Words and woollies

Recycling - alternative uses for an old ice cream tub!

At long last, after many months of anticipation, the SQA Higher English exam has come and gone. The past week was characterised by myriad manic messages from tense tutees, eager for last words of wisdom (or at least comfort) via Skype, text and email about how to tame the monster that is critical essay writing or to spot rhetorical triads at fifty paces. The evenings will be strangely empty now that Yours Truly is no longer spouting forth on the different sorts of love to be found in Romeo and Juliet or extolling the imagery in innumerable Carol Ann Duffy poems.  

This year’s group of students have been a particularly intriguing mix – indeed a couple of them have astounded me with their dedication to the cause. One analysed the results of each close reading paper he completed and then calculated (in percentage terms – as only a scientist would), precisely which type of questions he was losing most marks on and thus needed to focus on when studying.  I was seriously impressed. Son+Heir may possibly have been less impressed, so for reasons of personal safety I didn’t suggest he adopt a similarly scholarly approach...

Another tutee had pinned handwritten, meticulous timetables on the back of the dining-room door, charting how every hour of study was to be allocated over the period of the exams. Even those who found English a metaphorical thorn in their side battled stoically on – one of them buoying my humour immensely at the end of a long evening by responding to my question “Now what is a benefit?” with the immortal words: “It’s a type of make-up.” But, joking apart, without exception, they’ve worked their socks off, and I feel genuinely privileged to have accompanied them all on the arduous linguistic and literary journey that ended yesterday at precisely 12.35 p.m. All we can do now is wait and see if their hard graft has resulted in the grades they deserve. Roll on the 8^th August...

Of course, with the evening job having come to an abrupt end, Yours Truly will immediately have to focus on the “day job”.  And the first pressing commission is a self-imposed one: to re-write my own website. The current one was put up hastily 10 years ago when freelancing constituted but a tiny fragment of my working week. However, now that I’m writing website and marketing copy for other companies almost full time, it seems rather neglectful not to spend some hours polishing my own site. This is, therefore, to be priority no.1 for the month of June. And while I am slaving over the compelling copy, local web company Interphase Design will be doing what designers do best i.e. giving the words somewhere attractive to hang out!

Giant lamb Tufty just keeps on growing

Her mum "Auld Yin" is partial to a slice of bread

One benefit (not a blusher in sight...) of working from home during the post-lambing weeks is that I’ve been around to deal with miscreant escapee lambs – of which there have been plenty. Shetland lambs may be officially ovine on paper, but their apparent ability to collapse their skeletons and squeeze through the tiniest gaps in any fence/barricade/netting is akin to that of mice.  There are sixteen lambs in the paddock (or at least supposed to be in the paddock...), including four sets of twins. Sometimes both twins dive in to “mama’s milk bar” for a quick top-up at the same moment, and their eagerness for sustenance often results in the hindquarters of their long-suffering mums being literally lifted up into the air.

Brownie tells it as it is: raising babies is hard work!

As a mother myself, I have to confess I’ve been feeling distinctly sorry for the poor flustered ewes whose job it is to keep track of the wee dears. Yesterday I paused from typing, mid-sentence, when I saw one poor ewe squatting and attempting to relieve her bladder, but having to stop mid-stream several times because her beloved lamb thought that her lowered rear end was an invitation to jump on mum’s back. It took me right back to those Halcyon (or perhaps not!) days when, with three children under four and a husband working on the land virtually 24/7, I could barely get to go to the loo in peace.  And it reminded me there are definitely some advantages of having grown-up kids!

Talking of said grown-up kids, DD1 managed to escape from studies/work in Paris for a few days to celebrate her birthday en famille. As her culinary talents are vastly superior to her mother’s, she elected to bake her own birthday cake, and indeed her birthday meal: succulent gammon steaks accompanied by baked sweet potatoes (which I’d heartily recommend if you’ve not tried them before). Birthday girl's cake creation was a summery strawberry sponge with lemon curd cream, and it arrived at the table bedecked with pretty flowers and sprinkles of pink fairy dust, just as you’d expect from any self-respecting 22-year-old. To add to the birthday feast, there was a tub of Mackie's of Scotland's luxury ice cream which DD1 had been lucky enough to win in an online competition.

