Saturday Swap Shop

Thanks to numerous events and our habit of living high off the hog whenever we do have money, we are going through a pretty skint patch. All the accounts are near empty except for the ones that are actually overdrawn. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it tends to be this time of year that we're checking the sides of the couch for loose change. So, time to tighten our belts, pull our horns in, cut our coat according to our cloth and other metaphors.

First job was to declare it Sober September.  I flipping loathe Sober September. At our house there is always wine with dinner (and often wine after as well.) Dinner seems a bit, well, sad without an accompanying glass of wine. However, there's no money for wine so we must do without.  Luckily there's all that lovely seville orange gin I made back in January, so I can have a G&T every now and again without spending money. (75p a bottle of cheap unbranded tonic is within the budget).  Mark - a far more disciplined person who coincidentally doesn't like gin - has had one pint of beer at his mate's birthday bash and otherwise abstained entirely. Most laudable.

Coming in handy

Next up was cutting back the amount we spend on food.

First came changing where I shop. We had some vouchers for Tesco and Waitrose. By choosing carefully from each store and only spending the minimum amount to get the £13 and £15 off I got the staples for less than I'd usually spend. Waitrose is a bit more expensive than the other supermarkets but not £15 more, so it still worked out cheaper.
For perishables, Leeds Market is much better in my experience. I bought great bags of cheap veg and cooked them straight away, freezing all the extra portions. I swapped cod for coley and made fish pies, got ricotta on offer and made cannelloni. I bought frozen broccoli and cauliflower rather than fresh so I could use what I wanted without having some to throw away.  I bought meat from the 'Use by today' section and Mark cooked it straight away in lasagnes to fill the freezer. (Quorn lasagne for me. I don't eat meat.) Some slightly sad looking veg in the cupboard became a great vat of vegetable soup. I love soup.

This is all obvious stuff. Why don't I do it all the time?  I guess because it takes time to think of the cheaper meals, there is more prep work involved and more visits to different shops to get the lowest price.  When you can afford it, it's just so easy to grab a ready meal curry or some take away on a tired and busy night.

However, having filled the freezer with meals I think I can avoid that particular lazy urge. Just bung them in the oven for 45 minutes and dinner is all taken care of - Yay!

Another expenditure is clothes. Over the summer my 2 pairs of cropped jeans and one pair of regular jeans got holes too big to patch. I am short on long sleeve tops and I just can't resist a maxi dress of 5.

I got an email from Monsoon advertising their 20% off day. I love Monsoon dresses. They really suit me.  I popped into the shop when I was in town anyway and tried on clothes with the idea I'd put them on one side for the 20% off day to save money.  This was a mistake. I ended up with three dresses I just loved, and was halfway to convincing myself it would be a great idea to buy them. The nice assistant put them behind the counter for me. Then I went to the cash machine to check on my finances.

Looking at the (lack of) balances, it hit me that 20% off is still 80% on. I might like to kid myself I was spending wisely by doing it on a discount day, but I was still spending.  I told the salesperson not to hold the dresses. I felt VERY glum.

Then lovely helpful Twitter came to the rescue. Someone's list of things to do on the weekend included a clothes swap in the city centre. I never bother with clothes swaps. As a plus size woman (ok, fat) I never find stuff in my size. Charity shops are similarly useless. But this clothes swap was only for size 16 and above. Worth a punt? At the very least I would clear out a few things in the cupboard I never wear.

I was quite nervous about going. I wished I had a mate to go along with me. What if everything was too small? Or it was a club I was gatecrashing? Or I hated everything? Or everyone hated what I brought? Or I was too damned old for the clothes.  But as my Very Excellent Mate Alison pointed out, I'm supposed to be Fearlessly Attempting things. Onwards to the swap...

I must admit, it was not the most welcoming building. The door was only half open and the interior looked dark and uninviting.

I went into a small, rather basic looking bar, through a door at the back and into what I assume was originally a cellar or storage room. No windows, exposed brickwork, slightly damp smelling. No mirror (major oversight) nor changing room (we used the disabled loo). I remained nervous.

