Today was boot fayre day. Up at 5.30 we were! Five thirty!! It was just getting light and we needed to load the rest of the car up with our tat, I mean, treasures, from this week's attic clear out, the boot itself all ready crammed to bursting.
Anyway, off we set, the car barely able to keep its undercarriage off the road. I'd raided the chicken's piggy bank for change for a float and we had a tenner for the pitch fee. The boot fayre itself was only a ten minute drive up the road.
'I'm going to ask twice as much as I want for everything,' I said, 'because I am anticipating a lot of haggling and bargaining going on. I need to build in a good profit margin.'
'You're not going to take this too seriously, are you?' said Andy, who had already hinted he was willing to sell stuff for 10p a shot just to get rid of it.
'No,' I said, 'but neither am I going to be taken for a mug.'
We are boot fayre virgins, Andy and I. The woman on the pitch opposite us was the equivalent of a boot fayre strumpet. She was a wonder to behold as she worked her pitch, accosting unsuspecting men with her faux lady bosom stress balls and her selection of entertaining hats and suspect books. At one point she was brandishing an 18 inch curved knife, the kind you might have seen in Carry On Up the Khyber tucked into Bernard Bresslaw's belt. I'm sure there are laws against selling things like that at boot fayres, especially when the only people interested were a couple of ten year old kiddies. To the boot fayre strumpet's credit, she did say she couldn't sell a lethal weapon to minors and then did a pretend chase with them, waving the knife in the air until they disappeared, screaming, from her pitch.
There are many things to be learned from working a boot fayre. Here are some of them, in list form as I am too tired to work them skilfully into the main body of the text:-
1) That stuff is not worth nearly as much as you imagined it to be
2) That people will eat beefburgers at 6.30 in the morning without being sick
3) That tea from a polystyrene cup tastes better than tea from a plastic cup
4) That some people will argue over 20p
5) That the environmental efforts of supermarkets to cut down on plastic carriers means that plastic carriers are in very short supply and hot demand at boot fayre's for carrying loot away
6) That it is best not to think how much you paid for that book/DVD/ ornament/ pair of curtains originally when you are selling them on for less than a pound
7) That even if you're feeling a bit rough around the edges, you can feel quite the glamour puss in your pinny as you watch other people go by
8) That not all parents take responsibility for their light-fingered, lolly dribbling, noisy, stick waving off-spring
9) That old people like to stop and have a chat about Jane Austen, and 'B' movies, and how it's taking a long time for the tomatoes to ripen this year
10)That someone will be aware your husband is a vet and bring over their Doberman with it's head wrapped in sticky tape for an impromptu consultation.
Yes, this really did happen. The poor thing had had half its ear bitten off by another dog the previous day and the owners were keeping the bandage in place using that dark brown, 3" wide packing tape. I have never seen such a world weary look on such a patient dog. I gave her some healing and wished her well.
At about mid-day it seemed the whole field gave a sigh and people, almost as one, started to pack up to leave. I reckon we'd sold nearly half the stuff we took with us. And a quick tot up at home revealed we'd made a grand profit of £54.25.
'Well, that was better than I thought,' said Andy.
'Me, too,' I said. 'And I reckon I've only got a dozen trips to make to the charity shops this week instead of two dozen.'
I was amazed at what people would buy, and what they wouldn't. I guess it's true what they say - that one man's rubbish is another man's treasure.
And when we got home we found a tile had come crashing from the roof and smashed onto the path. So that'll coat us about fifty quid to repair, I reckon.
You see how the universe gives and then takes away? It's all swings and roundabout, life. It all balances out in the end.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Friday, 14 August 2009
Revamping the 'conservatory'
After I'd finished painting the technohub yesterday evening, there was a third of a tin of paint remaining. Hhmmmm, I thought. I could repaint the 'conservatory' with that.
Those of you who know Much Malarkey Manor will be aware that the 'conservatory' is a very grand term for what I would describe, if I was an estate agent, as a 'sun room' or 'lean-to'. I think calling a room where you can stand at the kitchen door and leap into the back garden in one enthusiastic bound a 'conservatory' is pushing the limits of description a little too far. However, that is what the estate agent who sold us this house called it, and so it has remained. (We added the inverted commas ourselves as a point of irony. No planning permission required.)
Re-painting the 'conservatory' however, required a bit of shifting and moving. This little space has become home to 2 cat litter trays, bags of chicken feed and cat litter, a desk, a kitchen trolley loaded with all sorts of gardening equipment and chicken potions, welly boots, bubble wrap and other things that we didn't quite know what else to do with. Andy was planning on taking the desk to the technohub to place with the desk already there thus creating an uberdesk, a bit like a Star Trek control panel. (If a picture of deep space appears in the window, I'll know that this was his motive all along.) The kitchen trolley I thought could go into the greenhouse, along with its assorted gardening equipment. Everything else I would deal with as I went along, mainly by shutting my eyes and chucking it in a bin bag.
All started well. Andy removed the desk, so I was able to clean one end and paint that with no problem.
And then the cats started taking an interest.
'What ya doin'?' asked Pandora, appearing around the corner of the kitchen door.
'Painting,' I said. 'And speak properly, please.'
'Is it like wallpapering?' said Pandora.
'No. It's much, much messier,' I said.
'In what manner?' asked Pandora. She was now sitting next to me on the floor where I was lying next to the skirting board trying to get a straight line with a much too big paint brush.
'In the manner of it being wetter and stickier and more attractive to cat fur,' I said.
'I can help if you like,' said Pandora.
'Thank you for kind offer,' I said,' but I can manage.'
'Ooooh, no need to get all huffy,' said Pandora.
'What's she doing?' asked Tybalt, appearing around the kitchen door.
'Getting all huffy,' said Pandora.
'I'm not getting huffy,' I said. A spider shot out from beneath the radiator and made me jump.
