A Country Christmas

Well I like it, but then I like fairylights and big red poinsettias and gold glittery things and lots and lots of garlandy green things. It is in fact the one time of year where I am happy to embrace a slightly country look, because otherwise the hovel looks a bit wrong. There was the blue fairylight year and very funky they were too, I must admit they were inspired by my favourite hotel cocktail bar in Dublin (at the Morgan) but in country cottage, oh dear it just sort of didn't say cosmopolitan city chic more OMG Santa's Grotto crazy nut job alert. So I stick with a country type Kirsty Allsopp meets Nigella, meets Poundland sort of vibe.



It's actually quite cosy and comforting, rather like myself, not very exciting, maybe a bit predictable, but nice. Scruffbag loves Christmas, mainly because there's Turkey and chocolates and well lots of food that she can be spoiled with. As you can see here, she rather likes to share a cosy fireside wine with me.



This year of course we had snow, which is something that Scruffbag rather loves, she enjoys trying to catch snowballs, heavens only knows why , must be chilly on the nose. Equally she likes to try to join in with sledging (and yes someone did let her have a go with them, she loved it). I suspect she may have a teeny smidgeon of husky in her interesting doggy DNA somewhere, as she loves dragging me down the Lane which was not dissimilar to the Cresta Run. It was almost a new extreme sport, very exhilarating, similar to wake boarding (not that I'm exciting enough to do that, I'm just nice). Exciting enough for little me to be dragged down the road by a dog who clearly misheard "Heel" and "Stop dragging me you smelly hound" for "Mush".

Cooper on the other hand, can do without the snow, ta very much and looks appalled whenever he gets his paws wet. He looked panic stricken when he got caught outside in it. As you can see and decided it was a never to be repeated experience. (He has retired to the bedroom which thanks to new central heating (oh yes at long last), resembles Hawaii (fabulous).



Christmas Eve saw my first attendance at midnight mass (let's face it I need all the prayers I can get) which was quite enjoyable, love a good sing song me. It was very Midsomer Murders especially when the power failed and we were plunged into darkness. Pretty sure it was EDF being rubbish as ever, rather than an actual visitation but who knows. "If you see Miss Marple love run", made me chortle, but prompted tutting from more sober congregation members (ah well never mind hey). Here it is, the village church, very picturesque don't you think?



A frenzy of feasting for Christmas Day, then walkies with Scruffbag in the forest on Boxing Day (she's still smelly and snoring as I type). All in all, a pleasant enough country Christmas. No wake boarding, or tawny port or generally posing about thinking I'm god's gift or anything, but hey that's never been me and never will. I'm off to be boring , dependable, nice little me hot chocolate anyone? Oh and I will share my selection box, even the curly wurlies if you ask.

Merry Christmas everyone xoxo

Depeche Mode and a snowy london

I've always loved the Mode, so the chance to see them live again could not be missed, the added bonus being another trip to London which I love even though I always get lost on the Tube (nobody told me that non Circle line trains also go on it OK?).

I still get excited everytime I see the London Eye at night all blue and sparkly and a luminous St Paul's always makes me smile. I've been to the O2 before of course, but this time got the Thames Clipper to it and oh yes definitely the way to travel. As much as I love the hulabaloo of the Tube on a gig night
lets be honest it can get a tad pungent.

The Clipper however is very civilised and I was quite happy with a nice white wine floating down the Thames looking at the lights (must be down to the Trips to see the Blackpool 'luminations as a kid either that or I'm some weird fairylight fetishist). Arriving at the O2 via water was excellent, let's face it there is something very "Mother Ship" about it anyway so floating in was quite spacey for me (or maybe that was the wine who knows?).

Inside was excellent to, Tapas Tapas, yes I will have a large Rioja thanks and then a full scale funfair. Oh yes, we are talking helter skelters , whirly things and of course my all time favourite a Carousel. Devastated that it wasn't open and yes I did seriously think about trying to convince them to let me have a go.

Managed to make the support act Soulsavers, personally not that into them. Actually not that sure that anyone was that into them except Country Boy who bounced along in an enthusiastic manner proclaiming "Mark Lanegan's a musical genius" something which no else seemed to particularly be convinced by. I heard a small ripple of applause from somewhere else so I assume Mark Lanegan's mum and a few aunties were in attendance. My view? Well I "didn't hate it" which is good of course, he sounds a bit sort of Lou Reed (and I do love a bit of Lou) but it was an odd mix of Lou Reed vocals with an Indie band base and a frizzante of Madchester guitar jangles.

The Mode however were fabulous. From the opening In Chains onwards, every track was an amazing explosion of classic Modeness. It's hard to pick actual highlights. As ever Precious made me feel a little emotional "Thing's get damaged, things get broken" etc but I had also been fed some Becks by then too so perhaps the ice princess didn't melt.



"World in my Eyes" was a classic as ever, making you want to embark on some exotic adventure of discovery with Mr Gahan as your guide (ooh yes please even though I'm not a girl that likes tatoos when Dave whipped his top off even I got excited!).Hard to believe he's nearly at his half century).

The absolute ultimate came at the end though, Personal Jesus the whole O2 arena was on its feet to reach out and touch faith, the atmosphere completely electric by that point. As ever I took loads of pictures, here's a little sprinkling of images that popped in front of the viewfinder at some point.













I know they aren't amazing works of photographic genius but I like them and if it makes you get a little vibe of just how fantastic the Mode were then job done.

Post gig a wander back up the Southbank and through Westminster gave me chance to see more of the city at night. Somehow this little snap captures it:



Next day was spent exploring Covent Garden, Carnaby Street and Oxford Street. Liberty's and Fortnum and Mason's had to be done of course, the window displays alone being well worth a visit. But the image of the day for me was Carnaby Street which was when the snow started to fall.



Very me don't you think?

Another dimension, another dimension....

Cats generally are quite odd. Cooper - my present cat takes odd to a whole new level of oddness. I have spoken of Cooper before of course. The description of bandy legged, slightly camp serial killer still stands but since his recent adventure (which involved him going missing for a week, sparking a full scale village wide state of emergency) has meant that he's become even odder. He was found, on some steps just down the road, covered in coal dust, skinny and pretty traumatised. It later transpired that he had dislocated his tail, its true I even saw the Xrays and I had no idea how far a cats tail went up into his spine but ouch. I was pretty traumatised too, by the size of the vet bill.

