God, I hate the word ‘fall’. It seems to be creeping increasingly into the English language like a demented ivy. How could it possibly usurp the far superior ‘autumn’? A prize for the ‘fall’ alternative for the other three seasons.
Now I’ve got that out of the way, I can say how lovely this time of year is and how these autumnal smells are getting me all excited.
I’ve just picked some sloes from the bushes behind my house. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recommends steeping them in cheap vodka and sugar. It’s quite tempting but apparently you have to prick them copiously with pins before macerating them. Because of my two south paws, it sounds rather daunting to me. The simple act of cutting an onion usually necessitates a trip to A&E, so pricking tiny blue berries might be a step too far if I want to hold onto my remaining digits...
So if you fancy a punnet of un-pricked sloes, please pop round. They’re yours. Autumn has brought another surprise. My dog has unveiled a rather fearless taste for blackberries. Our blackberry picking now goes like this; one for me, one for Alf, one for the pot. If I am not there personally to administer the berries into his slathering chops he just pushes his snout deep into the bush and munches away, heedless of the sharp brambles. Did you notice that I could have used another word there for a cheap thrill, but I restrained myself?
Good.
I’ve been using my left-handed scissors again, which is never a good thing. I started on my fringe. That was quite fun and satisfying as I haven’t had a fringe for quite a while. Then I felt I needed something else doing and those scissors found their way into my southpaws again. It was a warm, slightly balmy late summer evening and the sheer excitement of being outside made me cut two wings into the side bits. I then took random bits from the back and trimmed them upside down for a slightly edgy look. No one has said anything. It wasn’t quite a ‘Betty Blue’ moment, but had I continued on the red wine, it could have definitely developed that way.
Anyway, there’s something quite satisfying about being my age and cutting my own hair. I hate hairdressing salons. There is always such an air of expectation as you sink into the leather chair that fizzles abruptly into a depressed ‘oh, ok’, when they tell you rather than ask you ‘the same again, then?’. I only once took a photo of a famous actress in to suggest that I might have a change of style similar to hers. The look of barely concealed hilarity in my wanting to mention myself in the same breath as the famous actress cut that idea in the bud rather abruptly.
So, with my new self-styled hairstyle, I’m now pondering my ‘Autumn look’. Whenever I look in my wardrobe I see myself in situations that strangely fail to materialise more often than not. I think I might start using this blog to dress myself for different occasions so that my clothes don’t feel left out of my life. I certainly haven’t embraced the slighly horsey jeans and jumper look that is very popular here, but I am possibly less dressed up than I used to be. One of the things I hate most is having to pick my daughter up from school – it’s that horrible waiting in the school playground that makes me a nervous wreck, smiling and nodding to people from a distance, that sort of thing. Making small talk is my worst nightmare. Luckily there is a very interesting tree in the playground that I tend to stand under and study quite intently.
I’m currently studying snowflakes too. My favourite shape is ‘the imperfect symmetry you more typically find of your sleeve’. Oh how lovely imperfect symmetry is!
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Saturday, 5 March 2011
The smell of heaven
It has been a long time since I last wrote. During this time I have lost two close friends, the most poignant of whom was my amazing greyhound puppy Zephyr, who tragically lost his life at the tender age of ten months. Some animals have something incredibly special about them and Zephyr was one of those creatures. Not only was he extraordinarily handsome, charismatic and aerodynamic, he was also deeply sensitive and had the aura of a long-lost soul mate. He lost his life to a hit-and-run sports car outside our house. I shall never forget him as long as I live. In his short life he brought me unmeasured happiness. A new black dog has since come into our lives. From Battersea Dogs Home he arrived, carrying in his big, puppy paws plenty of emotional baggage. After a fraught few months of unsightly behaviour, we are now seeing a warm and loyal creature emerge, ready to lick us to death.
Another friend just disappeared into the ether one day. Like a puff of smoke. It was very sad. I think it was something I said.
I have just come back from Switzerland, a country where millionaires parade relentlessly with a distinct lack of allure – just obvious money. It was strange being in a skiing resort that comprised large numbers of very rich people – and us. We were there with a skiing charity and Zelda was learning to mono-ski. We all had very cold hands and needed new gloves. £300 pounds for three pairs seemed quite reasonable at the time, compared with the price of a punnet of chips at the top of the mountain.
