paint tins, broken sun umbrella, assorted and unidentifiable gardening equipment parts, bags of rubble, bags of grass seed that the mice got into, screws/nails etc).  A certain ex husband of my acquaintance has also been known to stash stuff in there that has not seen the light of day for some years.

But finally this morning I did a trawl through the lot, filled the car and was off to Garth Rd and the waste transfer station. Dumped it all in the sun, dust and grime and am very satisfied with the mornings work.

An observation: waste transfer stations smell the same - bad - all over the world. A great leveller and reassuring somehow. It takes me back to the days when my main paternal bonding activity, was a fortnightly trip to the tip with good old dad - an open cast landscape of trash, crawling with rats and where gulls wheeled overhead. Ahh, happy days....

Mind you, could probably get really ruthless and do another couple of car loads from my garage.  And the loft is next...

Autumn around the corner

I'm back from my short summer holiday, and Autumn is breathing over my shoulder. The day length is shortening and the night temperatures cooling.  Next doors plums that hang over my fence, have been and gone.  The tomatoes in the greenhouse are looking scruffy and while still prolific, I can see the end of their run coming soon. And I actually had some goosebumps in the cool breeze while taking a sunbathing break in the sun the other day.

 The end of season sales are almost done too, and shops are now full of winter season clothes, not that that's stopped me hoovering up a few last gasp bargains in the last few days (refer catalogue pic although imagine a dumpy blonde wearing the jeans, vivid shirt and a matching blue cotton cardie...).

Where did summer go? All that investment in water butts, ready for the heatwave, was largely wasted although I am being a good little greenie and using rainwater in the garden where possible.

An autumn menu sounds appealing.  I dredged out some of last years frozen damsons the other day and made a flaky tart out of half, and a puree out of the rest (gorgeous for breakfast with greek yoghurt). And I am off to see a friend in the country next week to raid her new seasons damsons - some may find their way into a spot of gin...yum yum...

Bonjour les Vacances!

The countdown has begun.  Am off to join bezzie mate and her family in a villa in France (the Greens plus 1). Am anticipating my week away - a night/day near the old port in La Rochelle before heading inland to a converted barn on the  Deux Sevres/Vendee border.

Am devising a complex list of must haves - sunscreen, mozzie repellant, best swimmers, second best swimmers, sat nav, a couple of dieting must haves (to stave off whole hearted gutsory on local breads and cheeses), a couple of good books, plug adapters, etc etc.

Ready to go with the flow, although anticipating bezzie mate and I may slip off for the odd coffee and a break from teenagers (bless their cotton socks.) Also anticipating trips to the local markets and and a little bit of (healthy) foodie heaven....

Belt up...

I just went out and purchased my first belt in about 12 years. My newish jeans and trousers have started to slip southwards, (a welcome consequence of my new healthy regime). And I realised, while scouring through my wardrobe for something to hold them up, that actually, I have been wearing far too many elasticated waistlines for far too long.

Anyway, a happy and successful trip, and my jeans are now sitting where they ought. However it got me to thinking about a friend of mine who has been wearing his trousers low (very low) like all the youf. I call them his nappy pants. He is not amused.

I just want to walk up to these young blokes and give their jeans a brisk tug (up or down/on or off - either would probably embarrass them satisfactorily.) Have I mentioned before, how much like my mother I have become?

Vitamin D

I am a blonde with a natural pallor. Growing up in NZ (where there is a gigantic hole in the ozone layer, making our sunshine particularly fierce) I have always had the 'just cover up' message hammered into me. And looking at middle-aged Australian and Kiwi women with alligator complexions after years of sunbathing, well, it just seemed like the sensible thing to do.

However, last year I was shoved onto a variety of supplements by the doc after a somewhat unimpressive blood test.  Apparently my Vitamin D levels were through the floor, and she actually suggested that I start to get some sun.

So this summer (variable though it may be) I have taken to the odd half hour out on the sun lounger, baring unfamiliar bits of myself to those rays. I may not be going brown very quickly, but I think I am starting to feel the benefit - even if it is mostly psychological. In fact, I'm starting to resent the overlooking neighbours because I wouldn't mind getting a bit more adventurous in the swimwear department (or lack of it).

However, that isn't going to happen when 3 sets of neighbours have the ability, if not the inclination, to overlook my back garden. So will keep working on my mini tan and see how it develops - quite an adventure....

London Lite

I spent a day in central London yesterday.  Not something I do regularly but when I do, I generally like to have a mosey around. I was expecting the usual crowds, but was I mistaken. The Olympics seem to have sucked all the people out of London.

