Drinking White Wine In the Sun

 Merry Christmas!

There's nothing I can say about 2020 that's not been said with more eloquence, style or wit by others so I won't even try. It's been... unusual.

Celebrating Christmas with just the five of us used to be a rare treat. Grandparents want to see grandkids and vice versa, cousins want to play, so that inevitably meant packing up and heading to North Wales of a good chunk of the holidays - pet care permitting. I used to fantasise about being Just Us - no packing, no complicated cat/hen/rodent/lizard rota with local friends, no fitting in with blended or distant family and their work/custody/travel commitments in a scheduling challenge that would stump lesser souls. The years we were home were fun, partly for the novelty, but mostly Christmas is Family.

Mum was very very into Christmas. In some ways, the rest of us were drawn along in her wake - she was the mover and shaker, the one around whom we'd orbit. It's our second Christmas without her; it's far more bearable this time but I still feel her absence sharply at the oddest moments. Memories crash through.

Christmas 1981: I was 12 years old. I'd loved ballet since lessons age 3 - and was a spectacularly incompetent participant of lessons for many years - but had never been to see one live. The National Ballet of Canada was celebrating its 30th Anniversary with a tour of The Nutcracker nationally so Mum bought tickets for the two of us at Hamilton Place (now First Ontario Concert Hall).

First of all we went to The Sirloin Cellar in downtown Hamilton.  This was possibly the most grown up I felt until I was around 25. First you descended the pokey staircase to enter the dark restaurant. As you entered it was a dim room dominated by dark wood and old photographs of Hamilton. To the left was that most macabre of restaurant trends, the aquarium. The twisted swine thought actively choosing which lobster to have boiled alive for your dinner would be fun is surely in one of the more baroque circles of hell. "You look nice, I'll have you murdered." It was a grisly fascination.

The thing that I most loved about the Sirloin Cellar was the starter - Swedish meatballs. A good 15 years before IKEA's ubiquity, these glorious creations were served above a sort of fondue arangement with a small flame to keep them warm. Sharing a dish with Mum as we discussed main course choices was brilliant. Just us women out on the town.

A short stroll away was Hamilton Place; a rather unusual looking brick and concrete structure that I knew more for the annual Lionel Blair Panto (yes, really! He spent every panto season in Hamilton Ontario) than the arts.  We were in the First Balcony, only a couple of rows back - a wonderful view. 

Now there's something you need to know about Mum - she took her disaster films VERY seriously. After Jaws she wouldn't go more than knee deep in the ocean for years. After Towering Inferno she took the location of Fire Escapes extremely seriously. 

We took our seats and Mum started. "Jackie, I want you to listen carefully;: if there is a fire you need to know how to get out. Look here - how many rows of seats to the front of the balcony?" "Three, Mum." "That's right. So if there's a fire you go forward THREE rows and climber the barrier. Smoke rises so there might not be a clear view up here, which is why it's important to know the count." "But Mum..." "No, listen, this is important. You climb over the barrier. See how it lines up with the aisle below? You wait until you can see it's clear and you drop. then make your way down the slope to that Fire Escape." "Yeah, but Mum..." "NO, Jackie, Listen to me. How many rows? "Three." "And then what?" "Climb over, wait for a gap, drop, head down the slope to the Fire Escape, but I could..." "No, just make sure you remember. Panic is as dangerous as smoke. You've got it?" "Yes Mum." "OK. What was it you wanted to say?" "Mum, there's a Fire Escape at the end of this row."

38 years. We teased Mum about that at ever theatre visity for thirty eight years. She took it in good heart, but I never see a theatre Fire Door without thinking of it.

The ballet was pretty much the most brilliant thing I'd ever experienced. I thought my heart would burst with joy - the music, the dancing, it was beyond my wildest dreams.

The Nutcracker's  Russian dance - the Trepak - is well known, but not to 12 year old me. I'd never heard or seen anything like it. Mum had to put a hand on my knee as it was positively bouncing. The dancers leapt impossible heights, did the splits midair - all perfectly normal choreography in the crowdpleasing juggernaut the Nutcracker remains. But for a first time viewer? My world expanded that day. I didn't know bodies could do that, and that such exhuberance was possible.  

When the music came onto the playlist in the kitchen on Christmas Eve, I was straight back there. Feeling like a Grown Up, out with my Mum as a co-participant and not a little kid, had laughed long and hard about what would become a family joke, and so swept up by the glory of the ballet I thought I'd burst with joy.

And I miss my Mum. 

I'm lucky to have such strong and wonderful memories. I'm lucky she showed me my favourite thing - and Ballet Weekend is always one of my annual highlights. I'm glad that for many years I could invite her here to Leeds to watch Northern Ballet's Christmas production, sometimes with her grandchildren too. 

NB - There's a link from that day and place to this day and place: a young second soloist of that production, David Nixon, has been the Creative Director of Northern Ballet since 2001. Check out the smart/casual vibe! 

The other strong memory that hit me was this afternoon. 