'SPIDER!!!!' yelled Tybalt and Pandora, and went in pursuit of it at the same time, caring not upon whom they trampled in their efforts to secure a piece of living protein.
I turfed the cats into the kitchen; a pointless pursuit as there is no door twixt it and the 'conservatory'. Pandora was back in a nano-second.
'What's that?' she said.
'It was the outlet pipe to the old tumble dryer,' I said. There is a hole the size of a saucer in the corner of the 'conservatory.' It is sealed from the outside but open from the inside. I'd had a quick look earlier on. It was full of dust, brick debris, dead spiders and hair. I'd quickly painted it over and left it.
'Ooh,' said Pandora,' does it go anywhere? Like Banarnia?'
'It's Narnia,' I said. 'And no,it doesn't its just...'
Too late. Pandora was into it head first.
'It's a bit dusty,' she shouted. 'And full of dead spiders.'
'Will you get out of there now,' I said.
And so she did. Covered in dust and debris and dead spiders and hair. And on her way out, she added a nice circle of wet paint, just to complete the look.
I stared at her and sighed.
'What?' she said. She looked like some raddled creature from the jungle. 'WHAT???'
And finally, a question to ponder over the weekend - 'Pumpkin - as big as my head? Or as big as Andy's?'
Those of you who know Much Malarkey Manor will be aware that the 'conservatory' is a very grand term for what I would describe, if I was an estate agent, as a 'sun room' or 'lean-to'. I think calling a room where you can stand at the kitchen door and leap into the back garden in one enthusiastic bound a 'conservatory' is pushing the limits of description a little too far. However, that is what the estate agent who sold us this house called it, and so it has remained. (We added the inverted commas ourselves as a point of irony. No planning permission required.)
Re-painting the 'conservatory' however, required a bit of shifting and moving. This little space has become home to 2 cat litter trays, bags of chicken feed and cat litter, a desk, a kitchen trolley loaded with all sorts of gardening equipment and chicken potions, welly boots, bubble wrap and other things that we didn't quite know what else to do with. Andy was planning on taking the desk to the technohub to place with the desk already there thus creating an uberdesk, a bit like a Star Trek control panel. (If a picture of deep space appears in the window, I'll know that this was his motive all along.) The kitchen trolley I thought could go into the greenhouse, along with its assorted gardening equipment. Everything else I would deal with as I went along, mainly by shutting my eyes and chucking it in a bin bag.
All started well. Andy removed the desk, so I was able to clean one end and paint that with no problem.
And then the cats started taking an interest.
'What ya doin'?' asked Pandora, appearing around the corner of the kitchen door.
'Painting,' I said. 'And speak properly, please.'
'Is it like wallpapering?' said Pandora.
'No. It's much, much messier,' I said.
'In what manner?' asked Pandora. She was now sitting next to me on the floor where I was lying next to the skirting board trying to get a straight line with a much too big paint brush.
'In the manner of it being wetter and stickier and more attractive to cat fur,' I said.
'I can help if you like,' said Pandora.
'Thank you for kind offer,' I said,' but I can manage.'
'Ooooh, no need to get all huffy,' said Pandora.
'What's she doing?' asked Tybalt, appearing around the kitchen door.
'Getting all huffy,' said Pandora.
'I'm not getting huffy,' I said. A spider shot out from beneath the radiator and made me jump.
'SPIDER!!!!' yelled Tybalt and Pandora, and went in pursuit of it at the same time, caring not upon whom they trampled in their efforts to secure a piece of living protein.
I turfed the cats into the kitchen; a pointless pursuit as there is no door twixt it and the 'conservatory'. Pandora was back in a nano-second.
'What's that?' she said.
'It was the outlet pipe to the old tumble dryer,' I said. There is a hole the size of a saucer in the corner of the 'conservatory.' It is sealed from the outside but open from the inside. I'd had a quick look earlier on. It was full of dust, brick debris, dead spiders and hair. I'd quickly painted it over and left it.
'Ooh,' said Pandora,' does it go anywhere? Like Banarnia?'
'It's Narnia,' I said. 'And no,it doesn't its just...'
Too late. Pandora was into it head first.
'It's a bit dusty,' she shouted. 'And full of dead spiders.'
'Will you get out of there now,' I said.
And so she did. Covered in dust and debris and dead spiders and hair. And on her way out, she added a nice circle of wet paint, just to complete the look.
I stared at her and sighed.
'What?' she said. She looked like some raddled creature from the jungle. 'WHAT???'
And finally, a question to ponder over the weekend - 'Pumpkin - as big as my head? Or as big as Andy's?'
Thursday, 13 August 2009
The Much Malarkey Manor Guide to Wallpapering
With the technohub a.k.a the back bedroom a.k.a Andy's study now devoid of wallpaper, it was time to redecorate.
So here is the Much Malarkey Manor Guide to Wallpapering.
1) Once your room to be papered is clear of bookshelves, desks, books, paper shredders, Daleks, Globes of the World and swivel chairs, decide on your mode of wallpaper. Try not to choose anything with a) a pattern that needs matching up b) something very expensive that will cause you to curse the expense when you inevitably rip a piece or c) anything that is so smooth and delicate it will highlight any bump and inperfection in the plasterwork.
My Dad was a builder. His idea of sartorial elegance when decorating a property was woodchip and magnolia. But this is the 21st century so we went for hessian effect anaglypta and soft cream.
2) Into the room to be papered insert the following : 2 adults of slightly larger then average proportions, one old dining room table to act as pasting table, one large bucket for wallpaper paste, several pasting and smoothing brushes, a pair of scissors and a Stanley knife (to keep you on your toes), three rolls of wallpaper, one small set of steps, one small very curious kitten, one larger marginally curious cat who will wander off when a tin of tuna fails to appear, one bin bag. This combination will work well if said room to be papered is at least 12 ft x 12 ft. Not so good if room is nearer to 7ft x 7ft. Open a window in anticipation of sweat and cursing.