Am pleased to report that the tail now seems almost normal and Cooper is on sparkling bird chasing, mouse molesting form (oh the joy of wrestling mangled mice in varying states of disrepair from him).

He has also decided that home is actually quite a good place to be, even with the building work his comfy chair by the fire seems appealing. Now he's recovered he likes to check up on the builders, a self appointed quality control inspector. He also appears to have strong views on power tools, specifically that they shouldn't be used when he wants a sleep and screeches at the builders to explain this to them.

In his self appointed Site Inspector role he prowls daily and so far he's been

1) rescued from a skip, thankfully before it was en route to Doncaster.

2) relocated to the house from his attempts to investigate the cement mixer (yes it was on at the time)

3) extracted from having a kip on the scaffolding lorry

Oh yes and then there was the whole incident with the wall tie drilling where Cooper appeared wholly convinced that he could stare Al out and the annoying noise would stop. It's enough to drive a girl to drink, even that Elderberry wine stuff that our Adie's mum makes.Ssh don't tell my consultant.

The upshot of Cooper's new home obsession took on an interesting new twist recently with the builders breaking through from the new extension to the current house. As I said on Twitter a bit like the Berlin wall coming down only with more cups of tea and hob nobs. That night you see Cooper came upstairs to investigate with us ( I suspect all day he'd been thinking "WTF, why is my house vibrating" and it was as I say as though Cooper had found a secret new dimension.

His sense of wonder was not dissimilar to the kids in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when they found aforementioned wardrobe. You could almost see him pausing and pondering the new dimension sort of like "OMG how did I never notice this bit before" debating whether he could really have missed a whole area of house to hide in for all this time or was it, oh yes far more likely, a portal had opened up to a new world, very Doctor Who. (he likes Doctor Who, except for the Daleks, he thinks they need to be terminated and is convinced there's a doorway at the back of the TV where he can get in and do for them and one day he'll find it , oh yes)

A full investigation of the new world was needed, which involved lots of panther like stalking around and sniffing. Of course I supervised and intervened where appropriate which interjections including "Cooper don't snort the cement" and "Cooper leave the cabling alone". then slightly more forceful "Cooper get the hell out from behind the bath".

I know what you're thinking "He's a cat, he won't know what you're saying" and yes I know that, I do, but I still talk to him the way my friends speak to their kids when they're being bratty. The investigation of the new dimension took some time of course because Cooper likes to be thorough. So I must confess on the third or maybe fourth stalk around the circumference of the room I reached breaking point, in need of a cup of tea and a nice chocolate digestive I stomped off and left him to it.

It wasn't that long, I promise, I'd finished the tea and the biscuit, well maybe three or four actually and then wondered where he was. So went to check and nope, nowhere to be seen not in the extenison, not in the bedrooms (not even under the beds),hadn't gone to dribble on my clothes in the wardrobe either and wasn't cuddled up with the printer (don't ask it makes him happy).

And then I heard a little cry, a Cooper whiny, "help me" sort of cry. Thing was where the hell was it coming from??. In the end I traced the sound back to the extension, not behind the bath or in the cement bag. There was nowhere else was there? Er oh yes a new built in wardrobe type thingy (yes I do have ideas above my station) and in there was a pile of wood, (well I suppose they sort of tidied up) and the cries came from there. Cooper was retrieved and scuttled of squeaking, presumably about the dangers of weird rooms that appear from nowehere and wood piles left therein.

Ever since then he views the new rooms with great suspicion and peers at them a lot through the new hall. He has also decided that I can't possibly take the risk of being left there unattended, so whenever I go for a bath now he stalks up to check on me. It's quite unnerving to be happy in your bubble bath and a squeaking thing appears, clambers onto the side of the bath an peers at you) Oh the glamour.

I am confident that the builder will put some doors on though soon as I know that "It'll be reet". Well at some point, hopefully this year even.

And here he is, in black and white, very reportage don't you think?. Best pop off now I hear the sound of approaching builders best make sure Coopers not trying to rob their breakfast bacon barms.Though his present obsession is the compost bin, don't ask I have no clue as to why. TTFN.x

Orange Blossom Girl

I have a slight obsession with smell. Not in a weird way (well I don't think so anyway). I remember at school having to write a piece about favourite smells and while most of my friends moaned and groaned about it I was secretly happy as anything. I could have gone on for pages and I can still remember what I wrote 9i won't bore you).

Recently an invite popped up on Facebook for 5 favourite smells and I of course faithfully filled it in. I thought later that perhaps my friends wouldn't be quite as rivetted by this information as I am but it was too late (apologies everyone).

Smells to me you see, are memories.They conjour back times past, sometimes good, sometimes bad.

Someone queried my choice of tomatoes as a favourite smell on my FB list and I duly explained why it had been selected.

The smell reminds me of my Uncle Arthur (not an Uncle by blood and before the Peter Kay fans amongst you ask, no he didn't once lend my dad an orbital sander). Uncle Arthur taught me how to plant tomatoes and tomato plants smell lovely.

Every year I plant tomato plants and I think of Uncle Arthur and sunshine and greenhouses and Uncle Charles (his brother, they lived together, sadly never married so sort of liked having me about).

After tomato planting we would always have tea in proper china cups (a big deal for a very little girl) being trusted with proper china cups with pink flowers and gold leaf on the handles and saucers and everything. Then of course there was shortbread, because that was Uncle Charles' favourite biscuit in the whole world.

So that's why I always have and always will love the smell of tomatoes, it's not an affectation, it's a memory. A lovely warm and cuddly one. Don't worry I won't go through them all but you can look them up if you really want to and if you want the backstory, well just ask.

Somebody asked me once what my signature scent was, every woman should have one apparently , a fact which had escaped me for most of my life.

Just one? , oh dear I will admit to being a perfume junkie with a rather vast array of fragrances (it was sort of approaching 50 when I did a recent consolidation - oops).Ranging from Chanel (No5, Crystal and Coco, oh yes and Chance) to the cheap and cheerful Lime , Vetiver and Mandarin (from Sainsburys actually and delicious).