We'd quite regularly go on holiday with our kids and my parents to Doña Lola, between Malaga and Marbella. My brother and his girls would come too. It wasn't always easy - a large group with different interests, food preferences and ideas of how to have fun. Mark and I like restaurtants and galleries,  Mark hates beaches, I love swimming in the sea and hate pools. The younger kids all love the pool and endless ice creams, eldest like pools or video games and quiet, Neil likes games and home food but thinks cities are boring, Dad's mobility was reducing thanks to his arthritis. You can't please everyone. Sometimes it would be frustrating, sometimes harmonious. Families  - love them, but also argue with them like a teenager. 

However, there was one perfect time every day. As the sun would dip low, Mum and I would carry a pair of chairs, a pair of glasses and an ice cold bottle of white wine down to the ocean's edge and we'd watch the sun set together. Best bit of my holidays in Spain by far. When the low sun hits my face I thinbk of those warm seashore moments.

Today Christmas dawned clear and mild. After so much rain it was a gloriously sunny day. I thought it would be foolish to miss it all so as Mark chatted with his parents I popped out to enjoy the last 10 minutes of winter sunshine. It's Christmas, so obviously Tim Minchin's beautiful White Wine In The Sun was a perfect accompaniment. "My brothers, my sisters, my gran and my mum..."

Idiot. 

That was it - floored because I really do miss my Mum. And drinking white wine with her as the sun set over the Mediterranean really was one of our happiest rituals. I honestly hadn't thought about it; I felt blindsided. 

Christmas is Family. I'm lucky to have mine, even if I can't see some of them right now. I hope you are with yours, and that you are all as well and safe as you can be.

Take care.

J

PS - my full name is Jacqueline. My family called me Jac, and Jackie was for teachers or being told off. You know, like when I'm not paying enough attention to a fire briefing. I've been Jay for 30 years because it suits me better,

Let the festivities begin!

 As warm autumn days get rarer and we're all confined to barracks for a month, it's time to think of the future and start preparations for whatever level of Christmas we're able to have. Early November is the ideal time to make mincemeat for this year's mince pies.

In my experience, there's a hierarchy of mince pies. At the bottom is shop bought, obviously*. Next is a jar of mincemeat and ready roll pastry, which gives a pleasing feeling of accomplishment. Only slightly more work than that (so VERY slightly) is making your own mincemeat and using ready roll pastry. I cannot stress enough how much of a difference this makes. It's streets ahead of the stuff in the jars, and is the work of about half an hour. Even better is fully homemade. The greatest of all is homemade by somebody else - no mess, no work! Sadly I rarely come across those.

The wonder of homemade mincemeat is that you can tweak it to your tastes.  Use the booze of your choice, go teetotal, alter the spice mix, add chopped nuts or be nut-free, use vegetarian suet if you prefer.

My recipe is based on the one in Rachel Allen's excellent book, Bake.

• 3 large or 4 small cooking apples
• 2 oranges
• 2 lemons
• 250g suet
• 825g of mixed dried fruit (see note 1)
• 125g mixed peel
• 650g brown sugar 
• 2-3tsp spice (see note 2)
• 150ml dark rum or brandy or whisky or more orange juice
• optional - chopped almons or pecans

Peel, core and chop the apples then simmer with a splash of water until cooked down to a pulp.

In a large stock pot or truly enormous bowl, mix the zest and juice of the oranges and lemons with the suet, dried fruit, mixed peel, sugar, spices, alcohol or juice and nuts if using. Add the cooked pulp, mix thoroughly and put into sterilised jars.

Leave to mature for 2-3 weeks. Easy, right?

Note 1: Rachel Allen had 275g each of raisins, sultanas and currants only.  Personally I think currants are nasty, gritty little things, and I like a touch of sharpness to cut through the sweetness. My prefered mix is  about half sultanas and the rest a mix of cranberries, sour cherries, apricots and prunes; I dice the larger fruits to similar sized pieces.  Dried fig, glacé cherries or tropical fruits can also work - pick whatever combination apeals to you.

Note 2 - Allen goes for 2tsp of mixed spice.  I grate half a nutmeg with a scant teaspoon each of ground cinnamon, ginger and cloves. I love nutmeg in Christmas food. Just use what you like, ditch what you don't. 

If you're going all out and making shortcrust pastry from scratch, my absolute favourite recipe is from my Sugarcraft tutor at college: German Paste. It's one part sugar, two parts fat, three parts flour and an egg to bind it.  Judith liked Trex or margarine for a crisper pastry, I prefer the flavour butter provides. Or go half and half, which is a great compromise. 

• 200g sugar
• 400g butter, Trex or combination
• 600g plain flour
• 1 large egg or 2 small, beaten

Put the sugar and flour in a food processor and gradually add the fat, followed by the beaten egg. Mix until it just comes together. Bring it into a ball, wrap it in clingfilm or a substitute and leave it to rest in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.