I was welcomed in by a very friendly pair of women in their 20s, paid my £1 entry fee and told to help myself to anything I wanted on the trestle tables.

Coo.

There was loads of stuff. A table of dresses, two of tops, two of trousers and skirts. The sizes I saw ranged from 16 to 28, and more stuff was arriving all the time as new people came in.  I put out my contributions  and got rummaging.

Within 15 minutes I'd got a pair of cropped jeans that fit perfectly; a pair of bootleg jeans that need a belt or a tuck in the waistband; a casual dress/tunic that needs some repair but felt super comfortable to me; a lovely red linen maxi dress I felt marvellous in.

2 perfect things, 2 things that need very little doing to make them suitable. All for £1 and some clothes that were just taking up space in the far reaches of my cupboard.

ta da!

Take that, Monsoon!

More Power!

Yesterday I got loads of apples from next door's apple tree. Today I wanted to make apple sauce with them.  Obviously the first job is to peel the apples.

This can be a pretty straightforward and quick job. Grab an apple in one hand, the peeler in the other and get to it. But why do it sensibly if you can mess about and make a colossal mess?

I saw someone use an electric drill to peel an apple on YouTube once. Despite my power tool aversion, it just looked too fun not to try. So here I am, fearlessly attempting it:

My daft and apple-strewn experience suggests a steady rate of rotation, an apple of a nice even shape (rather than a lumpy windfall one) and a good sharp peeler would make a huge amount of difference to the outcome. I had none of these. My first attempts resulted in apple juice and chunks of peel shooting pretty much everywhere, but it settled down after a couple of goes.

I wouldn't recommend it as a smart and efficient way to peel apples, but I STRONGLY recommend it was an entertaining way to try.

Once the apples were peeled, cored and chopped I cooked them down to a puree to which I added sugar and a small dash of cinnamon. That apple sauce went inside triangles of puff pastry painted with egg wash and granulated sugar to make apple turnovers.  Then I used a further 2 cups of it to make some lovely apple sauce muffins. The recipe is here, although I swapped walnuts for pecans because I much prefer pecans.  The recipe filled 27 large muffin cases. I'll pop most of them in the freezer to grab as lunch box treats for the kids, but a good few didn't make it off the cooling rack. They were so good I couldn't resist...

Summer memories

This summer started off with sunshine and happiness.  We had a wonderful family day out at Bolton Abbey, full of tree climbing, splashing in a river and eating ice creams.

It was so warm, happy and picturesque I felt like we were living a scene from Swallows and Amazons or Five Go Adventuring Somewhere Crime-Free.

A couple of days later we went to one of our favourite places: Chester Zoo. Part of our picnic lunch for this particular visit - at least for Zach and I  - was some lovely ripe melon. I think this had a large part to play in what happened next.

We headed into Luke's favourite part of the zoo, the Bat House. I always have to brace myself for entering it because the smell is appalling. I follow the advice of the bloke from Neal's Yard cheese shop of taking some big gulping breathes on the grounds I'll get used to it in 30 seconds. This never happens. The whole time I'm there I feel my nose is being assaulted. However, bats are cool and Luke is cooler, so I go in every time.

There is a little tunnel in the Bat House where hideous things like blind cave fish are kept. As we came out of it, Zach said there were loads of little bats whizzing around him. Luke dismissed this as the wishful thinking of someone mistaking the air movement caused by the larger bats and pooh-poohed the idea. However, standing near Zach very still for a while showed he was right.  Tiny fruit bats were circling his legs. As we all stood still they circled us as well and started to land on our fingertips. They were particularly keen on Zach and me. Several nibbled our fingers before flitting off again.  It was utterly remarkable. We stayed for a good 15 minutes in the centre of this colony of wheeling bats.

As we left the Bat House and washed our hands, I remembered the ripe melon. I suspect the melon juice on our fingers attracted the bats once we were still enough for them to approach us. Knowing Zach, I am pretty sure he'd have wiped his hands on his shorts, too, hence them starting by circling his legs.