But an actual signature scent?, er no. But perhaps she was right so the quest began, a while ago, (I'm not an especially decisive person- unless I'm being paid to be of course).

Then I remembered, the perfect place discovered a few years ago the world of Jo Malone, in the sparkly new Harvey Nichols (yes I know it's an utter betrayal of my roots etc) but it sort of amused me, being scruffy little me, wandering about amongst the footballers wife types.

Oh yes Jo Malone, truly lovely, a haven of wafty gorgeousness. Over the years I have experimented with sprays of every fragrance stocked. Heaven.

Two main fragrances always grabbed me. Orange Blossom being the first, Vintage Gardenia the second. There was an unexpected late entry Grapefruit which against all the odds I love. (I actually hate the taste of grapefruit passionately, its horrid and bitter and it stings your tongue, yuck.

Not in the running for a scent for me, not the real me, perfect for the world of work though to which it will be consigned).

Recently I was forced to make a final decision, with birthday and Christmas looming. So I did.

Orange Blossom. I guess the title of the post is kind of a giveaway.

The reason I loved orange blossom? Again its the memories it holds.

I love oranges, they're very happy fruits don't you think? They're round of course , a very pleasing shape I find and a bit squidgy and juicy. The colour orange always makes me smile too its a so what I'm loud and proud and no one is going to get me down sort of colour.

I recall orange lollies, all juicy and drip down your chinny, sundresses and daisychains and sticking out orange tongues. Then later came Sun lollies, the curiously pyramid shaped ones with no stick, revolutionary in their time a little bit daring and therefore very me.

I'll always remember eating oranges with my friend Sue, she always had oranges. She liked them lots and shared them with me, sitting on the window sill at school, long navy blue socked legs dangling over the radiators.

Sometimes we'd sit in the cloakrooms and eat oranges, those were the hiding away from the nasty girls days.Sometimes we'd sit on the grass outside under the tree at the edge of the playing field in the sun or sometimes even in the rain.

Sue liked oranges and in the start I liked oranges because she liked oranges. In the end though I liked oranges too. Very much.

I miss her, I've missed her for nearly twenty years now. I still think about her when I eat an orange and remember her smiling in the sun.

In Mallorca one of my most favourite Islands in the world unexpectedly I went to Soller on the rickety train which sort of just about clings to the side of the mountains. I remember the orange groves because Soller is the home of the loveliest of spanish oranges and the smell of them everywhere, drinking the freshest juice in the world sitting in the square. One day I want to live there, me and my scruffy dog (though she's not much on sun and she gets smellier when sweaty) with a garden full of orange trees (maybe a few lemons too , oh yes and some olives). What can I say , got to have a dream. I think Sue would have liked Soller too. I wish she'd been there to.

For me then oranges hold fond memories of special people and sunny days, so in the end the decision was easy. So Orange Blossom it was. It was still a surprise though, that it arrived on my birthday , nestling in its lovely creamy box with its big black bow, orangey loveliness from the second you open the bag (they spray that too).

So, here I am, in my happy orange blossom haze, dreaming of sunshine and smiles, the perfect signature scent for me I think.

"It be reet"

That's the phrase de jour at the moment in these parts. Initially it was a phrase uttered daily, but now it creeps into conversation up to two or three times at every tea break chat. "Who utters is?" I hear you cry and "Why, pray tell?" and for those of you who do not live in close proximity to the Yorkshire border "What on earth does that mean?". To answer, in order, (I like order):

- it is Big Al (our very lovely builder's) favourite phrase

- because the build is not yet finished but it will be, oh yes, and very likely this year

- a translation would be "do not fret my dear, everything will be alright, fine and dandy. Be assured that one day soon you will have actual running water, central heating and there will no longer be a gale force wind blowing through the holes I made in the wall"

Whilst a positive person who can usually find the bright side in most things even I am struggling to with this. Before you start tutting and decrying me as a drama queenie queen I wish to put forward the evidence.

Exhibit A (wow that takes me back) my rather lovely kitchen. The slightly jaunty angle of the sink may be seen as a design feature in some circles but does not exactly make washing up easy). You can see that even Cooper, the bandy psycho serial killer puss looks slightly perturbed). Making dinner know is a rather complex process involving utilising the dining room (which currently has half the bathroom fittings in it), the living room and on occassion the hallway. Lovely.

Exhibit A: Boho chic?



On the bright side I am becoming quite the little expert in one pot cooking.

Exhibit B the bathroom, well this is of course the true shocker. Discovered just after midnight on return from a trip to Dublin. In terms of toilets I have always been of a slightly sensitive disposition. This girl doesn't do camping or portaloos and whilst environmetally conscious and a lover of eco friendly housing don't even say the word compost toilet unless you want me to break out in hives).

The toilet had been moved to where the new one would be and the sink removed, yes removed as in no sink. I think its then that the panic attack started (breath, remeber to breath). The old toilet waste pipe which I have to say looked slightly crusty was still there, oh joy, giving us an interesting air conditioning system (aka howling gale). The skylight will be lovely of that I have no doubt, but it is unnerving to have a breeze coming through (it plays havoc with a girls scented candles humph) and the occassional plopping sound from manky bits of plaster dropping into the bath bubbles causes me to sulky pout (which isn't good for a girls wrinkles).

Exhibit B bathtime au naturel



It actually doesn't look as bad as it truly is, but out of shot is manky waste pipe, which I have put a bag over to kill some of the breeze coming through, which unfortunately has created a sort of mini bagpipe type thing. Trust me it is a little unnerving when you are happy on the throne and a gust of wind inflates the bag. I may draw a little face on it to make it friendlier.

Bright side, people pay thousands for the hot/cold buzz of the hammam an effect which can be acheived by simply stepping out of my bath into the breeze. Equally mud baths are very de rigeur and platers plopping into the tub is similar right?.

As for the heating system, at the moment we're still shovelling coal, good for the abs obviously but hardly glamorous. Still I must confess I do like a nice coal fire, very cosy.

But don't worry people because "It be reet".

Speaking of which, I guess I should make more tea. Strong enough to stand brushes in appears to be the preference and I may also hand over some of the choccies (Miniature Heros) not the Creme Egg twisted ones though (yum), ooh and I do like the Twirl's too - but otherwise I will share.