For the thinest, crispiest pastry, roll it out very thinly between two sheets of clingfilm or nonstick sheeting rather than on a floured surface and floured rolling pin. Cut out the circles and peel them off the clingfilm to put in a well greased tart tray. Add a heaped teaspoon of mincemeat and top with a pastry star. Wash with beaten egg and bake for 12-15 minutes.

The mincemeat recipe does make gargantuan quantities, so if you aren't planning to give it to friends or bake a zillion mince pies, you might prefer to halve it.  I once put out a plate of 8 that I took through to the living room while I washed up the baking tray, and when I went through with my cuppa 10 minutes later, Mark and Zach had polished off the lot. We go through a lot of mince pies.

*The exceptions to that hierarchy is Betty's of Harrogate mince pies - which are divine - and people who can't make pastry, who should stick to the ready roll rather than make tough pastry. The more you work it, flour it, roll it out, the tougher it gets. Like with scones, Less Is More for pastry.

That's amore

When the moon hits your eye...

PIZZA, baby!


Because I had the good luck at 17 to meet the best person I'll ever know (although granted, he was well-disguised as a scrawny self-important teen with a prog rock fascination I will never understand) AND the good sense to stay with the ornery cuss for 33 years, I am in the fortunate position of living with someone who loves and knows the very soul of me. As a result, his gift selection is brilliant.

I was dreading Christmas this year - the first year without Mum and to a large degree without Dad too because he needed to ignore it all for his own wellbeing. Mark found things to rekindle my excitement and engagement in the world. The man's a magician.

First amazing gift was from my parents-in-law at M's suggestion. They got me a wildlife camera so we can see who and what visits our garden at night. I'm absolutely delighted. I know we've had some hedgehogs over that past 2 years and that foxes visit to hope for a wandering hen (never mind the rodent corpses our cats thoughtfully provide) but actually seeing what comes when, and how it behaves is very exciting.

I've spent my Christmas money from my brother on a large charger and lots of rechargeable batteries so I can run the camera down the bottom of the garden. My plan is to move it every few days until we discover where we are most likely to see our nocturnal visitors.

The next brilliant gift was my own personal Springwatch experience.

I love Springwatch. I love Chris and Michaela and poor deposed Martin and I'm bearing with Gillian hoping she finds her feet as a presenter eventually but above all I love Iolo Williams. He's the lanky Welshman who bubbles over with enthusiasm and delight at all wild encounters in this tiny but remarkable country. Iolo's the reason we went to the Farne Islands and why I wanted to see a murmuration - I didn't know such things existed and he inspired me with a desire to seek them out.

He's doing a talk at a centre near my Dad for a local wildlife charity. Mark's got tickets for Dad and me and a copy of Iolo's book about UK wildlife so I can get it signed. I'm beyond delighted.

So far, so middle aged twitcher. Which is an identity I am proud to acknowledge, by the way.

But the third gift...

That's the "yeah, great, thanks for the two scented tree resins, Caspar and Melchior, but where's Balthazar with the gold?" gift.  Not just ace but brilliant.

A pizza oven.

assembled inside, but for OUTSIDE use only

I know it's a fairly shameful claim, but we eat more pizza than any family I know. Luke would eat pizza for every meal of his life if he could. I love Roman, Neopolitan, Chicago style -  all of it. I remember my horror moving to the UK in 1985 and seeing the ghastly cardboard discs passing as "pizza" here, and my cousins' bemusement at my disgust. (Britain, I love you but your food prior to the 90s was a damned disgrace). I've experimented with lots of different dough recipes, various cooking techniques, bought pizza tins, stones and peels. Ever since my Very Excellent Mate Nic talked about how she and Ady built a cob pizza oven on their croft on Rum I've been trying to persuade Mark we need one.

The Ooni 3 is a work of genius. Like my beloved Eglu did for hen-keeping, it makes wood-fired pizzas a doddle in your back garden. It's portable, it takes 15 minutes to heat up rather than the 4-6 hours of a cob oven and the pizzas cook in under 2 minutes. They are beyond anything -
I can't recommedt them enough. I made around 8 of them today, I think, maybe more.

The dough recipe I used was a very simple one - 500g strong flour, 300g water, 7g quick acting yeast and a heaped teaspoon of salt. I put it in the kitchen mixer for 10-15 minutes then moved it to an oiled, covered bowl in a warm spot in the kitchen. The first batch was done while the kitchen door was open and it was really cold so I popped it in the Instant Pot on the "yogurt making" setting for 90 minutes. The second sat in a sunny window.

Each dough batch made 5 balls weighing 160g. After a second prove I kneaded and stretched each into a 24-30cm circle (this is a lie, they were weird splodges). I put flour on the peel (official name for that metal flat thing that gets pizzas out of ovens) and plopped carefully placed the dough on it. 2 spoons of pizza sauce, a scattering of olives/pepperoni/nothing, a generous sprinkling of mozzarella and a quick shimmy to get it from peel to oven.