The rest of the day was fun as usual. I happened to be at the Giraffe House (my favourites - such beautiful eyes!) as they were getting their evening meal and enjoyed watching them run in. With such long legs they look like they are going in slow motion while moving very quickly. It's surreal. The keeper told me some new stuff about them - personalities, a possible pregnancy etc - which only reinforced my opinion that all zoo workers are lovely people.

The kids had a week at the grandparents' houses, swapping about a bit between them and generally having a wonderfully indulged time. They never miss us while they are away. This either means they are secure and happy or that we're just rubbish.  Pollyanna soul that I am, I'm choosing the former. Sad thoughts? La La La I can't hear you!

While they were away, some entitled soul smashed a side window in our front hall and snatched my handbag. This has caused more flipping effort than you would believe. It's astonishing how much stuff I keep in the handbag I use every day. It's not just the cash and the debit cards, it's all the other gear. Kids' library cards, gift cards, stamps, repeat prescription, Oyster card for London trips, photos of the kids and of my Dad as a toddler (I found it in my grandmother's things when she died and liked it.) Useful numbers, loyalty cards, a couple of tiny souvenirs that make me happy when I see them. Most of the make-up I use regularly. Indeed, I am mostly bereft of make-up as it appears I just shove everything in my handbag and apply it using the living room mirror. I lost 6 lipsticks amongst all the other stuff, which is VERY annoying.

Anyway, a good few days were chewed up by dealing with the police, crime scene team, insurance company, glaziers, and every single company I had a card with. My 'free week' felt a lot less free.

Fortunately, one of the highlights of my year occurred on the Friday - the annual trip to RHS Tatton with my Very Excellent Mate SJ. SJ is one of the most ace people I know. Unfortunately, my kids share that opinion so it can be very hard to have an uninterrupted talk when they are in the vicinity.  Tatton is our luxury - a full day looking at garden things, having a picnic and a damned good chat.

We got dressed up for Ladies' Day this year. Here we are reflected in chrome panels flanking one of the show gardens -

I am crediting my dress and the fancy hat thing I borrowed from my friend Kirsty for the fact that SJ and I were invited into one of the show gardens to sit in a remarkable globe chair I'd admired. Stepping over the barrier, I felt like royalty. Or Monty Don, which for gardeners seems to be the same thing. It was great fun.

On the Sunday Mark and I celebrated our 20th anniversary. Or 10th, depending how you count.  We spent the wedding money on the deposit for a house 20 years ago. Ever since then we've counted the day we moved in as our anniversary - other people had a wedding; we lived in ours.  On our 10th anniversary we went to the registry office with SJ and her partner Rich and got married. (We picked that date so there would be no confusion over when our true anniversary is.)
My idealistic feminism may reject the patriarchal institution of marriage but my pragmatic self wants access to Mark's pension and for him to have rights over the boys (they were born before the law about unmarried parents changed.) So, we think it's our 20th anniversary this year but other people might think 10th.

My lovely parents had the kids to allow us to go to London overnight. We ate a refined and delicious lunch at Rowley Leigh's Cafe Anglais on Sunday (Mark arranged it with himself in mind) and saw the truly wonderful Boyhood by Richard Linklater in the evening. We cried, we smiled, we were charmed beyond words. I do recommend it wholeheartedly.

The next day we went to the Matisse exhibition at Tate Modern. Mark bought me a Matisse lithograph for my 40th birthday - made during his lifetime and overseen by the man himself. We didn't know the original would be included in the exhibition as it is in private hands. It was - hurray! And WOW is it ever massive! I was thrilled to see it in the flesh, so to speak.  The whole exhibition was marvellous.

We had lunch at Bocca di Lupo (which Mark arranged with me in mind. I think Italian is the best of all types of food) which was utterly amazing. If you ever get the opportunity to go, I urge you to order a granita cocktail. I had the Bramble - gin, lemon, blackberry liquor - and Mark had the Bloody Mimosa - blood orange juice and prosecco. It was a good job the food was so amazing; in any other restaurant those cocktails would have been the highlight of the experience.