Pavements were clear and I had a pleasant walk through Temple, along the Strand and through Charing Cross and down to the Embankment. Yes, it got a bit busier around 5-6ish - about the time I retired to the American Bar at the Savoy. And yes, I got a seat - and at the Beauforte Bar, and at the Thames foyer. Good God, I'm tempted to try another visit - hang out at a couple of City bars and grab a table, walk into a restaurant and eat without a booking.  See how far my luck stretches.

I'm looking at the Olympics with new eyes now - maybe not such a bad thing after all for us Londoners....

Tofulicious

As I get older, I find large quantities of meat more and more difficult to digest.  Especially when seared, brown and crispy (yum but gives me a sore tum!).  In search of other protein offerings (aside from fish, eggs and dairy, the main alternatives to date) I once again cast my eye on Tofu.

Now my experiences with tofu in the past were not spectacular. Bland and jelly like, bland and slightly less jelly like, bland and done to the unappealing texture of a foam scourer. I never really got the appeal of it. I think I once had a tasty tofu burger drenched in satay sauce, but in truth, it was the satay sauce that sold me on it.

So I did a quick trip to the supermarket today, to stock up on the stuff and give it a whirl. Ummm, you can tell I am a novice.  I had no idea where to find it, but eventually spotted it in a vegetarian corner tucked behind the gluey looking ready meals. There wasn't a huge choice, but I thought I would try a basic block, cut it in 3 and experiment over the next few days.

I got it home and opened the pack.  Not an auspicious sight. It sat there pallidly in it's liquid and flobbered at me. But I had looked up a recipe on the internet and was determined to give it a try.  The recipe involved crumbling tofu into a mix of beaten egg, chopped spring onions, grated courgette and lots of ginger/chilli/garlic - thus creating a fritter mix ready to fry. Which I did, in a little coconut oil.  So far so good.  Served them up browned and crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, with an additional side of peri peri sauce (I was going to get some flavour into these suckers if it killed me).

And blow me down, they were lovely, spicy and light and more importantly, eminently digestible. Quite looking forward to the marinated tofu I'm planning for tomorrow. Am now planning further ahead, even further into the depths of veganism. Yes, next stop Quorn....

Nike Girl

I finally gave in and trekked across to Nike Town at Oxford Circus on Friday.  Yes, I admit I need proper sport shoes and shoes I can walk a decent distance in without crippling myself. Chichi flat sandals are just not helping these days.

I felt like a total fraud as I sailed up the escalators to the 3rd floor - Womens shoes.  Everyone looked very young,  fit and sporty and I felt quite dumpy and rumpled after a slog up Regent Street.

However, I asked the nice man (looked like Michael Jordan) for help - said I was an amateur at these things but needed something springy with arch support, and Hey Presto, out came the Lunarglides (who thinks up these names).

I slipped them on my feet.... they cushioned them softly.  I walked around with a spring in my step, even a bounce you might say.  A Triumph! High tailed it to the tills.....

Now I don't want to take them off.  I did a training session with Peter yesterday and did loads of hard stability and balancing on one leg stuff, and the shoes just made it all happen.  I'm in love although the pink was a bit of a shock at first. But I'm getting used to it...

Van Men

What is it about builders?  I am about to reach the end of my tether with the loft extension next door.  It has been nearly 2 months now of banging, grinding, thumping, band saws etc. And every couple of nights I wake up to the clanking and clunking of skip divers rummaging through  for treasures.

The icing on the cake is the builders van, which he has taken to parking across my driveway, perfectly placed to make entry and exit to my property difficult.  I was lenient to start with - it was OK if he was just unloading, but now it is parked there all day.  I can get out around him.....just. With one of those painstaking 13 point manoeuvres and crossing my fingers that a passing car doesn't take the back end off me. I haven't even had a thank you - they park up and scurry indoors.

I'm about to have a word with the neighbours. Their boys also need to patch up some damage they did through the wall to my bathroom and give it a repaint.  Been waiting a few weeks for that too. Sigh.... I do hate playing the heavy....

Ms Fixit

My clothes dryer has been out of action for a fortnight during our rainy summer. Cue wet laundry draped all over the house. And on and off the outdoor clothes line between showers. And piling up in hampers....

Today I got tired of this and steeled myself to ringing the service guy but, dreading the bill, sat down for one last shot at the manual instead. Not an enthralling read, and certainly the trouble shooting page was rubbish (e.g.  if not working plug it in and turn on), but I learned a little more about the inner workings of my good old workhorse friend.

As a result, armed with wet cloths, dry cloths, a torch and a soft brush I dismantled filters and condenser, poked around inside, gave everything a good clean and defluff, wiggled all the external buttons and hoorah! One working dryer! (My housemate now thinks I have a Y chromosome lurking around inside me somewhere...)