The thing cooks unbelieveably quickly. I charred the first one because I couldn't believe 30 seconds was enough before turning. (it was)

in which we learn 60 seconds a side is too long

Using the peel, I pulled the pizza out every 30 seconds or so and rotated it 180 degrees. Within 90 seconds to 2 minutes (depending on the temperature of the baking stone at the heart of the oven) each pizza was perfectly cooked.

one of many misshapen but delicious pizzas

I had a brilliant time. I was supposed to be making dinner for everyone but I got overexcited and made pizza for a late lunch first. This was serendipitous, as trying to use an unfamiliar cooking technique with FIRE and at up to 500 degrees Celsius in the dark would have been a nightmare. I did have a second batch in the dark but it was much harder to see whether things were cooked/burnt/undercooked so in future I'll stick to cooking with actual visibility.

It was wonderful to find things that are fun and exciting, especially when I'd anticipated this season with a fair amount of dread.

If you need me, I'll be pitting olives and sourcing 00 flour online for the foreseeable future.

Happy New Year, and may the coming decade be kinder than the last.

It's been a weird year

This is likely to be a clunky post. It's the "Previously in Jay's 2019", the one that recaps where I've been so I can move on.

The year started dreadfully because our ace Luke was in a bad way. Accessing mental health support when each arm of the service says "Yes, he's clearly badly in need of help, but not our specialised flavour of it" is exhausting and upsetting. However, things did improve eventually.

Obviously Mum's illness and death meant May and June barely registered.

A mystery illness in July had me admitted to hospital and meant I missed both RHS Tatton show and cancelled our 25th anniversary celebrations. In September it ceased to be a mystery and became an emergency surgery, onvernight stay in ICU, week-long stay in hospital on many drips and a long, slow recovery at home which pretty much ate up my life through to early November. It also scared the bejeezus out of Mark. However, I managed not to die so that's a good thing.

Luke and I had an overnight visit to London where we ate pizza 4 times in 4 different places to decide on London's Best Pizza (we have done previous research on this important topic in the past). My part in this wasn't very scientific because I had a different pizza at each place, so my contribution was mainly financial. Luke was a purist, naturally, and had a Margarita at each one.

Pizza Union was cheap and cheerful but its crust was far too crunchy and toppings a bit slapdash. Pizza Express was its usual self - overpriced for what it is but enjoyable enough. Pizza Pilgrims had a great sourdough base but the sauce and toppings were very soggy. Soho Joe was the runaway winner - great sourdough base, good sauce, plenty of cheese. Very friendly service too.

We also managed to fit in Book of Mormon and some serious book shopping time as well. That was the highlight of my autumn.

Mark turned 50 and bought a crazy car - swapped the much-loathed Ford for an enormous aged Lexus that's got both a hybrid engine and a cassette deck. It's very comfortable but also very funny. Cassettes. Seriously.

Understandably, Dad is very much not in the mood for Christmas. I did all his shopping/wrapping stuff to give him the chance to opt out, and then tackled my own. I feel like I've been wrapping things for days, but it's all done now - if not to my usual standards nor enthusiasm.

The kids have been great - they understand that I'm not feeling very celebratory and have stepped in to some of my previous roles. Mark and B chose the Christmas tree - only needed a mere 3 foot cutting off it to fit it in the house, and took a bit of the doorframe with it - and the 4 of them decorated it without me. They were very thoughtful and didn't use any of the handmade decorations I made with Mum when  was young. Finding a message from her on a gift bag I was reusing had me in tears all day, so the fewer trigger points to trip me up the better, quite frankly. Grief is hard.

Because the universe hadn't finished being cruel, Dad's closest friend died last week. He was a lovely man and a great support to Dad. His poor family will have a damned rough Christmas.

I've been trying to keep my Reasons To Be Cheerful 1,2,3 project on Twitter going through this year, even when it felt very hard to find them.  Above all my reason for cheerfulness has been the compassion, love and support I have been lucky enough to receive from my family, friends and neighbours. I'm a very fortunate woman, I know truly lovely people. My garden and its produce has remained a source of happiness and balance. Recognising and appreciating small pleasures whrn they occur has also been important.

As I escape this ghastly year, I wish everyone a peaceful New Year. I wish that hope, compassion and good hearts are enough to make 2020 better for all of us.
Have a good Christmas, however you're spending it.

It's Christmas All Over Again

Lots of people require Slade.  There are those who tell me it must be Mariah Carey. I'm sure there are a classy few who insist on the Unthanks with In The Bleak Midwinter, and I would happily agree but for me* Christmas starts with John Denver singing Silver Bells, Tom Petty singing It's Christmas All Over Again, then I Believe In Father Christmas for Mark. That one makes him a bit weepy.

So, Christmas playlist blasting out, we tackled The Tree today.  I've talked before about my deep and abiding love of Christmas trees.  The tree and the present wrapping are my favourite parts of the whole holiday season.  We opt for the less attractively shaped Norway Spruce rather than the beautifully regular Nordman Fir because the Spruce smells so wonderful.

We schlepped out to East Keswick Nursery twice this year because they had very few Spruce trees the first visit and promised they were cutting more the next morning.  When we returned the following afternoon they'd not got them yet and were very apologetic that we'd made a wasted trip.  They sent a young lad off to the fields to cut one down for us, which was very sweet of them and made me feel quite the Special Snowflake.