Today I had a lovely e-mail correspondence with Linda Pilkington, the creator of Ormonde Jayne perfumes. I just had to have a bottle of Frangipani for a party I am going to tonight. No other perfume would do. So she made sure I got it in time. And I made sure I told her how incredibly talented I think she is. I am now floating on a cloud of gorgeous exotic flowers and it’s amazing how good I feel. I first tried this scent on the mountain top last week and it was so very good up there that I had to try it down below and it was so very good there too. So I am now drenched in it.
Another new development in my life is that I’m doing a degree in Humanities with French. I did Humanities last year and loved it. I’m now doing French and I love it. I’m going to a summer school in Normandy in July. I can’t wait. God knows how useful any of this will be to me in the future but at least I now know that Milton Keynes is a sacred space and that Cleopatra had a very big nose on Roman coins.
Another friend just disappeared into the ether one day. Like a puff of smoke. It was very sad. I think it was something I said.
I have just come back from Switzerland, a country where millionaires parade relentlessly with a distinct lack of allure – just obvious money. It was strange being in a skiing resort that comprised large numbers of very rich people – and us. We were there with a skiing charity and Zelda was learning to mono-ski. We all had very cold hands and needed new gloves. £300 pounds for three pairs seemed quite reasonable at the time, compared with the price of a punnet of chips at the top of the mountain.
Today I had a lovely e-mail correspondence with Linda Pilkington, the creator of Ormonde Jayne perfumes. I just had to have a bottle of Frangipani for a party I am going to tonight. No other perfume would do. So she made sure I got it in time. And I made sure I told her how incredibly talented I think she is. I am now floating on a cloud of gorgeous exotic flowers and it’s amazing how good I feel. I first tried this scent on the mountain top last week and it was so very good up there that I had to try it down below and it was so very good there too. So I am now drenched in it.
Another new development in my life is that I’m doing a degree in Humanities with French. I did Humanities last year and loved it. I’m now doing French and I love it. I’m going to a summer school in Normandy in July. I can’t wait. God knows how useful any of this will be to me in the future but at least I now know that Milton Keynes is a sacred space and that Cleopatra had a very big nose on Roman coins.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Autumn Smells
Autumn is definitely the sexiest season of the year. Rotting leaves, drizzle, bonfires, roasting chestnuts, leather boots and firelighters – these are all smells that conspire to unfurl big passions in me. Particularly firelighters. I have to throw them into the grate at arm’s length when I light the fire each evening so that I don’t suddenly becoming a quivering wretch. They are devilish things. I long for and yet fear the invention of a firelighter incense stick or a room spray entitled ‘eau de petrol’. Indeed, I’m getting all hot under the collar thinking about it. I think that’s why I love old cars so much. The slightly decaying smell of old leather, years of leached out petrol drenching the air and the imagined smell of wooden dashboards easily rival Ernest Beaux’s ‘Cuir de Russie’.
I keep on coming back to the subject of smells and I just can’t help myself.
I can remember my mother's smell when I was very young. It was sweet, powdery and aldehydic and was combined with the harsh, nostril-tinging notes of Elnett hairspray and the soft violet scent of her face powder.
When I was fourteen I had a friend called Teresa, who was very womanly and very attractive to boys. I was a late developer and the local boys were wary of me as I wore crinolines to play table tennis with Teresa at the local sports centre while she wore very becoming short shorts.
Teresa had crushes on lots of boys at the swimming pool. We only ever knew them as ‘bluey’, ‘greeny’ or ‘blacky’ depending on the colour of their trunks. I only liked dead poets and dead composers.
One day Teresa and her family took me to a rugby dance. Teresa had a swarm of strapping rugby players lining up to dance with her while I was sitting next to her granny talking about rationing in the Second World War. Suddenly a grown man appeared in front of me and asked me to dance. Without waiting for a reply he pulled me firmly onto the dance floor and then manouevred me firmly against his body and started to slow dance with me. To my surprise he seemed rather pleased to see me. His face was pressed close to mine and his cheeks were rubbery smooth and scented with the most divine perfume I had ever smelt. I can’t remember how many songs we danced to but I soon found that his tongue seemed to be dancing in my mouth and then shortly afterwards Teresa’s dad was prising him from me and threatening to see him outside if he didn’t leave me alone.
It transpired that he had just come out of prison and I never saw him again. But I was on a mission from that day on to identify that wonderful smell. It took me a long time but I eventually found it. I bought a bottle with several weeks' pocket money and kept it hidden away. A few years ago I smelt it on a stranger and instantly had a vivid image of entwined tongues!