Back home we had a day divided between the den building event in town and the free Breeze festival, which involved me, the kids and a whole pile of their friends.  I used my Christmas vouchers for a patisserie day at Betty's (just fabulous). We had a big get-together with many of my Very Excellent mates and their families that ended with 16 people sleeping in our house. There was barely a patch of floor not covered in sleeping bags.

Miss B spent 16 days in Spain with her uncle and cousins. The lads joined her after a week, travelling with my parents. While they were at home without her we nipped off to watch Guardians of the Galaxy - top fun. We also had the highlight of Zach's whole summer: meeting the author of the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels. Bryan Lee Scott was touring to promote his new graphic novel, Seconds. It's a more mature story; very much a novel that happens to be told in pictures rather than a comic. Bryan was a lovely bloke, very friendly and encouraging. Meeting him, getting an autograph and a photo with him put Zach in a giddy, euphoric mood for days.  He even enjoyed queueing for 2 hours to be at the front of the line because talking to the people in the queue "was like finding my people, Mummy!" 

While the lads and B were away Mark and I were very busy on our summer project. I'll post all about that in the next little while.

Lost for Words

It's been about 7 weeks since I last posted on this blog, and even that was a pretty brief one.  That's far too long.  However, despite having heaps to tell you all about, I've not been able to blog for ages.
I lost my words.

I don't mean I lost my actual voice (which wouldn't affect typing anyway) nor that I had some weird amnesiac moment.  I just couldn't find the right words to say anything I wanted to.  I'd type a sentence or two and then backspace through it. I'd compose partial paragraphs in my head and reject them. All my lovely words, my playthings and sparkly jewels, just wouldn't come. Expressing myself became more about frustrated shrugs and gestures as my sentences tailed off. I couldn't do light fluffy banter, I couldn't talk about big and true things either. I was a stilted, stifled imitation of myself.

I didn't like it at all.

My reading was affected too. No more long, new novels for me; it was all graphic novels and re-reading.  I couldn't face anything else. Great pages of words to keep in my head - I couldn't do it.  I needed few, or those I knew nearly by heart.

I read 8 volumes of the Fables graphic novels - fairy tale characters living in the real world, good fun. I asked my local comic book shop for examples of female-led titles that wouldn't drive me nuts with misogyny and they suggested Captain Marvel #1 and Pretty Deadly, both of which I quite liked. Before taking the lads to meet the man himself I read the truly wonderful Seconds by Bryan Scott Lee (of Scott Pilgrim fame). It's super.

Other than that, I read Regency romances by Georgette Heyer. Do you know them?  They are my reading equivalent of a hot water bottle and bar of chocolate. I am having to replace some of them as the bindings have fallen apart too badly to repair.  Normally I read one or two over the past 6 weeks of summer I read:

• Arabella
• Bath Tangle
• Black Sheep
• Charity Girl
• Cotillion (one of my favourites. Had to bin my copy when I finished it because it was in 8 pieces, and have ordered another)
• Frederica (Absolute top favourite)
• Lady of Quality
• Sprig Muslin
• Sylvester
• The Grand Sophie (one unpleasantly antisemitic scene but otherwise ace)
• The Nonesuch
• The Reluctant Widow
• The Toll-Gate

I was in danger of speaking in the slang of upper class Regency gentlemen and ladies by the end. If I threaten to draw someone's claret when they annoy me, you'll know what's to blame.

Georgette Heyer clearly opens a book of maps and gets all her names from the same few pages - Arabella, for example, had a Beaumaris, Wrexham, Flint, Wigan, Blackburn, Bolton and Morecombe amongst many - which gets a bit surreal after 6 or 7 books. And every hero and heroine seems to have grey eyes. Do you know anyone with grey eyes? I don't.

Despite the repetitions and daft quirks, I thoroughly enjoyed my Regency binge-read. Everyone was beautiful - or at least fetching - and most were charming and graceful. Gentlemen ordered their coats from Weston and their carriages from Tattersall, ladies wore a pelisse and carried a reticule. Hearts were won and lost, rough diamonds prevailed over dandies and fops, old friends became lovers and all was well. As the real world seemed harsher and I could hardly bear to hear the news on the radio, my romances gave me safe harbour.