DD1's strawberry cream cake was so good...

...it didn't last long!

A lucky win - a  free tub of Mackie's of Scotland ice cream

I have to say that it was a real treat to have all five of us round the table at one time, as such occasions are less and less frequent these days. Ironically, I suspect that the ewes out in the field might just envy me a little ...

And in other news from The Sparrowholding... sheep and plants are on the move!

Visiting sheepdog Speed gets some practice in

HunterGatherer with tup Coco - heading for pastures new

Poor Spot got in the way of Coco's horns, so out came the Sudocrem!

In the polytunnel, everything is growing - including the weeds...

One strawberry does not a summer make...

Birthday bumps, mumps and lambs wot jumps!

The annual lamb races have begun...

The second half of April passed in the usual frenetic flurry of ups and downs here at the Sparrowholding.  On St George’s day, Son+Heir celebrated his 18^th birthday by sipping copious cocktails with a group of friends in our sitting-room. Meanwhile, through in the kitchen, HunterGatherer and I were also busy celebrating – celebrating the fact that we’re no longer technically responsible for him!

Baking not being one of my talents, I ordered the birthday boy’s cake from Celebration Cake Station in Perth – and, as ever (they did DD1's and DD2’s cakes, too), they excelled themselves.  All Yours Truly had to do was email them an action photo, plus a close-up shot of his red astroturf boots and favourite stick so they could ensure the finer details of their masterpiece were correct.  Then I simply pitched up in Perth on the appointed day and collected the creation: piece of...er... cake.

An on-the-pitch moment recreated in icing

Birthdays have also been occurring in abundance out in the paddocks this past couple of weeks, with a host of tiny cloven hooves now trotting merrily across the grass, which has luckily – at long last – begun to turn 50 shades of green. There are four sets of twins plus half a dozen single lambs hopping and skipping from dawn till dusk, and some very hoarse mums trying to keep their wee woolly jumpers under control. On the rare occasions when they’re not yelling at their we’ens too loudly, one can usually hear the mewing of a buzzard overhead or the call of a distant curlew: a veritable wildlife symphony, complete with a bleating ground bass.

Tufty - aka Houdini!

Double trouble..

No that's not what troughs are for!

Keep up!

Talking of bleating, Son+Heir and his team mates in the Scotland U18 men’s hockey team underwent a painful yet remunerative procedure last weekend when they all had their legs waxed to raise money for their forthcoming trip to the European Championships in Vienna.  If anyone is sadistic enough to want to watch it, there’s even a vocal video of the hockey heroes being waxed, taken by the team manager.

And on the subject of creative endeavours, Yours Truly had a rare cultural outing to the opening night of an art exhibition in Dundee, courtesy of DD1’s artist friend Titi Finlay. A visit to New Orleans had inspired Titi to paint a series of works featuring musicians and people she saw on the street. As someone who was politely asked to leave the art class at the age of 14, having scored a mighty 52% in my exam, I am in awe of folk who can paint and draw well, and Titi is no exception. During the opening I snapped a couple of photos of her paintings, in between wolfing posh crisps, sumptuous sandwiches plus the mandatory orange juice.

Mardi Gras: one of the participants in the parade painted by Titi Finlay

Several of the New Orleans collection in Dundee

Meanwhile in the depths of the polytunnel, the weeds have been sprouting merrily under the special plant fleece that HunterGatherer considerately placed over his newly seeded parsnips and leeks. He also draped it over Nellie the nectarine bush and Vinnie the Vine, both of whom have benefited from their snugly fleece cover during the recent cold spell (aka the past six months!).  This week we harvested our first fresh asparagus of the season, plus a couple of herbs. Now that FatCat has been effectively barred from the polytunnel by means of chicken wire at either end, the newly seeded plots are safely protected from his pesky paws.

