This weekend I celebrated my birthday so I
thought it would be nice to share a couple of desserts. The first is my own
creation, I call it Better Than
Ice-Cream, Five Minute Miracle. It is divine, has all the tastes of
ice-cream but without the ice-cream headache and only takes minutes to make.
The second is courtesy of Sara Buenfeld at Good Food Magazine
from years and years ago and it’s so good I still use it regularly.
Better than Ice-Cream,
Five Minute Miracle
Ingredients:
Mascarpone Cheese (half tub for two people)
Caster Sugar (approx. 6 tsp per half tub)
Vanilla Extract (approx. 1 tsp per half tub)
Fruit to serve (see recipe)
Ginger Nuts to serve (see recipe)
Here’s what to do:
Put the cheese in a dish and beat with a metal
spoon until it’s smooth and a little creamy in texture. Add the sugar a spoon
or so at a time – be sure to taste it here, you may not need the full 6
teaspoons. Finally add the vanilla extract (tasting again to be sure). If you
are making this for guests you may want to use vanilla seeds from a pod – they leave
black specks and make things look that bit more luxurious.
You can prepare this in advance and keep it in
the fridge covered with clingfilm.
Serve the cream with warm fruits, for example
frozen forest fruits warmed through in a frying pan or maybe halve and stone
some peaches then bake them in the oven on about Gas Mark 4.
Finally decide whether you are going for the ‘inside-out’
cheesecake theme, if you are then bash some ginger biscuits in a plastic bag
with a rolling pin and scatter these over the fruits to serve.
Apricot & Ricotta
Torte
It’s very rare that I take a recipe and don’t
alter, amend or adapt but this is one of those occasions. This is a fabulous
dessert, very celebratory and refreshing. It’s like a lighter take on baked
cheesecake and, better than baked cheesecake, it is fool proof to create – no cracking
in the oven, no worrying if it’s cooked. It also cools much quicker than
regular cheesecake so no problem if you don’t remember to start baking until
after lunch.
As I cannot provide any amendments I am
providing the link to the recipe and I urge you to try it.
It’s a little like going into an old garden.
Somewhere secret where you haven’t been in a long time. Somewhere that you’ve
been pushing to the back of your mind for a while. Little pieces of guilt tripping
out from time to time. And then, once in there, it’s not so bad. A little
unkempt. Few visitors in the preceding months (years?) but not so bad after
all.
So
here I am. I’ve no intention of resurrecting the blog in full – I think I’ve
mused enough along those lines and Wimpy Writer has my main attention now. And
poetry. And my novel. And short stories. But I think it would be good to drop
in once a month. Tend the weeds and post about the food that’s really taken my
fancy that month. And hopefully hear from my readers too.
This
last month I’ve been quite heavily into nibbles. I like to drink a pre-dinner
glass of gin on a Saturday and a Sunday (it quenches the thirst and reminds me
that it’s weekend – a little different from the rest of the week) but I’m
rather influenced by our friends across the Channel and find it rude to drink
without a nibble. But what to nibble? Home-baked flatbreads and homemade hummus
(or any hummus) are good but they fill you up. A bowl of crisps is great but
they really do fill you up and you always eat too much and that advert with the
guy drinking a bottle of cooking oil hovers somewhere in the back of my head.
Almonds quickly fried in dash of oil and then sprinkled with salt and pepper
are very good.
But
these next two recipes take nibbles to the next level, somewhere a bit less
than a starter but definitely worth sitting at the table and lingering over.
Courgette Rolls
Courgette (half per two people)
Pine nuts (to taste but at least a tablespoon
per person)
Ricotta cheese (half a tub per two people)
Fresh basil leaves
1 x lemon
Sea salt and black pepper
Olive oil
Oil a baking tray and sprinkle with a little
sea salt.
Using a wide bladed vegetable peeler take thin
strips of courgette (not too thin, they don’t need to be see-through). Lay
these strips on the oiled tray. Drizzle the tops with oil and use a pastry
brush to coat the strips, sprinkling with a little more sea salt and black
pepper. Leave for twenty minutes.
Meanwhile toast the pine nuts in a dry frying
pan. Allow to cool.
Stir the ricotta with a spoon, adding lemon
juice, torn basil, sea salt and pepper and finally the toasted pine nuts (you
need to taste this step and just stop adding when it suits your palette).
