Brewin' and Freezin'

There are 40 pints of Christmas beer now brewing in their barrel in the downstairs bathroom. As Andy said when he inspected it this morning, 'It looks like one massive pint of Guinness.'

The making of the beer occurred last night and I have to say that the intial brewing stage smelled very pleasant and very Christmassy indeed. I think it was due to the copious use of cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, raisins, black treacle and oranges, and the fact the fermentation progress hadn't started. Anyway, Andy battled on for about an hour in the kitchen accompanied by various bangs and crashes and a certain amount of steam. My assistance was requested only once, when the contents of the preserving pan in which the aforesaid ingredients were being boiled needed straining into the fermentation bucket.

'What happens next?' I said To Andy.
'The brew has to be left for 4 to 6 days to ferment,' said Andy.
'Forty six days?' I said. 'That's never going to be ready in time for Christmas. More like Valentine's Day.'
'I said, four to six days,' said Andy. (Well, I had to get a pun in somewhere, didn't I?)
'Oh,' I said.'And then what?'
'Then it gets put into the pressure barrel,' said Andy.

I'm not liking the sound of a pressure barrel. Sounds too much like pressure cooker. My gran had a pressure cooker which, because she was fearless, she used a lot. But as a child, this piece of equipment used to scare me rigid and visions of my grandparent's house being sent skywards by an exploding pressure cooker frequented my dreams.

'A pressure barrel?' I said. 'Are you sure?'
'Oh yes,' said Andy. 'Definitely a pressure barrel.'

Note to self - line bathroom walls with super-strength and thoroughly absorbent kitchen roll. For I remember what happened with the elderflower champagne experiment earlier this year. You can still see the stains.

My part in the Christmas preparations is, as you can imagine, the gathering and preparation of food. I thought, I'd better defrost the freezer before I go shopping for goodies of the frozen ilk. I don't have a regular timetable for freezer defrostation; it generally happens when I can't slide out the ice cube tray with ease. And since that occurred somewhere back in July, a defrost is well overdue.

In order to defrost the freezer, I have to pull it out from its station 'neath the kitchen worktop to reach the plug and switch it off. As soon as the freezer is removed, this is the cue for the cats, i.e Phoebe the Fat, Tybalt the Tall and Pandora the Downright Nosey, to dive into the space left and get stuck under the kitchen cabinets. They then refuse to come out, and when they eventually do, they are covered in all kinds of under kitchen cabinet detritus which they then proceed to spread around the house.

So this morning I shooed them from the kitchen into the hallway, where they proceeded to sit with their noses pressed against the glass panels, and trying to form a kitty pyramid to reach the handle. Tybalt is actually very good at opening doors by swinging wildly on handles, so I had to work fast.

Freezer out, freezer switched off, freezer pushed back half way to prevent kitty intrusion of dark recesses of kitchen cabinets. Ha! Human overcomes cat!

'What's going on?' shouts Pandora, racing back into the kitchen. She investigates freezer baskets, ice cube trays and tries to get behind the semi-stuck out freezer.
'She's defrosting the freezer,' said Tybalt, who climbed on top of semi-stuck out freezer, then tried to get behind semi-stuck out freezer.

Phoebe remains silent, but immediately tries to get behind semi-stuck out freezer. Pandora diverts her attention from the freezer baskets and gets into freezer. Tybalt and Phoebe join her. I remove cats from freezer and replace with bowl of freshly boiled water to get the defrosting process underway. The freezer is more bunged up than I realised, and given it is a very cold day, this defrosting lark could be a long process.

Cats try to climb back in freezer with bowl of hot water. I remove cats. Cats climb on top of freezer and dangle over the edge, poking at drips that are starting to form as melting gets underway. Cats bat my hand as I scrape away with windscreen scraper meant for cars not freezers. I read somewhere you are supposed to use a spatula to scrape ice from freezers. I tried this method once. It was rubbish. Don't bother.

Cats vacate freezer zone briefly when I start using hair dryer to generate a bit of extra heat before realising the combo of a hairdryer in close proximity to a bowl of hot water is probably an unwise idea. Cats return and start patting water that is collecting in water collection receptacle placed on kitchen floor in front of freezer. Much malarkey ensues as cats continue to help defrost freezer.

But they soon get bored. Phoebe is now sleeping in the first sun we've had for what seems like months, Tybalt is sitting proprietorially on what is known as 'Tybalt's Step' by the telephone and Pandora is I don't know where but it's almost time for elevenses, and as soon as I open the biscuit tin, she'll appear because she is turning into a biscuit pest.

