oh, Canada

Yesterday was Canada Day. For me it's a chance to mess about making food from my childhood and think about all friends who would share that food with me over those years - a very personal reason to celebrate.  Normally in Canada it's a celebration of nationhood, of who we are and where we came from. Flags, songs, fireworks. Not this year.

The horrifying revelations about the Indigenous Residential Schools and the number of bodies buried there, nameless and abandoned, has shaken Canada's vision of itself as The Nice Place. We need to look clear-eyed at the atrocities of our past, acknowledge our complicity in a society that not just allowed but encouraged this to take place, and to mourn with those who lost their families and their culture. So this year, Canada Day is a muted occasion tainted by the shame of what the state did to vulnerable and disempowered people it should have been protecting and nurturing.

Reading the news, I wondered whether it would be more respectful to call off having our neighbours over as planned. I decided to go ahead, partly because it would let down to very special little boys, and partly because my cancelling my one day of being Canadian for the year doesn't do anything to support the First Nations. A hair shirt gesture by me helps no one.

So we went ahead.

Seeing as the handful of people who read this blog all know me anyway, you will not be surprised to learn I went a bit overboard. What started with a plan to bake butter tarts turned into a 5 hour session in the kitchen, including some rather mixed successes in cheese-making.

The crux of the thing was how to try recreate poutine in the UK, and make it suitable for vegetarians.  Poutine is chips and fresh cheese curds liberally doused in (usually chicken) gravy. It turns out the UK doesn't generally have cheese curds and my usual onion gravy isn't the right kind of gravy. Clearly experimentation was needed.

In the end I pretty much cracked it.

Vegetarian gravy:

1 onion, diced

1 handful dried porcini mushrooms

40g butter

handful of plain flour

500ml double strength vegetable stock

20ml soy sauce 

Cook the onion on a low heat in the butter, stirring occasionally until it starts to caramelise - probably around 20-30 minutes. Meanwhile, pour 500ml boiling water on the dried mushrooms and leave to steep. 

When the onions start to colour, add the flour and stir, making a roux. Once the roux has cooked off and is starting to stick, gradually add the vegetable stock (I use those Knorr stock pot things, but whatever you prefer) and whisk it smooth each time. Tip in the mushroom stock, rehydrated mushrooms and soy sauce. Leave to simmer for 10 minutes or just before it's needed.

Pass the gravy through a sieve; it should be smooth and glossy and a good pouring consistency. Add a dash of hot water if needed. Pour generously over your chips and cheese curds.

The creation of real, squeaky curds for the poutine is something I still have to master, but the compromise of my (initially futile) cheese making still tasted great with chips and gravy.

Cheese Curds:

1 litre of full fat milk

one entirely pointless phial of vegetarian rennet

generous slosh of lemon juice

slightly too much salt.

Following the instructions that came with my mother-in-law Marion's cheese making kit, I heated the milk to 28 degrees and added drops of the rennet diluted in a bit of water. I left it for the maximum suggested time of 60 minutes, and came back to a pan of warm milk. In fairness, the rennet instructions did say to store it in a cool place and it's been in my (very warm) kitchen or Marion's (very warm) conservatory for 6 months, because the instructions about keeping it cool were inside the kit. 

On the assumption that if it works for paneer, it can work for this, I warmed the milk slightly once again and added lemon juice. The milk curdled satisfactorily, so I put cheescloth in a collander and drained the whey off. (I actully used some of it for the vegetable stock in the gravy)

Mixing the drained curds with some salt, I put them in a container in the fridge until needed. 

Other foods I associate with Canada are Grandma Curl's potato salad, chicken wings (our family had weekly trips to Mellows in Main West, Hamilton for wings night) Nanaimo bars and really good grilled cheese sandwiches. Obviously there's Kraft Dinner too, but since they removed all of the dangerous and probably toxic additives it's no fun anymore.

Pearl Curry, grandmother to our childhood best friends Darrin and Kirsten, made the best potato salad in all the world. As her grandchildren struggled over Grandma Curry and her first name, she was Grandma Curl to everyone. 

Grandma Curl's Potato Salad:

Cold cooked potatoes cut into dice (I like Charlottes)

1-2 hard boiled eggs

1 green pepper

1 onion or several spring onions

Hellman's mayonnaise (Grandma Curl was very insistent on this)

Chop up the hard boiled eggs, onion and green papper as finely as you can - not much bigger that breadcrumbs. I slice finely then go to town with a mezza luna until they are  chopped into tiny pieces. Combine the spuds, egg, pepper and onion to a large bowl, mixing gently. Add mayonnaise a dollop at a time, as you don't need as much as you might think. Taste and adjust seasoning to taste. To go the full Pearl aesthetic you can top it with a generous sprinkling of paprika.

Proper Grilled Cheese Sandwiches:

Butter

White bread

Grated extra strong (Canadian) cheddar

Grated Mozzarella

Mix the cheeses together. Thickly butter the slices of bread. Put it butter side down in a frying pan, griddle or panini press. Top with plenty of grated cheese (cheddar for flavour, mozzarella for texture) and the second slice of bread, butter side up. Press down with a fish slice, and when nicer crisp and browned, turn over carefully and repeat.

Make more than you think you'll need because they do get eaten quickly.

It was a laid back affair. Not really a party, just a get together between neighbours. The girls played games with our 5 year old neighbour and Luke kept soon-to-be-3 neighbour entertained for ages with the help of a stick, a leaf and the pond. We chatted, swapped tales and generally had a lovely relaxed evening.

It was wonderful to share the food of my childhood home with the ace people in my life now - I think North Leeds is ripe for converting to the joys of a butter tart and a bowl of poutine.

Not my favourite day

I am a fortunate soul. I have a wonderful family, I know many amazing and inspiring people, we can afford (just about) for me to work for free at things that matter to me. I have far too many animals and a veg garden prone to flooding but that's OK.
And I love my city very much indeed.

However, sometimes it all goes a bit tits up. Yesterday was one of those days.

First of all - women, cross your legs. My apologies for this bit.
Today I had my 3-yearly cervical smear test. Like every woman in the country of screening age, I received the notification letter with a glum sigh. Yes, I know we have to do it, it's the smart course of action but still...
I procrastinated just long enough to side-step the Easter school holidays and scheduled it for first thing on a Monday. "get it over with first thing."
The speculum isn't exactly comfortable and I actively dread the click...click...click noises they open it.
Unfortunately, the nurse was inexperienced.
(I did warn you to cross your legs)
She's a total poppet. She's warm, friendly, kind, well-meaning and has a terrific manner with patients. She has the sparkly blue eyes of an old Hollywood movie star. She's great at taking blood and doing inoculations. She's just not quite got the hang of cervical smears.
Yet.
It took 8 goes.
 EIGHT.
I had to ask her to stop, I couldn't take it anymore.
She fetched an experienced nurse who sorted it - without pain - in 2 minutes.
Talking to one of my Very Excellent Mates afterwards, she'd had the same nurse with a similar result (fewer tries, more bleeding).
Ick.
I thought that was the worst my week would be. Everything's on the up from that, surely.