Never underestimate the initiative of a Kiwi chick.... especially one contemplating a rainy day with 2 loads of wet laundry on her hands.

Boom chikka wow wow

It all started during the collision of two random events this morning. Firstly, I was listening to a very interesting and quite funny piece about the Naturist movement in the UK.  While listening to this (and waiting for my meringues to cook), another almighty rainstorm hit.

A mid summer rainstorm is quite impressive, and actually the temperature is quite balmy. I was idly speculating about naturists and rain, and had a very vivid urge to take my morning shower on the back lawn, in a water pressure that probably leaves my shower for dead. Needless to say, I didn't give into this impulse - the overlooking neighbours and the gaggle of Polish builders working on the loft conversion next door are a definite disincentive.

I might have mentioned this fleeting thought on my Facebook page, and was inundated with the 'Boom chikka wow wow' style comments.  Maybe I'm an old hippy at heart, but I didn't think of it as titillating at all, and given a more private location, I think I might have even given it a go.... Warm rain on your skin etc etc.

Anyway, should the stars align in the near future when I'm staying with my friends in the Surrey countryside, the kids may see me grab my shampoo and hive off to the secluded orchard-come-vege garden to shower with the roving chickens. People, be warned....

In Praise of Cool Aunties

Our society is full of images of motherhood and we, as women, grow up with clear images and expectations of being a mum.  As one who has not gone down that route, I would like to sing the praises of cool auntiehood.

No, I'm not thinking about my own lovely aunties who were good sorts in a kindly, grown up/old lady kind of way (and there's nothing wrong with that). But I think more of the tribes of cool aunties in the world, the independent ones who feel like part of the family whether they are blood relatives or not.  Thinking about my own incarnation of auntiehood:

- This auntie used to be a punk rocker and dances/sings to Siouxsie and the Banshees during childrens bath time. She also has some rather racy stories from her rock chick past.

- This auntie tells rude jokes and is not apologetic when the odd swear word slips through...

- This auntie tells stories and makes up new endings (often in line with feminist ideologies - bugger the prince...)

- This auntie is a seriously good cook and often turns up with cakes, pies, puddings for the sweet toothed.

- This auntie has a cracking garden which provides both potatoes for the pot and flowers for posies and weaving into little girls hair.

- This auntie can bbq better than most men.

- This auntie is a straight talker and is impressively good at homework, projects and school fundraiser pub quizzes.

- This auntie can give you pointers on your golf swing.

- This auntie rocks a pirate hat at a childrens party (especially after a few red wines with the cool uncles).

- This auntie can listen to secrets and proffer advise without ratting you out to Mum.

- This auntie has had a career and travelled the world.

- This auntie wears push up bras and low necklines (and doesn't have a moustache or seniors bus pass).

So let's hear it for Cool Aunties!! God Bless'em every one....

Strawberry overload..

I am now officially sick to death of strawberries. Not a comment generally heard from the girl in Wimbledon during the tennis season, but then I am experiencing a bumper crop this year - dare I say glut? How many strawberry and yoghurt breakfasts can a girl eat?  Every day for the last 3 weeks?

I didn't expect a season like this, but it has been relatively warm and the rain all came at the right time to plump those little fellas up. There is some serious weeding out to be done in the strawberry bed for next season I think. And I've given up on the little wild strawberries in the flower beds - hopefully the birds will benefit.

I've eaten them incessantly, given them away, forced them on friends. It's now time to bite the bullet and start freezing them for a spot of jam making later on. I know it seems such a waste for these fulsome, organic beauties, but I will appreciate it later on when the weather turns cold....

The Formative Years

I recently started an idle review of my fave literature from the formative years (pre secondary school). I was talking about it with the folks the other day, and Dad who was the primary story-reader in our house, remembers knowing much of the early stuff by heart.

First up would have to be The Kitty-Poosies by Ivy Wallace. I still have the tiny book - missing it's cover and ragged at the edges. Who can forget such passages as...

"What can I call my Kitty-Poosies?" wondered Mama Pudditat. "The grey one has such very white paws - I think I will call her Snowy-toes," she purred. "And the little ginger one is just the colour of toffee - he can be called Toffeekins. And the third kitten will be Purry-paws because he is always purring."

Well, maybe you had to be aged 3 to get the thrill of this, but it was big stuff in our household...

The next big impact would have to be a long stream of superhero comics that Dad started buying when I was ill with chicken pox or the like.  But which also ignited a desire to have a head start on reading.  Being the micro feminist that I was, I especially loved my female superheroes, with Supergirl at the top of the list (quick flashback to me streaking around the house with a pillowcase hooked around my shoulders as a cape...)