3) Read and ignore all instructions on wallpaper paste packet. Add more paste than required. It always looks too thin, anyway, and although they SAY it thickens up after stirring, surely it won't thicken up THAT much...will it???
4) Choose starting point. Ignore wallpaper manuals that suggest starting in the middle of a wall and working outwards. Start by a door. You'll need something to lean against whilst you get used to popping up and down a ladder. Also, a plumb line is superfluous. Accept your walls will never be totally straight and you will need to do some creative 'pleating' in one corner somewhere. Make sure it is a corner where you can hang a long dangly plant in a macrame basket. Or a windchime.
5) Measure length of wallpaper. Add on a little at each end to allow for trimming and mis-measurements e.g if a kitten, for example, gets between the wall and the wallpaper and you don't notice.
6) Paste wallpaper. Ignore the 'wait 5 to 7 minute for paste to soak in' instruction. You want to finish by lunchtime, don't you? Well, just get on with it then.
7) Climb steps and using a smoothing brush, smooth the first piece of paper onto the wall. This will go extremely well and lull you into a false sense of security. You won't be quite so smooth with the papering as the morning progresses, trust me. In fact, if you're really lucky, you might reach a state of frantic desperation. Trim top and bottom. Stand back and admire. Hopefully, your decorating partner will have by now measured and pasted the second piece of paper thereby setting up a seamless motion of cut paper, paste paper, hang paper, trim paper productivity. Yeah, right!
8) Do not worry about any minor creases, air bubbles and ever-so-slightly wonky edges. These can be camouflaged later by the cunning use of pictures, photographs, bookshelves, thick paint and calendars. Remember to tidy up as you go or you'll end up wearing sandals of gluey anaglypta if, like me, you decorate bare foot. Remove kitten from bin bag where she is sleeping amongst wallpaper trimmings.
9) When you are in sight of the winning post and have kept a calm temper whilst cutting glue covered paper into window recesses, chimney stacks, radiators, light switches and plug sockets, remember to run out of wallpaper. This is an important part of the process as it allows you to send husband out for another roll of wallpaper whilst you sit on the landing with a sticky kitten on your lap listening to Radio 7, doing Sudoku, drinking tea and eating flapjack.
10) The above break will renew your energies and you can put up last three pieces of wallpaper in record quick time. If, by now, you are uttering phrases like 'Oh, that'll do,' or 'Who looks at skirting boards anyway?' you know you have mastered the full amateur decorating experience and the job has been well done. At least you saved some money by doing it yourself. And it'll look better once it's had a coat of paint.
Finally, check walls for stray peeling edges, air bubbles and kitten-shaped lumps. Allow yourself a pat on the back.
Then join your decorating partner in a fish finger sandwich for lunch. There's nothing like the mutual appreciation of a fish finger sandwich to reconcile the fractiousness between a couple brought about by decorating the back bedroom. A.k.a. the technohub. A.k.a Andy's study.
So here is the Much Malarkey Manor Guide to Wallpapering.
1) Once your room to be papered is clear of bookshelves, desks, books, paper shredders, Daleks, Globes of the World and swivel chairs, decide on your mode of wallpaper. Try not to choose anything with a) a pattern that needs matching up b) something very expensive that will cause you to curse the expense when you inevitably rip a piece or c) anything that is so smooth and delicate it will highlight any bump and inperfection in the plasterwork.
My Dad was a builder. His idea of sartorial elegance when decorating a property was woodchip and magnolia. But this is the 21st century so we went for hessian effect anaglypta and soft cream.
2) Into the room to be papered insert the following : 2 adults of slightly larger then average proportions, one old dining room table to act as pasting table, one large bucket for wallpaper paste, several pasting and smoothing brushes, a pair of scissors and a Stanley knife (to keep you on your toes), three rolls of wallpaper, one small set of steps, one small very curious kitten, one larger marginally curious cat who will wander off when a tin of tuna fails to appear, one bin bag. This combination will work well if said room to be papered is at least 12 ft x 12 ft. Not so good if room is nearer to 7ft x 7ft. Open a window in anticipation of sweat and cursing.
3) Read and ignore all instructions on wallpaper paste packet. Add more paste than required. It always looks too thin, anyway, and although they SAY it thickens up after stirring, surely it won't thicken up THAT much...will it???
4) Choose starting point. Ignore wallpaper manuals that suggest starting in the middle of a wall and working outwards. Start by a door. You'll need something to lean against whilst you get used to popping up and down a ladder. Also, a plumb line is superfluous. Accept your walls will never be totally straight and you will need to do some creative 'pleating' in one corner somewhere. Make sure it is a corner where you can hang a long dangly plant in a macrame basket. Or a windchime.
5) Measure length of wallpaper. Add on a little at each end to allow for trimming and mis-measurements e.g if a kitten, for example, gets between the wall and the wallpaper and you don't notice.
6) Paste wallpaper. Ignore the 'wait 5 to 7 minute for paste to soak in' instruction. You want to finish by lunchtime, don't you? Well, just get on with it then.
7) Climb steps and using a smoothing brush, smooth the first piece of paper onto the wall. This will go extremely well and lull you into a false sense of security. You won't be quite so smooth with the papering as the morning progresses, trust me. In fact, if you're really lucky, you might reach a state of frantic desperation. Trim top and bottom. Stand back and admire. Hopefully, your decorating partner will have by now measured and pasted the second piece of paper thereby setting up a seamless motion of cut paper, paste paper, hang paper, trim paper productivity. Yeah, right!
8) Do not worry about any minor creases, air bubbles and ever-so-slightly wonky edges. These can be camouflaged later by the cunning use of pictures, photographs, bookshelves, thick paint and calendars. Remember to tidy up as you go or you'll end up wearing sandals of gluey anaglypta if, like me, you decorate bare foot. Remove kitten from bin bag where she is sleeping amongst wallpaper trimmings.