After dropping Z's forgotten lunch at school and buying the approved summer uniform polo shirts at the shop down the road, I drove to work on my lovely Vespa.
The roads are generally quiet at that time of day but a combination of road works, building works and changed lane marking mean a couple of sections are more awkward than usual. This resulted in the cars in the lanes either side of me simultaneously deciding to be in my lane, which they did without indicating and seemingly without noticing me on my scooter. Cars in front and behind, and moving in from either side - adrenaline spike! Luckily the car behind blasted its horn and they both swerved back into their lanes. People tell me scooters are dangerous. My experience is that no, it's dozy car drivers that are dangerous.
After that burst of near death excitement I went to the marvellous Play Lab.

Play Lab is a pop-up play space in the centre of the city. It's brilliant and if you are local to Leeds do come ad see us. It's on New York street opposite the post office, on the road down Kirkgate Market that leads to the multi-story carpark and the bus station. We're there 10-4 every day, sometimes later as well.
We have an empty shop that we've filled with Lego, toys, pillows, hula hoops, craft bits and a visiting coffee shop. We've pompom makers, chalks, markers and paper, stuff for den building, plenty to mess about with. That's the drop-in-and-play bit, totally free.
Downstairs we run workshops and inventors clubs to get kids exploring what they can build and create.  It's flipping lovely.

I'm acting as a self-appointed intern at this community-based project. It was clear to me the founder, Emma Bearman, couldn't possibly manage all her plans with the workforce she had funding for, so I nominated myself. I do a few days a week - mostly just being there to welcome people, help kids with activities, do the odd errand, clear up and so on. Having an extra body to (wo)man the play space can be a help.  It's very rewarding, if occasionally very noisy!
After a 4.5 hour shift I locked up and headed across town to collect a book from Waterstone's. My arthritis hasn't been great, so I was walking awkwardly and was jostled a couple of times. I put that down to my clumsiness.
When I got to Waterstone's and went to pay, I discovered my wallet was missing. On the unlikely chance I'd left it at work, I went back to Play Lab and searched for it. No wallet. I'd definitely had it when I bought those school shirts. I definitely had it when I tucked it in my cotton shopping bag when I got to Play Lab, and tucked it out of sight in the back of the cubby under the motorbike jacket.
There wasn't a lot in it - frustrating things to replace like loyalty cards, membership cards, drivers licence, credit and debit cards, and a couple of gift vouchers. Things I'll now have to reset on all websites I buy from. Hoops to go through because I bought out Hamilton the musical tickets with that card and I need it to collect the tickets.
Oh, and two really nice commemorative £2 coins in the separate compartment for my coin collection
(I know, I know, coin collecting is lame. Don't judge me. I've had a rough day.)
I'd been pickpocketed on my way through town.
That pretty much broke me.
It was such a crappy thing to happen, with so little advantage to whomever stole the wallet. It had been a really lousy morning followed by a nerve-wracking commute, a lovely but draining shift with my bad knees and now lots of inconvenience and frustration, as well as costing me about £50 to replace things.
I sang fed up songs on my way home (thanks to Lily Allen and Belle and Sebastian for their excellent work in this field), felt thoroughly narked with the world and went to bed early feeling drained.
Monday the 16th can piss right off.
So here I am on Tuesday.
I have an open bouquet of daffodils on my kitchen counter., which is enough to brighten my day. Yes, living in a city means there is crime and it's damned annoying when it happens to you. However, living in the city also means there are amazing things like Play Lab, providing a warm and welcoming space for families. There are large bookshops like my lovely Waterstone's, and fun places to go like my beloved Everyman cinema. There are Kirkgate Market traders who call out and wave when I go by, friends to commiserate with when rotten things happen, and thousands of connections and intersections of communities that make life richer.
I'm shaking off yesterday and looking forward to tomorrow. There are rumours of sunshine.

What I'm really thinking

(with apologies to the weekly feature in the Guardian of the same name)

What I'm Really Thinking... The Charity Volunteer

I'm standing in a busy public space, wearing the tabard with the charity's name emblazoned across it, and I'm holding a collection bucket for people the drop coins into.

I'm not saying anything nor approaching people, just standing still and smiling, holding the bucket. There are 3 other volunteers at the train station with me - one near the barriers, one near a display about the charity, and another near the other main thoroughfare to me. We're not close enough to speak to each other, so we're each on our own trying to look friendly and approachable while people walk past.

I wish I could say to you all "It's ok. You can smile and I won't take is as a commitment to give money. I'm in the middle of you all, and I am going to look at you and smile. I'm a friendly person, smiling comes naturally. You don't have to avert your eyes so obviously.  Making eye contact, smiling back, acknowledging someone... it doesn't mean you are obliged to make a donation. "

Instead I thank those who drop coins in, and wish people a lovely bank holiday weekend.

After about 40 minutes I'm a bit bored so I amuse myself by finding something positive about each person walking towards me.  Great haircut; nice jacket; shared book taste from the WH Smith purchase; warm smile as they greet their friends.  It makes it easier to keep being friendly.

But again, the carefully averted gaze, the swerve to avoid passing near the collection bucket. I'm feeling like a pariah. I've had about 20 donations (mostly small change)  but a good 300 people carefully *not* looking in my direction as they walk straight past me.

Guys. Seriously.

I am not so desperate for your pocket change that I'm going guilt trip you into it with big puppy dog eyes. That 20p the girl dropped in the bucket just now? That's nice of her, but not the sort of contribution to badger and harangue people over.

If you'd like to drop some money in the bucket, ACE. That's kind of you. It's a really worthwhile cause. But if you don't, that's OK too. No one is judging you. So there's no need to look sharply away like you've been caught. I know everyone has her own priorities, preferred causes, money worries, busy lives or just self-absorption. Relax. Catching my eye is and smiling back is just that - a smile.

And have a great weekend.

In which people are just lovely

I was in for a cracking weekend.

I'd planned it months ago. Registered for Rugby World Cup tickets, booked my Yarndale ticket, had all my favourite things with some of my VERY favourite people.  Fantastic.

Friday night Dad headed here to avoid the match traffic and Mark bought fancy fish from the lovely fishmongers and cooked us a gorgeous meal. I'd never had halibut before. It's lovely.

Saturday was match day. Mark, Miss B and Luke went to the cinema to see Inside Out (and were treated to popcorn at the Everyman by the rather ace Jessica who works there) while Dad, Zach and I were off to the rugby. Canada vs Italy, and given the crushing defeat in the Canada vs Ireland I was trying prepare Zach for disappointment. I needn't have worried. It was marvellous.

I mean, yes, in the end Italy won but it started with a 10 point lead for Canada and right up to the last 5 minutes it could have gone either way.  Masses of action, great excitement and huge men with beards battling it out mere metres away from us. We were so close to the touch line; any closer and we'd have been in the scrum itself.  I'd had a pig of a job sorting out Zach's ticket after they'd allocated him a seat in another part of the stadium. After 4 1/2 hours on the phone I got him moved to directly behind us, assuming I'd take that seat myself. In the event the lovely blokes next to us swapped so we could all be together.