However, I have read 3 ACTUAL novels in the last week that don't rely on illustrators nor a Corinthian raising his quizzing glass to better appreciate the Season's latest beauty. One was about the heirs of Ghengis Khan, so quite a change of pace.

I suspect I'm mostly back now. Words aren't quite the source of joy and playfulness they normally are, but I'm nearly there.

Changing my mind

This year the Grand Depart of the Tour de France was in Yorkshire. If you live here you couldn't escape it - for months it's been the focus of events, festivals, exhibitions, the whole nine yards. There is a basic insanity in a French cycle race whizzing around Yorkshire (seriously, what's that even about? The Tour d'Italia left from Belfast, too. It's madness) Suspect geography aside, I was all for it. I have many cycling enthusiast friends and I knew it would make them happy.

But personally? I couldn't care less. I don't ride a bike. I don't want to ride a bike. I am not interested in watching other people ride bikes.  I'd see them go past because it's An Event and I approve of Events in my city but it all left me a bit blank, really.  Like when the Olympics came to London in 2012 - nice for people who like that sort of thing but I don't want to watch people doing PE so I didn't bother with it.

That was before.

Before crazy, lovely knitters made 23,500 tiny Tour de France jerseys as bunting. Before the city's flower beds were replanted yellow. Before Yorkshire Tea had commemorative boxes made. Before the sun shone, the whole county came out to stand and cheer, and the glorious event kicked off in style.

It was wonderful. People laughing and chatting, the promotional vehicles flinging key rings and gewgaws into the crowds, police motorbike riders high-fiving everyone. 

The cyclists were an anticlimax as they flashed by because they were in a big pack, whizzing past us on their way to the official start line at Harewood House. They weren't racing as such on our bit of the route.  They were also bunched up so close it was hard to pick out individuals from the peleton. Clearly the hillsides were the place to be for the exciting race stuff. 

After the cyclists had gone by we walked home for lunch. I only meant to turn the race on the telly so our visitors could see it but I was hooked and watched the whole thing. From cheeky Jens claiming King of the Mountains to the drama as Mark Cavendish crashed out metres from the finish line I was fascinated.

I haven't kept up with it since - I think I need my friend Alison with me to explain who is who to properly enjoy it. But I remain immensely proud of this region for putting on such a good natured, enthusiastic and beautiful show. Three cheers for the remarkable Gary Verity for bringing the Tour de France here. If he can make a convert out of this doubter, he can do anything.

June in a bottle

One day my daughter will look back on weekends like this with nostalgia. Not a ghastly "geez, I can't believe we did that rubbish," type nostalgia that hits me when I remember watching the Donnie and Marie show. No, proper, Proustian nostalgia when she smells the blossom in her adulthood.
Or at least I hope so.

It was warmer than predicted, the rain showers threatened didn't materialise and the sun beat down as the afternoon progressed. Her eldest brother was dossing in bed after a week of exams, her middle brother was still at a friend's house following a sleepover so Mark and I took her out on her own to the place of her choosing - in this instance, Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. We bought her a sausage roll and crisps; she had a milkshake; she fed donkeys and goats, watched damselflies and ran through the woods to a den. All in all it was a lovely time with the fabulous Miss B.

I noticed the elderflowers all over a massive hedge near the farm's playground. Hurray! We had a lovely time, B and I, picking elderberries in September. Now she could take part in my first foraged harvest of the year, the delicate froth of elderflowers.

We drove out to the lane we'd visited in early autumn. It's easier to pick the flower heads than the berries so we didn't need scissors this time. Mark stayed in the car with the radio while Miss B and I browsed the hedgerows for the cream-coloured, open clusters. We avoided any with a hint of faded blooms as past it, and those with many tight buds as not yet ready.

Partly to let the flowers fulfil their botanic purpose and partly because I love watching the PUFF of tiny pollen specks, we batted each flowerhead before picking it.  Thank heavens neither of us have hay fever.