The chicken wire has also proved useful when we let some of the ewes and lambs into the garden recently. It somehow seemed criminal that they were keenly awaiting the arrival of the spring grass in the paddock while we had plenty of the aforementioned forage growing on our lawn! If ovine lawnmowers have been deemed good enough for the community lawns in Paris, then we reckoned they are good enough for our garden, too!

Fresh asparagus from the polytunnel

Homegrown parsley and mint leaves

To round the month off in style, we’d an unexpected visit from student DD2 last week, the poor soul having been pole-axed by a vindictive dose of mumps, perfectly timed – as was her glandular fever three years ago – to coincide with important summer exams. Yours Truly had forgotten just how debilitating mumps can be – not to mention the ‘mutant hamster lookalike’ effect that it has on the poor sufferer...  

Daughter Dear was indeed a sorry sight, yet she and her grotesquely swollen glands had to crawl back through to Edinburgh Uni to attempt her summer exams, which apparently you must not miss unless you have a certificate in triplicate from the undertaker. Ironically the first paper was the listening component, which was far from ideal when the swelling below this particular music student’s ears meant her hearing was distinctly muffled. And having breathed in her grotty mumpy germs for several days, I’m currently keeping my fingers and toes firmly crossed that my own childhood dose of mumps means I’m immune – otherwise I may not be a very happy bunny (or even hamster) in two weeks’ time...

How much chocolate indulgence can a girl survive...?

If there are any chocoholics like me out there who would like a blow-by-blow account of my experiences at the Easter Monday Chocolate Workshop mentioned in my recent blogpost, you'll find the report (complete with photos) here on the Crail Food Festival website:

http://crailfoodfest.co.uk/2013/04/11/ive-bean-to-paradise-at-pittenweem-church-hall/

From Irn-Bru ice cream to Don Giovanni

 

Choco-creativity in Pittenweem

The moment of truth arrived this weekend. On Sunday evening it struck me that was four months to the day until I turn 50, and it has to be said that the “get fit for 50” campaign has been somewhat derailed. In my defence, my recent rampant over-indulgence has been due to a combination of circumstances: DD1 (aka Delia) being home from Paris for a week; significant quantities of comfort food being consumed to combat snow-induced hunger; a few lunches with friends (rude not to!) plus a 21st party to attend...Oooh, and let’s not forget my blogging mission for Crail Food Festival which took me, on Easter Monday, to a chocolate workshop courtesy of The Pittenweem ChocolateCompany (merci mille fois, Sophie). 

Let battle commence!

Then there was last weekend, most of which I spent at The Peak Sports Village in Stirling. ‘But surely spending hours at a sports venue could only be beneficial to your diet,’ I hear you cry. Well, it certainly would have been if I’d actually been doing any sport. But, in fact, it was Son+Heir who was on “active duty” at Forthbank with Scotland U18 hockey team who were playing two international matches vs their Welsh counterparts.  While the lads were training, Yours Truly spent several hours in the excellent cafe at The Peak, imbibing hot chocolate and downing bacon rolls – rounded off with a (small) tub of Irn-Bru ice cream.  Yes, such a delicacy does exist, and very tasty it was too.

Irn-Bru ice cream - not as 'orange' as the real thing

And it didn’t stop there, because on Sunday SuperGran and I set off through to Auld Reekie to watch/listen to DD2 tooting her flute at Edinburgh Studio Opera's concert of Mozart arias.  To refuel the fatigued flautist post-concert, we headed pronto for Pizza Express, where a generously proportioned caramelised onion and goat’s cheese Padana pizza leapt entirely unbidden on to my plate!