I know in the end it will in fact "Be reet" in fact and don't worry I won't be "avin a Benny".

TTFN xx

Feeling cheesey

Cheese for me has always been a very special thing. Let's face it as a vegetarian there are few culinary joys in life (in the minds of meat eaters anyway). For me though cheese has always been a source of comfort. My dad used to make me cheese and pickle sandwiches (with the crusts cut off) when I was little, (not a big cook my dad but most engineering types aren't as a rule). He also introduced me to the chip and cheese butty of course which in the true spirit of pushing the boundaries I evolved to include chilli sauce and mayonnaise. As an aside which just popped into my head I also discovered that the best vinegar for application to homecooked chips is that taken out of the pickled onion jar (Mamma Clowes got me into that one).

Macaroni cheese I remember being a massive revelation, (the Midlands during my childhood were not exactly a hotbed of cosmopolitan eating you see) but I remember being truly happy with my first one, eaten at a Bernie Steakhouse if I recall correctly. To this day it is still my comfort food of choice for those rubbish days when its dark and grey and the coal man hasn't delivered and the dog's decided to investigate the dirtiest ditch in the dale and the cat of course has decided to bring me a semi dead sparrow as a special present).

I could go on forever about cheesey oatcakes (a Staffordshire delicacy) of oozing cheese and onion loveliness which never fails to conjour up home, scuffed knees and scratches from tree climbing and wanting to dash out again to make a den with childhood chums. Listen to Kate Nash's Pistacchio Nut poem and you'll get the same vibe.

Cheese scones (another recipe from the ever fabulous and sorely missed Miss B). Cheese fondue with the girlies after far too much chardonnay and cabernet, those fondue forks can be slightly tricky when a little too much vino has been inbibed.

More recently happy memories of Borough Market perusing a yummy selection and thinking its nice to know there are other people as nutty about cheese as me.

Lincoln I must admit is a hotbed of cheesy loveliness with its Farmers markets, numerous purveyors of cheese and the fabulous Cheese Society which is a wonderful place to people watch and wonder about what people do.

Before I run the risk of driving evryone nuts on the subject of cheese it may be best to end this post, especially as I am now pondering cheese and trucklement combos, a debate that could go on for hours. Here however is my favourite recipe for a particularly lovely cheese souffle. I like it with watercress salad drizzled with a balsamic dressing (sorry if that makes me sound pretentious I'm not) and buttery new potatoes on the side.

I'm off shortly as I have a sudden craving for cheese on toast, with brown sauce on the side. Even the though of it makes my mouth water.

So here is the recipe, for Double Baked gruyere cheese souffle
Double Baked Gruyere Cheese Souffle

Makes 10 (approximately) depending on the size of the ramekins – but they freeze really well

Ingredients:
8 fl oz full fat milk
8 fl oz double cream
4 oz cornflour
3 oz butter
4 eggs whole
4 eggs – separated/whites whipped
500g Gruyere cheese - grated
2 heaped tablespoon finely chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
Butter to grease ramekins

For Sauce per soufflé

2 fl oz double cream
Dessertspoon grated Parmesan cheese

Method:
•Butter the ramekins and sprinkle the insides with grated Parmesan. Put a baking dish filled with hot water in the oven at 180oC ready to cook the soufflés in a hot water bath (bain marie)
•Gently melt butter in large non- stick pan and stir in flour to make a roux. Gradually add the milk & cream mixture until you have a thick sauce.
•Add grated cheese to mixture and stir over gentle heat until the sauce is smooth. Put to one side and cool slightly.
•Stir in beaten whole eggs and extra egg yolks. It may look like it has separated at this stage but keep going!
•Whisk up egg whites and gradually fold into the mixture.
•Season to taste.
•Finally add chopped parsley and stir through gently.
•Gently fill ramekins to the top with the soufflé mixture and bake for 20 minutes at 180oC until brown and well risen.
•Allow to cool and then turn out onto a tray. The soufflés can be frozen at this stage or kept in a fridge for 2 days.

To Double bake:
•Turn the soufflé out into an ear dish, the brown top on the base of the dish.
•Pour enough double cream over the soufflé to come to about ½” up the soufflé.
•Sprinkle the whole dish thickly with grated Parmesan cheese and bake at 180oC for about 10-15mins or until the cream thickens and the soufflé is nicely glazed.
•The soufflés can be cooked from frozen, but allow an additional 15-20 minutes in the oven to ensure that the soufflé is completely hot.
•Serve with a green salad and crusty bread to mop up the sauce.


I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and maybe raise a toast to me, your absent friend as you enjoy this little dish one winters eve

Scruffy's favourite chocolate brownies

Here's a recipe for a certain scruffy dogs favourite chocolate brownies. They were actually birthday brownies for my dad and don't worry she only got a tiny bit.

Ingredients
• 375 g soft unsalted butter
• 375 g best quality dark chocolate (I like the Lindt 85% stuff myself)
• 6 large eggs
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 500 g caster sugar
• 225 g plain flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 300 g chopped walnuts

Directions
Preheat the oven to 180°C.

Line your approx 33 x 23 x 5 1/2cm brownie pan with foil or baking paper.

Melt the butter and chocolate together in a large heavy based saucepan.

In a bowl beat the eggs with the sugar and vanilla.

Measure the flour into another bowl and add the salt.

When the chocolate mixture has melted, let it cool a bit before beating in the eggs and sugar mixture, and then the nuts and flour.

Beat to combine and then scrape out of the saucepan into the lined brownie pan.

Bake for about 25 minutes.

When its's ready, the top should be dried to a paler brown speckle, but the middle still dark and dense and gooey.

Keep checking the brownies as they cook; remember that they will continue to cook as they cool.

The Magic of Mushrooms

This little discovery made me smile, so I hope it does that for you too. On a recent walk with scruffbag I came across a field filled with mushrooms. They hadn't been there the day before but suddenly, as if by magic they had appeared overnight. Glistening little white domes, littering the field as if sprinkled on from on high.