As we picked and chatted, we were overtaken by a group of walkers.  Clearly not gardeners, they asked us if we were picking blackberries. "No, it's too soon," Miss B confidently told them. "It's elderflowers now." They asked what we'd do with them and how to choose them. Very charmingly, they asked Miss B to help them choose some good flower heads to contribute.  She was delighted to advise.

A fair few flowers ended up in Miss B's hair

In the face of such enthusiasm, we ended up with far more flower heads that I had anticipated. Ah well, I guess we'd better make a LOT of cordial...

Elderflower Cordial

25-30 elderflower heads
1-2 lemons
1/2 to 1 lime
1.5 litres boiling water
900g sugar

Pick over the flower heads to remove any creepy-crawlies. Ideally do this by hand, not washing the flowers before use. However, we'd got 90-odd flower heads so I just filled the sink with cold water and gently swished the flowers about in that, removing any bugs I noticed.
Put the flowers is a large stock pot of maslin pan. Add the zest of the citrus fruit and keep the fruit on one side for juicing tomorrow.  Add 1.5l of boiling water and cover. Leave to infuse overnight.

A whole heap of elderflowers, zest and water

Strain the liquid through a scalded (i.e. covered in boiling water before use to sterilise it) jelly bag or piece of muslin. Add the sugar and the lemon and lime juices. Bring to the boil. Simmer for 5-10 minutes and pour into sterilised bottles.

NB - I was doing a triple batch and lacked sufficient sterilised bottles. I washed some tonic water bottles out in very hot water and filled them with cordial, leaving a 5 inch gap at the top for expansion. When they cooled I popped them in the freezer. They'll keep there until I need them.

Elderflower cordial with soda water and ice is a lovely soft drink. However, it also makes exceedingly lovely cocktails:

Elderflower Martini

1 measure gin
1/2 measure vermouth
1 measure elderflower cordial
Juice of 1/2 a lime

Pour everything into a cocktail shaker with plenty of ice. Shake until frosty and serve.
Chi chin!

I've started so I'll finish

I love starting something new.  I like trying things, learning a new skill or craft, messing about with something I've not tried before. It's interesting, it engages me and I get a kick from the novelty of it.

Finishing? Not so much.

There are often awkward last bits to do. Perhaps I needed a different bit of kit, or ran out of the right yarn. I may have found it a bit more tedious or long-winded than I'd hoped and wandered off, bored. Sometimes I put it down when something more pressing demanded my time and I just plain forgot about it. My house has heaps of little part-done projects stuffed into boxes or odd corners.

I decided to make June my Finishing Month.  Rather than start new crafts or hobbies I am going to finish up ones I've already begun.

First up was a little heart shaped rag rug kit I bought at Yarndale. The hessian backing shed a lot and irritated me when I was getting started so i shoved it in a corner and ignored it for months on end.  This last couple of weeks I've finished making the heart and tweaked it a bit. I've trimmed it ready for sewing and will find some fabric this weekend so I can make it into a cushion cover for Miss B's room rather than the little wall hanging it was meant to be. I like it a lot.  The trick was to use an embroidery hoop for the first bit to hold it taut and to ditch the shonky poking stick made from a cut down clothes peg that came with the kit for a crochet hook. That made it all easier and faster.

Next was my little crocheted rabbit. I'd made all the parts bar the second ear, and I had sewn him together back in April. Then I misplaced my hook.  I found it again, finished the ear off a
nd attached it. He's a bit wonky but I love him. Made entirely by me - using a posh version of string and a stick (nice yarn and a crochet hook) I made a proper, can-sit-up-by-itself 3D cuddly toy.  Yay!

My third project is a tapestry kit to make a pincushion with a cockerel on it that I bought to keep me busy on a train journey back in January. I'd forgotten how much I like the quiet repetitive action of doing tapestry.  I thoroughly enjoyed doing it while chatting with people at the new Knit and Natter people at a local cafe.

Next up , the second attempt at a nice sleeve for my lovely MacBook. I know where I went wrong with the first one and am sure the new attempt will work out better.

I'll add the project photos as I get done.