(Given how loudly I cheered, Zach and Dad might have preferred to have left me sitting a little further away. I do get rather excited.)

That evening I got yet more excited watching a punishing match between England and Wales. I texted my apologies to the next door neighbours after an injury-wracked Wales roared to victory in the final moments. Marvellous stuff.

Sunday was Yarndale. All hail the Yarndale crew for a third event that brought so much happiness to others. It was so organised and well considered that it was a joy to attend. I had every faith it would be.

I had hoped to go with my Very Excellent Mate Rach again, but it didn't quite work out. A mum from the school run had asked to go with me, too, but her work schedule clashed with the event. My neighbour Vanesa had also planned to come with me but had to visit a relative in hospital. That's OK - I had a brilliant time the very first Yarndale when I was on my own, so at 9:30am I set off on my beloved Vespa at half nine for a day of yarn, craft and meeting new people. There was plenty of mist and it was pretty chilly but that would soon burn off and we were promised a glorious sunny day. I love a chance to ride in the sunshine through the gorgeous scenery of this region, and I was confident I could squish my purchases into the storage space on the bike.

At 10:25, a few miles outside of Skipton, it went horrible wrong. My poor Vespa lost power and made some truly appalling noises.  I drifted to a stop at the hard shoulder of the A65 as lorries blasted past me.  My iPhone told me I was 7 minutes from my destination.  It was wrong.  I wouldn't make it to Yarndale until 2pm.

While I was waiting for the breakdown truck and feeling very isolated indeed, people were ace to me.  A bloke in a car on the other side of the carriageway pulled up to say he lived in the next village, so would it help if he fetched me some petrol? Then a guy on a Ducati pulled up. Roger had owned a Vespa ET4 like mine some years back and offered to see if the problem was something he could repair. He had a toolkit on his bike, had a look and a listen.

We agreed our Italian bikes sure had style but that if it was reliability you wanted, Hondas were hard to beat no matter how clunky they looked. Ducati and Vespas were more temperamental beauties. Roger did his best but the fault was beyond his skills. He offered me a lift to Skipton but I needed to stay for the recovery truck.  He reluctantly went on his way, but I was very touched by his help and concern.

The lad driving the recovery truck was called David.  He and the insurance service were thrashing out the details of taking the bike back home for me as it was 25 miles away and my cover had a 20 mile limit. Drat.  Then I remembered Colin Appleyard Motorcycles had a branch nearby.  Before their Leeds branch shut down I'd used them for repairs for 15 years - perhaps they could take the Vespa? Google claimed they were open on Sundays, so I started ringing while David loaded the bike up.

We set off, with me continuing to ring the garage.  In between calls, David told me all about his upcoming holiday to Dubai with his partner, and how much he was looking forward to it. He was so friendly and pleasant he made a tough situation much nicer. However, Google's information was wrong and the garage was all locked up. Oh bugger.

By this time Mark, with Miss B in tow loudly protesting the interruption of her pancake-making activity, arrived at the garage too. He'd brought me a flask of coffee which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. I drank that while David rang his depot to run something past them. Rather than leave me and my bike stranded or drive the 25 miles to Leeds which still wouldn't get the bike to a garage, David offered to take it back with him to the locked depot overnight and drop it off at Appleyard's in the morning.  That meant Mark could take me to Yarndale, the insurance would still cover the distance and the Vespa would be safe and secure until I could get her looked at.

Brilliant!

Mark got me to Yarndale where I had a lovely couple of hours despite feeling knackered by the events so far. Jane from Baa Ram Ewe gave me a big hug when I arrived to help soothe me from my bike upset, and I had a cuppa and a butty before diving into the stalls. I had a go at lacemaking with bobbins like the people I saw on holiday in Bruges - very cool! I met up with exhibitors I knew, chatted to the Yarndale committee, bought everything my mother-in-law requested plus a hank of hand-dyed alpaca wool for myself. I met fellow rugby enthusiast and many, many fellow crochet junkies. I got home by public transport, complete wiped out, and Mark had made me another lovely dinner.

My Vespa is beyond repair, it seems, and I am feeling bereft. But I am also very touched by the friendliness, good nature and kindness shown to me in so many ways by match stewards, fellow fans, motorists, Roger, David and Mark and everyone at Yarndale.
People are just lovely. I'm glad to have met so many of them.

J xx

Cong-rat-ulations

Parenthood leads me in odd directions.  The other week I washed and blow-dried a hen's legs and undercarriage so she wouldn't be too muddy when I took her to visit a class at B's primary school.  (The hen was less than delighted but remained stoical.)  But more surreal than that was primping Zach's pair of rats ready to enter a show.

The Yorkshire Rat Club was having one of its bi-monthly shows in March. This one was held in a church hall very close to us. Zach heard about it and wanted to enter his rats Naruto and Kakashi into the Pet category.

Kakashi

Being a less-than-thorough kind of lad, he didn't read as far as the entry requirement, application deadline and so on.  Being a more-than-thorough type of woman, I did.  I contacted the breeder we got them from to check the details, filled in the forms for him and emailed them off. I reserved show tanks and read up what was expected.  I did not expect what was expected - giving them a bath and trimming their claws, ideally 3 days before the show.

Rats have tiny, tiny hands.  Well, paws, but they look like hands and rats sit up and hold things with them.  Their hind paws are bigger, although still pretty small, but the front have minuscule claws.  And they aren't best pleased at someone holding them and trying to clip the ends of their nails.

They have mixed feelings about baths, too.  Kakashi ran about a bit, clambered over the taps, splashed at the water with his paws and had a good explore.  He tolerated the claw trimming with only a few squeaked protests, but I was glad I was the one holding him not Zach - he was very wriggly. Zach was on towel-drying support.
Naruto was outraged by a bath, scrambling to get away. When I dried him and trimmed his claws he swivelled around and bit me.  He managed to rake a thin strip of skin from my little finger which took ages to stop bleeding. I knew I liked Kakashi best for a reason.
Somewhat unwisely, Zach pointed out I'd got blood on the rat's fur.  When he saw my face, he back-pedalled quickly and said how nice and clean the rats looked.  The damned finger lead for 25 minutes.

I am a wimp

Leaving the Big Lad to sleep as only teenagers can, the rest of us trouped along to Oakwood church hall on Saturday morning for 10:30 to enter the rats in the show.  One of the organisers had suggested putting one rat in Pets and the other in Varieties so they weren't competing against one another.  What the heck, we thought, so entered Kakashi as a Silver Fawn rat in the varieties and his plumper brother in the Pet section.

How long do you think a small local Rat Club show can last?  There are some bits and pieces to buy from a couple of pet stalls, a tea-and-bacon-butty type counter, and there's waiting for the rats to be judged.  I guessed a couple of hours.

I was wrong.

The first 90 minutes were quite fun - lots of people to chat with, animals to play with and so on.  The next 90 minutes were more dull.  The THREE HOURS after that really dragged, particularly as our phone batteries went flat.  Not to mention we were expecting to watch the 6 Nations Wales match that afternoon.

