Total whiteout

OK so I thought they were exaggerating when they predicted a major snowstorm, but looks like the weather guys actually got it right. I noticed it had snowed overnight purely because Cooper did a double take and headed back to his chair rather than investigate opportunities for bird munching. Then it actually started to snow and that was about six hours ago and yes indeed it is still going.

I have happy memories of snowdays from childhood, we'd often get sent home from school because the boiler would break down or blow up or because there was a strike or something. We didn't really care why, just loved being able to escape school and make our way home, which took a very long time as there would of course be a snowball fight or a snowman to build or someone who lived nearby would have just got a "dead good sledge". When home, it'd be Jamie and his Magic Torch or Chorlton & the Wheelies on the telly and I'd be quite happily left to my own devices with some hot milk or hot chocolate and an Animal Bar - I loved animal bars, do they still even make them?. We haven't really had lots and lots of snow, not like when i was a child, but I suspect that maybe that snow drift wasn't really six foot deep then, it just seemed bigger as I was quite little.

But today we have lots of snow. Sadly I don't live near my childhood friends, if I did I suspect we would still be having snowball fights and stealing the kiddies sledges for a go, so I have to make do with Scruffbag to be be my snowday adventures amigo.

Scruffbag as I have said before loves snow, she loves to chase snowballs and still always seems surprised when they explode on impact and just aren't there. Equally, she really loves burying her nose in it, although I'm sure that's pretty chilly. Generally everything about snow, oh except snowmen. Snowmen she thinks are deeply suspect and not to be trusted or indeed passed. (I learned this after spending 20 minutes wondering why she was refusing to follow me up her favourite lane one day - sadly in the end snowman had to be sacrificed in the interests of us going anywhere, she liked it lots when snowman was pushed over and lay defeated on the ground). here she is anyway, enjoying the snow as I said:



So walkies today was very exciting for Scruff and indeed for me because we were the first to venture out to the lane (pictured above) and so we had pure, virgin snow all for us to make footprints in. There's something very exciting about that don't you think? Reminded me of being four and being very excited about snow and snowmen and being able to wear my red wellies in it lots. (Though apparently I liked to wear my red wellies everywhere and in any weather condition at all. I even once insisted on wearing them to the outdoor swimming pool at a local park). I still like wellies, sadly my red ones split rather dramatically, overuse I suspect. You will be pleased to know I no longer insist on wearing them to the swimming pool, mainly because I suspect they have policies about that sort of thing).

Anyway as ever I have wandered off point, I do that, I suspect you have noticed. Off we stomped anyway happy in our snowy wonderland, even I will admit that the countryside can look rather quaint shrouded in snow. So I duly showed my love, by leaving a little heart for my fellow dog walkers to enjoy :



I think this shot shows just how much snow there actually was, it was certainly interesting clambering over the style with this lot on it !



Overall, it was lovely, snow glistening on the trees, a neverending mass of white covering the top fields and an amazing stillness and quiet about everything. (probably because the birds were hiding).

So now we're back, started up the coal fire early as it is minus 6 or something crazy and I'll probably have a mug of hot chocolate and make some buttery toast. Scruffbag is happily snoring on a cushion which she really shouldn't have, but she looks cute so I'm letting her get away with it (sssh don't tell).

So here's to snow days, because they are actually really quite lovely.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

Digger,Digger,Digger!!

Country girl had a naughty glint in her eye on rising this morning. Thankfully the builder recognised that look and realised that she wasn't giving him the glad eye but gazing longingly at his shiny little friend, the digger.

(actual Digger shown below)



"Digger's arrived princess" - yes indeed it had. The P word again (noted by country girl of course. Mental note made and one less choccy digestive she thinks). I ventured a "Can I ...?" but like some warp speed mind reading genius his retort was "No love, can't have a go, not allowed, specialist equipment this".

Humph, well, country girl not best pleased and did what she does when she can't threaten disciplinary action or make someone redundant or even worse make them attend six sigma training for the 9 billionth time. What was it? Pout, a big pout. A full bottom lip jobby, just like she used to try on her dad to get her own way (he got wise and laughed eventually, think I was about 21).

And as that clearly didn't work started the charm offensive "Tea?", "Cracking love".

Country girl seems to say that a lot these days. So off I went "Tea time is me time" merrily dancing in my head (yeah right). Still looking lovingly through the window at the digger, if only.

It was then that country girl spied Cooper (camp psycho cat for those of limited attention span). Cooper had decided to play stalk the digger, not quite sure what he was planning to do with it. Certainly couldn't lop its head off and hide it in the coal shed as is his usual modus operandi. So he had to be rescued, or rather grappled to safety much to the amusement of the builders (I was actually tying to protect them) and much to the annoyance of Cooper. Who has thankfully now ended his campaign to get let out again and joined me on the sofa for a sulk.

So here we are, a petulent princess, pouty psycho cat and a love struck scruff bag (she makes eyes at the builders).

Word of the digger has spread we are expecting a visit from Ginger Dave who wants me to look at his cv, yeah right, I know its my digger he's after. They better not let him have a go or well I'll set the cat on em.

TTFN