Tag Archives: food

Sunday 16th October 2011 [2]

Another incredible sky. Lino cut trees on a sunset wash.

The parents have gone home. The cauliflower/broliflower was very tasty, as was the lamb, as indeed were the warm poached nectarines and Green and Black’s vanilla ice cream.

I felt the need to work off such excesses so decided to walk the dogs in the woods with my boys.The leaves crunched underfoot and everywhere smelled of damp earth and wood smoke.

Came across this lovely rope-branch twisting it’s tangled way through the woods, my boys in the background.

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick de Witt.

I finished my first of the Man Booker Long List yesterday, picked almost randomly.  (I really liked the title and the cover…)

I had high hopes for this book from the opening paragraph and it did not disappoint. It’s a western, set in mid ninetenth century America, but not a western as you would know it. The Sisters brothers are a pair of psychopathic hired killers working for The Commodore who we are never introduced to. Rather, we meet a succession of imaginative and engaging characters from ‘the weeping man’ to an evil young girl who goes about poisoning three-legged dogs, and all [in]humanity in between.

Charles and Eli Sisters’ relationship is central to the narrative and Eli, the novel’s narrator is a sometimes harsh, always thoughtful, complex, sensitive, stoical paradox. I loved him and every last one of his musings on life, love, faith, violence, sex, teeth cleaning, women, his brother and all he meets on their strange journey. It’s dark; jet-black in parts, and it’s also very, very funny. The story ends with our pair caught up in the craziness of the Californian Gold Rush and I will say no more. Read it.

Eldest son taken to station and on his way back to Leeds. Dogs ate remaining lamb leg and bone in my (quite brief) absence. I wondered why they were cowering in their bed when I arrived home, until my stocking-clad foot happened upon a sharp splinter of thigh, camouflaged against the pattern of the hall rug. Long-legged Bruce was the lead-thief for it was left on the draining board and Otto isn’t tall enough to reach. I’m sure he will have egged Bruce on from the side-lines though. Only good thing- he didn’t pull my lovely Sophie Conran platter on to the floor with the meat. (It has been known before!) Small mercies, small mercies…

Off to read my next book. Read all about it here. See you very soon.

Saturday 24th September 2011 (Part 2)

I love Blogsy!

I can’t quite believe it worked. But it did. I’m so happy. And now I can confidently say…

I love my iPad

So… Where was I?

Ah yes… Isaac happily ensconced in a tower block in Leeds. I picked up Julius (very late) from school and we enjoyed a fish and chip supper together at around 9pm. Fell into bed exhausted. Fergus was delivered home on sunday morning by the lovely Will who had taken him out in Oakham the night before with a few left overs that haven’t gone off to Uni yet and the Gappies. (the Gappies are mostly, as far as I can make out, a pleasant bunch of Antipodeans, girls and boys, that spend their gap year working at Oakham school, mostly assisting with sports and drinking I think) He looked slightly dishevelled and worn around the edges but not half as bad as Will. Will was head boy in Isaac’s year and is a young man of good character (despite enjoying getting wasted) so I felt ok about entrusting middle-born into his care and he did indeed deliver him home all in one piece the next day as promised.

The only thing to do with hung over teenagers or those insistent on watching tv and gaming on a lovely sunny Sunday is to take them off for a walk, which is exactly what we did. The three of us and the dogs spent a delightful couple of hours strolling along the canal, hurling sticks for into the water for Bruce, laughing at Otto, sheltering under ancient oaks and bridges when it rained, drying off in the sun when it stopped.

We popped into Waitrose on the way home for Sunday lunch (the ingredients, not the cafe) and it was good even though it ended up being not lunch but supper. Roast chicken, bread sauce, gravy, carrots cooked in orange and cardamon, cabbage stirfried with leeks, garlic and soy sauce and a choccy tart. A really lovely supper and a really lovely day. I think I came home and wrote a poem. Yes… and I think I posted it…

Monday was all about work. Management meetings and routines.

Tuesday was all about melt down. I had a computer disaster. My mac has been going slow for a while so I thought I’d attempt a clean up operation. Yes- I can hear those sharp intakes of breath- I should have spoken to you before I attempted such radical action no doubt. But a recklessness took hold and I decided to sort out my music and photos, both of which I have in large numbers and which I am presuming take up an equally vast amount of memory.

