Bath time for Snowy

Amongst our many pets are three guinea pigs. In inclement weather they live in a 2 storey hutch in the shed. When the ground is dry, they have a moveable playpen on the lawn with a little shelter in it, and a sturdy roof to protect them from predators (or over-friendly small children.)

The guineas are about 2 1/2 year old girls called Snowy, Pippin and Tosh (short for Mackintosh). Their mothers were part of a group of 9 guinea pigs found abandoned under a shed and taken in by the now-defunct Bramley Cavies Rescue. As that was a mixed group, all the females were pregnant. (Rodents; such notorious breeders. What can you do?)  The sows were in a bad way and once their babies were born it took a long time to get them in suitably robust health to be rehomed.

These days those babies are fat healthy guinea pigs. However, a winter more inside than out had left them with long nails in need of trimming. Snowy was not terribly snow-like; she was more the colour of grubby slush. Her habit of flipping the outside shelter upside down, having a wee then flipping it back over herself had done nothing positive to her aroma either. It was definitely time for a bath.

NB - I only bath them on really warm sunny days so they won't catch chills as they dry off. As you can see from the cloudless sky in the photos, we had some truly spectacular weather so I took the opportunity.  I was game but my pets were considerably less so.

Have you ever bathed a small animal that wasn't keen? By which I mean very, very un-keen indeed? It's a wriggly, slippery process that involves nearly as much water on the person as on the pet. Having a number of bath-averse pets, I've learnt to do it on scruffy old clothes with m hair tied back before having a shower myself.

I tend to wash guineas in a very deep bucket (so the pig can't hop out) with only a little water in the bottom. Judging by the fuss they make, my pets prefer water only a little more than lukewarm. This can be a challenge, as I get everything set up outside before catching the bath-bound beastie and if the bath-ee proves elusive, I can end up with water cooler than planned. To offset that I usually have a jug of very hot water I can top up with, but it's still a little hit and miss.

I dilute some small animal shampoo in water and pour it in small amounts over the animal while rubbing it in gently. Then I use an old measuring cup to rinse her in clean water before scooping her up in a scruffy old towel to be dried as thoroughly as I can.

While she's in the towel I bring one foot out at a time and clip the nails carefully. The front nails can grow a bit spirally and it's important to keep them in a decent state.

As pet care goes, guinea pigs are pretty darned easy. You don't have to walk them, their food isn't smelly or disgusting, their run is pretty easy to clean out in about 10 minutes. They make lovely little noises chatting to one another and they are very sweet natured.

The downside is they are very shy and generally prefer to be left alone rather than played with. However, bold Snowy will tussle with a chicken over a dandelion leaf and win. Not one of the three is intimidated by our cats as they pretend to be fierce predators.  Secure in their roofed playground, the guineas know Ferris Mewler and Isaac Mewton are all mouth and no trousers. That metal mesh roof is pretty darned sturdy.

Update - In the gap between writing and posting this blog, Toshi died. I have no idea why. She'd been running about as usual the day before, seemed healthy and was behaving normally. Whether moving the hutch outside for the summer followed by a massive thunderstorm that scared her to heart attack or it was the fox coming to have a look - or some undetected illness - we just don't know.  Poor wee Toshi. Snowy, Pippin and the rest of us will miss her.

A Snack For Europe

Ah,  the Eurovision Song Contest. Possibly the most confirmedly bonkers night in the TV schedules.  Masses of countries, many of which aren't even in Europe, competing to be chosen through arcane rules and cronyism as winners of a Song For Europe. Sometimes a pop song, sometimes an easy listening song, occasionally something truly demented. Scandinavian Death Metal band Lordi, I'm looking at you, lads.

When I first moved to the UK I was 16. I sat in the lounge of my Auntie Doh's house, utterly mystified by the relish with which she anticipated an over-long evening of crimes against music and taste. I was appalled. But sort of fascinated.

Within 4 years I loved it - sitting in Mark's student digs while housemate Dave wielded the Mop Of Shame. He was sitting in an armchair a mop's reach from the cheap second hand telly, mopping the screen whenever we wanted to banish a contestant. Many, many beers were consumed.