Yes, we were there for over 6 hours.  For 4 hours of that, we kept thinking "Surely they're about finished? Surely it will only be another half hour at most."  The friendly and enthusiastic people of the Yorkshire Rat Club told us later that it had been a pretty quick show; some can last another hour or two!  If we'd any idea we'd have stayed for 45 minutes at the start, left Z with a drink and butty (he was having a lovely time) and bobbed back for the last hour or so to keep him company while he waited for the judging and certificates to be done. It was a looooong and hungry day.

On the plus side we met lots of really lovely people. A family with a girl close to B's age kept us company for most of the time. We chatted about loads of things (although avoiding the topic of rugby in the hopes we could watch it on iPlayer later) and they shared their grapes with the kids.  We praised each other's pets to the skies, and had a good old natter to while the hours away.  Zach also made friends with several breeders and exhibitors. He was interested in all of it.

The pet judges having a play with some of the entrants

The judging was both interesting and funny.  The Pet category was judged on criteria that seemed to be "is this rat cute? is s/he friendly?"  The judges got each rat out several times and played with, cuddled and messed about with him for ages.  They both clearly loved these little whiskery beasties and made a huge fuss of them.  Naruto behaved just as he does at home - was quite friendly but mostly wanted to snuggle inside the judge's cardigan. He's a typical male rat -  preferring a cuddle and a snooze with people to the energetic exploring the female rats favour.  The judge thought he was lovely.

Naruto in the yellow cage, taking yet another nap 

The Varieties category, on the other hand, was like a rodent Crufts.  I kept wanting to laugh - I had no idea it could all get so regimented. The judge had a white jacket and everything. Weight, hair length, bone structure and colouring were closely examined against a National Fancy Rat Society standard, which the judge kept in her head (although I saw her google something once.) There was no nonsense, just a focused scrutiny of each animal. The judge ploughed through far more animals than the pet judge in a fraction of the time, while her assistant took copious notes.

4 hours in and Kakashi wasn't even judged.  The breeder told us he was a Silver Fawn variety but he was declared by everyone at the show as Argente Cream (don't ask me) and therefore disqualified as being misidentified.

It doesn't matter how alert you are, Kash, you're still out

I've included links to Google images. Heaven knows how they tell those colour varieties apart. Some are the same darned photos.

I was rather concerned for Zach. He was massively excited about it all, and I didn't want him to come home without even a certificate.  I'll also admit to feeling slightly aggrieved, about which I am embarrassed. I'm immensely fond of Kakashi, he's a lovely natured beastie and my clear favourite, but he isn't even my pet. He's Zach's. So, feeling defensive when others fail to recognise his aceness is doubly ridiculous.
When we spoke to the judge later she said "even in the correct category he'd not be a good example as he's too light boned and his face is narrow while the guard hairs on his rump are too long." I felt like saying 'Yah boo sucks!" because I think Kash is a poppet.  And that, my friends, is why I shouldn't go to these things. Well, that and the instant coffee.

 At the end of the afternoon the winners were finally announced.  Way to go Naruto! He won best buck in the Juniors category, 2nd best overall, 4th in the "Pet Challenge" (we still aren't clear what that involved) and a special award as the one the assistant judge wanted to keep for herself because he was such a sweetie.  Zach had and armload of rosettes and certificates, and was just over the moon.

Miss B "helping" him with all those rosettes

So it was worth it after all.  Zach was full of all the people he'd met, the rats he'd played with and bursting with pride and happiness at Naruto's rosettes.  It was lovely seeing him so delighted with his day.

There's another show in May and he's already hoping I'll take him.  As long as I have a book, a flask of real coffee and butty, I expect I will.

Because this time Kakashi will win.

J x

Robot invasion

Back in April I blogged about the wonderful March of the Robots events the kids and I had such fun attending.  This half term saw the climax of the year's festivities with a massive party, and we were first in the queue for tickets.

First of all we went to the chocolate robot workshop in the city centre.  We got a set of sweets each, a pot of melted chocolate to use as glue, a stir stick to apply it and a sheet of greaseproof paper on which to assemble our masterpieces.

There was an example on the table to follow, which looked pretty cute.  Never managing to resist the urge to jazz food up a bit, I gave it a face and sprayed it with the edible silver spray.

Now, we're not the sort of family to follow instructions if there's a chance to go our own way.  The facilitators were split - one kept telling us we were doing it wrong while the other was delighted that we threw ourselves into the activity with originality and enthusiasm. The kids filtered out the "umm, that's not how you do it," and preened at the praise.
Miss B made her Robo-Minnie-Mouse while Z went for something more like a cute version of the Bad Robot logo :

Luke and I both decided to make robots that could stand up. This involved a bit more frustration than initially hoped, and a lot of snapped mint Matchsticks.

Obviously the kids ate theirs the second they finished then divvied up mine between them.  I did snag a few cheeky mini Reeses peanut butter cups from the keen facilitator for myself though! 

Next we had a quick look for the little Cubebots hidden across the city centre.  I love these little fellows - they have a cute 50s vibe and I love the little LEDs inside that make them glow. Whenever we found a large Cubebot in a shop window we could go inside and claim a little Cubebot kit for myself. 

I'm a huge fan of Playful Leeds. I love the spirit of adventure and the willingness to gamble on an idea that motivates Emma and her team.  What kind of nutter decides to fill Leeds with 10,000 robots made by people of all ages and backgrounds? And then talks that idea up into funding and then reality?  My kind of nutter, that's who. And I want everyone else to throw himself into it too.

So, on our way through town I accosted anyone with a kid to say "Did you know you can make chocolate robots at a free activity for half term just over there? Your little 'un look just the right age to enjoy some building with chocolate." I tweeted about where we spotted the Cubebots and gave hints to anyone we saw clutching a Cubebot map. 

By the way,  one of the things I LOVE about my kids is that they're fine about having their mother do this stuff.  They are resigned that the downside of having a mum who finds out about all the cool stuff to do, is being there while that mum tells total strangers about it.  And buys the helpers coffees to say thanks.

After the Cubebot hunting we headed to the main event - the Minecraft party at the Leeds City Museum.  

What a party! It was a strange combination of very loud and rather quiet; excited movement and stillness (except for mouse clicks). A hall full of kids, tech and old school craft supplies all for one purpose - having fun. It was brilliant. 

In the centre of the room were tables full of kids playing Minecraft. Not a word from any of them - they were focussed on the  screen ahead.  

Around the perimeter were the activity stations - making Minecraft objects from Hama beads, cutting out and assembling Minecraft paper models, making masks, creating Doodlebots (if you hadn't done so in the Spring) or sewing with conductive thread to make quilt squares with LED lights.  This created the noise - kids chatting, laughing, shouting, showing off and asking questions. The combined impression was one of happy chaos.

The quilting woman, Hayley, very kindly let me have a go while the 3 kids were busy Minecrafting. It was remarkable stuff - as soft as flexible as normal thread. I'd love the chance to play with it again. However with my Works In Progress pile being as massive as it is, I daren't buy more supplies so I have managed not to click Buy It Now when I looked i up online.  It is Very Cool Indeed, though.