I keep on coming back to the subject of smells and I just can’t help myself.
I can remember my mother's smell when I was very young. It was sweet, powdery and aldehydic and was combined with the harsh, nostril-tinging notes of Elnett hairspray and the soft violet scent of her face powder.
When I was fourteen I had a friend called Teresa, who was very womanly and very attractive to boys. I was a late developer and the local boys were wary of me as I wore crinolines to play table tennis with Teresa at the local sports centre while she wore very becoming short shorts.
Teresa had crushes on lots of boys at the swimming pool. We only ever knew them as ‘bluey’, ‘greeny’ or ‘blacky’ depending on the colour of their trunks. I only liked dead poets and dead composers.
One day Teresa and her family took me to a rugby dance. Teresa had a swarm of strapping rugby players lining up to dance with her while I was sitting next to her granny talking about rationing in the Second World War. Suddenly a grown man appeared in front of me and asked me to dance. Without waiting for a reply he pulled me firmly onto the dance floor and then manouevred me firmly against his body and started to slow dance with me. To my surprise he seemed rather pleased to see me. His face was pressed close to mine and his cheeks were rubbery smooth and scented with the most divine perfume I had ever smelt. I can’t remember how many songs we danced to but I soon found that his tongue seemed to be dancing in my mouth and then shortly afterwards Teresa’s dad was prising him from me and threatening to see him outside if he didn’t leave me alone.
It transpired that he had just come out of prison and I never saw him again. But I was on a mission from that day on to identify that wonderful smell. It took me a long time but I eventually found it. I bought a bottle with several weeks' pocket money and kept it hidden away. A few years ago I smelt it on a stranger and instantly had a vivid image of entwined tongues!
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Butternut Tornado
I’ve just been bought a camera for skyping sessions. It's quite disconcerting. I’m not sure about it. I feel obliged to put my lipstick on before calling anyone and it’s strange bringing vanity into telephone conversations. But it’s free and I have to admit that it can be good fun. Zelda and I dressed up as fantastic witches on Halloween and skyped all our friends to scare them.
I’ve just made up a really good recipe using butternut squash. I stole some of the ingredients from a Jamie Oliver recipe, but I kept on adding to it until it was really delicious. I’ve decided to give up red meat, particularly cow meat, to save the planet so I’m trying out lots of new vegetarian recipes.
Here is my Spicy Butternut Pasta Bake
1 butternut squash
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
2 teaspoons dried oregano
½ teaspoon fennel seeds
2 small dried chillies
1 teaspoon Maldon salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 cloves garlic
2 cloves smoked garlic (if you can find it) otherwise add 2 cloves of normal garlic
Olive oil
2 red onions
Fresh pasta
Double cream
Parmesan cheese
All you do is cut the butternut squash in half and scoop out the gunge and seeds. Lay them in a baking tray.
Put all the spices into a pestle and mortar and give them a good pounding until the seeds turn into fine powder. Add the 2 unsmoked garlic cloves and pound again.
Then add enough olive oil to make a nice pesto consistency paste. Smear this all over the butternut squash, cut the onions in half unpeeled and tuck between the squash and drizzle some more olive oil on top of everything. Put two cloves of smoked or unsmoked garlic in whole and unpeeled too.
Cook in a preheated oven (200 degrees centigrade) for about 40 minutes.
Bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta for however long it takes. I used Waitrose’s Trompetti pasta which is really lovely for this. Drain the pasta and put it in a large ovenproof bowl. Cut the squash up in chunks scraping it off the skin first. Squish the garlic cloves in the mixture. Add all this and the onions (peel them from their skins) and mix up gently with the pasta. Grate in some parmesan and pour in just enough double cream to make the mixture moist. Mix one last time and then grate some more parmesan on top.
Put back in the oven and leave until the cheese is bubbling and melted.
While this was cooking we had an extraordinary mini tornado outside. It has wreaked havoc in the space of just a few minutes. Nearly all my pots in the courtyard have fallen over, some have broken alas, and every one of my bay trees which are at least 7 feet tall and in huge great troughs has been knocked over. It was just like the beginning of The Wizard of Oz. I'm going out now to clear up the devastation. I've put on my red shoes.
I’ve just made up a really good recipe using butternut squash. I stole some of the ingredients from a Jamie Oliver recipe, but I kept on adding to it until it was really delicious. I’ve decided to give up red meat, particularly cow meat, to save the planet so I’m trying out lots of new vegetarian recipes.