We never manage to pick winners, Mark and I. We tend to favour the madder-than-a-box-of-frogs entries, the crazy showboaters with a sense of fun.  France and Germany take turns being mentalists most years although Iceland does its share.

Anyway, because I had Very Important Work to do which demanded some truly momentous procrastination, I decided this year to make snack food from as many of the finalist countries as I could manage in 5 hours. You know, for fun.

I am clearly batty.  I know NOTHING about the cuisine of most of the finalists. Azerbaijiani and Armenian snacks are not amongst my repertoire. It was one of those "Google is my best friend" moments.

So here we go - our Snack For Europe menu:

First up, Ukraine. Their song was Tick Tock, which required a man flollop about in a giant hamster wheel for no discernible purpose. The item I cooked was Deruny: a grated potato and onion cake. I followed the recipe except I didn't peel the potatoes. I think a lot of the goodness is in the skin.

Next, Cheesecake from Belarus. Regrettably not the delicious dessert but instead a really awful song about wanting to be some girl's 'cheesecake.'  It included the line "I'm not Patrick Swayze and you're no Jennifer Grey." I think that much was obvious to us all, Mr Belarus.

Then Azerbaijian - Lass in a red dress accompanied by a woman on a trapeze. Or, in our house, a fresh cheese made from yogurt and dill. It's called Shuyudlu Suzme and I confess I reduced the raw garlic by two thirds. I quite liked it, especially spread on the potato cakes, but the others weren't sure.

One of my own highlights of the evening came next - Iceland. As I mentioned, they are often good fun (or off their heads mental. Which amounts to the same thing) and they didn't disappoint. This year they sent a bunch who had raided The Wiggles' wardrobes. In fairness, they sang better than The Wiggles; more akin to Imagination Movers, I think. Bright and daft and entirely fitting to children's TV. It was called No Prejudice and had the line "Perhaps you're thinner, Or someone who likes his dinner..."
I laughed and I nominate them for a guest appearance on Sesame Street.

Musically, quite a lull now. Norway fielded a bloke wearing Morten Harket's leather wrist straps from the mid 80s, but he was too husky for them and looked like they were cutting off the circulation to his hands while he sang a tedious dirge.
Romania sang something louder and with a faster tempo but all I can recall is a circular keyboard the male of the pair pretended (badly) to play (probably also badly).

Incidentally, it only hit me at 7:12pm that our friends were arriving from 7:30 and I hadn't got any bread for all these dips. A somewhat frantic recipe search brought me Armenia's entry: lavash, an unleavened flatbread cooked in the frying pan (because I don't have a tandoor). It was so quick and delicious I'll make it in future. Flour, salt and water can make wonderful things. Sadly, Armenia's song was utterly dire and so forgettable I could barely recall it even while their lounge lizard bloke was still singing it.

From this

To loads of this in under 15 minutes

Little Montenegro at least had the courage of its convictions and submitted a song in its native language. Bloke singing about something or other  - probably love or loss but it could have been about Torville and Dean - while a woman on roller blades dressed as an ice skater swooped around him. The floor lighting effects were cool - lighting up where she skated like Fantasia's Waltz of the Flowers - but the song was not.

 Poland decided to have some buxom woman in an undone peasant blouse "churning butter" and "washing clothes" into the camera while similarly clad women sang about shaking what their mama gave them,
 I'd say she was doing it suggestively, but that implies far more subtlety than the the 'here are my knockers, let this Pole rub your pole" soft porn approach she was taking. It was like a Benny Hill sketch from the 70s. Three of the six fellas watching it in my living room gave it top marks. The other 3 are related to me, so through being decent feminist types, prudes or just wisely knowing which side their bread is buttered, they roundly condemned it. Good lads. Miss B liked their skirts bought thought they should do their tops up.
I rather regretted buying Polish crisps and pretzels. because, y'know, ewww.

Greece was the family favourite, hummus. Ah, hummus. We can never make enough of it. Then, because it goes so nicely with hummus, I made baba ganoush. 

I know, I know,  I was going off piste a little but it's my party and I'll dip if I want to.

Incidentally, Greece's song was a boy band with a trampolinist behind them. No one is sure why.