Mozart-inspired melody-making

Suffice to say that reading the scales on Sunday night was about as cheering as reading Les Miserables while suffering simultaneously from raging toothache and an ingrown toenail. Action was (is!) most certainly called for.  So I immediately announced to HunterGatherer my intention to try the 5:2 diet (as featured in a documentary by Dr Michael Moseley – if any of you folks have tried it, do leave a comment, as I'd be really interested to hear your experiences).  Of course, I should have known better than to expect any helpful encouragement. HG’s grinning – and rather uncharitable, I felt – response to my triumphant declaration of dietary intent was: “Hmm, 5:2 diet. Does that mean five bars of chocolate to every two apples?”  Ah, how well he knows me...

Heaps of snow and heaps of cookies

Seriously Good Venison: even the office has antlers

Being rather fond of my food, I was only too delighted to be invited to be one of this year's Crail Food Festival volunteer bloggers. My "onerous" (not!) duty was to visit Seriously Good Venison near Newburgh and find out a bit more about the company and its products. You can read what I found out during my chat with owner Vikki Banks here at the Crail Food Festival website.  And if you're partial to a bit of venison, I can certainly recommend trying some Seriously Good Venison for yourselves: it was perfection on a plate.

It’s probably just as well that venison is one of the healthiest meats around, because in every other way Yours Truly’s “get fit for 50” diet has been in complete abeyance these past few months.  And any last crumbs of dietary restraint were obliterated recently due to the presence in my kitchen of DD1, whose Nigella-esque cookery and bakery skills shame into complete submission those of us who tend more towards the Heinz 57 school of cookery.

DD1's latest recipe, acquired in her temporary home city of Paris (though I firmly refuse to believe any self-respecting svelte Frenchwoman would ever let one of these calorie bombs pass her lips!) was for triple chocolate cookies. With DD1’s boyfriend plus DD2 also being under our roof for most of the week, multifarious batches of these tortuously tempting treats were dished up at regular intervals, interspersed with batches of equally enticing millionaire shortbread. And, just in case Yours Truly suffered withdrawal symptoms when DD1 returned to the French capital last Monday, the thoughtful girl left me some ready-made cookie dough in the fridge. I shall miss her immensely – though I’m not sure my waistline will!

Triple Chocolate Cookies - three times as tasty

Doh! Here's some I made earlier...

Melt-in-the-mouth millionaire shortbread

The Sparrowholding (which is by no means big) felt fit to burst at certain points during the week, as we were also hosting two Canadian rugby players - members of a touring team visiting the local High School.  Sadly, snow had been falling for several days prior to their arrival, and the school pitch could best be described as "deep and crisp and even". However, the local lads were determined not to disappoint their visitors and, on the morning of the match, they arrived at school bearing shovels instead of books, and proceeded to clear almost every inch of the pitch.  The result was a sight to behold: a rectangle of green, surrounded by heaped banks of snow.  Although Son+Heir and his cohorts were soundly trounced by the superior force of the Canadians, I imagine that the match will go down in the school history books as a triumph of sheer dogged determination (and digging) over the uncooperative Scottish weather.

Ice cool rugby players

The reason for the recent rallying of the Sparrow troops was a close friend's 21^st Ceilidh taking place in the local village hall on the Saturday evening. Just to keep life interesting, the snow fell steadily and determinedly during Friday night, all the while being whipped up by a mischievous wind. Because so much of the white stuff had been blown away, the road looked OK at first on Saturday morning, so DD1 plus boyfriend T set out dutifully in our aged wee automatic Renault to help decorate the village hall. But before they had gone even quarter of a mile, they found themselves stuck in a snowdrift – HunterGatherer was at work, so it fell to our kind Landrover-owning next-door-neighbour to come to the rescue... 