The one he chose was a bit shorter than we'd wanted but was ridiculously thick and bushy.  He struggled to get it through the netting gadget - and we had to shove it through the doorway at home. Raised up a few inches on railway sleeper offcuts, it fit perfectly in the space.  Well, perfectly after I pruned a few places where it sort of overwhelmed the couches.

The tree is decorated in a particular order. It's getting it straight in the base unit in the middle of the room, then moving it in situ  between the two couches and screwing the base down.  Next is pruning extra twigs off so those sitting on a couch over the next two weeks won't find themselves with pine needles in their ears. Then lights, then tinsel, then all the red baubles so they are evenly distributed, then all the silver ones, and finally all the decorations that aren't baubles.  There are zillions of those, so the least favourite ones get ignored if we run out of twigs to drape them on.

I do the lights and tinsel myself, faffing about until I'm happy it looks relatively even, and the kids move in to decorate. When they were little they tended to select a branch and pile decorations on it until that branch touched the ground or caused the tree to list rather alarmingly. These days it's all beautifully done.  If I were a better mother I'd probably miss the inexpert early years but actually I'm just relieved. I like my tree to be Just So.  And I keep forgetting it's 'our' tree and not 'my' tree**.

I was 17 when we moved from Canada to the UK. Back in Ontario we'd walk around the tree plantations in the snow, choose our tree and Dad would saw it down. My parents sold most of our decorations in the yard sale we had to slim down our possessions when we emigrated. Our first Christmas here they were nearly starting from scratch. Rejecting the colourful choices of the past they went for the plain white lights and a theme of white, silver or glass decorations.
Like the stroppy ungrateful teen I was, I had a fit.  Yes, it was absolutely beautiful, but I didn't care - it looked like it belonged in a department store window, not in my family home. I wanted the multicoloured lights, the homemade decorations, the red baubles I grew up with. I was further outraged a couple of years later when they bought an artificial tree.  Now it didn't even smell of Christmas! Like many kids, I hated change, wanted my Christmas to be like it always had been, down to the same Christmas films and soundtrack. You can add to a Christmas, but you can't change it.

(NB - 30 years on Mum and Dad still have the beautiful white and silver tree, and I still think of it as the New Tree. But I like it now because I know the 'proper' tree is in our house!)

Miss B seems to be following in the same path.  She commented today how nice white lights look around the house but that Christmas trees need several hundred multicoloured lights to look like A Proper Tree.  She insists the boys hand the decorations with their names on and she hangs the ones that are special to her. She made a slightly pitying comment about people with false trees  - "Their houses don't smell Christmassy at all." The smell is a massive thing for all 5 of us.

Tree up, Mark and Zach gave 'gentle' hints about the urgent need for mince pies.

I use my former tutor Judith's recipe for German Paste when making pastry, which is 3 parts flour, 2 parts fat (Trex, butter or a combination depending on your preference), 1 part sugar and an egg to bind it.  It's the crispest, lightest melt-in-your-mouth pastry of all the recipes I've tried.  Personally I find all pastry a bit of a faff and would rather bake cakes or cookies, but needs must.

The variation on Rachel Allen's mincemeat recipe (see here) is still my favourite. This year I forgot we'd run out of dried apricots and prunes so there are loads more cranberries to make up for it.

I made 3 dozen mince pies, have pastry for another couple dozen in the fridge and a tupperware containing about enough mincemeat for 5 dozen more. The kitchen smells of warm spices and brandy, while the living room smells of pine tree. All was going swimmingly until I burnt my finger through a hole in my oven gloves, which caused me to drop the tray of mince pies.  A hefty dollop of ice cream should fix that. Mince Pie Jumble is definitely a bona fide dessert, right?

So now I'm sitting in the dark with just the tree lights on, reflecting on our day's work.  Z's at a friend's house, Miss B is wrapping presents, L's taking a break from revising for mock A-levels with a bit of gaming and Mark's cooking dinner. This has been a hard year for many reasons but these quiet moments make everything better.

My very best wishes to you and yours,
xx

*I'm taking Bing Crosby as a given for everyone. He's non-negotiable.

**It totally is my tree. I'm just pretending I share. Everyone knows this.

The Happy Art of Wrapping

Every year in mid-December my Facebook feed is full of people bemoaning all the wrapping they have to do.  It seems to be a last minute and ridiculously time-consuming chore to many people.

May I suggest another approach? Enjoy it.

I love wrapping presents. It's one of my favourite Christmas rituals. I set it out Just So and I look forward to it as a lovely quiet interlude.  This is how it works:

First of all, get all chef-y about it and set up your mise en place.  (That's a poncey French restaurant way of saying laying out all the things you need where you need them. Don't Mess With My Meez is an essential tenet of my life.  I hate it when people mess with my stuff.)

I need all the presents stacked on the living room floor.  A cup of coffee - or a pot of coffee with milk and a mug as this will be a multi-coffee activity - a mince pie or two and the Christmas film of your choice will keep you going.