Then came Austria - bearded drag queen singing a Bond theme was their musical entry; no food from me as it's either meat based or a complicated dessert. No time to spare for Sachertorte and the like, it's a procrastination too far. 

Germany - big cheer form the sofa as Z is studying German and is off there in October while his pal Tom got them in the sweepstake. Blonde lass with a quiff, accordion. I rather liked it, but I was a minority. Again, bad wine and too many sausage based foodstuffs so I skipped over them. Germany seems no place for a wine-drinking pescatarian.

Sweden - tipped as the favourite, this was a lovely ginger and cardamom cake from my Nordic Bakery book.  I mean, it was a dull ballad thing in true Eurovision tradition. A millions of ABBA fans cried out in anguish and were suddenly silenced. Or it could have been terror.

I just likened Euroviosion to the Death Star, didn't I. Hmm, does that make Terry Wogan Grand Moff Tarkin? Is Graham Norton a camp Vader leprechaun? Disturbing images...

Back to the food. 

Some chèvre flew the flag for France, except I forgot to put it out on the table so I had a lovely goat's cheese omelette for lunch the next day. Win!

In retaliation, a pack of lunatic Frenchmen capered about singing of their earnest desire to grow a moustache. Full points for insanity, null points for musicality.

Russia - pfft. Can't be bothered investigating recipes from Russia. Not in the current political climate.  They sent a poor pair conjoined twins - the first case recorded of twins being joined at the ponytail. Very odd. 

Italy - yay! Salad! I did a quick caprese salad of mozzarella, baby plum tomatoes and home grown basil with olive oil. It was a nice accompaniment to all the dips and flatbreads. 

I enjoyed the Italian entry's commitment to white leather, metal embellishments and over the top 80s styling. Just demented.

No dishes for the next lot - Slovenia (jazz-flute woman); Finland (indie pop boy band, I rather liked it. I was slightly embarrassed by this fact); Spain (Good lord, someone we actually knew! Ruth from the only series of X Factor we ever watched. Still rubbish); Switzerland (he whistles! he has a bloke on banjo! His lyrics are a bit sex-pest!); Hungary (cripes. Song about being a victim of child sex abuse. That was unexpected.)

Malta was a challenge. All the recipes I found on assorted Maltese or ex-pat websites were recipes I associate with different countries. I realise this is true of many countries - food doesn't respect political borders - but I had still hoped to find at least one thing I didn't already associate with somewhere else, even if I didn't actually cook it.

In the end I made "Black Olive Pate" which was really tapenade. Looks sludgy because it's made from black and grey and green things whizzed together, but as an olive-loving soul I enjoyed it very much.

Denmark flew the flag with a 2 minute blue cheese spread - just Danish Blue let down with some soured cream until more spreadable. In retrospect I'd have made it thinner still and dipped veg or crisps in it.  Truly AWFUL song called Cliche Love Song. It wanted to be Axis of Awesome's How to Write a Love Song but wasn't.

Then things got better. THE NETHERLANDS! Yay! An actually tuneful country song performed by  a competent duo without howling, whistling nor grandstanding.  It came as a relief after the previous noise. 

The Netherlands won our Eurovision Food Competition too, as the new dish of the night with top marks from Mark and Russell. It was Bruine Bonen Salade (brown bean salad). The beans were tossed in a dressing of minced red onion, mustard, red wine vinegar, oil, parsley and tarragon. I took down the tarragon amount by half and would have reduced it still further for my own taste as I don't like aniseed, so I bumped up the flat parsley.  I love flat parsley.

The kids, obviously, voted "crisps" as the winner. I'm ignoring them.

The final two songs were something forgettable from San Marino - a place I couldn't even start to find on a map - and the UK's entry with the cringingly awful title Children Of The Universe. It was like watching a less energetic Shakira.  I'd decided that should we require food from Britain we could open the pack of custard creams. The kids were too busy eating crisps to care.

All in all, it was a great night. Mates, chatting, bad music to disparage, funny things to applaud, masses of new things to try.
The final score, the one that would count the most the next morning, was this:

Number of garlic cloves used to prepare the food: 9

I apologise to anyone who came into contact with us on Sunday.