My mother also influenced my reading choice with her childhood books (yes the original musty old tomes retrieved from the back of a closet on the farm). Little Women and Anne of Green Gables stand out especially and I read my way through both series. I think the portrayal of gentle femininity was meant to have a good influence on me.  Tough luck, Mum.

And then how could I forget my initiation into classic Sci Fi through the books of Isaac Asimov (the I, Robot stories) and Philip K Dick and his unique view of the future through novels and short stories. I think Dad might have been a little concerned when his 11-12 yr old daughter started hanging out in these library aisles, but they were really my introduction to philosophy and quirky logic on a cosmic scale.

Next installment will be the High School years....

Berry lovely

So it's produce city once again in my household.  Despite weeks of rain, my rampant strawberry patch is producing the biggest crop I've ever had. While we might see strawberries as delicate little blighters, I really think they are just old scrubbers.  Three years ago I chucked down some bark chipping around the clothesline, to cover a big area of infill/hardcore resulting from the removal of a large pond.


I happened to have a pot of strawberries sitting nearby.  Since then, the strawberries have sent out runners, jumped ship and now cover the whole of the barked area - about 3-4 metres square.  They seem to be tough little buggers and love it in this rather harsh setting.


And I'm not complaining - strawberries and yoghurt for breakfast every morning is something I don't get tired of.  Also, some wee wild strawberries somehow got established in my flowerbeds (good ground cover) and they are adding to the harvest.

So I took inspiration from the burgeoning garden and had a day in the kitchen rustling up some preserves - more grapefruit and lemon marmalade and a large batch of my world famous tomato relish.  This should keep me, my friends and neighbours happy for a while....

Last Jubilee post...

I promise!  But I just had to show off my baking efforts for the Wandle Trust Jubilee themed cleanup in St Georges Park on Sunday. Mega baking (large chocolate cake and Union Jack berry topped lemon cakes), cucumber sandwiches with herb butter (no crusts)and roses and peonies from my own garden, stuck into a Spode china teapot.  And of course the obligatory flags and bunting.

I have now done the Jubilee to death and just want a cup of tea and a lie down...

Jubilation

Well, the long weekend that celebrated a 60 year reign for the lovely Liz is over (is that my OBE going down the gurgler?) Wet in places, with dry patches - it could have been worse considering the number of outdoor events planned, and this is Britain after all...

You couldn't pay me to go into town to celebrate and observe the festivities first hand, however I saw a lot from the dry and comparative comfort of my couch (hot tea, snacks, a loo within easy reach and a stagger up the stairs to bed afterwards). No traffic nightmares for me....

I did partake of 2 street parties - 1 wet and 1 dry.  The dry one (which was round the corner from me) benefited from the weather and was a pleasant event.  A nice setting on a patch of green under a large tree, good 'ladies - a plate' food and byo grog, gentle activities for the kids (face painting, circus school for littlies), old photos up on the fence showing pics from VE day celebrations on the same spot and maps where local residents stuck pins in to indicate their national origins (quite a diverse international bunch in my area - and met another 3 kiwis).

Most of the locals I know were there and I met at least as many again.  I should walk round the area more often - I just don't seem to run into them in the day to day. A few of us decided we should make this an annual event - a summer party. I wouldn't mind helping out next year you know...

Thirst

One week into the hot weather and the garden, which has received record breaking levels of rain through April and early May, is now starting to feel thirsty.

Of course with a hosepipe ban in place, watering has just gotten a whole lot harder. I have some legal drip irrigation in one small part of the garden, but the rest is going to be me, a couple of watering cans and 4 water butts (I just installed another two).

I now find myself getting home at night and watering pots in the dark.  Or getting up early and having a scout around before 7am. The bigger garden beds are just going to have to look after themselves as I am only barely keeping up with the pots and greenhouse. And the water level in the butts is lowering rapidly.

So here I am praying for those showers they promised this week. Cue: raindance on the back lawn. Now there's a thought - entertainment for next doors' Polish builders I suspect. Oh yes, just at the time when grabbing a few rays out in the garden is looking appealing, the building crew next door are up ladders and on the roof and all privacy is gone. Ho hum.

Wandling

Spring is a lovely time to do a River Wandle clean up.... Sunshine, nesting coots and ducks (that we steer well away from), chestnuts and hawthorns in bloom. And all the volunteers have a spring in their step.




Mays cleanup was truly fun, with a good crowd and a fairly accessible (and not too deep) piece of water to work on. The rubbish was also of a manageable size and we had a lot of excited kids giving us a hand. Of course, the excitement level was raised by finding another gun in the water (that was promptly delivered to the police station).

Of course, I did my bit for the workers with tea/coffee cheese scones, carrot cake and wedges of buttered banana bread (no leftovers as per usual). Overall, a lovely day.  I know it's a bit of work on my weekend, but I really do enjoy it.