Once the twenty minutes has passed you can now
start to assemble. Place a generous teaspoon of the ricotta mix at the end of
each strip and then roll. The rolls will stand nicely on a serving plate
together – butting them up against each other to prevent unrolling.
Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar
just before serving.
Tomato Bruschetta
Ripe tomatoes
Fresh basil leaves
Black olives (stoned and chopped into small
pieces)
Olive oil
Garlic Clove
Sea salt
Baguette (an old one that’s good for little
else is fine)
This is my take on bruschetta but I find it’s
much more civilised to serve the tomato in a dish and let everyone help
themselves.
Sprinkle a little sea salt on a chopping board
and place the garlic clove on top. Bash with the flat of a knife and then chop
whilst rolling in the salt (if you want to be healthier omit the salt but I
find it helps to draw out the oils and gives a richer garlicky taste to the
finished dish).
Chop some ripe tomatoes into fine cubes (most
chefs say deseed but I think life’s too short). Add these to your serving dish
along with your garlic and copious glugs of olive oil. Add torn basil and the
olives to taste. Stir this all up and check again for consistency/taste. It’s a
good idea to make this an hour or two ahead to really let the flavours combine.
Serve with old baguette cut into slices and
fried in olive oil.
I rang my youngest sister
yesterday – I ring them both from time to time, it’s good to chat and there’s
usually a reason too. We shared our opinions on our respective days and I
managed all of this whilst carrying out the beginning steps to Jam-Roly-Poly.
This morning I texted her so she could call me back (as a penniless
author-in-waiting, I have had to go to Pay-As-You-Go and calls cost 25p a
minute). She did, eventually (though as I pointed out, if those had been my death
throes she would have missed my final words), and her first question was, “Have
you fallen out with me?” No, I told her, although had I died I might have
thought differently. But this wasn’t her point – she was worried about the
night before, and had spent the night worrying about what she could have done.
“That may be true,” I pointed out, “But, to be fair, you
did say you were calling me back later – so if anything, I should be worried.”
Anyway seemingly – at some point towards the end of our
conversation last night (when, in fact, I was approaching the trickier parts of
Jam-Roly-Poly construction), I interjected with the words, “I don’t know why
I’ve rung you.” and here in lies the dilemma; whilst my sister thinks the words
show that I was fed-up with her and don’t know why I bothered to call, I
believe that the words were simply recognition of the fact that I really didn’t
know why I’d called. Much like when you get to the top of the stairs and find
you haven’t a clue why you’re there so you nip to the loo instead, usually to
remember – once you are back downstairs and seated comfortably – exactly what
you had wanted and it wasn’t a toilet trip. Perhaps her different
interpretation is just a sign of her immense youth as compared with my
seniority? Or perhaps she has a problem with taking things too literally? Like
this guy?
Anyway, my youngest sister spent the evening worrying
about what she could have done to upset me. Or rather, she spent about 15
minutes and then forgot, along with forgetting to call me back, until this
morning, when she got my text.
And the Jam-Roly-Poly was perfect. I share below.
I pinched the pic - mine looked better but I didn't have my camera
Recipe: Jam-Roly-Poly & Custard
Inspired by: My Dad
Ingredients:
For the Jam-Roly-Poly
50g Shredded Suet
50g Salted Butter (cold &
cut into cubes)
250g Self-Raising Flour (don’t
worry if you’ve none in, add a couple of teaspoons of baking powder to plain)
150ml milk
1 teaspoon vanilla paste or
seeds from 1 pod
A few dessert spoons of your
favourite jam (don’t scrimp)
For the Custard
Milk (as much as you think)
Egg yolk (1 per two or poss. three
people)
A good teaspoon of corn flour
per yolk (heaped if you want your custard thick)
A couple of dessert spoons of
sugar per yolk
Vanilla paste (if you want
vanilla custard)
Here’s What I Do: (You can do all of this in a mixer if
you like.) First prepare the roly-poly, rub the butter into the flour until it
resembles bread-crumbs, it helps if the butter’s really cold so if you’ve got
warm hands consider popping it in the freezer for a minute or two after you’ve
chopped it. Next add the shredded suet, give it a few mixes but not too much
and then start adding your 150ml of milk, whilst mixing to bring together (if
you’re working by hand a palette knife can help at this stage). Pour the milk
steadily, your dough is going to be pretty wet but like all baking you might
not need every last drop of milk. Don’t over work the dough, you’re certainly
going to want to do the last bit by hand if you’re working in a mixer.