Yum

You like chocolate, right? I mean, you do properly like it, not like those odd souls who prefer crisps (lovely in their own way) or liquorice (never ever acceptable). And more chocolate in your chocolate, less veg fat and rubbish, yes? Me too. Which is why my mother-in-law's birthday gift to me of a chocolate tasting morning was so awesome:
over two hours tasting chocolates at Hotel Chocolat
(It's OK to turn green with envy)

We started with a cup of coffee and a chat, fellow taster Lucille and I, while Dan the Chocolatier got things ready.  Lucille is a lovely woman with two small sons. When she was young she had a job as a magician's assistant.  Here is her best TA DA!

 We went upstairs to be greeting with a pretty array of chocolate in its original form - cacao pods and beans.  Choccy Dan talked to us about the way cacao is farmed. The pods contain a fleshy pulp that animals eat, leaving the seeds behind. Apparently cacao pulp is now A Thing, and you can taste sorbets and cocktails made from it.

So much happiness from 1 tiny bean

As Choccy Dan explained the harvesting, fermenting, drying, roasting and conching (grinding the cacao for ages- if it were wheat it would be milling) he brought out pairs of chocolate for us to compare. Some of the chocolate pairs were from different countries, some highlighted the difference between single origin and blends, some were nearly the same except for roasting and conching times. It was fascinating to taste the differences in each pair.

Now, obviously we were tasting a LOT of chocolate - 18 in all. We needed something to cleanse our palates between chocolates. Choccy Dan had just the thing: prosecco. It was 10:30 in the morning, so I demurred initially. Lucille tucked right in.

By 11:15 I decided the sun was over whatever arbitrary point was necessary for me to cave in, and fizzy wine appeared. It was very nice fizzy wine, and I decided I might be a bit in love with Choccy Dan for suggesting such decadence. 

I don't care that it's still morning. 

After 15 batons or shards of dark, milk, single origin, blended and otherwise compare-and-contrast chocolates, Dan brought us some filled chocolates to try. By then, having happily munched 85% cocoa solids chocolate these more conventional truffles seemed incredibly sweet. However, Lucille and I struggled womanfully on. The white and yellow truffles were filled with a creamy lemon curd - probably the nicest fruit flavoured chocolate I'd had. I wasn't entirely convinced by the very boozy champagne truffle - too heavy handed with the liquid, overpowering any chocolatey taste but the billionaire's shortbread truffles were lovely. They were squares of chocolate with a layer of caramel, a layer of very nice praline sand topped with little balls of shortbread. Yum.

Dan gave us the OK to snaffle the rest for our kids (honest, guvnor) and handed us each a bag full of chocolates to take home as well.  He even made sure our personal favourites were included. Mine was a 70% milk chocolate from Venezuela - smooth, rich and delicious.

The downside of that blissful half day? My Dairy Milk just doesn't taste the same anymore.

Ringing the dinner bell

Mmm, dinner. I love dinner. I especially like new dinners - a change from eating the same handful of familiar meals. I particularly especially like new dinners that my kids eat without complaining.
(OK, that didn't quite happen. But nearly)

I got the very marvellous Ms Jack Monroe's cook book for my birthday a few weeks ago. There are some things she and I will not ever agree on - tinned fruit in dinner! No! - but she cooks many simple things: tasty, affordable things that I could knock up in not much time. Reading her book reminded me that I can like making food for my family after all.

I dread cooking meals for my kids. My eldest was an extremely picky eater from infancy. Which particular meal he would approve for a year at time would change - homemade cauliflower cheese with diced boiled egg, spaghetti, fish fingers and potato smiles, veggie burgers and margarita pizza have all taken their turn as Sole Acceptable Meal over the years - but the pattern was exhausting. No fruit, no veg, no rice, nor meat, nor pulses nor even chips. I went wrong somewhere and never quite got back on track. (Yes, you can judge me. Go ahead. It won't be anything worse than I've thought myself. Even CAMHS said we'd tried everything they would suggest and let's just hope he grows out of it.)

My youngest is playing monkey see, monkey do with the eldest and my middle child - formerly an enthusiastic eater of anything - has decided to object to some of the few foods the other two will actually eat. There are nearly no meals they all like. Home made macaroni cheese is the only reliable one.