For some reason mushrooms alwasy make me smile, they seem such improbable things that don't quite look real. I suppose I remember them from kids cartoons, the Magic Roundabout and Chorlton and the Wheelies spring to mind. (I never bought into the toadies being evil in Chorlton by the way, always thought they were being manipulated by that witchy Fenella). Well anyway, I suppose for that reason they make me smile.

Mushrooms of course are rather lovely to eat too, big juicy portobello ones with garlic and butter and parsley. Or tiny button ones just fried in butterall dripping juices over buttery toast. Yummy. Far too risky to try eating these of course, good heavens knows whether they're the edible sort or the type which may have effects on me which whilst I'm sure would be pleasant may cause the neighbours to talk (and we can't have that now can we!).

Of course I had to scamper off (slightly confused scruffbag in tow to get the camera) and then (much to aforementioned dog's bemusement) happily snapping away lying in the mud.

So here they are, a little selection of my mushroom snaps. I hope they make you smile too x

>Mushroom, with an intersting cloud behind ;-)



Experimenting with colour saturation for a spacey effect :-)




Aaah mushrooms, easily pleased me!

Dubin and the supermassive Muse

There's always been something wonderful about Dublin for me, like going home. I suppose that's because in some ways it is. So a recent visit back was just what I needed to raise a smile. We stayed at Dylans, a lovely hotel no doubt but filled with staff who look like they should be on the cover of Vogue at the very least. Yes indeed a tad intimidating for someone like me, who frankly resembles something that's been dragged through a hedge backwards and slapped more than a few times with the ugly stick. Still, a couple of medicinal cocktails got me through the first evening.

The next day was spent happily wandering around the city with regular stops for Guiness (well a girl has to keep her iron levels topped up, lunch at the ever lovely O'Neills and of course a couple of hours listening to the Guitarman at the Temple Bar Inn.

It didn't really matter that it rained, because we were rewarded with a lovely rainbow.



Muse at the O2 were fantastic, an explosion of colour and sound filling the arena and an excellent set covering all my favourite tunes from the ever fabulous Supermassive Black Hole to Uprising. A truly excellent night.



Topped off with a chilli chocolate martini at the Morgan which has still got to be one of my favourite places for a cheeky cocktail or two.

Saturday was another day of wandering around, visits to Brown Thomas and Avoca to window shop. A visit to Bewleys off course and a trip the the National Gallery where my favourites were a portrait by James Hanley and the lovely works of Paul Henry capturing the beauty of Ireland.

This little entry in no way does justice to the wonderful Dublin, but I guess I'm feeling distinctly flat today, an overshaken bottle of lemonadey kind of week, lost my fizz.

xoxo

Run Rabbit Run

Country girl has always had a fondness for rabbits, possibly as her first pet was a rather chunky black bunny.

Some thoughts on rabbits

Living in the country its problematic to like them, particularly given the veritable hatred that farmers have for them (those holes can be problems for the cows apparently). There are the regulars who like to kill them of course, generally accountants and stockbroker types with a bloodlust or weird yokels. Quite why sending a terrier down a warren is something that grown men should consider acceptable is quite beyond me.

In view of my quaint opinions, Pappa Country Boy tends to warn me now when neighbouring farmer typee has consented to a kill so that I can avoid the area.

Initially I thought this was rather sweet. That he was mindful of my animal hugging sensibilities. It transpired however, one sherry fuelled Sunday that he was worried about

a)the fact that Scruffbag slightly resembles a fox and one gun happy local loon may apply bullet to dog and/or

b)that Scruffbag being some percentage terrier may herself feel the need to join in some rabbit hunting, in which case I would at the very least withdraw her Bonio privileges and possible cart her straight back to the sanctuary and/or

c)having heard about an "incident" after the kill my first year living here, Pappa was concerned about protecting the local gun toting loons from little moi.

"How come?" I here you cry. Well in summary, Country girl and Scruffbag walking past the pub, rabbit killers sitting outside having pints, (knew they were rabbit killers from presence of rabbits(dead), terriers (a bit bloodied and hyper), guns (yes indeed) and combat wear (no idea perhaps they think it looks good on them?).

Anyway, bunny killers clearly wanted female attention and attempted to attract passing Country Girl's, who promptly ignored them - well I would, my name isn't babe and I'm not a dog so don't respond to whistling. Sadly Scruffbag does and at least gave them a wag and pulled towards them.

At this point, me dragging her away, still ignoring bunny killing blokes a particularly gross ginger one said something along the lines of "what sort of fucking dog is that, I might shoot that thing".

The wrong thing to say? Yes indeedy and he was treated to a rather Mancunian version of my thoughts on his bunny murdering and general inbred lack of intellect before I stomped off.

Anyway an acquaintance of Poppa Country Boy's relayed the deeply amusing tale to him and he off course guessed that mad girl with scruffy dog was little me. End result those bunny killers now not allowed anywhere near Poppa's land and neighbouring farmer typee not impressed by their lack of courtesy to a young lady has also told them to desist. (he gets his son and mates to sort it now - don't even get me started on my views on this one as he took his four year old to a kill).

Anyway that's that bit explained.Right where were we? Oh yes and /or

d) despite being a true country born and bred type Pappa Country Boy is a tad cuddly and really doesn't like bunny killing himself.

As much as I disapprove of the sport, or the cruelty increasingly I do understand that they can be a problem if numbers aren't kept down. A true dilemma for me.

The other side however of the bunny death debate is that similarly it is sadly not unusual for Country girl to stumble across a bunny with myxamotosis (its on Wiki if you really want to know but its truly horrid) and the dilemma is then of course that the kindest thing is to put them out of their misery. Country boy has done this in the past but would never do it in front of me of course. But for the record despite my initial horror I actually applaud him for having the courage to do it , a true act of kindness rather than leaving them to die an agonising death over days if not weeks.

This weekend (and the point of this tale which has rather deviated was an occurrence this weekend).

Sunday of course, so off for Sunday dinner. I was dawdling rather, taking snaps of the orchard and blackberries - yes I do need to get out more), partly to delay the impending enforced sherry fest.