Turn your dough onto a floured surface, at this stage if
you think the dough is too wet then flour generously so that it can be worked
back into the dough. You need to roll the dough into a rectangle and, as you’re
rolling it, it wants to be around 5 or 6mm thick (no more). Spread generously
with jam, leaving a 1cm border all round (otherwise your jam will just ooze
everywhere) and roll from one of the shorter ends. You need to try and pinch
the ends together and you may use a little milk to help do this. Now wrap
loosely in greaseproof and then in foil. Remember to fold the edges with a
double fold, leaving expansion room. Put the parcel on a baking tray.
Turn your oven to Gas Mark 4 and boil a kettle of water.
Put a roasting tin in the bottom of the oven, when warm half fill the tin with
boiling water, slide your roly-poly onto the shelf above and bake for an hour
(this does depend on oven accuracy). Have a little peep in the top of the
parcel to check the pudding is cooked (mine needed an extra 10 minutes last
night), and re-wrap and leave to rest for 5 minutes before serving.
I like to make the custard in advance then reheat it, so
I do this as soon as I’ve put the pudding in. Custard is dead easy to make but
very personal so you may want it less sweet (or more sweet) or without the
vanilla. Same with the corn flour, you need to mess around with the thickness
depending on whether you want thick or thin custard.
Make a paste with the egg yolk, sugar and corn flour –
use really good free-range eggs so your custard will be a lovely colour. Warm
your milk in a pan along with the vanilla seeds (if using), just as it begins
to boil pour it onto the paste stirring all the time. Now pour this back into
the pan whilst re-heating, don’t stop stirring for a second. As it comes back
to the boil it will thicken nicely. That’s it. Lovely custard and not a packet
of Birds in sight.
I do, I admitted it to Rob one afternoon in Tesco – to approving nods
from other shoppers. I especially like it when I get to the bumps but I believe
this makes Rob feel sick. And also he says I shouldn’t talk about it in public –
apparently people can get the wrong idea.
I don’t think I’m alone
in saying that there are few better delights than going to the local park and
enjoying the feeling of lightness and giddiness that rapidly takes over when
you get on a swing and swing. I learnt from a young age, thanks to a wonderful
Dad who was great at physics, how to propel myself backwards and forwards with
nothing but the use of my legs and no need for a ‘pusher’ in sight. I had to
learn this because my Grandad (a keen bowler) would take me to the park on our
fortnightly visits and leave me at the swings whilst he went and partook in a
game of bowls. Yes I was only four and yes he was out of sight but nothing ever
went wrong and I had a fabulous time. And learned to swing. And learned to be
brave, have initiative and think for myself. And countless other skills that
are sadly being forgotten as today’s youngsters are chaperoned everywhere,
cushioned from falls and haven’t even heard of the bumps never mind tried
jumping off when one reaches them.
Anyway, one of the best
things about nieces is being able to take them to the park so that I can enjoy
the delights of (almost) weightlessness. Sadly, as my nieces have grown and
progressed to the big swings and, since most parks are equipped with only two
of the big swings, I do now have to wait my turn on the swing but I still get
to enjoy the moment at least a couple of times a month. And my sister gets sick
as she watches my dizzying heights and hopes that her lovely daughters won’t
ever learn how to be just so skilled at the art of propelling oneself upwards
and outwards on two pieces of chain and a plank of rubber.
I can get to the bumps
(the point where you leave the seat and your arms and the chain make a kind of
snapping motion) in seconds and, according to my ever optimistic and equally
competitive elder niece, so can she – but actually I am going higher, faster
and better than she. And she doesn’t know how to access my blog so she can’t
argue.
But there are things I
can no longer do – my teenage years were spent on a whole range of parks
seemingly trying to beat the laws of gravity by propelling oneself and one’s
friends in a multitude of ways. I’ve jumped off roundabouts as they speed round
at 30mph and flown 100s of metres through the air as I let go of the swing
right at the top of the bumps and I never so much as stubbed a toe. But can I
do it now? No. Instead my knuckles whiten as I secure my grip on the swing and
I can’t even manage to get the roundabout travelling so fast never mind let go
of it.
And thinking of things
I can’t do – my niece spent 30 minutes trying to teach me how to knee-skid last
week and the most I can manage is some kind of feeble, half-hearted affair on
one knee. If I were planning to propose to someone (it is a leap-year) then I
guess it could be useful but, as it is, I just look like some kind of
scaredy-cat-chicken who daren’t give-in to the slide. Peter Kay can do it (and
he’s got to weigh a bit more than me) and Bruce Springsteen isn't afraid; so if they can cope without damaging their kneecaps
what is holding me back? Surely I’m not turning into a Grown-Up?