9) When you are in sight of the winning post and have kept a calm temper whilst cutting glue covered paper into window recesses, chimney stacks, radiators, light switches and plug sockets, remember to run out of wallpaper. This is an important part of the process as it allows you to send husband out for another roll of wallpaper whilst you sit on the landing with a sticky kitten on your lap listening to Radio 7, doing Sudoku, drinking tea and eating flapjack.
10) The above break will renew your energies and you can put up last three pieces of wallpaper in record quick time. If, by now, you are uttering phrases like 'Oh, that'll do,' or 'Who looks at skirting boards anyway?' you know you have mastered the full amateur decorating experience and the job has been well done. At least you saved some money by doing it yourself. And it'll look better once it's had a coat of paint.
Finally, check walls for stray peeling edges, air bubbles and kitten-shaped lumps. Allow yourself a pat on the back.
Then join your decorating partner in a fish finger sandwich for lunch. There's nothing like the mutual appreciation of a fish finger sandwich to reconcile the fractiousness between a couple brought about by decorating the back bedroom. A.k.a. the technohub. A.k.a Andy's study.
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Hot Up Top
Blimey it was hot in the loft yesterday. I mean, it was hot outside, a really nice sunny day when we should have been wafting around the garden with a long cool drink, then resting on the patio with a good book and maybe some cheesey nibbles and fresh fruit. But did we waft? Did we read and nibble? No. We went into the even hotter attic, where there was not a breeze to be had, and we lost about a stone each in sweat as we tried to be ruthless with our myriad collection of tat.
'Where do we start?' I said, after we'd spent the first ten minutes moving things from here to there and back again and achieving nothing. Andy shrugged. He was feeling edgy. He was twitching every time I laid a hand on one of his sci-fi books or electronic gadgets. He was like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action should they make their way towards the area marked out for 'Tip.'
We'd got as far as designating areas. Three to be precise. One for things to go to the tip, one for things to go to the boot fair or failing a sale there, to the charity shop of our choice. And one for 'Keeping.'
'Right,' I said, 'I am going to start in that corner there.' And I pointed to that corner there. 'And I am going to be RUTHLESS!'
As I clambered across the mini-tat mountain range to that corner there, I sent up a prayer to the God of Ruthlessness who is called Clive.
'Dear Clive,' I said, 'give me the strength to be ruthless in my task of clearing the attic. Make me firm of mind and void of sentimentality. Make mine eyes clear to the fact that if I find something I haven't seen or used for the last five years I am unlikely to use it in the next five years. Help me put aside childish things like 'Mousetrap' and jigsaw puzzles. But please let me keep my wedding dress, amen.'
I experienced a moment of weakness when the God of Clutter, Sandra, interrupted my contemplation and said, 'Better keep the Junior Scrabble. You want your grandchild to be a good speller, don't you?' but as I said to Sandra, by the time Grandchild goes to school the Government will probably have done away with literacy in favour of basic grunting, thus rendering Junior Scrabble redundant.
For the two hours we managed to survive the desert heat of the loft, we made good progress. Luckily, most of the stuff we got through was mine and as I was being ruthless we got rid of a boot load of stuff down the tip, and have another boot load and a half to go the the boot fair and/or charity shop of our choice. There is an impressive space in the loft now. And I'm not quite sure how we came to have so many duvets. Or stereo systems. Or soft toys. But now we don't. Except for the duvets because they all seemed new and you can never have enough duvets.
And now Andy has seen how ruthless I can be and what a liberating experience having a good clear out is, I am hoping he will be just as enthusiastic when it comes to clearing out some of his stuff.
But I fear I may need to ply him with copious wine and then sneak into the attic when he isn't looking and set about his boxes of treasure myself. And when he says 'Where's my collection of 'The Rhibard Xening Tales of Kfling Dint Burble (1959 ed)' I shall have to say (with fingers firmly crossed behind my back), 'Oh, you sold those on e-bay AGES ago. Don't you remember?' and then run for the hills until the fracas dies down.
Don't worry, Andy. I won't really do that. (Bluff.)
'Is she bluffing?' thinks Andy.
'I'm not bluffing,' I say. (Double bluff).
'Or is she double bluffing?' thinks Andy.
It's a cunning craft, the clearing out of a loft.
P.S There are various areas of the Much Malarkey Manor website open for business now. Yesterday I created the Culinary Experiment Blog which can be found at www.mmmkitchen1.blogspot.com and details Mrs Flanbottom's experiment into making yeast (Part 1). I hope you find it as entertaining as this blog.
'Where do we start?' I said, after we'd spent the first ten minutes moving things from here to there and back again and achieving nothing. Andy shrugged. He was feeling edgy. He was twitching every time I laid a hand on one of his sci-fi books or electronic gadgets. He was like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action should they make their way towards the area marked out for 'Tip.'
We'd got as far as designating areas. Three to be precise. One for things to go to the tip, one for things to go to the boot fair or failing a sale there, to the charity shop of our choice. And one for 'Keeping.'
'Right,' I said, 'I am going to start in that corner there.' And I pointed to that corner there. 'And I am going to be RUTHLESS!'
As I clambered across the mini-tat mountain range to that corner there, I sent up a prayer to the God of Ruthlessness who is called Clive.
'Dear Clive,' I said, 'give me the strength to be ruthless in my task of clearing the attic. Make me firm of mind and void of sentimentality. Make mine eyes clear to the fact that if I find something I haven't seen or used for the last five years I am unlikely to use it in the next five years. Help me put aside childish things like 'Mousetrap' and jigsaw puzzles. But please let me keep my wedding dress, amen.'
I experienced a moment of weakness when the God of Clutter, Sandra, interrupted my contemplation and said, 'Better keep the Junior Scrabble. You want your grandchild to be a good speller, don't you?' but as I said to Sandra, by the time Grandchild goes to school the Government will probably have done away with literacy in favour of basic grunting, thus rendering Junior Scrabble redundant.