So not only are we Christmas tree shopping this weekend, we are also on the look out for a pressure barrel and food for the freezer.

Christmas Sausage making tonight. Hurrah!!

My Family and Other Christmases

My family is revving up for Christmas. I know this because Heather is in the kitchen making Christmas biscuits in the shapes of angels, snowmen, holly leaves, bells, Daleks etc, and I have just returned from a yomp into town (in yet MORE rain) at the behest of Andy who requires ingredients for making Christmas sausages and Christmas beer. (Cinnamon sticks, raisins, glucose -1kg, pork shoulder -1kg, eye cream, oops, no, that's for me because I've noticed a couple of creases that won't go away in the morning and although I'm going to be a granny in 3 months' time, I'm not intending to look like one.)

Ah, Christmas beer. Now, in the eight years Andy and I have been together I have only once seen him drink a pint of beer and that was at a wedding reception after he'd been on the wine for most of the evening and if you gave him a pint of puddle water, he probably would have drunk that too. It was odd seeing him drink a pint of beer. He's not a pint-of-beer-in-yer-hand man at all, not in my eyes. But he's decided, on the advice of 'The Home Farmer Magazine for Dreamers and Realists', that Christmas beer is going to be an essential part of Much Malarkey Manor Christmas '09.

The kit that arrived in the post yesterday will make 40 pints of beer. 40 pints?!!?? Please bear in mind that I am teetotal and cannot help Andy out in the consumption of this 40 pints. Besides, my plan for this Christmas involves much fruit cake, a trifle made with jaffa cakes and maltesers, and a variety of novelty cheeses (with biscuits). So Andy's going to be on his own vis a vis the consumption of the 40 pints. Unless Chris helps him. But then Chris is starting a fitness kick because he has decided he is going to apply to join the police force and as yet is unable to run the required distance in the required time in order, presumably, to be able to catch crooks or dash from police car to dough-nut shop whilst waiting at a red traffic light. He isn't far off the mark, but has decided to take up running to improve his bleep test. Apparently.

More sausage kit arrived yesterday, too. After the debacle of the ninety feet of beef intestine from the previous sausage making escapade that proved incompatible with the sausage machine nozzle so languished in the fridge until I crept it into the bin, we have reverted to dried collagen skins, which do fit the nozzle and fold up into nice dry parcels that nestle neatly into a drawer. So we are all ready to make Christmas sausage. I don't know how a Christmas sausage differs from a day-to-day sausage (Holly? Cranberries? Frosty the Snowman?), but I'm sure it'll be interesting finding out.

And it's always fun to write a blog about sausages!

The First Day of Christmas

I'm not actually sure when the first day of Christmas is supposed to be. Is it the 12days before Christmas, leading up to all the poultry, and leaping, dancing, musical people landing on your true love's doormat on 25th December, or is it the 12 days starting with Christmas Day, in which case surely you'd want a turkey in a pear tree (or in the case of here at the Manor, a goose), so you'd have something for dinner? I mean, a partridge isn't going to go very far, is it? And I'm talking a cooked one here, because a raw one in its live and natural state can shift at quite a speed when it wants to, so I've heard.

Anyway, I digress. The reason I ask this, is because I want to know if it ties in with Advent calendars and Advent Candles. Chez nous, we have a candle. When I was growing up, we had a calendar, a proper nativity scene, not one of these chocolate concoctions with the Simpsons spread all over it. No, a proper nativity scene. 24 door. Which, shared between me, my brother and my sister, meant we got to open 8 doors each, and my sister always got to open the big double door in the centre which narked me, even though it was always a star.

But when I grew up and my waistline began to outstrip my height in proportion, I went for the candle option come 1st December. Besides, I like candlelight. It's one of the most magical and symbolic essences in the world. And seeing the candle shrink as we head towards Christmas adds to the atmosphere.

Usually, I purchase our Advent candle from a local garden centre. It is about a foot tall and tapered. You have to keep a close eye on it the first three or four nights because it burns through the numbers quite quickly, but once you get to the 9th or 10th, the burning down to next number can take a good couple of hours.

However, this year I found a pillar candle from a different merchandise outlet (why use a short, snappy word like 'shop' when you can use an irritatingly longer phrase, just to make yourself sound more educated?). And yesterday evening, Heather lit this fat pillar candle to burn it down to number 2.

Three hours later, and that pillar candle was going nowhere. It had just about managed to burn a tiny puddle in its centre. It appears to be one of the most durable Advent candles in the history of whenever.