Rabbit Rescue

Then it happened, I heard a frenzied squeaking, looked up and saw a whirling ball of fur speeding down the orchard. The squeaking was quite ear piercing and definitely a sign of something being hurt. Scruff bag had heard it too and was running in the direction of the fur ball. What could I do? something had to be done, I shrieked at Scruffbag and the as yet unidentified fur ball and ran after it. Country boy came running too and beat me to the fur bundle. My shrieks continued (loud enough it transpires to move Mamma Country boy to leave the car racing on TV and come see what was happening).

I had Scruffbag back under control, though she was still hyped having seen fur which let's face it she wanted to chase. My screams and the presence of Scruffbag and Country boy meant the fur ball split in two. One half ran off, a blur of brown, identified by country boy as a stoat (should have guessed that they were the nasty ones in Wind of the Willows weren't they??). The other half just lay there on the ground. I rushed over still shouting at Scruffbag to leave while Country boy checked it was OK, standing rather pointedly to obstruct my view just in case it wasn't). But the second half of the fur ball was fine, a bit dazed and confused but otherwise fine. He was duly picked up by Country Boy to check over and confirmed as just fine.

With camera still in hand I took a snap, (no flash of course can't scare bunny), and here he is below:



We parked him back on the grass and after a little rest and a chomp of grass he scampered off. And we scampered off too, mainly to reassure Momma Country Boy that we weren't having a domestic in her orchard.


TTFN.

Cupcakes

There's something about cupcakes that always make me smile. I remember my first cupcake,I suppose every girl does!. It was a chocolate one, with shiny chocolate icing, a truly lovely deepest dark brown kind of icing that makes you go mmmm before its even in sniffing distance. Evere since they have seemed special, imbued with some magical quality guaranteed to raise a smile during even the darkest of days.

So I was rather pleased today to stumble on a new market stall in local town. There it was sprung from nowhere, opposite the plant stall and down from the bags.Sitting there, looking all lovely were homemade bundles of cupcake gorgeousness. Pink ones, brown ones, white ones all in lovely flavours strawberry, chocolate, vanilla. Yum. Brought a smile to my face straight away and of course a purchase had to be made.

Decisions decisions but the final selection was one Malibu & Lime and one Chocolate & Orange.

Malibu & Lime and Chocolate Orange cupcakes.

Lovely they were too. The Malibu & Lime, smelled delicious and it was a lovely coconut tinged sponge, with the dreamiest of butter cream toppings which hid a limey tang. The chocolate sponge was equally fantastic a lovely bittersweet sensation with orange icing laced with Cointreau for a little extra spicy punch. Scruffbag was very taken with both, but chocolate hound that she is her tail wagged at the first waft she caught on the breeze of that particular delight.

So on dark days or down days or even bad dog days, I would recommend a cupcake, maybe even two with a nice cup of tea. Or even on a good day, trust me the sun will shine brighter after a cupcake.

TTFN

XX

The Curious Incident of the Cows

"Meat is Murder" a classic tune and Morrissey had a profound effect on Country Girl who, as you know, is a dedicated follower of lentil chomping. Recently however Country Girl has come to question whether there are some animals that deserve a good roasting.

Pray why? I hear you cry - what could have happened to dear Country Girl to make such evil thoughts cross her innocent little fluffy mind. To explain dear friends I must explain the Curious Incident of the Cows.

Country Boy's father has an orchard which requires regular mowing and as he has not yet identified a suitably fun mowing method (he's thinking quad bike plus attachment - OMG quadruple the life insurance) the current method involves cows. Not his cows of course , borrowed cows from a local farming type. Last year Country Girl loved the cows, and the cows loved Country Girl and indeed I fully expected a fluffy, furry love in again this year. As you will see that little dream was to crash and burn.

I suppose to be fair I was warned, or rather not warned just given a vague hint by Pappa Country Boy. Something about, if the cows come after the dog let her off the lead and something about a stampede in Scotland of mad cows. Country girl had dim recollections of the details , yes it was Sunday lunch and yes sherry was involved.

And so it came to pass, last week Country Girl and thankfully as it transpires Country Boy wandering with Scruffbag across the orchard.

No cows it seemed,must be in the Little Orchard we thought. That it transpires is what they wanted us to think.

Country boy had wandered off to pick some plums , men and their plums what can I say. Leaving Country Girl to wander prosaically amongst the trees. (Country girl doesn't really wander prosaically, a little artistc licence here).

Then suddenly a ginger blur shot forward Scruffbag running like a greyhound on speed. (there's def some lurcher in her somehwere) pursued by a cow.

Country girl chortled (bad dog mummy.) But the chortling stopped when she glanced round to discover that the whole cow family of about 20 stroppy adolescents were stalking Scruffbag and by proxy country girl. Stalking i tell you, it was all quite sinister. They had a scary glint in their eyes and they were descending quicker and quicker in my direction. Country girl started to move quicker and quicker and so did the cows, holy heaven it was like some scene out of Benny Hill. Poor country girl relentlessly pursued.

It was at that point that a most un country girl like noise was expelled. A sort of shriek to Country Boy. It was all very Penelope Pitstop ("Hayulp, Hayulp"). Thankfully Country Boy sprung Superman like into action, waving and shouting at the cows to save his fair Princess Country Girl, who got quite doe eyed. Knight in shining rugby shirt those cows retreated sharpish to chomp some grass. (Yeah right and probably plot world domination I reckon).

"They're more frightened of you, just have to show them whose in charge" said Country Boy. The exchange after or rather ranting from Country girl was something like the following.

"More frightened off me? Where the *bleep* did he get that bunch from *bleeping bleep* psychos? That lot, should have *bleeping* ASBO's. They nearly killed my dog *bleeping bleeps*"

and then to the cows, yes the actual cows and yes I know they don't understand me.

"Stuff vegetarianism, you'se lot should be straight off to slaughter. I don't even eat you but I might make a *bleeping* exception *bleepers*" (Country Girl always goes more Manc in times of crisis so imagine accent acordingly)

And the cheek of them they mooed.

Country boy knew better than to laugh loudly but there was guffawing as I was escorted to the safety of the house. Humph reckon those devils have wire cutters and a plot to get through the leccy fence myself so don't reckon on safety for long.

The tale was duly recounted to Pappy and Mommy Country Boy who did what they always do in a crisis. You guessed it open the sherry.