Thanks again, Leeds. You did your children proud

When pedestrian is anything but

Friday was one of those remarkable days when exploring the city on foot pays dividends. I walked 6km around the city centre and an area of Leeds I don't know at all - Armley.

Armley for me meant two things - the Victorian gaol that glowers down at the big roundabout and Mike's Carpets, the former Methodist church that's been a cheap carpet shop for about 30 years.  I knew nothing more about it than that. No longer needing a cut price roll end of carpet for a bedsit, nor knowing anyone at the prison I'd had no reason to visit it.

As part of my radio homework for my mentor, I needed to get out to an area I didn't know or feel at home in, and find someone to interview on a more news-y story. I thought of a couple if possible things to investigate further and off I set.

First I had a couple of things to do in the city centre itself. It was a beautiful sunny day and walking about was a pleasure. I chatted to a few of the market traders I like - Joe and Liam, my two favourite fishmongers, Sue at the wonderful B&M Fabric stall - and got some of the market gossip. It's a hotbed of friendships and rivalries, and always interesting.

I met Liam when getting an interview about the affect of the market car park closure on local trade the other week and liked him immediately. He's so passionate and enthusiastic about what he does... pretty much my favourite things. He'd worked for a big fishmonger on the corner, struck out on his own with a weekly oyster bar, and planned for months his perfect fishmonger's stall.
It is a thing of beauty. Big mirrors at the side of his shop create the illusion it's much bigger than it is. Standing near the carefully arrange display you see beautiful fish and shellfish stretching out to infinity between the reflections. The tiles are a glossy black rectangles laid like bricks - it's very 1930s chic. The giant refrigerator units behind the stall are covered in chalkboard, with all the fish and shellfish listed. It's classy, it's attractive and it makes me want to sip champagne and eat oysters. I settled for some samphire to go with the evening's mackerel.

After a bit more pottering in town, I took the bus to Armley Town Street. I had it in mind to visit the Pay As You Feel Cafe on the corner of Chapel Street - even bag an interview if I could.

It's a fabulous idea - taking waste food from supermarkets, restaurants, and the Leeds Market and making meals from it. Slightly wrinkled peppers are still delicious when roasted, and being beyond a sell-by date doesn't stop an apple tasting great in a pie. The Cafe takes makes its dishes from the donated, discarded food and just asks people to donate whatever they feel like. It's a beautiful concept.

As it is run mostly by volunteers and on a shoe-string, it is closed some days its opening hours say it will be open. The nature of the enterprise, I guess, but very frustrating when I arrived to find a closed door and no information. I'd asked ahead of time on Facebook and Twitter whether they would be open as usual but got no reply until the following evening. Ah well.

I had also read of a study by Professor David Dunstan of Queen Mary University of London, saying the best way to get rid of snails was to remove them to wasteland about 20m away. With the RHS publishing a recent survey that 20% of gardeners admit to throwing snails over the fence to their neighbours' gardens, I thought I might be able to visit the Armley allotments and get some comments.

That didn't work out either.  No one was working on the allotments at the time, despite the glorious day.

Hmm, my bid to find some audio for Andrew wasn't going very well.

I went to the library/one stop shop to browse the notices and posters in the hope of finding something newsworthy. I got advice from a lady there for a good cafe to visit for lunch and headed that way. I really enjoyed my stroll along the main street - I hadn't realised what a huge Eastern European community lived in Armley. Many overheard conversations were in what I assume to be Polish, as they were between the shoppers and staff in the many Polish shops. It felt wonderfully multicultural. Browsing the food shelves was brilliant -I picked up some packet foods to try with the kids - chocolate drink, toffee pudding - and promised myself I'd bring my Very Excellent Mate Rach's 8 year old daughter Delilah for a poke around the shops. She's teaching herself Polish and is very keen.

The recommended cafe looked packed so I walked along to the lovely Nurture Cafe run for St George's Crypt.  The Crypt is a Leeds charity for the homeless and has been doing great work for many years. The cafe is part of that - it provides cheap and delicious food at a small profit - my sandwich was wonderful - and also feeds homeless people with a St George's Crypt voucher a free hot meal.

I love those vouchers and have bought them in the past. They are £5 for a book of 5. Each one entitles the bearer to a hot bath or shower at the Crypt and a hot meal in one of their 3 cafes. Rather than giving small change to someone asking in the street, you can give them the voucher and know they can get a proper dinner. I think it's such a smart way of helping people.

I had a quick chat with the women at the cafe about how it works, but they were too busy for a quick interview when it wouldn't be going on air to promote the Crypt's work. I don't blame them at all, but I couldn't spent 3 more hours in Armley just to pop back for a 2 minute chat. I'll save it for another day.

I did chat to a lovely bloke in one of the Polish shops about how the communities integrated, but he was too shy to speak into a microphone. He had very positive things to say, though.  This encouraged me as 2 octogenarian ladies I got talking to in the cafe had been vociferous in their anger and distrust of "foreigners taking over the place," and I had felt rather discouraged.

Still, I had no audio so I needed to get on with things.

Exploring some side streets I cam upon an unusual sight - what appeared to be a building site with a series of wedding marquees across half of the plot. I investigated further and met the very passionate Mr Khatana.  He was leader of the mosque that was now walls and rubble.  In order to have space for men and women to worship separately, they needed to expand. They were removing the roof and building a second storey on the existing building. However, this meant they had no mosque for 3 months.

Not a man to let such things get in his way, Mr Khatana ordered a several whopping great wedding marquees be erected to make a temporary mosque. It had interconnecting rooms, heaters, carpeted floors, a small study and a chandelier. The sides were drawn back on this hot sunny day, but could be laced up tight and were weather-proof for rainy days. A porta-cabin to the side housed toilets.  I loved it - such invention in the face of an obstacle, and such huge pride and enthusiasm from Mr Khatana for his mosque.  I had the grand tour, got my interview and was pressed very earnestly to come back and see the newly finished mosque later in the summer.

Woohoo! Audio! And a very pleasant experience as well.  I may not be happy with rules saying men and women must be segregated, but heck, what business is it of mine how the good folk of the mosque wish to worship? I love their spirit. Enthusiasm is one of my favourite things in people. I can't help but get swept along with their positivity. Mr Khatana had even pressed his phone number upon me so I could ring and find out when the new mosque was ready and have a tour then too.

Waiting for a bus back into town, I saw a bloke waiting in a car that had a UKIP poster on the window.  I asked if I could chat to him about the changes he's seen in Armley and how he felt about them.

Terry was a man with a lot of anger and frustration. He lived all his life in Armley, except for military service posted in Germany where he met and married his German wife. He learnt German, she learnt English. It was expected of her to adopt the culture of her new country.  Terry, as a white working class bloke, was in the majority, knew this place was his place.

Now, at age 63, he feels ousted from his home. He doesn't recognise the religion, traditions, language or food of many people who share Armley with him. Where many see the changing population of Leeds as bringing richness, depth and value to the city, Terry sees strangeness and feels alienation.