For ease, I shall bullet point my actions and the subsequent consequences:

  • Transfer all music onto external hard drive
  • OK as most of it was already on there anyway
  • Investigate photos
  • Discover many duplicates so spend a couple of hours deleting and sorting into folders
  • Transfer all photos onto external hard drive
  • Check external hard drive and find just shy of 3,000 photos nicely ordered in folders
  • Delete all images from computer.
  • Re-connect hard drive
  • All photos have disappeared
  • Look in trash
  • Trash now contains 28,000 images including all the icons from photoshop and illustrator and every bloody file that’s ever been sent to me ever. And they’re all mixed up.
  • Cry
  • Swear
  • Phone Jacob
  • Jacob tells me how to rescue images
  • Rescue images- all 28,000 of them
  • Start to sort. nightmare of the worst kind… a really boring one…
  • Phone the Apple shop in Highcross. Discuss ipads and their suitability for blogging and writing (we’ll come back to this later, and have obviously touched on it earlier)
  • Drive into town and part with lots of money but arrive home with a bag full of beautiful goodies. iPad, Cover, wireless keyboard, chargers, keyboard holder…
  • Decide Apple are just like BMW. The price includes the four wheels, a chassis and an engine. Everything is an ‘extra’ even though you can’t actually use it without them
  • Play with my toy (with Ferg’s help- transfer all my writing to my iPad successfully so at least if computer spontaneously combusts I won’t lose that) and try to forget looming problem of computer now clogged with even more in bred photos.
  • Drink wine
  • Sleep

Wednesday

London. Meetings, meetings, meetings. Pineapple Dance Studios. I do love going there. Not for the meetings… I could just stand transfixed watching all the dancers in their classes, or whilst they are rehearsing. Such a buzzy place.

Then off to the lovely Walker Books. Much more down to earth- still trying to get our beloved Maisy off the ground. I have faith. I always wish I worked in publishing when we meet there.

And finally to the Hempel Hotel… and my man. The Hempel is our favourite and the staff are simply the best. Nothing is ever too much trouble. We got upgraded to a divine one bedroom apartment. Room 10. It’s gorgeous. Let’s see if I can find a pic. I was so excited I forgot to take any photos myself.

More to follow…

Sunday 11th September 2011

I still find it really difficult to actually take in what happened here ten years ago.

I send my love.

On an infinitely more mundane note… my life…

My souvenir of a delightful weekend- a very English posy…

I am home from my travels to Henley on Thames. My man and I have been to the Baha’i/Buddist Wedding of a very good friend of his… and his betrothed… (now his wife!)

This weekend’s adventure began on Friday afternoon. I left Leicester at 2.45pm intending to arrive in St Albans at 5pm in order to meet Jacob en route to our final destination. I brought reading material with me as I presumed I would be early and he late and I may have to wait. I knew it was Friday and cognisant of all that could mean, yet still, I underestimated the traffic. (it was, after all, only 66 miles…) I arrived an hour late, but (thank you) my man was unperturbed. He had a book in his hands and was firmly ensconced in his own head-space when I finally spotted him leaning against the a wall outside the train station looking extremely desirable in charcoal grey and dark denim. All was OK. We travelled on to the Old Bell Inn at Hurley and finally arrived at about 7.30pm. We booked a table in their restaurant for 9pm and made our way to our home for the next two nights. It’s a very pretty place and we had a lovely, spacious room.

http://www.theoldebell.co.uk/

Gorgeous food. J ate smoked mackerel and salad, then chicken cooked with corn and cob nuts and I had chicken liver salad, then (very fresh) grouse and wilted greens. Yum.

Ginormous comfy bed with many good pillows. I know you, like I, care about such details.

The wedding was scheduled to begin at 4pm so we had a pleasurably leisurely start, a short and easy drive (and a rare case of Ms Sat Nav being unusually friendly and co-operative,) a productive visit to a watchmaker, (aren’t they interesting folk… they mess with time, after all,) a stroll around the very photogenic and pretty Henley, a scrumptious crayfish and rocket sandwich lunch with good tea and lemon drizzle cake for pud in a gorgeous small and friendly cafe, an equally easy drive back to base and a couple of hours to get ready…

When one has spent years as a wife and mother, always with (by their very demanding nature,) children in tow, the luxury of irresponsible leisure is not to be quibbled at. I am only, just now, getting used to it, allowing myself to become accustomed to such riches.