For the two hours we managed to survive the desert heat of the loft, we made good progress. Luckily, most of the stuff we got through was mine and as I was being ruthless we got rid of a boot load of stuff down the tip, and have another boot load and a half to go the the boot fair and/or charity shop of our choice. There is an impressive space in the loft now. And I'm not quite sure how we came to have so many duvets. Or stereo systems. Or soft toys. But now we don't. Except for the duvets because they all seemed new and you can never have enough duvets.
And now Andy has seen how ruthless I can be and what a liberating experience having a good clear out is, I am hoping he will be just as enthusiastic when it comes to clearing out some of his stuff.
But I fear I may need to ply him with copious wine and then sneak into the attic when he isn't looking and set about his boxes of treasure myself. And when he says 'Where's my collection of 'The Rhibard Xening Tales of Kfling Dint Burble (1959 ed)' I shall have to say (with fingers firmly crossed behind my back), 'Oh, you sold those on e-bay AGES ago. Don't you remember?' and then run for the hills until the fracas dies down.
Don't worry, Andy. I won't really do that. (Bluff.)
'Is she bluffing?' thinks Andy.
'I'm not bluffing,' I say. (Double bluff).
'Or is she double bluffing?' thinks Andy.
It's a cunning craft, the clearing out of a loft.
P.S There are various areas of the Much Malarkey Manor website open for business now. Yesterday I created the Culinary Experiment Blog which can be found at www.mmmkitchen1.blogspot.com and details Mrs Flanbottom's experiment into making yeast (Part 1). I hope you find it as entertaining as this blog.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Bob a Job Week
I was never in the Scouts. Well, I wasn't a boy for a start, but you know what I mean. I was in the Girls' Brigade. They had hats like Thunderbird hats. I didn't realise this at the time as I was distracted by the scratchiness of the fabric on my delicate forehead, but looking back, the hats we wore were definitely Thunderbird hats. Except when you were in the Explorer section. When they were like flying saucers. But when you're 6 years old, the only thing you worry about re:hats is their frisbee potential. And Explorer hats made GREAT frisbees.
Anyway, this week Andy is on holiday and we have many 'jobs' to keep us busy. Decorating, for example. There is only one room in our house that we haven't touched since we moved in nearly 5 years ago and that is the smallest bedroom a.k.a Andy's study or the 'technohub'. It hasn't been decorated mainly because when we moved in it became instant home to 5 book cases and about 3,000 books (I kid you not!) and once they were in there it seemed like an awful lot of effort to hoik them all out again and redecorate.
However, the time has come to tackle the technohub. Heather has been summoned to the Edinburgh Festival to do some guiding type work. She doesn't get paid, but she gets free accommodation and networking and it means we can dump 3,000 books in her bedroom without worrying about where she is going to sleep. Andy has spent all yesterday and two hours this morning moving stuff out of the room and stripping off the wallpaper.
'Do you need any help?' I shout up periodically.
'No, I'm fine!' Andy shouts down. He's up there with a bucket of water, a sponge and scraper. He's happy.
So I'm letting him get on with it.
It's a surprisingly big room when it's empty. Big enough to swing at least 3 cats. The plan is to move 2 of the bookshelves to the alcoves in our bedroom, (which are currently empty), move the desk that is currently in the conservatory upstairs to go with the desk that is still in the technohub, put one of the bookshelves downstairs in the conservatory, keep two bookshelves in the technohub and leave one wall free of shelving thereby maintaining the air of space that currently pervades its four walls.
'I think we'll have to re-paper the walls,' I say. 'They are a bit too bumpy just to paint.'
'I could use really thick paint,' says Andy.
'I don't think so,' I say.
'Really, really, really, REALLY thick paint,' says Andy.
'No,' I say sternly.
'Okay,' says Andy.
Meanwhile, inspired by our recent visit to River Cottage HQ, I am venturing into the world of home-made yeast. Oh yes. Apparently, you don't need to buy yeast with which to make your bread. You can grow your own. Yeast, like love, is all around. We are surrounded by yeast. Actually, thinking about it is making me itch so suffice to say I am making my own yeast (in a pot, in a POT!) and so far it is going to plan.
This is leading onto my second job for the day which is creating the web page for the Much Malarkey Manor kitchen. So by the end of the day there should be a description of my adventure in yeast making posted there.
And my third job of the day, also River Cottage inspired, is to make beetroot houmous and flat bread. I have the required ingredients - home grown beetroot, a jar of tahini which has been languishing, unopened, in the back of the cupboard for Lord knows how long, and unfortunately a bulb of garlic.
I say unfortunately because my great-great-great-great-uncle Vladimir was a vampire and whilst the genetic legacy has been very helpful in the creation of my children's book character Limonquill the Hampire (a cross between a hampster and a vampire), it has also left me with a distaste for garlic. Even now my nose is recoiling in horror.
I know garlic is supposed to be good for you. I know it has antiseptic properties and is good for the circulation and blood and for fending off all manner of unpleasant bugs and germs. But have you smelt the stuff???
Bleuch!
However, since nearly all recipes these days require the crushing of a garlic clove, (including the beetroot houmous) I feel I need to get to grips with my natural urge to vomit when faced with the scent of this noxious little bulb. So I've got a box of face masks, some industrial strength rubber gloves and with all the windows open and a good dose of patchouli oil in the incense burner I think I might be okay.
And my fourth job today is to tidy out the kitchen cupboards. They have become full to bursting with accumulated crockery and gadgets and I have to slam them quite hard now to get them to stay shut. I managed to off-load a spare set of kitchen scales on Chris and Leane the other day after Chris carelessly broke their set. (At least, that's what Leane said - Baby Bun Grandchild, I'd shut your ears now. Listen to some Mozart. Or Chopin. The piano concertos. Very soothing. And remember, in the words of Philip Larkin 'They f**k you up, your Mum and Dad.' Just ignore them. It was only a set of kitchen scales.) But whilst seeking the aforesaid scales I noticed how cluttered things are. I mean, how many mugs does one actually need?