PS. the photo is not of the actual cows, country girl didn't quite have the strength to photograph as she did her girly terror run.

So long Mika

Well its month end which means just one thing for Country girl, weigh in and measurement time. I have been on a diet you see, over the last six months and every month I report in my results to my weight loss group. This month I feel happy to report the results are most pleasing and I thought I'd share them with you too.

"Big Girls you are Beautiful" was the tune that inspired my weight loss the most annoying song in pop history ever (yes even more so that Timmy Mallett and his Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Hammer or whatever. Normally I like camp but in Mika's case I am happy to make an exception, him and his patronising pap warblings. For those of you who aren't aware (though I believe his annoying fluffiness has been spread worldwide) this is him below:



Well it was partly him anyway, the other factors were my mother with her constant "I'm not saying your fat" comments and the realisation that blonde Tracey wasn't actually being nice when she said "it must be so nice to be someone who doesn't care what they look like" She was in fact being a total cow but was too spineless to use the f word (as in fat) to my face.

Yes quite. Anyway back to me and my phemonenal weight loss which has made me very pleased inded. Scores on the doors as below people.

Total weight loss: 31 lbs (14 kilos) or as I see it 6 hulking great bags of potatoes!! Which begs the question where was I hiding it all, I know I wear cuddly jumpers but please!

Total inch loss as follows:

Chest 4 inches

Waist 7.5 inches

Hips 4.75 inches

Total inch loss 30.5 inches

I didn't feel that people were quite deserving of pics of my semi naked form (could induce nightmares) So have included my virtual weight loss model below to give you some idea of the body shape change:



It actually hasn't been as hard as I thought, just basically giving up alcohol, my three bags of crisps and chocolate habit and no more scoffing bloke sized portions of food (working with engineers should carry a health warning I swear!). Suppose it is as simple as Eat less, Exercise more.

For the first time in a long time I feel I look OK thanks very much. Long may it last!

Here's a link to Mika's song for anyone feeling brave (Country girl did warn you though remember!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdbBSnRxOmE

Something concrete

Hurray, today was concrete day and the trenches have been filled courtesy of two mixers full of grey porridgey gloop. Country girl's very pleased indeed, never thought concrete could be so exciting, but after years of waiting to sort this place out, it is.

Slightly concerned that Cooper is not anywhere to be seen but pretty sure he's not daft enough to end up concreted. He's not is he??

Not quite sure whether I should tell the builders that I spotted they had left their tape measure in the trench (they'd started pouring so it was kind of too late for me to save it). Just hoping Cooper shows up soon. He might be a bandy legged, bird chomping psycho but he's my bandy legged, bird chomping psycho.

Will go check in case there are any purring sounds coming from the vicinity.

XOXO

OMG just to warn you in advance the bricklayer starts next week, will be well over excited then !

Trenchfoot anyone?

Country girl was aware of course that building work was taking place (what with the mini digger and everything). But when she finally stepped out of the back door last night to take Scruffbag for her walk the full extent of it became clear. Deja vu for Country girl who felt magically transported back in time. There I was, back on that school field trip to Belgium or France or wherever it was (may have been both actually). You know, the one with the war trenches and stuff. Even if you didn't go on the exact same jaunt as Country girl I think it was pretty standard fair for all secondary school kids of our generation so you'll be on the same page.

So, there I was, in what was my garden but which know appeared to be a First World War trench (in case you think I'm exaggerating , as if country girl ever would, I refer you to exhibit A below)




Distinctly battlefieldy don't you think?

For those of you who actually went on the trip I'm sure you'll agree all I needed was Miss Hulse and Mrs Richardson there in matching kaggies bellowing "Come on gals next stop Ypres" and the scene would be complete.

As ever so many worries for Country girl.

Will she shortly receive a visit from the Time Team posse wanting to geophys her lawn?

How long will it be before a)Scruffbag or b) Cooper or c)Our lovely postlady or indeed all three of them require rescuing from one of the holes?. Where is A&E round here anyway (better look that one up)?

Also, with all this rain will it became an actual moat and as I already said what about trenchfoot for the builders (and could they sue me for it when they dug the hole mmm an interesting legal query methinks).

That just prompted another ponder, can cats get trenchfoot? Miss Hulse and Mrs Richardson never covered that. Off to check. TTFN

Masham - a most Peculier day

Country girl was delighted when her bestest University friend decided to visit. Aussie boy as he will be for the purposes of this blog having travelled back to the UK for a wedding, popped up North for a few days.

It was a truly glorious day, the sun shining bright, so car was packed up and a happy country boy and girl, Ginger Dave, Aussie boy and Scruffbag headed up the A1 to Masham in Yorkshire. The reason for the little visit of course was to visit a lovely town which created Aussie boys favourite brew, the treacly loveliness that is Theakston's Old Peculier.

Masham itself a beautiful market town was all the more lovely being bathed in sun. First stop of course was the White Bear Hotel refreshments all round Aussie boy happy with his pint of OP and proper cheese and pickle butty, (which apparently can be hard to come by in New South Wales). Delicious handcut chips were shared, prompting a cheery wag from Scruffbag who can be most particular in potato related matters.



Next stop was the Theakston's Brewery itself for a quick look around, the Hop Arch which lead to the yard smelt beautiful, a herby sweetness in the sun. The yard itself filled with the coopers hard work ready to store the freshly brewed ale and the onsite pub with a sparkling array of Theakston's most splendid ales made for a cheery break.



Next was a walk around the lovely village of Masham itself, down through the square past a Butchers shop proudly display its "Guarunteed killed on site" sign. Than a quick stop at Bah Humbugs with its stash of old style sweeties for the purchase of supplies for the walk, (cola cubes, fruit rock and liquorice for Dave). Our happy little party also enjoyed some ice creams. Country girl was particularly pleased with her wild cherry cornet, a delectable purpley sweetness perfect for a summers day.


Refreshed we continued down through the churchyard, across the fragrant wheatfields to walk along the river a happy Scruffbag delightedly exploring every corner, a truly tail wagging day. With the sun still high in the sky , we decided to rest a while by the river and take a paddle to cool off. A truly beautiful spot and the perfect place to wriggle tired toes in the lovely cool water. Country girl was perhaps not the most sure footed of paddlers, but found a perfect rock to rest on! Scruffbag amused herself with some paddling, duck scaring and cuddling up to ginger Dave whom she even allowed to put sunglasses on her.