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The Bride was (is) Iranian and a Baha’i and the groom was (is) Scottish and a Buddist. We were enchanted by the soulful wails of the Bagpipes as the bride made her entrance (fashionably late) to the entrancing breathy whispers of a Persian Reed Flute- one of the oldest musical instruments still to be played- accompanied by the delicate rhythms of the Daf. The sound of the Reed Flute took me immediately to heat suffused climes, at once exotic and mesmeric. All the young children fell silent during the recital. Evocative and memorable. As the sun was setting- stunning.

We were delighted by readings of prose and poetry and a little history circe both their religions and their personal history and their place within them, and then the two (beautifully and mercifully) short ceremonies and hey presto, JD and on to the sugar grinding…

Forgive me, as I may be incorrect over the the heritage of this… but I think it was part of the Iranian wedding tradition… We women, (starting with the youthful and single, the nubile, moving through the still active but having lived a little and with baggage in tow- I count myself in this group- through to the aged, the long married, the happily ensconced in coupledom to the simply female,) yes, we were all, inclusively, (although within said pecking order) invited to grind sugar over the happy couple’s heads, albeit suffused through a lace doily of a cloth. Very charming. I think it’s an aid to fertility, though in the case of our happy couple, not actually needed.

Bahá’u’lláh, the latest of these Messengers, brought new spiritual and social teachings for our time. His essential message is of unity. He taught the oneness of God, the oneness of the human family, and the oneness of religion.

Bahá’u'lláh said, “The earth is but one country and mankind its citizens,” and that, as foretold in all the sacred scriptures of the past, now is the time for humanity to live in unity.

Founded more than a century and a half ago, the Bahá’í Faith has spread around the globe. Members of the Bahá’í Faith live in more than 100,000 localities and come from nearly every nation, ethnic group, culture, profession, and social or economic background.

Bahá’ís believe the crucial need facing humanity is to find a unifying vision of the nature and purpose of life and of the future of society. Such a vision unfolds in the writings of Bahá’u'lláh. 

If I was ever going to become religious… I think this is the religion I would join.

The formalities over, we trekked through the orchard carrying blankets, brollies and benches and I changed into my neon orange hunter wellies (which you can spy in the photos if you look carefully, resting against an ancient oak just beyond the proceedings) and we made our way to the field where the rest of the evening was to take place.

The setting sun, Canapes, Champagne, Fentiman’s Rose Lemonade, (of which I am now an addict- just ordered 3 crates through Ocado…) talk, music, led us all delightfully to a supper in a huge wood framed double turreted teepee. Much food (feta and fig salad, slow roasted spiced lamb, vegatables and rice, organic apples from the orchard cake with creme freche and local honey) and more talk and (truly delightful) speeches and dancing much, much later, I drove J and I back to the Old Bell and we slept like logs till 11am. Heaven on a stick.

Another day. Still sunny… just. Brunch. And back to the field. A hog roast and salad and the local Women’s Institute cakes and afternoon tea and an ancient French couple dressed in matching matelot t’s and berets singing Edith Piaf accompanied by an accordian and more talk and friendship. Wonderful.

Home. Uneventful. Children. Lovely.

If I didn’t miss my man so much,

life would be perfect.

And now… I’m going to bed. Can every weekend be this divine please?

11th August 2011 [2]

Spent two and a half wonderful (sigh…) days with Jacob. He arrived Thursday and I bundled him back on the train on Saturday, just in time to make the 12pm start for Leicester Poetry Stanza (see link). This was an unusual and slightly longer event as this month Graham Norman had organised us a ‘city walk.’ I’ve already blogged about this and have posted a couple of poems that I’ve written from it, so I won’t go on, but… it was wonderful. Thoroughly enjoyable. I need to do it more often- take myself somewhere new, dedicate some time, and walk with nothing on my mind other than what I see and feel and think during my travels. I used to go out and about, always armed with a sketch book, many years ago, and it’s the same, but now with a notebook and rather than draw, write. Good.