Here is my Spicy Butternut Pasta Bake
1 butternut squash
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
2 teaspoons dried oregano
½ teaspoon fennel seeds
2 small dried chillies
1 teaspoon Maldon salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 cloves garlic
2 cloves smoked garlic (if you can find it) otherwise add 2 cloves of normal garlic
Olive oil
2 red onions
Fresh pasta
Double cream
Parmesan cheese
All you do is cut the butternut squash in half and scoop out the gunge and seeds. Lay them in a baking tray.
Put all the spices into a pestle and mortar and give them a good pounding until the seeds turn into fine powder. Add the 2 unsmoked garlic cloves and pound again.
Then add enough olive oil to make a nice pesto consistency paste. Smear this all over the butternut squash, cut the onions in half unpeeled and tuck between the squash and drizzle some more olive oil on top of everything. Put two cloves of smoked or unsmoked garlic in whole and unpeeled too.
Cook in a preheated oven (200 degrees centigrade) for about 40 minutes.
Bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta for however long it takes. I used Waitrose’s Trompetti pasta which is really lovely for this. Drain the pasta and put it in a large ovenproof bowl. Cut the squash up in chunks scraping it off the skin first. Squish the garlic cloves in the mixture. Add all this and the onions (peel them from their skins) and mix up gently with the pasta. Grate in some parmesan and pour in just enough double cream to make the mixture moist. Mix one last time and then grate some more parmesan on top.
Put back in the oven and leave until the cheese is bubbling and melted.
While this was cooking we had an extraordinary mini tornado outside. It has wreaked havoc in the space of just a few minutes. Nearly all my pots in the courtyard have fallen over, some have broken alas, and every one of my bay trees which are at least 7 feet tall and in huge great troughs has been knocked over. It was just like the beginning of The Wizard of Oz. I'm going out now to clear up the devastation. I've put on my red shoes.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Away and back
I have just returned from Lisbon, where I made a quick dash with my sister for a few days. It was the first time I had ever been to the lovely city. Everyone was very friendly and attentive and I fell in love with the little electricos – the trams that whizz recklessly up and down and around the city – and the tiled houses and crumbling facades. I came back with some minimalist tiled coasters, a strange dusty pink dress by Ana Salazar that has a belt under the arms, an electrico snow globe for Zelda and a box of lovely custard tarts. Oh and some very nice Portuguese wine – quite a discovery in fact.
From now on I shall only be eating grilled sardines and custard.
Here all is beautiful and autumnal. And I’m smelling of Black Hemlock.
Today I watched three deer outside munching on our trees, two herons flying over the lake, rabbits galore, pussies rolling in the goose poo, the geese creating lots more, several big fat ghost carp churning up mud clouds and I found a dead devil’s coach horse in front of the fire – hurrah! Talking of fire, I've just filled up the log store with lots of lovely birch, oak and ash and will be warming myself with them later.
Going away really cleared my head. It feels lovely and free and .... empty?
From now on I shall only be eating grilled sardines and custard.
Here all is beautiful and autumnal. And I’m smelling of Black Hemlock.
Today I watched three deer outside munching on our trees, two herons flying over the lake, rabbits galore, pussies rolling in the goose poo, the geese creating lots more, several big fat ghost carp churning up mud clouds and I found a dead devil’s coach horse in front of the fire – hurrah! Talking of fire, I've just filled up the log store with lots of lovely birch, oak and ash and will be warming myself with them later.
Going away really cleared my head. It feels lovely and free and .... empty?
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Devil's Coach Horses and other country delights
The newspapers have been full of warnings of record numbers of spiders preparing to invade our houses this autumn. I can announce that they have well and truly arrived in Sussex and they are looking in rude health.
However, there is another insect that seems to be gathering its troops in numbers far greater than the simple arachnid. It is black and lethal (to snails, earthworms and spiders that is). This rather sinister-looking creature is called a Devil’s Coach Horse. It squirts a stinking brown fluid from its mouth and anus when provoked. And it bites. It munches its prey to a pulp. The record number of spiders moving in to my house must be enticing it inside as I’m finding the devilish creature everywhere. As I was rooting around in the long grass earlier I even found one eating a dead robin’s eyeball.
I’m doing my best to live in peace amongst all these carnivorous creatures now that I’m a country girl, but I only seem able to sleep at night if my face and body are completely covered by the duvet. This means coming up for air at regular intervals which is proving somewhat disruptive to my beauty sleep. Oh well, you only live once as they say.