So I think my boot fayre collection needs starting today. Which will entail another visit to the loft.
And what with the massive back garden clear out we did yesterday, and the planting out of new plants in the pots and the moving of the chilli peppers into the greenhouse to help them spice up a bit, it's all systems go here at the Manor.
The Devil popped in for a visit last night. He'd heard a rumour of idle hands.
'Not here, mate!' we said, seeing him off with a flea in his ear and a clove of garlic up his left nostril. 'Not here!'
Anyway, this week Andy is on holiday and we have many 'jobs' to keep us busy. Decorating, for example. There is only one room in our house that we haven't touched since we moved in nearly 5 years ago and that is the smallest bedroom a.k.a Andy's study or the 'technohub'. It hasn't been decorated mainly because when we moved in it became instant home to 5 book cases and about 3,000 books (I kid you not!) and once they were in there it seemed like an awful lot of effort to hoik them all out again and redecorate.
However, the time has come to tackle the technohub. Heather has been summoned to the Edinburgh Festival to do some guiding type work. She doesn't get paid, but she gets free accommodation and networking and it means we can dump 3,000 books in her bedroom without worrying about where she is going to sleep. Andy has spent all yesterday and two hours this morning moving stuff out of the room and stripping off the wallpaper.
'Do you need any help?' I shout up periodically.
'No, I'm fine!' Andy shouts down. He's up there with a bucket of water, a sponge and scraper. He's happy.
So I'm letting him get on with it.
It's a surprisingly big room when it's empty. Big enough to swing at least 3 cats. The plan is to move 2 of the bookshelves to the alcoves in our bedroom, (which are currently empty), move the desk that is currently in the conservatory upstairs to go with the desk that is still in the technohub, put one of the bookshelves downstairs in the conservatory, keep two bookshelves in the technohub and leave one wall free of shelving thereby maintaining the air of space that currently pervades its four walls.
'I think we'll have to re-paper the walls,' I say. 'They are a bit too bumpy just to paint.'
'I could use really thick paint,' says Andy.
'I don't think so,' I say.
'Really, really, really, REALLY thick paint,' says Andy.
'No,' I say sternly.
'Okay,' says Andy.
Meanwhile, inspired by our recent visit to River Cottage HQ, I am venturing into the world of home-made yeast. Oh yes. Apparently, you don't need to buy yeast with which to make your bread. You can grow your own. Yeast, like love, is all around. We are surrounded by yeast. Actually, thinking about it is making me itch so suffice to say I am making my own yeast (in a pot, in a POT!) and so far it is going to plan.
This is leading onto my second job for the day which is creating the web page for the Much Malarkey Manor kitchen. So by the end of the day there should be a description of my adventure in yeast making posted there.
And my third job of the day, also River Cottage inspired, is to make beetroot houmous and flat bread. I have the required ingredients - home grown beetroot, a jar of tahini which has been languishing, unopened, in the back of the cupboard for Lord knows how long, and unfortunately a bulb of garlic.
I say unfortunately because my great-great-great-great-uncle Vladimir was a vampire and whilst the genetic legacy has been very helpful in the creation of my children's book character Limonquill the Hampire (a cross between a hampster and a vampire), it has also left me with a distaste for garlic. Even now my nose is recoiling in horror.
I know garlic is supposed to be good for you. I know it has antiseptic properties and is good for the circulation and blood and for fending off all manner of unpleasant bugs and germs. But have you smelt the stuff???
Bleuch!
However, since nearly all recipes these days require the crushing of a garlic clove, (including the beetroot houmous) I feel I need to get to grips with my natural urge to vomit when faced with the scent of this noxious little bulb. So I've got a box of face masks, some industrial strength rubber gloves and with all the windows open and a good dose of patchouli oil in the incense burner I think I might be okay.
And my fourth job today is to tidy out the kitchen cupboards. They have become full to bursting with accumulated crockery and gadgets and I have to slam them quite hard now to get them to stay shut. I managed to off-load a spare set of kitchen scales on Chris and Leane the other day after Chris carelessly broke their set. (At least, that's what Leane said - Baby Bun Grandchild, I'd shut your ears now. Listen to some Mozart. Or Chopin. The piano concertos. Very soothing. And remember, in the words of Philip Larkin 'They f**k you up, your Mum and Dad.' Just ignore them. It was only a set of kitchen scales.) But whilst seeking the aforesaid scales I noticed how cluttered things are. I mean, how many mugs does one actually need?
So I think my boot fayre collection needs starting today. Which will entail another visit to the loft.
And what with the massive back garden clear out we did yesterday, and the planting out of new plants in the pots and the moving of the chilli peppers into the greenhouse to help them spice up a bit, it's all systems go here at the Manor.
The Devil popped in for a visit last night. He'd heard a rumour of idle hands.
'Not here, mate!' we said, seeing him off with a flea in his ear and a clove of garlic up his left nostril. 'Not here!'
Monday, 10 August 2009
A River Cottage HQ Experience
Oh to be at River Cottage, now that Summer's here,
To see the hens and pigs and veg, and taste Hugh's Stinger Beer.
To see the fruit trees growing, to wander midst the trees
And fields and gardens therewithin, and hear the buzz of bees.
And eat good food that's simply made, from Nature's larder found.
And feel a life that's meant to be, with peace and calm all round.
We met with other diners in the car park at the top of the hill. There is a small barn for shelter during inclement weather, and a brazier that is lit during winter months to keep people warm whilst waiting the ride down to the cottage itself. But we needed neither shelter nor warmth. At seven in the evening it was warm and balmy with the sun barely touching the rolling hills that greeted us. A pleasant young man asked us to sign his dining register and said that transport would be arriving shortly.