Today, we set light to the candle at lunchtime, just to give it a head start. And now the candle has burnt a little tunnel down its centre, which means I have to blow it out, and excavate the edge to bring it in line with the hole in the middle. The sides are still the same height they ever were, numero intacta. I tried to encourage the sides to 'collapse', by using a matchstick whilst the candle was still alight and the wax theoretically soft and pliable, but no way was it going to play that game. Solid as a rock, the outside of that candle. Solid and unmoving.

I never have this trouble with my usual tapered candle. Which just goes to show that it is sometimes better to stick with what works well rather than change it for something you think could be better.

And of course, this year is Pandora Kitten's first Christmas! Already she has tried to set fire to herself on the Advent candle and she also helped me on Monday when I did present wrapping. (Mostly by sitting on the wrapping paper, and chasing scissors as they cut.) But it's the interaction with the Christmas tree we are most looking forward to. Kittens and Christmas trees are always a bit of a laugh. In fact, climbing Christmas trees is something they never really grow out of until they get old and fat like Phoebe and scaling a lap is difficult enough, let alone climbing a tree. Tybalt still skits up the tree even though he is nearly 7, which is practically middle aged i.e the cat equivalent of me.

I know what will happen. We'll bring the tree inside, and decorate it and within twenty minutes Pandora will be up the top with Gonzo the Fairy, or removing decorations and leaving them at strategic places around the house, or just flinging herself at it in a wild and destructive fashion and thus implementing many bouts of redecoration.

So far, the first day of Christmas has gone well. Pressies are all bought and wrapped, the goose has been ordered and the candle is being recalcitrant. Tickets have been booked to go and see Sandi Toksvig and Ronnie Corbett at the Royal Festival Hall the week before Christmas, and tickets have also been booked to take the children (aged 23, 21 and 19) to see the pantomime with Adrian Edmonsen as Captain Hook (aarrrrrrrrrrrrh!). Heather is revving herself up to make Christmas biscuits, sausage rolls and mince pies, and I'm scheduled to defrost the freezer on Friday.

Christmas tree shopping this weekend, I think. And card making, too.

Phone Pests

Our phone number is ex-directory. It has to be, really, when one is a teacher and married to a vet, for neither of us wish to broadcast our number in a directory where parents and clients can find it and call it and hassle us. It can, and does happen. So we stay ex-directory.

It is very annoying, then, when you find yourself being bombarded with cold-calls of an evening.
'How did you get this number?' is my usual response to these calls, as I never, EVER, allow them to get even part way into their sales spiel. 'It is ex-directory.'

'Oh, it's just a random number dial,' the cold-caller usually says, and I don't believe them one bit.

Anyway, for the last week or so, we've been getting annoying calls from AOL. In fact, we are getting so annoyed that we are considering changing our internet service provider, if not now, then as soon as we move house.

Three times last night I went to answer the phone and it cut dead on me. You know, because these call centres multi-dial a number and then speak to whoever picks up first, cutting off all other victims who don't get to their phone quick enough.

On the third call, I answered and it was AOL. This was the third conversation I've had with them in four days, and Heather has spoken to them too. They always ask to speak to Andy, as he is the account holder.

'He isn't available,' I said, because Andy had just walked in from work and was eating his dinner.
'Well, when will he be available?' said the person from the overseas call centre.
'Never,' I said. 'We want you to stop calling. I've already asked you to remove this number from your dialling list. I am asking you again, to remove this number from your dialling list.'
'I can't do that until I speak to the account holder,' said the person.
'Yes you can,' I said. 'Because you are intruding on our evening. Please remove the number.'

And do you know what this person said next???

She said, 'If you were to give me a time I can speak to the account holder, we would stop calling you.'

WELL! I was LIVID!!

'That is so rude,' I said, because the tone of her voice was incredibly narky. I mean, who's the customer here? Who's paying their internet access bill every month by direct debit?

After telling them again not to ring, and after being told that the AOL contract had ended and that was the reason she had called, which was a load of rubbish because other wise I wouldn't be able to write this, would I, I hung up.

Andy and I then spent a very amusing evening coming up with a list of ways to deal with cold-callers. I can't go into them now, as I've just had a call from our estate agent saying some more people want to come and look at the house (the faffers are STILL faffing) so I need to do a housework binge, but I'll be back in another post with our list, to entertain and amuse.