He said to me "I've become more of a racist." That shocked me, hearing him acknowledge and name it; I've only ever heard people say "I'm not racist but..."
He told me Friday was a no-go area where we were standing because of (Mr. Khatana's) mosque. That "them muslims" just abandon their cars all over the place when going to the mosque and that Terry "paid road tax."  I asked him if better parking facilities would sort out his concerns - not pointing out that the mosque attendees presumably paid their road tax too - and he said yes, parking would help but look at all the foreign shops and foreign people spending money there! It's bound to be benefit money they're spending. Look at this ghetto!

As the area was full of well-maintained terraced houses with tidy gardens, I did query what he meant exactly - it wasn't a graffiti covered dump, it looked nice here. He admitted that yes, it did look nice, but it was a ghetto in the sense that only muslims lived here now, and East Europeans had taken over the other bit.

"We've lost our voice. We use to have free speech but now all that's racist, or homophobic, or religion-phobic." He wanted the borders closed, and an agreement that people who came here did so with the intention of taking part in what he thought of as "our" culture, and spoke "our" language.

I've lived a sheltered little white, liberal life. I haven't had my home feel less mine, and I like people. I moved about a bit when I was young and I settled permanently in Leeds when I was 22. I feel the city is more mine each year, as I get to know it and its people better.
Terry had the opposite experience. He had a home, he felt it belonged to him and people like him. It altered over the years and he didn't alter with it. Now he's stuck in a mindset of distrust and resentment - wanting things to be as they were, finding petty reasons like parking or shop signs to hang his frustration on.  He can't get the home of his childhood back and he can't accept Armley as it  is now.

Views like Terry's disgust me when I see them in the paper, or hear them shouted by politicians aiming to stir up division for their own ambition. But I didn't dislike Terry. He was friendly and open towards me. I suspect if he were my neighbour he'd be the kind to loan me tools and put my bin out if I was away.

No, I'm saddened by the way our political discourse failed us so blokes like Terry can't find a way back. The two voices shout "close the borders" and "don't be a racist."  How does that help? We aren't going to - and shouldn't - close our borders. Heck, if we did, what about Terry's wife?  And yelling "Don't be racist," only vilifies people rather than engaging with them.
I think Terry'd be far happier if he really knew his new neighbours.  I expect if he actually met Mr Khatana in neutral circumstances they would get on - they both have a lot of pride in what they do and enjoy a good natter.

I'm glad I spent the day on foot in Armley. I learnt a lot more than I expected to.

Taking what's on offer

It's the end the Easter school holidays here in Leeds. The weather has been up and down but we've had a marvellous couple of weeks. Our city does us proud when it comes to kids' activities, and we were hard pressed to choose between all the events on offer.

I love Leeds. It would take a great deal to get me to leave it. I came here when I was 21, and had only a 7 month period in the last 24 years away from my city. I love the people, the theatre and arts, the beautiful buildings in the city centre, the sense of community in all the little villages that make up the city itself.

But most of all I love the things Leeds offers its citizens.

For many years I went to the free Opera in the Park in July, performed by our own Opera North. We'd enjoy the busking in the city centre through the summer weeks as part of a street performance festival. We've gone to almost every Light Night arts festival, heard brass bands in the park and tired the kids out at the Breeze roadshows offering them chances to try loads of activities and sports. Last summer we had a beach set up in the centre of town, complete with helter skelter and swing boats.  

This year Leeds is having a March of the Robots theme.  It is a series of events and activities to engage both adults and children in a playful way with technology, creativity and the cityscape. We'd already built cardboard 'Robots' at Light Night - Luke decided to be the robot, climbed in a box and had other kids write questions on it which he'd answer through a slit he'd cut in the side. When he was sealed up in it I named the box Schroedinger's Teen.

For the Easter holidays Luke went off to the Leeds Young Film Festival to see things for free as part of the jury. Mark took Miss B to a circus skills morning where she made new pals, learnt new hula hoops tricks, balanced peacock feathers on her fingertip and passed spinning plates back and forth. Z and I went to a workshop to build a sentry robot. 

It was AMAZING. We built a little computer using a clever little chip called a shrimp and a 'breadboard' to connects all the wires and circuitry. I was a little intimidated as I know nothing about electronics but I came out feeling as proud as Z of our joint effort. He now has a room guard with a heat and motion sensor that triggers a tune and flashing lights. "To alert me when siblings or, erm, other people come in," as Z explained to the interviewer.

Incidentally, Z hit new levels of geek that morning. He wired up and programmed his own computer, used different colour LED lights for eyes like David Bowie then inserted it into a robot form he'd decorated to look like My Neighbour Totoro if he existed in Minecraft universe. Yep - computing, music, anime and video game geekery in one activity. 

The next day meant even more free robot creating. We had a fantastic time building Doodlebots: little things with marker pens for legs that spiralled, lurched, glided or juddered across a paper floor. 80 odd kids built them and the sight of their diverse inventions making patterns across the paper was amazing.

I'm looking forward to seeing what Leeds will bring us next.

Getting Down with Da Kidz

Hello my webby buddies

I'm feeling all Hallowe'en-ish today. It's grey and rainy outside, I've got the lights on at midday and my feet are freezing. I want to think about nice things like bright orange pumpkins, spicy ginger cake and costumed kids on a sugar rush. Well, maybe not that last bit.

Yesterday I spent the morning decorating tiny Hallowe'en themed cakes with Year 3 at our local primary school. There were 62 kids in all, across two classes. I don't know if you've ever been around that many 7 year olds, but it gets pretty loud. Very funny but at a high volume.

The most important class was the one Miss B was in, obviously. She'd begged me to do volunteering with them and was bouncing on her toes with the excitement of it all as she helped me set up. It was lovely.

I'd decided on two mini cupcakes per child - one with a spider made of sweets, the other a mummy. The mummy was a twofer - both seasonal and linking thematically to the Ancient Egyptians unit the class is doing right now. (I know, there is nothing Egyptian about a small cake iced to look like a cartoon mummy, but if it gives the class a curriculum tick I'm all for it.) The kids were very chuffed with both.

The previous evening had been a frenzy of baking the 130 cakes, cutting up strips of jelly sweets for spider legs because the supermarket was sold out of strawberry laces, dipping half the cakes in an orange glace icing and assembling all the things we'd need. I was flagging by the end of it all, and got less and less tolerant of my kids' repeated requests to eat 'any leftover Minstrels I might have. 1) I won't know how many Minstrels are left over until after the workshop and 2) If anyone deserves to scoff them, it's me.
I'm such a mean mum.

I set up lovely little workstations on the table, complete with a sample cake so they could see how the cake could look. Everything was counted out carefully. The was primarily to stop the first group from surreptitiously eating the Minstrel bodies and jelly legs I would need for the later groups, but also because it pleased me to have everything ready so  neatly. The neatness lasted under a minute.

My first error was judging what the class could do by what my daughter can do. She's been messing about with icing and baking in the kitchen with me since she was a toddler. I hadn't realised how adept she'd become compared with some of her peers. Confronted with a rolling pin, some icing and icing sugar she gets on with rolling it out. Some of the kids couldn't use a rolling pin and others were too worried about touching icing sugar with their bare hands.