The Good Samaritan - complete with tow rope

Fortunately, his mission proved successful, so crisis was averted. Needless to say, we took a different road to the Ceilidh that night, given that none of us particularly fancied trying to push the car out of a drift in our kilts and dresses. Getting there did prove a bit hairy at times (see photo below), but all the guests made it through and a wonderful night ensued, with the lively Ceilidh band almost raising the rafters (just as well the snow was holding the roof down!). 

Snow bother!

HunterGatherer and DD1 in full 'birling' mode

Dressed for the journey: purple frock with matching wellies

Goodies from Paris - plus how to turn a polytunnel into Fort Knox

Sweet treats from Paris

Food, family, friends and time flying... That just about sums up the last couple of weeks here at the Sparrowholding, which have – as predicted in my last post – been frenzied in the extreme due to a (welcome) influx of freelance writing and editing.  As I’m still finishing off the proofreading of a colleague’s 65,000-word novel, this post is going to be more a collection of photos than words: a quick update on happenings in and around the Sparrowholding.

On the food front, I’m thrilled to be one of the food bloggers involved in covering the forthcoming Crail Food Festival.  Part of my mission will be to write an article about renowned local venison producer Seriously Good Venison (of which more another time) and the other part will be to participate in a chocolate making workshop at The Pittenweem Chocolate Company.  I know, I know: it’s tough work, but somebody has to do it...

Still on the subject of sweet things, the photo above is of the gorgeous box of toffee (La Cure Gourmande, no less!) that HunterGatherer brought me back from his micro-visit to DD1 in Paris.  We couldn’t both afford to go, so as HG had never been to Paris before – and is a real history buff – it seemed fair for him to get the ticket.  Father and elder daughter apparently spent an entire day perusing French history at Les Invalides, so Yours Truly reckons she probably got the better deal i.e. eating “les caramels”. Though I rather suspect my lovely dentist at Cherrybank Dental Spa might not approve! 

Back on Scottish shores, last weekend three of my oldest and dearest girlfriends and I had one of our rare (finding a date that we can all manage only seems to happen twice a year!) evenings out to catch up on our very different yet equally manic lives over supper. This time we opted for The Roost near Bridge of Earn (a favourite haunt of mine, which none of the others had visited since it changed into the very capable hands of Tim and Anna Dover a few years ago).  Here’s a quick photo-sample of what we tucked into – and very tasty it all was, too.

Fig and pigeon for starters

Tender venison on a rich pastry shell - with celestial celeriac puree 

Rich chocolate torte with cherry accompaniments...mmm!

And to finish off... a selection of chocolate truffles

 Thanks to the recent cold snap, feed – or rather fodder! – was very much on the minds of the resident menagerie here at The Sparrowholding.  Farmerbruv’s handy feed Blox were certainly going down a storm, as you can see from these photos...

Breakfast is just out of reach

Wha daur meddle wi' me?

Did somebody mention breakfast?

She who distributes the Blox i.e. the bag lady...

Meanwhile, in the polytunnel, HunterGatherer snatched a rare day off from work a couple of weekends back to get some seeds planted – carrots, parsnips, leeks, spinach and shallots to be precise.  After last year’s experiences, he also put security measures in place to stop FatCat (and other indigenous felines) using the newly cultivated beds for wholly unsuitable purposes -  there is now an impenetrable hen mesh barrier at either end of the polytunnel which, combined with the plastic “doors”, makes life distinctly tricky for a portly pussycat. 

Protective measures of another type were required when the weather suddenly went cold again this week: so now all HG’s little plantlets (plus Vinnie the Vine, the spectre-like shape on the right of the photo!) are tucked up cosily.  No doubt next HG will be treating them to an electric blanket!

Polytunnel protection programme - to keep FatCat out!

There be ghosts in that there polytunnel!

A birthday to remember – for all the wrong reasons!

I have a tendency for catastrophe.  This facet of my character was observed during my student days by my flatmates, who, to celebrate/commiserate with me, once bought me a card. On the outside it said, optimistically: “One day your ship will come in...”  On the inside, it said: “And knowing your luck, you’ll be waiting at the airport.”