A massive trailer attached to a massive tractor duly appeared and we climbed aboard for a higgedly-piggedly ride down a steep track to River Cottage HQ itself. Past a wind turbine, some goats, some chickens, some cows and into the farm yard where we were greeted by another very pleasant young person who led us through the yard to a large teepee-effect tent where a welcoming champagne toast was made and canapes pressed upon us. We were then told we could wander freely around the farm and that dinner would be about 8.
I couldn't decide if River Cottage HQ seemed smaller or larger than it appears on TV. But it was certainly a world of its own. Vegetables growing in conventional beds and unconventional containers, a lovely fruit walk. Flowers interspersed throughout. Many chickens, some ducks. A couple of cows and their calves. We walked to the top of the yard in search of Hugh's pigs. Led by our noses, we found 5 young saddlebacks.
'Hooey, hooey hooey!' I called, because I understood that to be the language of pig. And they came running!! And then they look dis'grunt'led when they realised we had no food for them.
And thoughout our wanderings, River Cottage HQ staff appeared bearing more canapes - beetroot houmous on flatbread, Bloody Mary sardine on toast, mutton meatballs in a dill dip, courgette and goat cheese on toast. Lovely!
Before dinner was served, the chef, Gil, gave us a brief talk through the menu for the evening, filling us in on cooking methods and the provenance of what we were about to eat. A charcuterie plate with beetroot and fresh bread to start, then a fish soup with cheddar cheese -on-toast. This to be followed by wild rabbit with carrots, potatoes and chard, then a blueberry creme brulee with lemon shortbread for pud.
All to be topped off with coffee and chocolate truffles!
It was DELICIOUS!! I had already decided to try everything that was served, my only fear being that eel might make it onto the menu. But I didn't see one plate return to the kitchen uncleaned. The whole meal took three hours, but it didn't seem like it because the seating arrangement (two long tables side by side) meant you were sitting next to people you'd never met before. And people soon got chatting and swapping life experiences.
There was a moment of excitement when a light bulb exploded. Everyone jumped, there was a brief silence and then laughter. And as dusk fell, the fairy lights strung inside and outside the dining barn came into their own and before we knew it it was gone 11 p.m and the tractor and trailer had arrived to start taking diners back to the car park.
This wasn't just a meal out. It was an experience. It was more than I expected it to be. It was fun and relaxing and the best way to spend an evening.
So thank you, River Cottage HQ for delivering your ethos with such style, friendship and aplomb.
And thank you, kissy-kissy, to Andy for arranging such a fabulous anniversary present!
To see the hens and pigs and veg, and taste Hugh's Stinger Beer.
To see the fruit trees growing, to wander midst the trees
And fields and gardens therewithin, and hear the buzz of bees.
And eat good food that's simply made, from Nature's larder found.
And feel a life that's meant to be, with peace and calm all round.
We met with other diners in the car park at the top of the hill. There is a small barn for shelter during inclement weather, and a brazier that is lit during winter months to keep people warm whilst waiting the ride down to the cottage itself. But we needed neither shelter nor warmth. At seven in the evening it was warm and balmy with the sun barely touching the rolling hills that greeted us. A pleasant young man asked us to sign his dining register and said that transport would be arriving shortly.
A massive trailer attached to a massive tractor duly appeared and we climbed aboard for a higgedly-piggedly ride down a steep track to River Cottage HQ itself. Past a wind turbine, some goats, some chickens, some cows and into the farm yard where we were greeted by another very pleasant young person who led us through the yard to a large teepee-effect tent where a welcoming champagne toast was made and canapes pressed upon us. We were then told we could wander freely around the farm and that dinner would be about 8.
I couldn't decide if River Cottage HQ seemed smaller or larger than it appears on TV. But it was certainly a world of its own. Vegetables growing in conventional beds and unconventional containers, a lovely fruit walk. Flowers interspersed throughout. Many chickens, some ducks. A couple of cows and their calves. We walked to the top of the yard in search of Hugh's pigs. Led by our noses, we found 5 young saddlebacks.
'Hooey, hooey hooey!' I called, because I understood that to be the language of pig. And they came running!! And then they look dis'grunt'led when they realised we had no food for them.
And thoughout our wanderings, River Cottage HQ staff appeared bearing more canapes - beetroot houmous on flatbread, Bloody Mary sardine on toast, mutton meatballs in a dill dip, courgette and goat cheese on toast. Lovely!
Before dinner was served, the chef, Gil, gave us a brief talk through the menu for the evening, filling us in on cooking methods and the provenance of what we were about to eat. A charcuterie plate with beetroot and fresh bread to start, then a fish soup with cheddar cheese -on-toast. This to be followed by wild rabbit with carrots, potatoes and chard, then a blueberry creme brulee with lemon shortbread for pud.
All to be topped off with coffee and chocolate truffles!
It was DELICIOUS!! I had already decided to try everything that was served, my only fear being that eel might make it onto the menu. But I didn't see one plate return to the kitchen uncleaned. The whole meal took three hours, but it didn't seem like it because the seating arrangement (two long tables side by side) meant you were sitting next to people you'd never met before. And people soon got chatting and swapping life experiences.
There was a moment of excitement when a light bulb exploded. Everyone jumped, there was a brief silence and then laughter. And as dusk fell, the fairy lights strung inside and outside the dining barn came into their own and before we knew it it was gone 11 p.m and the tractor and trailer had arrived to start taking diners back to the car park.
This wasn't just a meal out. It was an experience. It was more than I expected it to be. It was fun and relaxing and the best way to spend an evening.
So thank you, River Cottage HQ for delivering your ethos with such style, friendship and aplomb.
And thank you, kissy-kissy, to Andy for arranging such a fabulous anniversary present!