My wrapping film of choice is While You Were Sleeping. Christmassy and cute.  I used to watch White Christmas but you can't wrap and watch dance numbers. 

For the wrapping you need your wrapping paper, scissors, tape, ribbons, decorative bits, a pen and labels.  I strongly recommend Scotch tape or Sellotape. Fannying about with tape that tears off in ragged points or that you're endlessly picking at with your nail trying to find an edge makes the whole enterprise needlessly painful. A bin bag per person/destination is also handy, unless your family keeps all the presents under the tree.  I do a bag per child then a bag for the people we see at my parents' house and a bag for those at Mark's parents' house.  It just makes it easy when we're driving to North Wales to have a bag to grab and pop in the boot to take in rather than root about through a mound of gifts.

You're all set - drinks, mince pies, film and supplies. Before you press Play you must do the most important thing - barricade the door.  I'm not kidding, properly block it.  I move a stool in front of the door and sometimes write a note too, along the lines of "DO NOT COME IN. If you do come in I get to keep your presents and eat your chocolate." The only possible way to relax into wrapping in my experience is to be left the hell alone. If you have kids, the prospect of having someone else do the wrapping can be a good incentive for one's partner to keep the kids entertained. Or do it while kids are napping/at school/in bed/at a friend's house. But peace and solitude are important.

For the wrapping itself, may I suggest brown kraft paper? You know the stuff - thick plain paper with faint pinstripes. It's cheap, comes in big rolls, doesn't tear easily like some wrapping papers, gives a nice crisp folds and is appropriate for every occasion.  I love it and use it for Christmas, birthdays, everything. I just swap the Christmassy ribbon for brighter colours. I do buy patterned paper to use for the younger kids' present too, because they like it, but I try and stick to things that look nice together.

The fun of kraft paper is what you put with it.  I like ribbons of jute, satin, velvet, small Christmas tree decorations, white or silver pens, rubber stamps - anything really.  Butchers twine - that twisted red and white string - also looks good on it. I often pick up nice bits in the after Christmas sales and pop them in my Christmas box to use the following year.

This year it was oversized jingle bells and painted wooden hearts and stars.

I found a set of tiny rubber stamps in a winter motif in a craft shop year ago, reduced to £2. I thought they'd be nice on gift tags. Yes, I have plain brown luggage labels as gift tags. They come in bulk, they are cheap and I like the minimalist chic vibe going on here.

Instead of feeling like I've a hateful chore I'm trudging through, I have a lovely peaceful afternoon with a romcom of my choice and a growing stack of gifts that (I think) look pretty.

A brief hiatus

Hello again! I hope your Christmas and New Year were all things splendid and pine-needle-scented and you are facing the return to normal life feeling refreshed and invigorated.

I'm not.

I've not blogged throughout December for 2 reasons.  The first is this -

I wanted to crochet a blanket for Miss B in time for her birthday (which is near Christmas.)  My grandmother could produce amazing works of crochet and embroidery; I wanted to make something of an heirloom for my child to keep with her as she grows up the way I did with Grammy's things.  However, it was a much larger project than any I'd undertaken before.

It took me 3 weeks of crocheting pretty much every spare moment of the day. If I was sitting down there was a hook in my hand and the blanket growing across my lap.  I took it on the bus, to appointments that I knew I'd be waiting for, to cafes and I didn't watch a moment of television while not simultaneously crocheting like a woman possessed.  I certainly had no time for blogging when there were rows to finish.

I am delighted with the result.  So is Miss B who carries it around with her to watch TV snuggled with, and drapes across her bed each night. Many thanks to Lucy of Attic 24 for the pattern and the crochet-along encouragement,

The second reason is much less fun. I've been ill. Not anything serious, just unendingly poorly.  

Mark and the kids had a nasty virus in November - fevers, sore throats and coughing.  The kids had 3 or 4 days off school each, except poor Luke who attended every day because of mock GCSE exams. I caught it on Thursday December 4th - the day I was supposed to be baking for the school fair.

I bailed on the school fair and only made it to the ballet of Lord of the Flies with Luke the next night because I was heavily medicated and Mark kindly drove us to and from Bradford. (He's a top bloke, isn't he?) I spent the weekend and most of the next week in bed. Feverish, achey and weak, I felt very relieved I'd done the Christmas preparation early. Even making mince pies felt exhausting.

I had about a 6 day period of being well during which I slipped away from chores for the day and went to see The Hobbit on my own. It was great, although casting attractive men as dwarves has made me feel a bit funny with each instalment. Richard Armitage and Aidan Turner are too sexy to be dwarves.

Sadly, the few days feeling fine didn't last and the virus reasserted itself. This also happened to Miss B, who missed much of her last week in school.  I was laid low by the 20th, got even worse across Christmas Day and Boxing Day and have continued to be raw of throat and coughing fit to die ever since.  It's been a full month since I first came down with the thing and it's wearing thin I can tell you.

So, no exciting news to report, no new skills to share and not much time for reflection either. 