Great things to do in London
As I mentioned yesterday, I adore London. There is so much to do and no matter how many times you visit there is still something new to see. I realise Londoners themselves may not feel the same but actually my dream-job would see me with enough money to rent an apartment in Southwalk with a view of the Thames – just for a couple of years, not forever – I think two years would sate my appetite for the lifestyle and then I could retire somewhere quieter. Feel free to email me if you think you have the job for me!
For those of you who haven’t been for a while I’m including here two of my favourite venues – one free, one paid-for. The best way to do London is via train, look for the cheap first-class tickets that are sold on the weekend, then stay a night in one of the cheaper hotels or simply return on the late train. If you are driving then you can get great deals at even the better hotels (Holiday Inn Express for instance) just around the outskirts – choose the most appropriate stop for you. I chose Watford Junction which has great access from the North of England (via the M1), London is then just a 20 minute train journey away. A day travel card will cost you around £15 and covers you for train, tube and bus. There are plenty of good eateries nearby (we went to a fabulous Indian) or you can eat in London and catch a later train back. If you are eating in London then the pubs around Leicester Square do great deals on pie and bottles of wine and London has got to have some of the best pubs in the world (in terms of olde-worlde architecture and atmosphere).
We started Sunday morning at Leighton House, via the underground stop at Notting Hill Gate. It’s a long detour, down Portobello Road but well worth the walk if you haven’t visited the area before. Portobello Rd itself is full of great shops at knockdown prices – I bought a lovely dress there – just beware of the prices in cafes. We stopped in a lovely deli and had the best espressos since returning from France and shared a pastry. The bill for this meagre treat was £12.50! Should you wish to take the shorter route to Leighton House then get off at Kensington High Street. The house was the former home and studio of the leading Victorian artist, Frederic, Lord Leighton (1830-1896) and ticks all the boxes when it comes to interior decoration and artwork. I much prefer to see art in-situ rather than in art galleries where I feel bombarded by the information. Yes the Louvre and the National Gallery have their place but in houses like this you can while away an hour or so and get a feel for the life and times rather than just admire the artwork. The downstairs is amazing, The Arab Hall is (exactly as the website describes) the centerpiece of the house and we lingered by the fountain for an age – it would certainly be a great place to visit in the heat of summer, naturally cool and stunningly beautiful. It’s £5 per adult but well worth the small expenditure
Our afternoon was spent at The Wallace Collection; housed in Hertford House on Manchester Square. It’s open 10-5pm and is absolutely free. The square is just behind Oxford Street, if you nip up the side of Debenhams and stick to Maryleborne Road then you can’t go wrong. Everything is stunning in there, we have now visited twice and will definitely go again – you cannot possibly take in everything in one go. If we lived in London I’ve no doubt we’d go every fortnight. The rooms are opulent, the furniture and clocks are a delight and the vast array of ceramics, paintings, miniatures are impossible to view in even 5 visits. The Armoury includes two and a half thousand items – the most exquisite collection of guns, swords, shields you can imagine. I am not the kind of person who spends ages in such rooms, I’ve whipped through the armoury at The Tower of London and I believe there’s a small one in Lancaster Museum which I’ve also found uninspiring but this collection is quite something else. Each piece of weaponry is outstandingly beautiful, you could visit for an hour and never leave these rooms. If you only have one day in London, you absolutely must add The Wallace Collection to your itinerary. It’s free, easy to find, close to the shops and extremely absorbing.
I am writing today’s blog on the move. I will add links, photographs and a recipe tomorrow.
I love London, it is definitely in my top
three of favourite cities. Bangkok is also there and I’m leaving room for the
third as I haven’t quite travelled the whole world yet. Like Bangkok, if I can
find an excuse to go to London I will. This time it was for the France Show at
Earl’s Court. The show itself was possibly a slight disappointment, the
catering was most un-French – lots of queuing, no seats and plastic cups. Ok,
the coffee, when we’d finally got to the front of the queue was good – but drinking
it standing up (as most were) or guiltily sitting on a seat, unable to talk to
your fellow show-goers as you battle courageously in a vain attempt to avoid
eye-contact with the thousands of seat-less coffee drinkers (as approx. 57
people were) rather marred the experience.