On the upside of the day, I have completed the NaNoWriMo project with three days to spare! If you have been reading 'Poulet Nous', then thank you for sticking with it. All comments gratefully received before I start the editing process.

Time Flies Like the Wind and Fruit Flies Like Bananas

Blimey - I've only just realised I haven't posted a blog here since Sunday....where has the time gone this week?

Well, I've been hammering away at 'Poulet Nous' for a start, because it is Day 26 of 30 today and the end of NaNoWriMo is nigh. Last night I was at 44,300 ish words, which, I feel encouraged to say, means I am in the top 3% of NaNoWriMo participants this year, and am likely 'to breeze past the finishing post with ease.' This is according to the team-talking e-mails I've been getting from the NaNo Team.

I hope they're right. They are assuming I'm going to have enough plot to keep the momentum going. It's not the actual word count that's an issue - it's the content of that word count that's the concern!

On other matters more domestic, I spent Monday at my new school, seeing the classes I'm taking over, and trying to navigate my way around the site without nabbing a child every two minutes to ask where the toilets/ staff room/ reception office are. All went well and I got out alive.

And talking of schools, I still hadn't been paid for any of the adult education sessions I've been delivering since the end of September. But then yesterday, I got a salary slip, and have now been paid for 3 sessions. I've delivered 8 so far, so guess I'll be getting my final pay for the job somewhere in February. Ah well, at least something is turning up.

The house sale...well, the plot thickens because we are STILL waiting for our faff buyers to provide their proof of funds notification, and this after a promise it would turn up with our estate agent last Monday. Our estate agent is becoming hysterical with the delays; I am beginning to think that SOMETHING FISHY IS GOING ON. Still, we keep our fingers crossed, and a couple of nights ago worked out a plan for our new plot of land to include a miniature orchard and a beehive.

I've finished my Christmas shopping. I'm not sure how, exactly; probably via some kind of seasonal osmosis. But it's all in and waiting to be wrapped. I was a tad annoyed that Andy's main present was delivered on Monday whilst I was out all day and left carelessly flung behind a bush beneath our front window. Anyone could have walked up the path and taken it. And the card that had been poked through our letterbox from the delivery driver stated the parcel had been left 'in a safe place.' Hmmmm.....

I am adding La Senza to my list of 'Companies With Extremely Bad Manners.' They promised to let Heather know about a job she'd applied for with them by the middle of last week. Which was 8 days ago. Promise broken. Shame on La Senza. Oh, and Holiday Inn finally got around to e-mailing her the day before yesterday, thanking her for attending the 'recent interview', but they had employed someone else. As Heather said,'Recent? It was nearly four weeks ago!'

And get this. The Body Shop also finally got around to sending a rejection letter but they included a £5 voucher for Heather to spend in the Body Shop provided she spent £25 or more. Well, that's okay then, because a person with no job and therefore no money is going to spend £25 in the Body Shop, just so they can get £5 off, aren't they? What an INSULT!

Ooooh, there's nothing like a good rant to get one going in the morning!

Enjoy yours!

Will we EVER learn?

Last weekend, Andy and I went for a walk during a break in the torrential rain.
'Are you taking an umbrella?' said Heather, 'just in case it rains again?'
'Oh, it won't rain AGAIN,' I said, full of the optimism of a crazy fool and off we went.

We got SOAKED. Really rain-running-off-your-face-in-a-torrent soaked.

And then today, Andy and I decided to go for a walk at Leeds Castle, as the annual Christmas Fayre was taking place, which is usually good for a sneaky peak at some seasonal tat. However, before we left, it chucked it down with rain again. I'd already got slightly damp in my pyjimjams when I went to feed the chickens at the crack of dawn, so was keen to avoid another drenching.

'We'll wait to see if the weather brightens up,' I said. Which it duly did.

'Are you going to take an umbrella, in case it rains again?' said Heather.
'Oh, it won't rain AGAIN,' I said, because sometimes I never learn.

Later...

We emerged from the huge marquee in which the fayre was being held, into torrential rain. To the left was a lengthy walk back to the car park; to the right, a lengthy walk to the castle restaurant and lunch. We'd already decided not to get our hopes up vis a vis a pudding, following pudding debacles on our previous two visits. In fact, we'd already partaken of some baklava in the food section of the marquee in lieu of a non-appearing pudding.

We had a moment of dilemma. Whichever way we went, we would get drenched. But one option would at least offer a nice lunch to recompense the drenching. We ran for the restaurant.

