London snapshots.

 

Old Spitalfields Market.

 

Kew

 

 

Hampton Court

 

We went to London and for the first time in a long time we became tourists in our former home city. All around the heat shimmered and we moved in a determined slow motion, there was a tube strike and we were disorientated and amateurish when trying to navigate our way around the cashless oyster card system. We glimpsed new tube stations, great soaring apartment buildings - too ubiquitous to become landmarks - new pathways and directions -my previously sharp London map slowly remembered and eventually restored. We checked off some places that we had never been and places half-remembered since childhood - the maze at Hampton Court has drastically shrunk!

I saw the ghosts of lost friends in many faces and felt 21 again as we danced, reunited with some old ones. We celebrated with our growing extended family, precious new-born babies and beautiful bumps. I marvelled at the shift in our parental journey, it seems like minutes since we were the distracted parents of small infants and focused on the mindful vigilance that accompanies the fast-moving toddler. In the face of the mighty force that is Grandma, myself and Mr S became slightly redundant, some unusual hours of child-free time opening. We had enormous fun but I got my cure , it was probably no accident that I bought this book. (The background is a 1970's shopping bag that had to be bought in no small degree because of the texture and the smell! It takes me back to a hot 1970's summer, my wee pram with a similar plastic cover.)

I went clothes shopping on a Saturday morning, all the shops packed with people, sales stock strewn into a bemusing mass, stale air-conditioning in the giant shopping centre. I wanted to give up almost immediately, forget about the new shoes and join the kids in the park. The old seduction of London  was still strong, the brisk efficient mass of commuters, the endless number of undiscovered streets; the potential for people watching, the stories writing themselves as the actors in each tube carriage  shifted, emptied and refilled. The teenagers kissing at Harrow-on-the-Hill, the old Punks with chiselled features at The Angel, the beautiful twins with immaculate hair and light graceful dresses at London Bridge, a vivid 1960's painting for a dream house in Old Street. A lovely exhausting time but an interlude, I missed my space. We went for a lazy pub lunch in the pretty village of Sarratt, strolled part of the Chiltern Way and it was here that I felt most still and content. I saw the sky and the distant fields, and breathed out.

 

A most fortunate rabbit.

 

Sarratt Bottom. Address envy. xxx

Mellow Yellow.

Today, I am having a Spring break, a rest, an interlude.
No study today as my head hurts trying to grapple with the economic history of Europe post-1945.

So I am going to walk and then clean. Bake and wash. Paint some skirting boards. Then sit on the step to admire the blue sky, the scuttling white clouds and my satisfactory line of washing. I am going to plant some little seeds and see if any daffodils have unfurled.

 

 

The light has changed, there is now a yellow warmth that has been absent for a winter's while.
Today my house smells of furniture polish, warm towels, incense, linseed oil, baking and coffee. With some low notes of damp Labrador.

 

I am going to eat scones, drink coffee and read The Girl on the Train. (And wonder why macro will not work on the 'good' camera...)
This weekend I am going to do some long overdue visiting to family and friends.
Then the real hard study-time begins and lasts all the way to June but for today I am just content to take some little moments to be still and soak up some sunlight.

I hope you are having a nice day too.xxx

The naughty girls guide to reviewing.

“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”
Marcus Aurelius

Thankfully I am not often in the habit of quoting the stoic philosophers but I found this quote by accident and it keeps popping into my head so I hope you will forgive the pretention. However this week, I have been pondering the rise of the value of opinion, especially on the net and in particular the enormous popularity of the review site; Goodreads, Rotten Tomatoes, Tripadvisor. Every product on Amazon is under constant review scrutiny, every seller on eBay will rise and fall on the positivity or otherwise of their feedback. It seems that we just love poking around on the net to see what other people like and what they do not. The ascending phenomena of book clubs shows no sign of diminishment and increasingly book clubs are being courted by publisher and authors as opinion gauges and seller aids and the symbiotic relationship between reader, author and publisher is becoming exponentially closer.

Indeed the very best blogs (I am not immodestly including myself here!) construct an art of opinion and personal subjective taste, albeit carefully edited and photographed preferably in close up. I read your blog because I like your taste, that sweet crochet pattern, lovely tea towel and perfect cake, enviable street style and trusted book recommendations. So, there is nothing wrong with a little judicious editing is there? I blog, I comment, therefor I am...Hmm but is it always a little too sunny and saccharine here in the blogosphere and the wider internet?

Sometimes not as some cocky vested interests do not welcome an honest opinion. As in the case of the unedifying row between self-published author Jacqueline Howett and online reviewer BigAl's Books and Pals, and the case of the hotel guests 'fined' 100 pounds for their bad review of a Blackpool hotel on Tripadvisor. We posted up an honest but poor review over the unbelievably unprofessional conduct of a plasterer we engaged via onlinetradesmen.ie and while not surprised by the reviews speedy removal, we were made evermore cynical and certainly shall not be trusting the veracity of the tradesmen's 'references' on that particular site.