However, I can share a picture of our tree, complete with the traditional Christmas Lizard inspecting some of the decorations:

And here's the craft bag I made for my niece Cara from old jeans, lined with a sundress B outgrew. I'd give you instructions if I had any - I just sort of made it up.  I filled it with projects and kits for Cara to try. She's very creative.

I hope I'm fighting fit by Friday, when I head off for my annual ballet weekend. It's pretty much my favourite event of the year.

Best wishes to you and yours for a happy and peaceful 2015.

J xx

Looking for the bright spots

It's important to have something to look forward to, I find, particularly at this time of year.

Spring is easy. The willow tree in my garden goes from bare branches to a yellowish blurring of outlines to a pale green fuzz and then proper leaves. Each stage has me looking towards the next, and the new buds are just so hopeful and full of promise. I know which neighbours have the early blossoming trees in their gardens and which patches of my own will produce flowers next.  It's much easier to feel good about the world when the days are lengthening and the world is coming back to life.

Summer - well, that all depends on the weather.  A decent bit of warmth and sunshine and I think my cup runneth over. There are vegetables to sow and tend, fruit growing on my trees, and long evenings sitting outside chatting.

Autumn and winter are hard going.  I like the quality of light on sunny autumnal days, with that crisp feel to the air and strangely comforting smell of dead leaves.  I love snow, and loads of it.  But the dark days, the dampness so much a part of this climate and the way the world is painted in a palette of mud tones and grey  - it's a tough gig.

So, things to look forward to is my coping strategy.

My best and most reliable thing to look forward to is my annual ballet weekend with my Very Excellent Mate Bon.  She's my mate of longest standing in the UK - the first friend I made when I moved here and the only schoolfriend apart from Mark I kept in touch with.  The third weekend in January is our usual date but Matthew Bourne's production of Edward Scissorhands finishes early this season, so we're moving it forward a week.  I have never yet had a less than lovely time (except when I was 37 weeks pregnant with Miss B and in terrible pain, but that wasn't anyone else's fault.)

I'm browsing hotels for it already and will be able to book my train seats next week.

I am also looking forward to another Matthew Bourne ballet - Lord of the Flies. Luke and I are going together in early December. He studied it for English Lit last year and is keen to see it. I love that my son is interested in all forms of story telling, not just movies or games.  We share a lot of films, books, graphic novels and radio programmes together, and it's brilliant. Luke is great company and has an original perspective on things.  I am VERY much looking forward to our outing.

Back in early September when East Coast Rail were having a lightning sale I booked train tickets for Miss B and I to go to London together on our own.  That's coming up in a month. The plan is to ride the London Eye - which the lads have done but B hasn't - and do everything B is interested in.  I expect sweets and toys may be involved. We'll have 5 hours on the train to chat and play and make plans, or reflect on all we've done - and I do love travelling by train. We'll have a brilliant day, and it will be ace to watch her discover her London. I already know the lads' London, and my own.

I am also very much looking forward to one particular aspect of Christmas.  I think getting the tree, decorating it and then putting While You Were Sleeping on while I wrap presents in front of it is my all-time favourite part of Christmas.  It's that smell. The pine needles may shed and it can be a faff getting the thing upright in the stand, but a real tree is pretty much as good as the festive season can get.  Each decoration is an old friend - some made by Mum and me when I was a kid, some by our kids when they were little, some reminders of trips or events in our lives.  And lavish amounts of tinsel. And red or silver baubles.  I can picture it in my head now and it's fabulous.

The soonest thing I am looking forward to is Sunday, November 2nd at 7pm.  At that time my lovely Z will get home from his week-long trip to Germany with Youth Club.  He'll be tired out and bursting with all the stories of what he saw and who he met. The house will have all its people home again. I will sit on the couch, probably sharing take away pizza with everyone and listening to Z share all his enthusiasm and pleasure in new things with us while his brother and sister try to talk over him. And it will be brilliant.

Just call me Ma Ingalls

Happy Yuletide, my webby co-conspirators!

Only a teeny amount of time left until Christmas Day and I am feeling pretty positive about it. There are loads of things I meant to do but haven't but I'm not fretting. Our kids and the nieces are sorted with their presents and everyone else will just have to cope if I haven't quite sorted everything out. It's the season of peace and goodwill towards over-committed women.

My goal to make most of the presents for friends and relatives has been a mixed success. I've sewn, knitted, crocheted or baked for 3 nieces, my kids, 3 friends, the kids' school, one Secret Santa and my parents. I've also bought a few more than I meant to - partly to save my sanity, partly because I couldn't think of anything to make the recipients that they'd like.

I've spent a total of £9 on supplies for the home made presents. Get a load of my up-cycling self! I've used duvet covers, dresses, tops, fabric left over from previous projects, stuff I bought ages ago and hadn't used and buttons snipped from stained blouses.  I am delighted! And I may be kidding myself but I think my efforts will please the receivers rather than have them pull the strained "erm, thanks" smile.
Of course I would think that, wouldn't I.

