Something Staggering and the Most Beautiful Post-Christmas Sight Ever

My only race of the year

Even though I say it myself, I am staggering – and I say this with 100% conviction. I proved it on 27^th 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 26^th.

            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 26^th 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 27^th 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.

Chimpanzees, Children and Chickens

I’m back – after two weeks of story writing, deadlines and then illness. And (as I’m rather late for my post-Diwali story) I thought I’d kick off with this one.

Whilst reading Last Chance to See I was reminded of the fact that chimps can count. What surprises me with this is the amount of research that scientists will put in in order to confirm such a fact. After all, it seems obvious really – given that much more lowly animals are also fine in the counting stakes. Take my hens, and particularly my cockerel – not only are they very family oriented and protective but they do a mean job of counting too.

            Each morning when I let them out of their cabins (the younger ones still insist on sleeping in a separate cabin) they all undergo the registration rigmarole imposed upon them by their very loving (though rather bossy) cockerel. Before he will touch a morsel of grain he runs around, taking a count and checking they are all present and correct. It’s a lovely sight. Similarly at bedtime, you will see him carefully rounding them up – and he won’t stop and go to bed himself until he knows they’re all accounted for.

            So if a lowly hen can count then it really isn’t much stretch of the imagination to think that chimps would also be able. Of course, You Tube reveals that chimps recognise numbers – and I haven’t seen that replicated in hens yet so maybe there is a point to the research.

            What I did find interesting was the following experiment – a test to see who are the better learners, chimps or children? Watch carefully.

            Now I’m not sure the researchers have covered every possibility of why the children fail to learn for themselves – I think there are other issues, not least of which is that the researchers talked a lot when they were showing the children how to tap and slide (they don’t do this with the chimps because they don’t expect them to understand spoken language). Were the children given the chance to learn for themselves? Did the artificial setting alter their reactions?

But I thought it was worth sharing and as far as I know, no animals were hurt in the making of this film – though the chimps do appear to be living behind bars which is a shame.

No animals were harmed in the making of this blog

I always read the credits to films. Sometimes I am thwarted in this mission – physically dragged out of the cinema or, on rare occasions, Rob simply turns the dvd off – and it seems too much effort to start it again, fast-forwarding all the way to the end.

If you don’t read the credits then I highly recommend it – I say this both as an aspiring writer (who cannot wait to be credited with something) and also a converted credit-reader (they are very interesting and there is no end of things you can learn about the film by reading the credits). Take caterers

Spiders are only poisonous if you eat them

The offending camel stool

The same is true of snakes and indeed frogs. Animals are considered poisonous if they make you ill when you eat them. If the animal inflicts its poison via a sting or bite then it is in fact venomous. These are the things you learn if you have insomnia (actually that’s not strictly true as I guess I would have read the fact even if I was reading in the daytime) but it makes a good opening. Another thing you learn when you cannot sleep is that cleaning your house can result in serious injury. As you’ll know, I cleaned my house on Sunday and, as is my wont, I rearranged the furniture and, I might add, was very pleased with the results. Until last night.

            I’m currently having the type of insomnia that I call medium-bad. I fall asleep very well and get at least the two hours necessary for life to function correctly the next day. I then wake up. I don’t mind this kind of non-sleeping too much, I feel safe in the knowledge that I can drive relatively safely on two hours sleep but there are still down-sides to it. Probably the worst is that feeling when it approaches 4am and you know that if you leave it much longer to return to sleep you’ll actually feel worse in the morning. I have been known on summer nights to forget sleep altogether at this point and paint my nails instead.

            Last night I woke at 2:40 after a traumatic dream and (once my palpitations had subsided and my heart removed itself from my throat returning to somewhere nearer the middle of my chest) felt the immediate need to continue my latest read (see what I’m currently reading for details of this). It’s a large, hardback natural history book with lots of colour photos so it’s not the easiest thing to read quietly (as in without disturbing Rob – whose only brush with insomnia is having a wife that doesn’t sleep and even that doesn’t seem to bother him too much, usually) so I decided to take my book and read it on the settee, by torchlight.

            I do the torch thing for two reasons, firstly our house is open plan and using a light would still wake Rob no matter where I was in the house. Secondly I find that if I read by torch in a dark environment it aids sleep – it kind of dulls your senses to anything other than the book and the brightness of the page within the dark surrounds also has a hypnotic effect. Last night I needed only around 60 minutes reading and my eyes were getting heavy again. The downside to my bright light in a darkened room scenario is that your pupils are really contracted so, when you turn out the light, you are effectively blind for some minutes after (the effect of this is even more pronounced if you try to pluck your eyebrows using a spotlight and a magnifying mirror in an otherwise pitch black house). I always turn out the torch whilst still on the settee as I know the layout of my house very well and can return to bed, in silence, without the use of any lighting (and hence preserving Rob’s restful sleep). Until I decide to rearrange the furniture.