We met one very engaging
man – and if you’re at all interested in French properties in the South West
then I’d recommend his website and, other than that, spent an hour squashing around
the French market, gazing with some small amount of interest at the overpriced
ceramics and marvelling at the interesting array of dresses and shawls that
make-up the total of French fashion. Parisians may dress well – the rest of
France tends not to. Rob then queued for twenty minutes to get us an overpriced
bowl of boeuf bourguignon and a large glass of wine each, and I took in the
delights of the rather fractious British public; all of whom were too hot, too
tired and just a little bit miffed at the dire catering. This show had been
billed as a ‘Slice of France in England’ and it wasn’t.
At 2pm we had our
wine tasting. It was informative and passable but, after six of some of
Bordeaux’s finest I can still say quite safely that I’m a Burgundy fan. Apart
from the Sauternes at the end which was delightful – and frustrating. Around
80% of the audience left their Sauternes but it just didn’t feel right to dash
round the lecture theatre quaffing the dregs from others’ glasses.
Whilst the day
started disappointingly the rest of Saturday was fabulous. We watched a very
entertaining string quartet in the middle of Covent Garden market, and then
drank very delicious coffee to the beautiful songs of a pretty skilled busker.
His rendition of Mad World was inspiring and had me jotting ideas in my
notebook for future writing. The café had outdoor heaters, so we sat outside in
order to benefit from the atmosphere – and regretted it, no heater in the world
is match for the fierce North wind which was ripping relentlessly through
London on Saturday.
We made our way to
Leicester square safe in the knowledge that you can always get a decent pie and
a bottle of wine in one of the local pubs for under £30 for two. But it was
Saturday and the theatre doors hadn’t opened so there were no free tables –
then we spotted the posters outside St-Martin-in-the-Fields advertising a
Vivaldi by candlelight – something I’ve long dreamed of.
The recital was
lovely, only tainted by the fact that our seats were unreserved so we had to
arrive at 7pm for a 7:30 start and then they didn’t start till 7:40 but the
atmosphere and acoustics promised to make up for the long hours sitting on a
fairly uncomfortable church pew. For the first 5 minutes. Then things started
to blur, I spent a while squirming in my seat – half in the hope that that
would make me feel better and half from the stress of knowing how embarrassing it
was going to be if I had to leave mid-concert. I was sitting at the front and
there was a door just to my left but this seemed to be for musicians only so my
only exit was the huge doors right at the back of the church. Eventually I had
to leave – you know something is wrong when you put your fingers to your face
and it feels like you’ve plunged them into a sink, you also know something is
wrong when other members of the audience lean backwards at your approach in a
desperate attempt to keep as far from you as possible. My exit from the church
was faltering, rather hazy and every bit as embarrassing as I’d imagined. The
doors at the back-right of said church swing shut with a resounding thump
preceded by a sharp intake of breath from the freezing outside – just as if the
doors are sighing in disgust.
Fast-forward fifteen
minutes (I’m sure you don’t want to know the details of my demise) and, after
sitting for several minutes in the church entrance revelling in the cool breeze
from outside, there was a lull in the music and I silently inched back in. Not
feeling 100% but fairly confident that I was no longer facing my imminent
death.
Both Rob and the
lady next to me were sympathetic and very concerned. And then the lady offered me
first-aid Little Britain style. And
for all you that watched the mint paramedics and scoffed, let me tell you it
really works. So I’m not sure who I should thank especially – the kind lady from
Northampton with the mints (she insisted I had two based on her diagnosis) or
David Walliams himself (clearly the founder of said technique) but either way
it worked.
I’ll be back
tomorrow with details of two wonderful places to visit whilst in London and a
delicious recipe.
I am a health freak. I have to be. I fully
intend to live until 115 with all my faculties; partly in the hope that travel
to the moon will become regular and affordable in my lifetime and partly so
that I can annoy the hell out of people (think Jenny Joseph’s ‘Warning’
multiplied by ten). In Tuesday’s Guardian, Dr Luisa Dillner published a thought
provoking piece on ensuring your new-found health-regime (assuming you added
such a thing to your New Year’s Resolution List) lasts beyond the end of
January.