And that's why I hate cooking for them. At best, at least one of them will push the food around glumly and not eat. At worst two of them will moan and strop, making enjoying a meal together hard going. To save my sanity by reducing the emotional investment I have in the success of a dinner, I never spend more than 25 minutes of prep on a meal for them. Otherwise I am a ball of seething resentment when no one eats it, which is fair to no one. They didn't ask me to spend 90 minutes on a fancy dinner they won't eat.

So, knowing I was really experimenting for my own enjoyment, I had a browse through Jack Monroe's book. I made the red kidney bean burgers for Mark and I for lunch one day - delicious! Then I looked at the carrot and coriander felafel recipe and had an idea.

Mark, Z and I love felafel. Miss B loves hummus. She and Z also love assembling their food. Luke likes wraps, although only if they contain melted cheese. A "build your own wrap" meal could work.

I shredded some lettuce, sliced cucumbers and cherry tomatoes, peeled ribbons of carrots. I knocked up a quick bowl of hummus, made the felafel's according to Jack's recipe and set everything on the table.  But what to offer Luke? I had a ball of cheap mozzarella in the fridge, so I tore that into fat chunks, dipped them in flour, beaten egg and flour again (because I meant to use matzo meal and realised we hadn't got any - oops) and dropped them in the pan of oil with the felafel. There was a plate of warm pitta and wraps in the centre of the table and a small plate for each person to assemble their own dinner.

It was a big success. Announcing she didn't like vegetables, Miss B promptly ate most of the cucumber and a fair few carrot ribbons before stuffing herself with a mound of hummus. Luke liked the daft mozzarella melts in his wrap - ok, not a healthy food, but at least we were all eating together  - and Zach made a gargantuan wrap filled with loads of everything. For him, the felafel were the stars of the meal. He had an extra portion later that evening when he came home from Scouts. Mark and I loved it too.

So a big Thank You to Jack Monroe for inspiring me to try something new for the kids, and a huge thumbs up for her book. Get a copy if you can.

Oh, and if you buy hummus rather than make it, I recommend having a go at home made. Much cheaper and easy to adapt to your taste.

Hummus:
1 tin chickpeas
1 clove garlic
1 tablespoon (ish) of tahini. Peanut butter will do at a pinch
lemon juice
olive oil
salt and pepper

Drain the chickpea water into a cup. Tip the chickpeas, garlic and tahini in a blender. Add enough lemon juice, chickpea water and olive oil to the blender to allow it to be just wet enough to whizz the chickpeas up. My guess is 2 parts chick pea water, 2 parts oil oil to 1 part lemon juice. Add the liquid sparingly and taste as you go so you can tell if it is too thick, too tangy (add more olive oil) or too bland (add lemon juice). Put in a generous pinch of salt and a grind of pepper to taste.

That's it.

Seriously, that's hummus. Tip a few things in a blender, whizz them up, taste it, whizz again until smooth and Bob's your oyster. See why I never bother buying it?

PS - You can add all sorts of things - fresh coriander, ground cumin, roasted peppers - but I still like it best as it is.

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.

Further Adventures in Radio

I had a meeting with my mentor at Radio Leeds this week. I'm not over the thrill of that yet. I have a mentor. Me. Inexperienced, out of my depth me. It's bloody brilliant.
An experienced, knowledgeable, talented person is helping me get closer to becoming a broadcaster, and the BBC is letting him do that on their time. It's an act of such generosity on his and BBC Yorkshire's parts; I'm extraordinarily lucky. I'm Wayne and Garth meeting Alice Cooper - "We are not worthy" - and I'm Charlie Bucket, golden ticket in hand.

In February I appeared as a guest on Jake Katberg's Saturday morning panel, chatting away about Facebook movies, texts from the council telling you to exercise more and other lightweight news from the week. My first time on air - wow! It was enormous fun. I didn't feel at all scared, which I put down to that afternoon shadowing Andrew Edwards in early January. It was a familiar environment rather than an intimidating one.  That helped me a lot.