            Last night I managed to crash (shin and ankle) into the camel stool which I had repositioned on Sunday. This is just below the bedroom mezzanine – not only did the stool fly across the floor (rather noisily) but I fell to the floor, clasping my hand over my mouth and fighting the pain, in silence (in the vain hope that Rob would remain asleep). There was a moment of stillness where I tried to determine whether I could still walk – given that my toes had gone numb in pain – and then Rob mumbled sleepily,

            ‘I felt that.’

Which of course strictly speaking – he didn’t.

Seeing the world through a sceptimist's eyes - with some trepidation thrown in for good measure...

Radio Two, Monday morning and I was listening to Pause for Thought – I didn’t get to mention this yesterday but I love this word. Apparently a sceptimist is an optimist with the hand-brake on. What a great idea – and just where I think I am at the moment, busy dreaming wonderful futures for myself through the day and then applying the brakes during night-time which generally has the annoying effect of spoiling my sleep – though last night it was the weather and an irritating blind that woke me rather than my brain’s handbrake.

            Spending the day writing means I sometimes forget to check on my darling pigs, I remembered yesterday and they were fine all day, even managing to avoid the pealing skin of sunburn, today was a different story. I went out, camera at the ready so that I could brighten up this blog and what did I find? Just the Reverend, quietly churning over the ground and looking for bugs and truffles as pigs are wont to do. (I’ll let you know if we ever find truffles.)

            Where then was Pig – the well behaved one? With some amount of trepidation I gently called her name, soon raising my call to a rather concerned shout. I couldn’t see any gaping holes in fences so felt sure she hadn’t gone off on a neighbouring garden mission but nevertheless, I couldn’t find her. Then, just like yesterday I heard a grunt and next news a huge swine was barrelling towards me – I know you can’t really see the speed in my photo but I think you get the idea. And where had she been?

            In our sacred trees no less.

            Well they’re not really sacred but she’s not meant to go there so you get the picture. Pigs have very strong snouts and the thought of two swine indiscriminately rooting round our trees’ precious root systems is rather distressing. This time they’ve (for I’m sure The Reverend must be involved also) managed to power down a 6 foot piece of fencing just for the pleasure of basking in our trees – well at least now I know how they keep off the sunburn.

            Let’s calm with a recipe.

Peppered Salmon with Garlic Chickpeas

Inspiration: Good Food Friends App

Ingredients: (to serve two)

Salmon fillets (I prefer skin on) – however much you want to eat

1 x Lime

Baby spinach

Cherry Tomatoes

1 x carton chickpeas

Peppercorns

Paprika

Garlic

Olive oil

Homemade chicken stock (remember your carcass? substitute veg stock for non-meat eaters)

Homemade Tear and Share bread to serve (recipe tomorrow – it’s ever so easy)

Here’s what I do

First warm your oven to gas mark 5 and salt the salmon skin (I use salt from the Carmargue because I’ve been there and it is the most delicious salt but just use the best you can find).  Leave for a moment whilst you chop some garlic and put it in a dish with your cherry tomatoes, drizzle them with olive oil and then place on the bottom shelf of the oven. Heat some oil in a pan (or hob/oven dish if you have one) and put the salmon in skin-side down cooking it until the skin is crispy. Whilst it’s cooking crush up some peppercorns along with the zest from a lime, the paprika and a couple of teaspoons of olive oil so you get a paste. Spread this over the top (flesh-side) of your salmon but mind you don’t burn your fingers. Once the salmon is coated and the skin crispy transfer it to the top shelf of the oven – it will take 12 to 20 minutes depending on the thickness of your salmon.

            Meanwhile, chop some more garlic and fry this off in a small saucepan, when golden tip in your chickpeas and stir to coat. Add some warmed chicken stock – about a ladleful (or try wine for a different flavour) and allow to reduce a little before mashing it to a lumpy consistency – you don’t want to squash every single chickpea. Stir in your baby spinach and put on the lid so that it wilts.

            Serve the whole thing so it looks lovely, along with candles (not for consumption), wine and a good friend.

           

The Pigs are Escaping (is it the smell of our Sunday roast?)...

Having had our two new additions for over a week we decided it was time to let them roam around more. Still in a restricted area of course – we need to know they can find their way home and obviously we don’t want them getting too adventurous and going digging up neighbours’ gardens (as two unruly previous pigs did)! Yesterday morning then, we opened the gate to the pen and let them have access to the old vegetable plot and also a large stretch of very exciting rough land (well I think it is exciting if you’re either very small – like the size of a Borrower or a pig).

            Now I’m not sure whose idea it was (although Pig maintains it was all down to The Reverend) but around 2pm I was alerted to the fact that something was amiss by the noise from my hens. This wasn’t the hysterical alarm calls that warn of a fox visit but nevertheless they warranted inspection. Just as I got outside I caught sight of The Reverend tiptoeing past my greenhouse with Pig close behind and they certainly were not supposed to be there.

