Where Sheep do Roam (on Roads)

With my NZ sheep farming background, I like sheep and have been thinking today of things Ovine. My recent trip to the Peak District had me wandering around the Chatsworth grounds on a beautiful sunny (if crisp) winters day. Sheep were happily grazing in the sunshine.  It also happened that they were thronging on the estate roads like drunken youths on a Friday night.

It soon became clear that the estate team had been assiduously salting/gritting the roads against ice, perhaps not realising that sheep love nothing more than a good salt lick... It was hilarious to see them all with their heads down licking the roads en masse while traffic backed up in both directions. Fearless, they were.

It contrasted with my recent mid summer NZ trip and the hot dusty Hawkes Bay country roads. A lot of sheep being moved on roads shimmering in 32 degree heat. A lot of slow, patient driving following dogs, quad bikes and flocks of bobbing sheeps bums. I could almost see my 14 yr old self following on foot, flapping her arms and going Shooossshhh shooossshhh til they were though the gates. Sigh....

Loving the Lonely Ones...

I realise it's been a looooonnnnngggg time since I signed on and wrote a blog.  Not sure why - I got busy, got out of the habit etc etc.  But Valentines day seemes to be a propitious time to pick it up again.

I've been pondering on love this morning.  How it can be so hard to find, and sometimes, so hard to hang on to. But love comes in many guises and we should throw that love out there, regardless. Friends, family, children, pets, gardens, favourite books - what's not to love?

But I also spare a special thought for those without love in their lives - the lost, the lonely, the isolated and the aged or ill. Or just those who can't feel the love around them.  These are the people who need it most.

Valentines Day can be bittersweet. While the lucky celebrate it with their loved ones, for others it only highlights the hole in their lives. Lets make it less Commercial (with a capital C), and focus on more tender and loving kindness in the world...

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...