Sunday, 9 August 2009
West Country Weirdness
The West Country has a magnetic field around it which becomes strongest as one approaches the area surrounding Stonehenge. This magnetic field was created back in the early Druidic days in order to prevent the rest of England invading the rolling hills, dales and coastlands of Dorset, Somerset, Devon and Cornwall in order to lollop around on gorgeous beaches, ramble amongst the woods and fields and pig out on cream teas and pasties. (More about pigs later. And possibly pasties.)
It is possible to break through this magnetic field, of course, but in order to do this one needs tenacity, patience, air conditioning, a sense of humour and a packet of chocolate caramel bisuits. Oh, and a camera, some reading material and an acceptance that your car will be powerless to go above 20 miles an hour for the last 100 miles of your journey.
So, a journey that Google Maps promised would take us 'three hours and twenty minutes' actually took us five hours and ten minutes. But it was okay. We only got mildly fractious with each other (it being our wedding anniversary and all) and once we'd stopped and taken the biscuits on board, tempers improved enormously thanks to the sugar rush.
'We're going past Stonehenge in five minutes,' I said, all excited because things like big rocks sitting randomly in a vast landscape are strangely alluring to me. I got out my camera, ready to snap away.
Andy said, 'As we drive past, shall I hold up my thumb and forefinger so it looks like I'm holding Stonehenge in my hand?'
'Yes,' I said, 'then I can take a photo of the look of surprise on your face as you ding the car in front.'
Anyway, half an hour later and we were still crawling towards Stonehenge. But we had biscuits by then and we'd also passed a huge field of pigs so I had entertained myself by taking piggie photos. I like seeing pigs in fields. They looked very happy, rolling around in the mud, sunbathing, playing chase. There's some happy bacon in the making, I thought.
And then Stonehenge loomed above us looking impressively surreal despite the hoards of tourists wandering around it. I took photos. Andy sulked because I wouldn't let him do entertaining 'holding Stonehenge' poses.
And on we went to Chard.
There's a funny place. It was shutting down as we arrived, but we went for a hopeful walkabout anyway. There were several benches dedicated to 'The Lace Riots' which brought to mind images of old ladies poking each other with crotchet hooks and slapping each other with antimacassars. Other than that, Chard consisted of hairdressers and strange independent shops with jigsaw puzzles for sale in their windows, the boxes faded and yellowing after years in the sun.
We did go past one cash point. Andy said, 'I must get some cash before we go to River Cottage tonight,' and as he approached the cashpoint a young chap appeared in an otherwise empty street and started faffing about getting his own cash.
'I'll stop on our way back to the hotel,' said Andy. 'Save us hanging about like a pair of muggers.'
On our way back, we approached the cashpoint. The street was empty. Andy reached for his wallet. And then a woman appeared from nowhere and nabbed the machine. So we walked past and loitered about fifty feet away. And when we turned back, there was a queue of five people at the cashpoint! A queue! In a street that had, until 30 seconds previously, been completely deserted!
We never did get the cash, but we did have a good laugh that the people of Chard are clearly determined to prevent 'outsiders' using their cashpoint!
And then we went to River Cottage. An experience that deserves a whole blog to itself.
This blog is dedicated to the memory of Mrs Poo, who died in the wee small hours of this morning. It was very sad.
It is possible to break through this magnetic field, of course, but in order to do this one needs tenacity, patience, air conditioning, a sense of humour and a packet of chocolate caramel bisuits. Oh, and a camera, some reading material and an acceptance that your car will be powerless to go above 20 miles an hour for the last 100 miles of your journey.
So, a journey that Google Maps promised would take us 'three hours and twenty minutes' actually took us five hours and ten minutes. But it was okay. We only got mildly fractious with each other (it being our wedding anniversary and all) and once we'd stopped and taken the biscuits on board, tempers improved enormously thanks to the sugar rush.
'We're going past Stonehenge in five minutes,' I said, all excited because things like big rocks sitting randomly in a vast landscape are strangely alluring to me. I got out my camera, ready to snap away.
Andy said, 'As we drive past, shall I hold up my thumb and forefinger so it looks like I'm holding Stonehenge in my hand?'
'Yes,' I said, 'then I can take a photo of the look of surprise on your face as you ding the car in front.'
Anyway, half an hour later and we were still crawling towards Stonehenge. But we had biscuits by then and we'd also passed a huge field of pigs so I had entertained myself by taking piggie photos. I like seeing pigs in fields. They looked very happy, rolling around in the mud, sunbathing, playing chase. There's some happy bacon in the making, I thought.
And then Stonehenge loomed above us looking impressively surreal despite the hoards of tourists wandering around it. I took photos. Andy sulked because I wouldn't let him do entertaining 'holding Stonehenge' poses.
And on we went to Chard.
There's a funny place. It was shutting down as we arrived, but we went for a hopeful walkabout anyway. There were several benches dedicated to 'The Lace Riots' which brought to mind images of old ladies poking each other with crotchet hooks and slapping each other with antimacassars. Other than that, Chard consisted of hairdressers and strange independent shops with jigsaw puzzles for sale in their windows, the boxes faded and yellowing after years in the sun.
We did go past one cash point. Andy said, 'I must get some cash before we go to River Cottage tonight,' and as he approached the cashpoint a young chap appeared in an otherwise empty street and started faffing about getting his own cash.
'I'll stop on our way back to the hotel,' said Andy. 'Save us hanging about like a pair of muggers.'
On our way back, we approached the cashpoint. The street was empty. Andy reached for his wallet. And then a woman appeared from nowhere and nabbed the machine. So we walked past and loitered about fifty feet away. And when we turned back, there was a queue of five people at the cashpoint! A queue! In a street that had, until 30 seconds previously, been completely deserted!
We never did get the cash, but we did have a good laugh that the people of Chard are clearly determined to prevent 'outsiders' using their cashpoint!
And then we went to River Cottage. An experience that deserves a whole blog to itself.
This blog is dedicated to the memory of Mrs Poo, who died in the wee small hours of this morning. It was very sad.
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