When we were hip young students we generally gravitated to those groups of people who shared our taste in humour, music, films and books, albeit a crude compatibility test but one which generally stood us in good stead. We managed to navigate the sometimes choppy waters of nascent adult relationships with relatively few tears. People that I bonded with over a love of Guinness, Withnail and I, Nick Cave and the comedy of Bill Hicks are still friends. We all had strident opinions about everything, usually passionately argued out in the gloom of the student union bar. It was important that you could back up your opinion and stand over it.

Now, life is a little slower and grounded, I certainly am less quick to judge (out loud at least); so one blog post that I had planned but consciously chose not to publish was one exasperatedly criticising the predominance of the use of the cup-cake as a plot device in novels sometimes irritatingly categorized as 'women's fiction'. It seemed that every book last summer had the plucky heroine saving their home, business, relationship etc. etc. via the boundless power of the cupcake. So why didn't I post it, perhaps it is just nice to be nice, praise that which is good and ignore that which is considered second rate?

Bitches are far more fun though, aren't they? Kenneth Tynan had pinned to his desk 'Rouse tempers, goad and lacerate, raise whirlwinds,' one of my favourite restaurant reviewers is The Observers Jay Rayner simply because he is unafraid to smoothly yet waspishly skewer any restaurateur failing the customer on food, service or value for money. It is probably easier to write an honest review through from the safe vantage point of a salaried position and many peer-reviewed articles. For the independent blogger the lines are more blurred, certainly I think for the book-bloggers especially if they perceive that they are dependant on authors and publishers for content.

So then a quick guide for the naughty girl:

1.Do not make friends with authors/filmmakers/restaurateurs.
So, you have been effervescently praising this fantastically creative individual and are thinking about meeting for coffee/twitter chats when their third novel/film/cupcake comes out and it is shite -what do you do now? Cut your 'friends' down in their prime for the sake of a blog post! Seriously it is not going to happen.

2.Do not waste your time writing negative opinions for publishers so called review sites, they won't print them.

3.Do not accept solicited products to review, you cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, your opinion is now tainted but hey you have lots of free stuff! 

4. Sharpen your red pencil and keep the comments open. Sometimes a great critique is good for the soul and it works both ways.

5. If you can't take it don't put it out there. :)

Great reads of 2014.

H is for Hawk
by Helen MacDonald.

 

(image from http://www.yellow-lightedbookshop.co.uk)

This beautiful multi-layered book just makes it into the list as I was gifted it by Mr S's Mum and could not stop dipping into it in between all the Christmas festivities. This method of reading should not have been successful, how was it possible to disappear into MacDonald's sometimes bleak grief filled world while surrounded by all the hustle and bustle of a family Christmas and the urban glitter and sparkle of  holiday London? However, my complete immersion into this book shows the precise power of this authors writing, the deft recreation of her obsessive training of Mabel the Goshawk, the compassionate biography of T.H White, and her seductive portrait of the English countryside were just perfect.

I don't usually make New Year resolutions but this book was probably partly instrumental in strengthening my resolve to get back into hill walking and trekking again this year, well and partly due to the fact that I mistakenly put on a pare of Mr S's jean and they did fit! Ohhh feck. I do spend quite a lot of time out in the countryside already but really want to experience the exhilaration to be found in our increasingly rare wild margins, the mountains and the coast.

Fractious gust of wind rattle the hedgerows, blowing voluminous shoals of leaves over us as we walk up the tract. There's sticky mud and pheasant prints in it. Flocks of fieldfares chak chak and dodge in the hawthorns by the cow field, breaking low when we get too near, bouncing over the hedge and away in thrushy strobes of black and white. It's nice to see them. Proper winter is here. And Mabel is fizzing with happiness...

This book is in places a dark read but it is so much more than the usual misery memoir, it is a deep meditation on grief and the stark raw loneliness of grieving. It is a lament for loss and of the debilitating power of separation from those we have loved but it is also a celebration of life, the beauty inherent in our natural world and the elemental importance of human interaction with the wild and indeed each other. It is one of those books that I could turn back to reread immediately after finishing. Caught by the River which is a fascinating online resource for all matters outdoorsy has an interview with Helen MacDonald here.