            Knowing a little bit about swine and having already become close friends with Ezekiel and Pig I quickly grabbed some pig nuts and encouraged the beasts to come to me – which they duly did, nibbling my toes along with the food and leaving some nice smears of mud on my legs (which I understand is good for my skin). My plan was to keep luring them steadily back to their allotted area via the use of tasty pig food.

            And it would have worked…

            Bar for the fact that The Reverend is clearly a rather unruly and adventurous soul and not at all worried about dashing off to pastures new even if it means leaving Pig to snaffle all the food. Before I knew what was happening The Rev was off up the lane, bound speedily for my father in law’s farm – luckily The Rev had turned left instead of right at the end of our drive. Now my pigs were separated and I had to try and round up Pig single-handedly whilst all the while looking out for The Reverend and hoping to capture him on his return, lest he should dive off down the village and wreak havoc.

            Luckily Rob returned and was able to laugh (encouragingly?) at me as I tried to shepherd a reluctant Pig back to her quarters whilst darting nervous glances up the lane in anticipation of either a violent clamour and/or the return of The Reverend (for I felt sure she would return, given the presence of two large and violent looking – though they are in fact very loving – German Shepherds in the farm yard).

            It wasn’t long before I was proved correct, out of the corner of my eye I spied a movement about 400 metres up the lane – and it was approaching fast. Now I don’t know how much my darlings weigh but I can tell you that when they nudge me for food in the mornings it is with some great force and when standing on their hind legs they can get their feet to my shoulder height – so they’re not small or lightweight that’s for sure. The sight of one of these beasts running downhill towards you at great speed is definitely a cause for concern and it is testament to my considerable farming skills that I was able to maintain my position, attempting to block any further passage downhill without diving for cover behind the nearest fence.

            In the end we got them both back in their new garden and managed to block up their last exit point.

            Today all I have to worry about is sunburn.

            And they can forget about Sunday Roast for at least another week…

Game Two - Things you only know if you work from home.

Let’s start with the buttons at the bottom of the page – the ones that ask you what you think of my blog. Well, to be honest ‘cool’ (one of yesterday’s options) is not a word I would use – these were the buttons foisted upon me by the powers that be at Blogger. Now, a day wiser in the blogging field, and I realise I can change these options. Please note the new option ‘zeitgeist’ far more one of my words and also topical – fellow insomniacs could try using it at the end of an alphabet sentence – certainly more interesting than zoo and zebra.

            Regarding the alphabet sentence game – please don’t feel that you should miss out if you are lucky enough to sleep well each night – post your sentence even if in truth you wrote it through the day – I look forward to reading a wide selection.

            So, things you only know if you work from home or are retired (and happen to be at home rather than in Spain or lunching in Harrods) – firstly you know when a fox is eating your chickens. This is a good thing – last time a fox decided to eat my chickens I was at work. It was a gloriously sunny day and I’d cycled to work then taken an extra-long route home in order to benefit from the sunshine – only to be treated on my return to the site of feathers and corpses decorating my lane and driveway. That day I jumped off my bike, picked up the nearest corpse and, cradling it like a baby, sat at the top of my drive and cried. I had half hoped someone would find me and comfort me but, living in the middle of nowhere, this was unlikely. Anyway, yesterday I was working from home so was instantly aware of the fox from the din my hens were making.

            This was rather like one of the scenes from a horror movie – my chickens kicked off a good ten minutes before the fox appeared in full – it must have been lurking in the long grass or the bushes, tormenting them and me. I kept going out, wandering round my house, trying to calm my chickies and put said fox off its intended lunch. You end up in a state of limbo – every time you sit back at your desk you hear the chickens and cockerel crowing with fear and you jump up again – not sure whether to continue typing or go and have another futile look.

            About ten minutes into this game the stakes changed – now my chickens were running. I dashed onto my verandah only to catch sight of the fox sprinting past me intent on catching one of my babies. I did my usual fox prevention act – which normally works a treat – standing on my verandah screaming and shouting obscenities (not sure if the fox understands but they make me feel better) and flapping my hands noisily. My throat hurts afterwards but – until yesterday – it has always worked. This time it did not.

            The fox continued in its pursuit managing to grab one of my young Marans by the tail. I ran across the grass until I was maybe two metres from the fox who was still trying to de-feather my friend. I had only one option – I threw my car keys (for I was actually due to leave the house), managing to hit it on the head. (From a health and safety point of view I should point out that this is not a recommended deterrent – especially when the fox is in long grass standing next to a stream though on this occasion the fox did scarper and my keys were located quickly and unharmed.)

            On a lighter note, the second thing you only know if you work from home is how nice your bin-men are. Mine are lovely and they really brightened my post-lunch reverie.

            Lastly, I thought I would close by telling you about last-night’s sleep-inducing game, reminded to me by my youngest sister but I fear I have written enough for one day. So, a taster for tomorrow – I shall begin with binary and no, it does not help you sleep.