It would have been drier to swim to the restaurant via the moat. Soaked to the skin, we stood in the restaurant, dripping on the tiles, waiting for a table because lots of other people had had the same idea and the place was rather full.

But we got our lunch, and very nice it was, too. And then, just as we were getting ready to leave, the waitress appeared.

'Can I get you anything else?' she asked.

Oh, so now we get a chance of a pudding, I thought. Typical!

And as I was stuffed with soup and a sandwich and the precautionary baklava, and Andy was stuffed with sausage and mash and baklava, even though the baklava had walnuts in it, but I didn't tell him this before I gave him his piece, we declined the pudding offer, paid the bill and went on our way.

So just remember this, dear readers: our children are sometimes wiser than we, especially when it comes to matters of umbrellas, and as you never know when you'll be offered a pudding, always carry a piece of baklava, just in case.

Piano Removal

Well, you'll be pleased to know that the faffers have finally put in an offer on our house; a decent offer. An offer we have accepted. Hurrah! This means I need to get myself into 'moving house' mode, having drifted away from it over the last few weeks because nothing was happening. And it's hard to stay motivated about something when nothing is happening on the something front. If you get my drift.

Any hooo, today Andy and I are going to re-visit the cottage in the country with the massive, massive garden/mini-field that we've been keeping our fingers crossed for. Just to make sure it is definitely right for us. And to check that the land hasn't developed into a useless quagmire following the torrential rain England has been experiencing in the last week or so. Because what's the point in having extra land if you can't grow anything in it apart from rice maybe, or hippopotomi?

So last night, after re-adjusting to the idea that we could actually now be moving, I went and stared at our piano. Yes, we have a piano. I bought it over ten years ago because learning to play the piano has been a yearning of mine ever since child-hood. I can just about hold a two fingered tune, but I really want to learn to play properly, you know with all ten digits, and with two staves of music. I know it means trying to get both halves of my brain to work in harmony, which is a challenge in itself. But the more pressing exercise regarding the piano and linked to actually moving, is how to get the piano out of the house and to the new cottage.

You see, when we moved to our current abode, there were two back doors, one of which led in a very nice, agreeable and straight line into my writing room where the piano currently sits. So there was no problem getting the piano into the house. However, when we had the downstairs bathroom revamped, the building work included blocking up this particular back door, as we deemed it excessive to have two back doors where one back door would suffice, besides we needed a corner bath, so back door numero dos was bricked up.

About two or three months later, maybe longer, even a year, either Andy or myself, we can't remember who, suddenly said,'How are we going to get the piano out of the house if we ever decide to move?'

Because in blocking up the second back door, we had created an inner vestibule, in the shape of a square, with square angles and not enough room to swing an accordian, let alone a fully grown piano. Straight line removal was no longer an option.

Oops!

So Heather and I stood staring at the piano last night. Mother and daughter, side by side, against piano, on it's own but covered in photos and bizarre cat ornaments. Now, Heather and I have been through many furniture-based removal traumas before. I often think we should set up a removal firm because up until now there is nothing we have tried to move that hasn't gone exactly where we've wanted it to go. Beds, wardrobes, sofas, we have shifted these things where other people have stood and stared and sucked in their breath and said, 'Ooooh, that'll never go through/up/around there.' I think it's because Heather and I share a grim determination to get things done plus an optimism that some may perceive to be naive, but which we see as a challenge.

'It's only five and a half feet long,' said Heather, making an accurate measurement with her outstretched arms.
'And the door is, what, nearly seven feet tall,' I said, ditto with the arm measurement plus standing on my toes.
'And if that sofa got in here,' said Heather, pointing to said sofa, 'then that piano will go out.'
And we formulated a plan involving piano upended, a small trolley on wheels, bubble wrap and duvets and about eight muscular firemen.

So that was sorted, then.

When I told Andy of our plan, he seemed less convinced.
'Piano's are heavy things,' he said. 'Especially when they are upended.'
'I'm not going to try moving it on my own,' I said.
'I should hope not,' said Andy. 'Not after you got pinned under that sofa you brought downstairs on your own during the summer.'

Andy looked thoughtful, like a man contemplating how to get a piano out of a house.

'Do you have a better plan?' I asked.
'Well,' said Andy, 'it depends whose viewpoint you're looking from.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning I've no doubt we SHALL get the piano out of your writing room,' said Andy, 'only my plan involves a saw and a sledgehammer.'
'No,' I said. 'I think not.'
'Okay,' said Andy, looking only a little crestfallen.

It will come with us to our new house, this piano. It will.