My sis, Jo and Robe, Eves and Joe came over Saturday evening. I bought some yum steaks and sausages, salad stuff and cheeses from my fave shop- East Farndon Farm Shop- and Robe cooked. An indoor Aga BBQ. Lovely. And surprisingly, even after our mammoth 4/5/6 hour telephone conversation that has exaggerated itself into urban myth proportions, we found plenty to chew the cud over and I crawled into bed, exhausted, just after midnight. Woke, refreshed and dewy eyed (ha ha) at 9.30! WOW! Needed that…

Went off to fetch the parents and we all met up at The Bell in Burton Overy for lunch. A fab little pub if you don’t know it. It used to be my local and I love Sarah and Dean. Great pub, great food, great beer, great wine… I had a flaked crab and prawn thing (it was listed somewhat more descriptively, accurately, poetically even, in the menu, but you get the gist) with a sweet chili (should that have one ‘l’ or two?) mayo and a bit of salad to start, fresh, gorgeous, then calves liver in rich red wine jus (don’t you just love ‘jus’), mash, delish veg, pinot grigio, What more could a girl with a sis, her family and their aged parents in tow want? A lift home? That would have just made everything too perfect and I’d have had to pinch myself so hard I may have caused lasting damage- OK- superficial bruising at the least!

Another very pleasant day. I’m a lucky girl. I know it. It’s why I and mine don’t go out rioting. There but for the grace of God and all that…

“Some” of my adorable family… Ma, Pa, Jo, Robe, Eves, Joe… Isaac, Fergus Julius, Sara, Krister, Freddie, Lily, and last but not least, Jacob… Miss you. Soon x

Saturday 9th July 2011

Newly purchased all weather festival footwear. And yes, they really are that bright. So- no excuses for losing me Jo…

Youngest member of my Welly family. Sibling number 6. Welcome

Furry clogs, my festival equivalent of slippers.

Oh how I love shopping… Got a couple of lovely pairs of jeans too… Made In Heaven. That’s the brand btw, not their provenance. Nice fit. V flattering. And comfy. Non of your low rise crap that exposes just too much of your tum and love handles. No they curve nicely under the waist and hold everything in place superbly.One happy bunny.

I sat in the bath for two and a half hours this morning until my extremities looked like albino prunes. I got so totally absorbed in ‘The Music Room’ by William Fiennes I completely lost track of time.

(One good thing about having a weekend to oneself is just that, time can become as stretched or as shrunken as one desires and everything, not just meal times, is a moveable feast.)

The writing is stunning. I will tell you more when I’ve finished it.

Supper is a punnet of english raspberries, a handful of blueberries and a great big dollop of greek yoghurt. All the gorgeous fuchsia purpleness from the fruit is seeping into the creamy white. Scrumptious.

Earlier, Bruce ate a rabbit, freshly culled I should add and Otto ate the contents of the bin, which mostly contained discarded pea pods and onion skins. I tried explaining the benefits of a raw food diet to them yesterday- how it can add approximately seven years to their life expectancy. They possibly forgot to convert this into dog years and got over enthused at the possibility of living until they are over twenty. I presume their actions are their response to the information. I suppose I should be grateful that they listen to me at all.

11th June 2011

Paris… Saturday

We had a lazy start and I went out with Nick to walk the dogs while Lee sorted out our lunch venue.. The dogs are Toby, Buckley and Harry, three adorable beagles. We lunched at the Restaurant in the Palais Royale which was very lovely. We had divine amuse-bouche, gorgeous bite-sized cheesy profiteroles washed down by some good champagne. They were so yummy we kept asking for another plate. I then consumed a tasty saffron risotto topped with a huge cray fish. Delicious.

Lee and I went off to see the Mme Gres exhibition at the Musee Bourdelle. This was stunning.