However, there is another insect that seems to be gathering its troops in numbers far greater than the simple arachnid. It is black and lethal (to snails, earthworms and spiders that is). This rather sinister-looking creature is called a Devil’s Coach Horse. It squirts a stinking brown fluid from its mouth and anus when provoked. And it bites. It munches its prey to a pulp. The record number of spiders moving in to my house must be enticing it inside as I’m finding the devilish creature everywhere. As I was rooting around in the long grass earlier I even found one eating a dead robin’s eyeball.
I’m doing my best to live in peace amongst all these carnivorous creatures now that I’m a country girl, but I only seem able to sleep at night if my face and body are completely covered by the duvet. This means coming up for air at regular intervals which is proving somewhat disruptive to my beauty sleep. Oh well, you only live once as they say.
Monday, 7 September 2009
Silt
There is honesty in my house. It is as beautiful and as delicate as mother-of-pearl and semi-transparent, just like honesty usually is.
My chilli plants are pushing out lots of new flowers to make lots of lovely hot cherry bombs. But I’m concerned there won’t be enough heat to entice the fruit to develop fully. So I have just ordered enough seasoned logs to last through the winter. The warmth and heat from real wood, plus the smell, is truly wonderful and I’m sure my hot little peppers will like it too. I have a super-efficient new Danish log burning stove embedded in my bee hive fireplace and I can’t wait to watch the flames lick against the glass and warm the cockles of my heart.
I fell in the lake yesterday trying to rescue Zelda’s remote controlled speed boat. I usually end up in the water at some stage. I think I shall die drowning. I have had dreams about drowning all my life. I was always falling in the water throughout my childhood on my step-father’s boat. One moment I would be sitting on the top of the boat engrossed in my book and the next I would be in the river holding the book out of the water desperate for it to stay dry, calling out ‘Wait For Me!’. Luckily I haven't yet got entangled in the blades.
The bottom of the lake is very silty and I had silt in my knickers and silt in my hair. I was wearing an old but lovely Pierre Cardin dress to go down to the lake and it was covered in the ash grey matter but it has washed up well and the silt seems to have been removed from all the other places it visited. I felt sorry for the ghost carp. It must have been an awful sight for them seeing their beloved silt, which is where they sleep and dream, disappearing down someone’s knickers.
Another really delicious recipe with just three ingredients:
Take some lovely, small, ripe strawberries
Cut off their green bits and slice them in half
Put them in a glass bowl
Add some creamy natural yoghurt in big dollops on top
Drizzle over some amber maple syrup.
You really will be amazed. Maple syrup is my secret ingredient. It’s smoky, sweet, sharp and gorgeous. Please try it if you’re not already addicted. You can put it on literally anything.
My chilli plants are pushing out lots of new flowers to make lots of lovely hot cherry bombs. But I’m concerned there won’t be enough heat to entice the fruit to develop fully. So I have just ordered enough seasoned logs to last through the winter. The warmth and heat from real wood, plus the smell, is truly wonderful and I’m sure my hot little peppers will like it too. I have a super-efficient new Danish log burning stove embedded in my bee hive fireplace and I can’t wait to watch the flames lick against the glass and warm the cockles of my heart.
I fell in the lake yesterday trying to rescue Zelda’s remote controlled speed boat. I usually end up in the water at some stage. I think I shall die drowning. I have had dreams about drowning all my life. I was always falling in the water throughout my childhood on my step-father’s boat. One moment I would be sitting on the top of the boat engrossed in my book and the next I would be in the river holding the book out of the water desperate for it to stay dry, calling out ‘Wait For Me!’. Luckily I haven't yet got entangled in the blades.
The bottom of the lake is very silty and I had silt in my knickers and silt in my hair. I was wearing an old but lovely Pierre Cardin dress to go down to the lake and it was covered in the ash grey matter but it has washed up well and the silt seems to have been removed from all the other places it visited. I felt sorry for the ghost carp. It must have been an awful sight for them seeing their beloved silt, which is where they sleep and dream, disappearing down someone’s knickers.
Another really delicious recipe with just three ingredients:
Take some lovely, small, ripe strawberries
Cut off their green bits and slice them in half
Put them in a glass bowl
Add some creamy natural yoghurt in big dollops on top
Drizzle over some amber maple syrup.
You really will be amazed. Maple syrup is my secret ingredient. It’s smoky, sweet, sharp and gorgeous. Please try it if you’re not already addicted. You can put it on literally anything.
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