Daughter No2 could probably empathise with me, after her 20^th birthday yesterday was marred by a similarly unfortunate travel mix-up – only this time a real-life one.  It had all seemed like such a great idea... She and a group of old school friends were meeting up in Newcastle for the weekend, to mark the birthday of both DD2 and another chum. 

Being an impecunious student, she had booked the train ticket weeks in advance, to ensure a low-cost fare. And lo and behold, Trainline must have known that she would be returning north on her 20^th birthday, as they offered her the chance to “top up” her ticket to First Class for the princely sum of £1.00.  Daughter dear whooped inwardly with delight, said “yes” and began to look forward to her first-ever first class travel experience.

Having evidently inherited her mother’s slightly (!) chaotic tendencies, DD2 was a tad flustered when she pitched up at Newcastle Central station yesterday afternoon and proceeded hurriedly, but in good time, to the platform. 

Along came an Edinburgh-bound train at around the right time, so she jumped aboard, made her way in anticipation to the hallowed terrain of the First Class carriage, and duly sank down in comfort to enjoy the journey back North to Edinburgh. A fairy-tale ending to a lovely weekend.  Or it should have been... 

Enter a grumpy , middle-aged male train conductor, stage left, like the veritable panto villain. He took one disdainful look at DD2’s first-class ticket and said, with not a little pleasure: “You’re on the wrong train. This is a CrossCountry train – your ticket is for the East Coast train. You’ll need to buy another ticket.”  

DD2 was simultaneously perplexed and confused, as her mistake (a genuine one – the train she had mistakenly boarded had been running slightly late so arrived closer to the time her train was due) was explained to her. Her public shaming was carried out loudly, in full view and hearing of all other passengers, and with no discretion whatsoever.

The happy chappy (let’s call him “Kev” – because that appeared to be his name) insisted that she pay £30 there and then for a ticket, which only caused her more distress, as she had to explain (still in full public hearing) that she was a student and didn’t know whether there would be sufficient funds in her account to cover that. 

“Well then, you’ll just have to stay at the station in Edinburgh when we get there until someone pays it for you or transfers money into your account,” retorted her inquisitor, with less compassion than a seriously hungry lion getting stuck in about a frightened wildebeest.

By this time, the humiliation and sheer disappointment of the happy birthday train journey gone wrong had become too much for DD2 – who is not known for displays of weakness even when in pain (just ask her hockey opponents). She became visibly upset as he booted her verbally (and again with no discretion) out of the First Class carriage.

She then proceeded to spend the entire (£30) journey sitting on the floor or standing in the small space between carriages, as there were no seats at that point in the second class carriages. Incidentally, Kev walked past her several times and completely ignored her.

I have absolutely no problem with him asking DD2 to leave the carriage or pay for another ticket – those were the inevitable and unfortunate consequences of her having accidentally alighted a train run by a different company from the one she bought her ticket from. Lousy luck, but these things happen – even on your birthday.

What I cannot excuse is his officious and uncompassionate handling of the situation.  If he had been a semi-decent human being, he could still have been paid the fare and have got her out of his precious carriage without utterly humiliating her.

Firstly, he could easily have kept his voice down when discussing the situation with her rather than turning it into a public spectacle. Secondly, whilst still charging her for the ticket (which I fully accept he had to do) he could have at least sympathised with about her misfortune, instead of using it as an opportunity for his own professional peacockery. Even when his poor passenger mumbled through her embarrassment that this wasn’t much of a way to spend her birthday, he didn’t bat an eyelid.  

I do hope the illustrious ‘Kev’ enjoyed his moment of power and glory yesterday afternoon – that he went home basking in the warm glow of satisfaction that can only be achieved from having kicked a fellow human being when they were down.  And no doubt it gave him even more of a kick to know that he’d ruined her birthday, too. Truly a job well done!