After the much needed rest the walk continued back through the lush green pastures, past curious ponies who hoped for a Polo and back to the village before heading home.



A truly lovely day. Back at home Country girls present to Aussie boy (a cask of his favourite OP was shared over a delicious Thai, eaten outside in the sun. On such delicious days country girl feels happy in her little idyll, but she suspects that it was the presence of her friend that made her day.

Country girl believes that friends are the most precious of things, the ones who can tell you when you've done something silly , who know that you aren't perfect but love you anyway. The ones who wipe away the tears when someone careless hurts your heart and don't care if you lost your job or that the dog is smelly and has fleas. And in her dear friend Aussie boy country girl struck the richest of gold reserves.

Sitting in the garden, chimenea ablaze, OP in hand and a very tired Scruffbag happily dreaming of her adventures of the day I was very happy indeed, troubles forgotten for the day.

Kitchen sink dramas

Country girl just faced a challenge of earth shattering dimensions, in the most unexpected of places. The kitchen showroom to be precise.

As you will know, the very core of my inner turmoil and indeed the very reason for this blog, is the never ending city , country tug of love. But in matters of the kitchen (and indeed interior design generally) this country girl has been the most resolute of souls, a staunch modernist, clean and classic lines. "Forget this country twee bollox" was the battle cry "its gleaming modern gorgeousness for my little housey".

And indeed it was, creamy gloss handle free gorgeousness, strategically placed nightclub inspired lighting loveliness all round. Not so much a kitchen as a cocktail bar with ovens perhaps. But then it happened, country girl had passed another kitchen place and spied another shiny modern kitchen and got chatting to the owner, who seemed very sweet and slightly bored. So when he offered to do a design "that would be fabulous" was the reply. Just another option right? Yes well.

The trauma came this morning when country girl visited again, the design was lovely, rather traditional perhaps but well, functional. But then , in a chat with the design man he turned to an oak shaker style bespoke type set up. "Now" he said "I know you want modern but something likes this is very much what they like round your way". And the sales pitch began. Within 5 minutes he'd conjoured up a rural idyll of me making jam, surrounded by cheery chocolate smeared kiddies imported straight from the Boden catalogue. It was a biscuit baking heaven where Scruffbag would be a beautifully trained model of canine perfection and Cooper would return from his psychotic flight of fancy to adorable kittendom. Country girl, the epicentre and matriarch of a Larkin style clan happy in her WI bubble.

See you're picturing it aren't you? Lures you in, you can almost smell the strawberries bubbling I bet. Just about to ask me to pass a scone?

So there it was ,OMG country girl in meltdown on the verge of a total 360 giving kitchen man a blank cheque to create an oak filled cottage heaven.

But then it came, the nearest thing to a religious experience that country girl is likely to have - the rather booming voice of country boy (aka him indoors) which said "Lovely Roger, something my mum would like definitely, but a bit country twee bollocks for me". (which is where I stole the earlier line from).

Country girl wishes her readers to note that country boy was not being impolite to Roger that's how these close to Yorkshire border types are).

Anyway, the response from country girl at this point surprised even her, clearly the Boden baby fantasy sequence had upset the delicate chemical balance. And out it popped "No Rogers right, completely, its far more cottagey, what were we thinking,we'd have ruined the house, no one would ever buy it and they'd all think it was awful". Oh dear, oh deary dear in fact.

The look on country boys face was quite a picture, he had that look he gets when someone asks him if he supports Man United. Oh dear and the only response a sort of humph noise, which is never good.

An impasse was reached. A slightly horrified country boy decided country girl needed some city girl injection of some sort before contracts were signed. But holy hell what to do, cocktails at 10am frowned upon in these parts, coffee shop the only answer, which was of course the suggestion made so we could "review things". Roger was bid a fond cheerio. "Don't worry" he said "it happens. They often come in wanting modern but in the end traditionals what they buy".

They, whose they ?. Perhaps there is an entire sub colony of us out there, cruelly experimented upon as we adjust from our city heavens to life with wellies. Maybe there is a support group, others that can guide me through the transition?? So many thoughts whirring round country girls head. The coffee didn't help, country girl was well and truly in housewife mode by this point, country boy may even have been toying with the idea of a visit to A&E. As I said, oh dear.

Home now, country boy having parked the kitchen stylee debate for the sake of his mental wellbeing I suspect. Country girl retired to the sofa with some camomile tea and kitchen brochures to have a think about things. Suspect the Boden catalogue will have been hidden. So here it is country /city, city or country?? Whats a girl to do?

As I said a dilemma if ever I had one.

Ah well will ponder some more so TTFN - if you wish to fill me in on where you stand country / modern kitchen wise, please do comment below.

Cooper, the slightly camp entertainer

Country girl has been asked about Cooper. So here he is Exhibit A.



He was named by the rescue centre after either a)the car, because he was a cute little mini cat or b) super, super Colin Cooper who plays for Nottinhgam Forest allegedly . I think it's a) in truth, the RSPCA girl who reluctantly let country girl take custody of him didn't look like she was a Forest fan.

For info it appears that Cooper's back story is that he was found at the side of the road, suspected car hit and run victim, no real injuries apparently.

Well country girl begs to differ. That cat has distinctly bandy legs as pointed out by some near neighbours who still refer to him as Wyatt and I suspect a slight brain injury (don't ask I just reckon it explains a lot)

At first Cooper seemed quite normal, a sweet little puss barely out of kittenhood who liked his cuddles. But then the declining numbers in the bird population became apparent, particularly as they appeared in the kitchen. Then one squealchy night time visit to the coal shed revealed that Cooper had his own personal dead bird storage facility.

Over time, his campness became more noticed so he was lovingly nicknamed Reggie.
(Kray of course whose behaviour he seemed to mirror).

Not that you'd think it now as he snootle purrs on the sofa picture of cuteness. Yes well thats what he wants you to think.

So now you know - his full name of course is Cooper Beelzebub Ptolemy Reggie and I am sure you will hear more Cooper related rantings from Country girl later.