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Paris pays overdue homage to Madame Gres

By Sarah Shard (AFP) – Mar 23, 2011
PARIS — In her heyday Madame Gres dressed such style icons as Grace Kelly, Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich and the austere white salon of her couture house was described by the New York Times as “the most intellectual place in Europe to buy clothes”.
But when business declined and she sold out to maverick French entrepreneur Bernard Tapie, the house went into liquidation in 1988. Clothes were stuffed into bin bags in an ignominous end to nearly six decades in fashion, a rare feat by any standards.
Not before time, Paris is hosting a major retrospective to honour one of the greatest couturiers of the last century, with around 80 pieces of her work, as well as photographs from the likes of Henry Clarke, Richard Avedon and Cecil Beaton and a selection of drawings from the house’s archives.
Gres, whose original ambition had been to be a sculptor, was most famous for her drapery, turning women into living Grecian statues. So it is singularly fitting that the exhibition is being staged in the Bourdelle museum against a backdrop of classical sculptures, in a vast, airy space with natural light and plenty of room to walk around the exhibits and scrutinise them from every angle.
Gres worked in an unconventional way. She never bothered with paper patterns or “toiles”, dummy runs in muslin, for her creations. “She often said she started with a drawing or the material itself suggested what needed to be done with it,” says Olivier Saillard, who curated the exhibition.
She cut straight into the fabric and pinned it directly onto the models, often requiring them to stand patiently for hours on end while she made intricate adjustments to the sculptural pleats.
“I never sew,” she boasted, but she got through three pairs of scissors with every collection.
Her fetish fabric for evening gowns was silk jersey and every dress required between 13 and 21 metres, even more extravagant than Dior’s New Look. Lanvin’s chief designer Alber Elbaz recently mused “Where on earth did she manage to put all that material?”
The quality that stands out from her designs is timelessness. Many of the exhibits are so modern they could easily be worn today — like a 1930s draped black jersey gown: “It could be Tom Ford, it is so ‘glamour’,” says Saillard.
Effortless elegance, an ability to make the complicated look deceptively simple, and clear, fluid lines were her hallmark.
“She was minimalist before the term had even been invented,” says Saillard.
A classic example is a short-sleeved navy frock with simple knotted belt bought by the Duchess of Windsor.
Her designs were also surprisingly sensuous, often with bare backs an erogenous zone, at odds with their creator, who was physically very petite, bird-like, with pale skin, her hair always encased in her trademark turban. But appearances can be deceptive: Chanel’s biographer Edmonde Charles-Roux once acidly remarked that Gres was “a dictator disguised as a mouse”.
She had an almost monastic approach to her work. Would-be biographers or interviewers who asked her about famous people she knew — who included Edith Piaf, Paul Valery and Jean Cocteau — were given short shrift. “I have nothing to say. All I do is work, work, work.”
But in her later years, Saillard says, she allowed herself a few luxuries – like her blue Jaguar with mink interior. She even had a television installed, although she never watched it. She would scour the flea markets in Paris for antiques accompanied by her tetchy Pekinese Musig.
One of the most moving exhibits was likely her last dress, commissioned by the aristocratic designer Hubert de Givenchy in 1986.
A strong silhouette with a kimono-influenced ballooning back, in a blood red and orange floral print, it could have been designed by Rei Kawakubo at Comme des Garcons, Saillard says.
By that time, sadly, Gres did not even have a box with her house’s name on it to deliver it. Givenchy later donated it to Paris’ Galliera fashion museum.
She died in a retirement home in 1995, aged 90.
The only two designers Gres expressed admiration for were Cristobel Balenciaga and Yves Saint Laurent, so it is touching that when the museum was offered 2,900 drawings from her house’s archives, the YSL/Berge foundation stumped up the money.
Saint Laurent’s righthand man Pierre Berge told Saillard: “Madame Gres is one of the reasons why we went into fashion.”
The exhibition runs until July 24 at the Musee Bourdelle.
Copyright © 2011 AFP. All rights reserved.

That evening we ate the best Lebanese food ever. It was all so good my mouth is watering just thinking about it now, three weeks later. We had about sixteen different dishes, a mix of veggie and meaty, a good rose and fabulous conversation. We spent most of the evening in fits of giggles. Particularly when, for some inexplicable reason Lee accused me of looking like Mo Mowlam… I know! While I was protesting wildly Nick was busying himself on his phone. Suddenly he let out a loud guffaw and showed us what he’d found. Yes, indeed… a very unflattering picture of my doppelganger. Lee still refused to take it back though. So mean. So very mean.

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