In
November my own GP suggested I try having two to three alcohol free days a
week. I embraced this eagerly – both with gusto and mathematics. My normal
waking day (I’m not including any insomnia here) is approx. 16 hours long,
giving me a waking week of 112 hours. I only generally drink between the hours
of 6pm and 8:30pm and this is slow, refined drinking of good quality wine of
course – no greedily quaffing pints of beer or the like. So, I only drink for
17.5 hours a week. As most people don’t drink in the mornings, the number of
possible reasonable drinking hours is 35. As you can see, I am only drinking
for half this time and therefore I’m already exceeding my doctor’s well-meant recommendations.
Aren’t I?
Perhaps
not. All joking aside, since December I have been sticking to 2 alcohol free
days a week – mostly – sometimes it’s 1 and a half (I mean I really, really
only have one tiny glass of red on that half day).
Dr
Dillner also recommends the two alcohol free days a week mode of living – it’s
getting a lot of press lately, so it must be true. She also says that watching TV
shortens your life. Apparently, every hour of television watched over the age
of 25 reduces your life by 22 minutes. According to a report in The Guardian in
2010, the average Briton will watch 4 hours of television a day. As I haven’t
had a television since 1992 I clearly have gained a lot of extra life.
According to my excel spreadsheet (email me if you’d like to see my
calculations) I have gained a total of 1.069 years life since the age of 25.
Now surely this means I can have an extra glass of wine or two?
I
thought I’d leave you with a recipe, a healthy one, to make you feel good about
your health-regime. It’s also very, very quick – easier to grab the ingredients
at your local supermarket then head home and cook it, than it is to queue up in
the local take-away.
1 x packet of chopped tomatoes (serves up
to 4 people)
Chilli flakes (one pinch)
Garlic (one clove)
Olive oil
Greens & Barley Risotto to serve (for
an easy meal buy the ready mixed risotto and follow pack instructions)
Here’s
What I Do:
Prepare the barley risotto as per pack
instructions (this will take around 20 minutes). Fry the chorizo in a splash of
oil until it starts to release its own oils. Chop the garlic and add this to
the pan (with maybe a tad more oil) until it is just becoming fragrant. Add the
chilli flakes and stir for a few more seconds before tipping in the tomatoes,
let this simmer until you’re ready to serve. About 5 minutes before the risotto
is ready rub your fish with oil and season to taste. Grill until cooked and
flaking (some meatier fish will take longer than 5 minutes) and don’t forget to
cook your choice of greens.
Enjoy,
with wine – unless it’s one of your alcohol free days.
Even though I say it myself, I am
staggering – and I say this with 100% conviction. I proved it on 27th
December when I decided to start the New Year with the New Me. Okay – so it
wasn’t actually New Year but I couldn’t really wait until the auspicious date
itself and, given that apparently most people abandon any New Year Resolutions
by the end of January, avoiding said date didn’t seem much of a problem.
Needless to say, the decision to start my new-life followed a very low day on
the 26th.
I
gave away my bathroom scales some months ago when I recognised that, having
reached the state of weighing myself twice daily in a desperate attempt to
understand any fluctuations and/or see if I had lost weight that day by
abstaining from my mid-morning toast, I was indeed desperate. Or deranged. I’d
read that you should weigh yourself no more than weekly – perhaps even less
than that – but I understood myself enough to realise that I would never avoid
the lure of the scales were they to continue to reside in my house, so I gave
them to my sister. I can now weigh myself weekly (though admittedly no longer
naked and first thing in the morning when I’m certain I weigh my least) and my
sister is beginning to revel in the delights of my former addiction (though I
don’t think she’s reached the twice daily stage – yet). So it was that,
scaleless – and having avoided the lure of my sister’s scales for several weeks
– I came to dress on the 26th and found that, despite an extensive
wardrobe, nothing would fit. Seemingly, my now sedentary life as a professional
(though currently unpaid) writer and my eschewing of most forms of exercise
(barring the occasional mile-swim or yoga lesson) over the December period had
finally led to a weight gain of preposterous levels. Given the unpaid nature of
my work, buying new clothes was out of the question. The only answer was to
recognise that my new profession inherently means less calories consumed in
day-to-day work and, having fully recovered from my November ill-health, I
should really be exercising much, much more.