For my youngest niece I cleaned up 2 Groovy Girls Miss B had decided to send to the charity shop. They are such lovely rag dolls, I do adore them. I cut up some blouses and summer dressed B had outgrown to make the dolls some new outfits - all with velcro fastenings to make it easy for toddlers to play. I had a bit of fleece left from making a heating pad for the guinea pigs so I whipped up a quick sleeping bag with integral pillow, and trimmed it with more of the dress fabric.

To finish, I sewed a draw string bag with a name label on it. In my experience kids LOVE personalised things.

I love the wonky typewriter stamps I use for names

Using some lovely Egyptian cotton that was a double duvet cover in its previous life, I made night dresses for my daughter and her cousin who is the same age. I trimmed the nighties and their overnight bags  with the pink rosebud material I made B's Laura Ingalls costume from, and appliqued each girl's initial on her nightdress and bag. I popped a small stuffed toy in that I'd picked up for 99p in a sale over the summer and ta da - a sleepover bag.

For my older niece I got her something to go with the book she fancied. She's very into wildlife and (thankfully) extremely non-girly so I made a tablet cover that looked like an owl for her. She got her initial on the back too. Having seen it, my son has decided he would like one too, so I need to get that done when I've finished the PJs and so on.

It took about an hour (mostly getting the size right as I'm mis-measured the first time) and I think it's pretty cool.

The other things I've made are for people who could conceivable read this blog, so I'll keep quiet until they're received them. 

I did not have a pattern for anything but the night dresses  - and even that I had to change quite a bit to make what I'd pictured in my head. Thinking the project through tiny stage by tiny stage until I've made the whole project in my head at least 3 times before I start work helps me feel confident about having a go at things I've not attempted before. 

Incidentally, I am definitely blaming the Laura Ingalls books for this burst of making and doing. Bonnie and I have reached By The Shores Of Silver Lake now, and the culture of making what you need rather than buying it must be infiltrating my thought processes.

Right, I'd better get back to work on the Christmas Eve pjs. I wish you and yours a very merry CHristmas,

J xx

Festive and Fabulous

Hello webby chums!

My daughter is fashioning the "number of nights until Christmas" out of blu-tack and sticking it next to her bed, the lads are 'just mentioning' how close it is at least twice a day and the tree is dominating the living room so much that we can't see each other on the couches past it. Everyone I meet seems to ask whether I'm ready for Christmas. I guess we're in the final stretch now.

I'm surrounded by presents to wrap, lists of jobs, chaos and pine needles. I don't mind a bit - Christmas may mean a lot of work but it also means Christmas food. Yum.

In my opinion the greatest of all Christmas food* is the mince pie. Some love the cake or pudding, others favour the chocolate oranges and bit tins of sweets. Mark loves the big roast dinner with all the trimmings but I'd be happy with pasta and a salad as long as I had plenty of mince pies.  I think they are worth a little bit of time. Not much in the face of the hours spent shopping, wrapping or writing cards, but more than slinging something into a trolley.

In my first years living here I used to go to a tiny bakery in Hyde Park, now long gone,  that used light pastry and veggie suet. I'd buy them by the half-gross and we'd still run out by Boxing Day. I don't like the stodgy pastry of supermarket mince pies, so I graduated to Jus Rol and a jar of mincemeat to assemble my own.  Then I learnt to make lovely pastry, thanks to a tutor at college.

That pastry left the jar of mincemeat looking outclassed, so I decided to raise my game. Three years ago I made my own mincemeat and BANG! that was it - my prefect mince pie.

I understand making your own mincemeat may sound a little bit mad, but I promise it isn't. We're not heading into Kirsty Allsop lunacy, I promise. It takes me 30 minutes at most to make enough to fill 8 jam jars full. Trust me, it's worth it. It's far nicer, you can tweak the flavours to your own palate and other than peeling and chopping 3 or 4 apples it's almost entirely effortless.

Apples - 2 large cooking apples or 3-4 regular eating apples
400g sultanas
400g raisins
400g mixed dried fruit - I suggest cranberries, cherries, apricots and prunes chopped as needed.
2 oranges
2 lemons
250g vegetarian suet
125g mixed peel
600g brown sugar
1tsp each ground cloves, cinnamon, freshly grated nutmeg
90ml brandy, cointreau or dark rum

Peel and chop the apples and either microwave or simmer in a small pan until softened into a puree. In a very large bowl, chuck all the dried fruit, suet, mixed peel, sugar and spices. Add the zest and juice of the oranges and lemons. Tip in the apple puree and the alcohol of your choice and mix until well combined.
Leave overnight for the flavours to mature. A week or two is even better, a year is also possible - just spoon it onto sterilised jars and seal.

A note on dried fruit -
Don't use currants. Well, do if you feel you must, but I can't recommend it. For my money they add nothing but grittiness to the mixture. Cherries and cranberries add a welcome sharper note, prunes make everything taste richer and more moist, and apricots work really well too.





*Stilton is for life, not just for Christmas. I thought I best clarify that.