Another complication was the open window the teacher wanted to keep the room cool. My tables were right next to it, and the cold air caused my bowl of melted chocolate to keep setting. The only way to heat it up was by putting it in microwave in the kitchen at the end of the corridor. The utterly lovely Teaching Assistant, Ms Lamb, did a few quick dashes down there for me.

A surprising number of the kids had difficulty following instructions. I had already iced the spider cakes. I put a blob of (mostly) melted chocolate on each one and the kids were to use it as the glue holding the (vegetarian and Halal) jelly legs in place and pop a Minstrel body on top. I thought this was a pretty easy one, but there were about 6 kids that needed to be shown what to do 4 or 5 times. On the plus side, no one stuck his fist in the big bowl of chocolate, although we had a near miss!

Added to all this, of course there were the high spirits and excitement of doing something out of the ordinary and the chance to mess about with sweets. This was VERY exciting and cool. We also needed to talk about who had won the Great British Bake Off final, who they had hoped for, who their mums and siblings had wanted to win, whether they themselves had every baked, or helped someone bake, or knew someone who could bake, or had ever entered a bakery. I had to laugh at a loads of the things the just *had* to tell me. Shyness is not much of an issue in Year 3.

All this meant that my time in the first class was extremely chaotic. I spent 75 minutes standing, bent over 3 tables at knee height trying to help 6 kids simultaneously.  The kids had a super time but I know the teacher was aware of the time slipping by and I kept trying to speed up. By the time I came to straighten up I knew I'd done myself no good at all. This morning just walking down the stairs hurt. Silly me.

The kids' cakes did look super. They were so proud, it was lovely.

By the time I went through to the second class I'd had a complete rethink.Prior to calling for each group of 6, I rolled all the sugarpaste out and cut it into little 'mummy bandage' strips, then made the little eye strips too. Rolling little balls of icing between their fingers to make eyeballs had proved a challenge for the first group. I laid out a 'spider kit' for each one - iced cake, jelly legs and chocolate body - to collect from the end of the table so I could sit down and help rather than bob about so much. I asked the teacher to give me 2 minutes between each group to set up the next one.

It worked like a dream. Those children experienced or confident with baking made their own things and those who weren't had all they needed to hand. They were still excited, chatty and full of anecdotes, but I had the time to listen more and be less pressured. I also wasn't in such a cramped space, which made things more comfortable. I'll know for next time.

And yes, there will be a next time. I've promised to do five more sessions this year.
Happy Hallowe'en
Jay x

Getting in at the ground floor

Hello webby mates,

How are you all? Have you had a nice weekend? Did you spend it doing chores, or having fun, or just relaxing? I hope it was full of sunshine and good thoughts.

One of the truly great films that I can watch endlessly is Frank Capra's It's A Wonderful Life. James Stewart is one of the most delightful actors there ever was. I can almost quote the whole film from memory.

There's a bit where George is offered the chance to invest in his friend Sam Wainwright's new business - plastics. "You can get in at the ground floor" is Sam's refrain, but George has more pressing matters to mind - the most heartbreaking and tormented proposals of marriage I've ever seen.

Because of that scene, Sam's telephone chatter of 'Getting in at the ground floor" has snagged in my mind. Although he meant it in a capitalist, money-making way I only associate it with being there at the start of something big.

I took the chance to be there at the start of something big on Saturday. I went to the Yarndale event in Skipton. It was one of the most inspiring things I've seen in a good long time.

The story of its creation is on the Yarndale Blog. In a nutshell, a Skipton Knit and Natter group were chatting about how great it would be to have a yarn festival nearby, and then, over the course of 18 months, they created one.  This weekend, September 28th and 29th, saw the first ever Yarndale festival, and I ran away from my familial responsibilities to spend a day there.

It was HUGE. The roads into Skipton were moving at a slow crawl, the 1000 space car park was full long before noon and the trains were bursting at the seams.  Bright crocheted triangles of bunting covered the route to the Auction Mart, which was heaving. No one could quite believe the sheer number of people.

The entrance lead to an exhibition hall showing knitted picnics and crocheted blankets from all over the place. I'd never seen anything like it. While for me a picnic-you-can-eat is infinitely superior to one made out of wool - especially in a venue unable to cope with the demand for coffees and lunch - the skill and the humour shown in these displays was just astonishingly.

Then it was in to the main hall.  Wow. Over 160 exhibitors dazzled me with different colours, materials and textures. There were crafts I've never hear of, equipment that amazed me, examples of work(wo)manship that dazzled me. Women outnumbered men by about 25 to one. We all chatted, mingled, ooo'd and ahh'd at each other's purchases.  It was so nice to be amongst a huge crowd of warm and friendly people who were so enthusiastic about making things.

I met a woman who wove fabric on a wooden loom to the design of those used by Romans, Tudors and beyond. I'd never quite managed to picture how the threads of the weft stopped getting tangled but after watching for a few seconds it all made perfect sense. Her looms were as beautiful pieces of craftmanship as the fabrics she wove on them.

I saw people who spin yarn, dyed it, people who made astonishingly beautiful items of clothing and lovely works of art. So many were from this region that it gave me a glow of pride that I get to be a Yorkshire-woman too. I also met some of the beautiful originators of  a very soft and beautiful yarn - Alpacas. They had alpacas. Mark is tense, waiting for me to wander home one day soon leading a brace of them to live in the garden.

I will love him and hug him and call him George

The Yarndale celebrity, the lovely Lucy of the fantastic Attic24 blog, was swamped all day by people wanting to meet her, take a photo, tell her how much her blog inspired them to attempt crafts. I was no different - a total groupie.

Happy groupie and tired but friendly Lucy

I didn't buy any yard to knit or crochet with in the end. Instead I bought stuff for crafts I'd never tried before. The first was a little octagon of slitted card - a braid wheel - with a leaflet and a few bits of wool for £1 from the Braid Society (there is an actual Society for braiding. I love this country. So eccentric). My daughter and her cousin are now enthusiastically braiding book marks and friendship bracelets for each other. Brilliant.

My other purchases? Tune in in a few days and I'll show you. I'm having a LOT of fun.

Easy Friendship Bracelets:

Cut a square of card approximately 5 - 8cm (3 - 4 inches) wide. (I used a cereal box) . Cut off the corners to make an octagon. (That's a stop sign, if you are explaining this to a little kid). Cut a slit about 1cm deep in the middle of each side and punch a hole in the centre of the shape.  That's your braid wheel.
Take 7 pieces of yarn/string/ribbon/embroidery thread etc about 20cm long.  Tie them together with a knot and drop the knot through your braid wheel's central hole. Tuck one piece of yarn in each of the slits.
You now have 7 slits holding yarn and one empty one. Count up from the empty slit three threads and move that thread to the empty slit.  Repeat. That's it.