It
was December 27th then, that I realised just how staggering I am. Or
certainly was that morning when I staggered round the 6km run which is one of
my local favourites, all the while berating myself – shouting at my rather
larger than usual shadow and lamenting the pitiful slowness with which I
tackled the hills. This is the woman who scaled Tower 42 in February 2010,
conquered London Marathon for the second time in April 2010, completed three
triathlons in summer 2010 and did the Great North Bike Ride in September of the
same year. To be fair I tackled only one race in the whole of 2011 and found
myself driving to work with my bike in the back of the car most of that year –
going out on feeble 15 milers after work (if the weather permitted) – if I’m
honest the only staggering thing (apart from my ludicrous, stumbling gate as I
forced myself round my ex-rave run) was that I hadn’t gathered what was
happening earlier.
However,
even the most troublesome run can transform itself into the most beautiful. My
favourite lane – the part after the killer hill – is always tranquil and that
morning it was full of winter beauty. And the best bit – my weakened state
meant I became more aware of my surroundings, had more time to take in the
noise of the birds singing in the trees – and therefore tuned into the sound of
a chicken being unceremoniously strangled on a beautiful Tuesday morning. Hmmm?
Unusual, I thought.
Given that any
excuse to stop was highly welcomed, I stopped and peered – cautiously – through
the gap in the hedge. Sure enough, I was faced with a field of chickens –
though none of them appeared in anyway distressed by the intense and rather
peculiar gobbling sound that I could hear. And then I saw it – the most blessed
post-Christmas sight of my life – a turkey, beautiful, resplendent, regal –
proudly strutting, in fact commandeering the field of chickens – head held
high. I could go on (but I shan’t) and indeed I took a long time enjoying the
welcome break from running and this wonderful sight. The post-Christmas turkey.
The one that got away.
I’ll
be back tomorrow with some of my latest recipes – all healthy but extremely
tasty.
My sister was putting some fuel in her car
Saturday afternoon – the dashboard had been bleeping at her for days and the ‘miles-left-until-your-engine-dies’
were getting lower and lower. Whilst we probably could have squeezed the last
twenty-one point five miles out – it wasn’t worth the stress of wondering. As
she filled I busied myself with people-watching (just in case there was a story
there). No burglaries took place, no-one was having a full-scale row with their
partner over the bill, no children were screaming. It was all pretty boring
apart from the man in the passenger seat of the car next to ours. He was
adjacent to the pump (said car having a passenger-side tank) and he was
smoking, with the window down. Now I tend not to be a health-and-safety freak
(despite having been elected Health and Safety Officer in previous lives); I am
happy to play conkers, watch as children run full-pelt down slippery slopes and
I have been known to forget my nieces hats, coats and gloves on cold days. All
that aside, I did think his choice of smoking venue was unusual.
I
watched and listened intently. There were plenty of signs about prohibiting
smoking and the use of mobile telephones. I also know that the pumps are fitted
with speaker systems whereby the attendants can prompt you to tell the pump
where you are paying, enter your pin-code and (witnessed on occasion) tell you
to switch off your mobile so I knew it was only a matter of seconds before this
crazy passenger would get the admonishment he was due. It never transpired and
I was left with palpitations and sweaty palms as I studied the glowing stick –
trying all the while to work out how many seconds smoking he had left and
hoping fervently that he wouldn’t drop the stub out the window. We left before
he finished his smoke but, given that I’ve not heard of any forecourt
explosions, I guess he took his cigarette safely home.
All
of which reminded me of our time in Cambodia. Having just spent a wondrous
three days at Siem Reap, marvelling at Angkor Wat, The Bayon
and all the other architectural and tree-coated delights in the vicinity we
were making our way, by boat to Phnom Phen. It’s a lovely journey along the
Tonlé Sap – which is more a huge lake than a river. The ferries are
rather large but nobody sits down below – well at least back-packers don’t –
they sit on the roof of the boat. This is at once self-preservation (more
chance of survival in an accident) and self-destruction (the breeze, spray and
relentless UV-rays managing to play havoc with even the best protected skin.
About two-thirds of the way along we had to change to a smaller boat, an
interesting exercise given that we were already over-crowded and no-one was
staying behind and the whole exercise takes place mid-river. Once we’d all
managed our ungainly exodus we had to hang around whilst our new boat was
refuelled, from a third boat, again mid-river. Sitting on top we had good views
of the exercise – all carried out straight-forwardly enough, one Cambodian
chatting and shouting the occasional instruction from the fuel-boat whilst two
Cambodians from our boat stood astride the tank inlet, fuel pile trailing
through their feet. And smoking.
Finally decide whether you are going for the ‘inside-out’
cheesecake theme, if you are then bash some ginger biscuits in a plastic bag
with a rolling pin and scatter these over the fruits to serve.