There's the weekend editor, Andy, at the desk. He was a really nice bloke. The cake box you can see is full of home made scones with jam and cream. I figured if Radio Leeds helps me develop new skills, it's only fair they benefit from the skills I have already. 

On this coming Wednesday I'm on air for again - this time as part of the Wednesday Witter chat with Johnny I'Anson a little after 3pm. I don't know what we'll be talking about but I am very much looking forward to it. 

I've got a heap of tasks to do before next month's mentoring session, including recording some interviews. I'm pretty nervous about that, even though they are not for broadcast. It needs to be with people I don't know, last 4 minutes or so, and in a style that suits Radio Leeds. Eek. I'll feel better when I've done the first one.

Looking back to when I first knuckled down and applied for a place on the Women In Radio event, it's been a remarkable 5 months. I still can't believe that my crazy day researching things for my programme idea and trying (and failing) to talk into my iphone's microphone about Leeds for 2 minutes without saying 'um' once led to all of this. Sometimes attempting - whether fearlessly or when you are scared stiff - pays off.

Jay x

Tackling that list

Since I wrote out the list of of tricky things in January I felt newly motivated to tackle some of them. I can't say I've had a Damascene conversion to all of the things I've attempted, but I liked more than I expected.

First item on the list -
Our eldest is studying for next year's GCSEs at the moment. One of his set texts is Lord of the Flies, the book I was too terrified by age 10 to ever go back to. Parental responsibility trumps childhood fear, so in order to help him with revision I read it, as I mentioned here. Tick.

Try meat -
I've had a go at 4 types of meat in the last 2 months. I quite like pancetta, as long as it is pretty well cooked. I have it in carbonara now, although I give Mark most of the pancetta bits. However, the British version, back bacon, grosses me out dreadfully - all that pale stringy fat. I had to spit it out.
I already knew I loved pastrami. Pastrami, dill pickle, mayo and French's mustard is a good enough sandwich to dream about. add a little firm lettuce like cos or little gem and you've hit perfection. I missed pastrami dreadfully for years.
I tried peperoni. Peperoni and hot dogs were the last meats I gave up all those years ago. I was disapointed. Nice flavour up to a point, but so oily I felt queasy afterwards.
Finally, a 'dinner' type meat - chicken. Just no. I wish I could but I can't. The texture, the smell... I'm happy sticking to fish and veggies.

The big one - exercise.
Thanks to the generous Michelle Nichols, writer of the Running Up Top Down Under blog and all 'round good egg,  I have exercised for over a month. She's discussed different options, looked at my (lack of) fitness and free time, and provided masses of encouragement and cheerleading - all online, as she lives in Newcastle.
We decided brisk walking was best. There have been days when events overtook me, but on the whole I've managed 2 1/2 hours of walking per week, averaging 3km per day, Monday to Friday. I have problems with my knees, and Michelle kindly worked out series of exercises and stretches to help with that and to keep me going.
Yesterday I walked to a supermarket 5km away before doing my shop, getting a taxi back with it all (I'm not THAT tough!) and walking another 2km across the afternoon on assorted errands. I wouldn't have done that 6 weeks ago.I probably couldn't have done it. I definitely need some more suitable shoes but otherwise I'm glad I'm doing this.

Write an essay.
In fact, I've written two. Sort of.
The first was in answer to a gcse question as an example to my son of what would constitute a full answer to an essay question. It was fun. I liked pulling together the quotes and framing my arguments. However, it was pretty basic stuff I know inside out and backwards.
The second thing wasn't quite written in essay form, but close enough for my purposes. My mentor at Radio Leeds assigned me a half hour segment of radio to analyse. I spent 6 hours on it, listening, pausing, rewinding, listening all the way through - I must have heard some bits 4 or 5 times. I listened to competing programmes for context and reviewed my notes from the Women in Radio Event too. Then I wrote about 1200 words analysing the styler, techniques, choices made and news priorities of the half hour. I found it an immensely useful exercise and I enjoyed the whole process.

There are still plenty of other tricky things to tackle some day, of course. But now I've done a few I'm going back to attempting more fun stuff. I have a couple of them to blog about in the next few days.
Have a lovely weekend,
Jay x