If you are right handed you'll probably count up anti-clockwise from the bottom, and we lefties are more likely to do it clockwise. It doesn't matter at all as long as you stick to whichever way you started. Keep the empty slit facing you at all times so you don't lose track, mix and match colours and textures as much as you like, and perhaps thread little beads onto the yarns occasionally if you fancy.

It's easy, cheap and rather soothing to do. It certainly kept a trio of kids silent for a good while!

A change in perspective

Hello webby world,

The original and lovely Cake Box

I think most of you know I am a baker. My business's name is Cake Box, and come January I will have been trading under that name for 5 years. (I also had a blog called Cake Boxing but I'm not keeping that one up to date at  the moment). My business is small, but I have built up a very good reputation over those years.  I do not advertise and all of my work has been through recommendation. I am immensely proud of my reputation and work hard to sustain it.

Have a look at some of the things I've done - cupcakes, slices, celebration cakes (The one below was for a Beatles fan's birthday), Malteser cake (a fancy one for a special event) and a torte. I make all my own decorations and have FIRM views about how important good ingredients are.

Over the past week I discovered that a new cake shop is opening a few miles down the road. It is called Cake Box.

Upon investigation, it's a franchise called Eggless Cake Box, but the 'eggless' bit is in TINY type. I work in Roundhay; it's on Roundhay Road. They aren't open yet but I've already had some confused customers ring and email. And if people looking for them find me, people looking for me will find them. I have no doubt people who have been told that Cake Box, Roundhay makes lovely cakes will think the shop called Cake Box on the main route to the city centre (Roundhay Road) will be the one.

We have a different core clientèle with some overlap. They are aimed at the Sikh and Hindu community, and others that don't want eggs in their cakes. My customers are the people of my North Leeds community willing to pay more than supermarket prices for high quality ingredients and cakes, which does include a number of people wanting egg free cakes.

I was so upset. My branding, stickers, ingredient labels, business cards, email and domain name are all Cake Box. I can't easily change them - or at least not without a sizable cost. And inconvenience. Having been careful at the time I chose my trading name that there was no chance of confusion with other businesses in the area I was inwardly shouting 'It's not fair!'when another business didn't care about doing the same. And how do I preserve my reputation for lovely home made cakes when something using the same name is advertising "cakes while you wait?"

Anyway, I felt so sad and defeated about it all.

Then I popped to the supermarket. There at the entrance was someone collecting for St George's Crypt, the homeless charity in Leeds.  They had something that looked like a book of raffle tickets but wasn't. The volunteer explained to me that it was a book of vouchers for £5. Instead of giving people begging a coin or two, i you could give them one of the 5 vouchers and they could exchange it for a hot shower and cooked meal at one of the 4 centres around the city. Isn't it a brilliant idea? Everything looks brighter when you are warm, clean and fed. If a paltry quid can get that for someone who needed it, that's an absolute steal. 

I don't believe that telling someone "other people have it worse" is helpful. It's like telling a happy person that someone has it even better than they - so what?  But I was slipping into self pity and it did me good to be jolted out my inward focus. A disappointing and crappy thing happened to my business and I was only seeing problems rather than solutions. Generally I try to shake off those negative thoughts that I cannot  do anything about but I was dwelling on it. And, if I'm honest, sulking. I felt hard done by. 

Yes, my fiver bought meals and showers for people who might need it. But it also bought me a little sense of perspective. Bargain.

A Kinder Life

Hello webby mates!

This post is more earnest that the others. Normal service shall resume shortly.

I wish kindness was more highly thought of. It's one of those qualities that slides by without much attention. We admire people who are witty, bright, articulate, independent, adventurous, creative, sociable, determined, honest, talented, courageous and so on. But being kind... It's a powerful thing when you stop and notice it.

A couple of examples:

One really tough day this year I dashed into Pret A Manger to buy a coffee to take away. I was rained on, late, stressed and limping but I really needed a cuppa. The woman serving me wouldn't accept payment. She said, "You look like you are having a hard morning. Your coffee is on me today." I nearly cried. Everything had been stressful and awful, then a total stranger was unexpectedly kind and the world seemed much less horrid. That was worth far more that the £2 coffee she gave me.

Some years ago Mark dropped me in town with our then-toddler to go to story time at the library. When it finished and we were leaving I passed women collecting for a charity. As I went to get some change from my wallet I realised it was on the kitchen counter at home. No cash for bus fare home, Mark stuck in meetings 5 miles away until 6 pm and a toddler crying for a snack. Oh god.
One of the charity women took a five pound note from her wallet and told me to get myself a cuppa and have bus fare as well. I asked for her address to repay her and she refused, saying she knew I would help someone else out in the same boat one day. Wasn't that fabulous of her?

The wonderful thing about being kind is the positive cycle it creates. When I got my free coffee I not only felt good about having coffee but also about the woman at Pret, Pret as a company,  more positive about the world at large and I felt inspired to do a nice thing for someone else that day. My negative spiral of emotions was stopped in its tracks and my day got better (It truly was an AWFUL morning for me until that point). The woman at Pret got to feel good about herself when she saw how much I appreciated her kindness, and her colleagues saw how powerful a small thoughtful gesture can be. 

As for the total stranger who spontaneously gave me £5... I still think about her 8 years on. And of course she was right: I have done the same for someone else.

Goodness only knows I'm no saint. I am stroppy, short tempered, argumentative and bloody-minded. However, I am also rather idealistic. I think you can change your world if you try it. A bit, anyway.

I want to live in a world where kind gestures happen more often. Getting all "be the change you want in the world" I challenged myself to do a kind thing for someone - over and above what I would usually do - every day during Lent this year. (I am an atheist but it seemed a convenient period of time to latch onto.) I only aspired to do little things: stuff  like sending actual proper birthday cards to friends rather than texting them; taking some of my hens' eggs to share; making extra scones in a batch for the widowed neighbour whose wife always used to bake them for him. Nothing expensive, nothing difficult, just a little consideration of how to brighten someone's day.

It was amazing. Tiny acts had a response so disproportionate to the effort involved. Just as the coffee in Pret made my day, simple little gestures had a big impact in some situations. 

It wasn't a selfless thing. Life is just more rewarding when there is a little more goodwill about. And over time I was more than repaid for any nice thing I did. Someone I dropped off a slice of cake for brought me some books she thought my daughter would like. The giving away the hens' eggs led to being given fruit from someone's allotment. I am already lucky enough to have very kind and fabulous mates and yet I found new relationships, neighbours I'd not got to know in my previous 11 years here, strangers I've encountered since and who hail me as a friend.

I didn't keep it up, that One Act Each Day thing. It felt rather artificial at times trying to come up with something. I should also point out that I am still as much a pain in the butt as I was before; I still talk too much, get irritable easily and am hard bloody work to know some days.  Standing in front of the mirror colouring my hair, I haven't spotted a halo floating above me, nor have I done anything more than millions of people do every day. The change has been smaller than that. I try to be a little kinder and more tolerant than I was and to act on thoughtful impulses to be when they occur to me. And I  appreciate the many lovely things my friends, neighbours and community do for me and my family.

It's amazing how lovely people are if you just stop to notice.