Another such book which demanded such an urgent reread was:

The Closet of Savage Mementoes
by Nuala Ni Chonchuir

 

(image from http://newisland.ie)

 

I have posted about this beauty in this post back in the summer when myself and some fellow bookish ladies had the pleasure of meeting Nuala Ni Chonchuir and had the chance to discuss with her, the impact that this book had for us and of-course the fascinating process of writing from conception to publication. I ordered this novel on kindle and immediately regretted it as I so needed a touchy feely print copy in order to return again and again to favoured passages of writing. I have to admit that I considered buying this book as a gift for someone and then quickly hesitated, reluctant as they might not  'get it'. Do you get that feeling of extreme annoyance when someone criticizes your beloved books? Anyway, this is a great book, funny, poignant and compelling - go and buy it. Nuala Ni Chonchuir's forthcoming book Miss Emily has been included in stellar company on the Huffington Post's Most Anticipated Books of 2015 list (as Nuala O'Connor)

 

 

My final amazing book of 2014 is:

 

To Kill a Mocking Bird

by Harper Lee.

 



(image from http://upload.wikimedia.org)

Ok, this has to be filed under the 'My Jaw is dropping, why have I not read this before!' subtitle. I have found it very hard to desist from the inclusion of multiple exclamation marks and OMG's. You don't need me to review this masterpiece for you so if like me, you have neglected to add this book to the culture section of your brain then do not tarry. Of course, the film is a sublime bonus to add to the experience.

I'm so excited for 2015, there are 12 whole months of reading time to be filled. Have you any recommendations for me? What has been your favourite read of last year? xxxx

The Closet of Savage Mementos

(image from New Island Books)

 

This is going to be another post about books (and a wee bit of food!) I'm afraid.  Quite simply these long warm light summer evening are just perfect for lounging around with a great book and as the World Cup and the continued house renovations have employed most of Mr S's time, I have been taking the opportunity to escape into print, mostly fiction. There have been many recommendations that have passed around my book-club this year, but there has been only one exceptional novel that has achieved a consensus of enthusiastic approval.

 

The Closet of Savage Mementos is one of those books that will surprise and delight you with the skill and vitality of it's story telling. The characters continue to haunt you long after the final page has been read, you wish that it had been slightly longer so you could tarry a while longer in their company. Yet, there are no uneasy gaps in the plot, the characters have been allowed to have enough room within the novel to impart empathy yet retain a realistic unknowability. Nuala Ni Chonchuir tells a very particular story of love, the lightning-strike of passion and the impact of its absence but Lillis's story is also a universal tale, she is an everyman battling against exceptional circumstances to make her way in life, a life marked by great love and great loss.

Our book-club is lucky enough to have some very pro-active members, Pavlova Queen Fi who does all the Facebooking/admin and organising, Margaret who organises some great 'meet the author' nights and opens up her home and library to us and who blogs from here. Not forgetting, Lisa, who is a prolific blogger, bookseller, writer and book-fairy and who blogs from here. I just turn up occasionally and drink my coffee/wine and offer an opinion or two. In the past I have never really been that concerned to meet any authors, perhaps because they have always seemed very remote or perhaps being content with the book as a stand-alone piece of art.

However, last week when Nuala Ni Chonchuir graciously took some time out to meet us I was really looking forward to the evening, there was just something about that book! Having read it a good few weeks ago, I thought I better scan through, however it is so good I found myself properly re-reading again.We had a wonderful time chatting with Nuala, and getting some of the background to the novel, the process of writing and the experience of working with all the team who contribute to the process of publishing and marketing a book. I would recommend to any of you also in book-clubs to not only read this particular book but also to have a go and organise a 'meet-the-author' for yourselves.

As well as having a good natter, we always bring some food and drink to the hosts table. Cooking and drinking lovely wine in combination with book-talk - are for me - a sublime trinity of pleasure. For this night we had some dietary requirements to consider, one vegetarian, one person completely gluten-free and some other ladies trying to cut down on the amount of gluten in their diet. It was also a gorgeous warm summer evening. So a quick browse of the net, resulted in these two lovely recipes:

Pasta Salad with Haloumi and Lemon

I marinated the grated courgette for around an hour and a half in the dressing and replaced half of the olive oil with some camellia oil. This camellia oil is produced locally to me in the beautiful Boyne Valley and is apparently very high in omega 3,6 & 9 and has a delicious if slightly unusual nutty taste. I also replaced the pasta with a gluten-free alterative.

My sweet contribution is one of my favourite gluten-free recipes, these brownies are so scrumptious and just so easy to make. My kids go mad for these and of-course love licking the bowl after mixing. I didn't make the sauce as we were going to have a selection of goodies.
Nigella's Peerless Flourless Chocolate Brownies

Click on the titles for the links!

Enjoy-let me know if you try these! xxxx

 

Inspiring Teachers

 

 

 

The school year is finally at an end, an auspicious year for our family as both children attended school. E moving out of the infants classes and O just at the beginning. Both children had a fantastic year and reading their school reports I was the most puffed-up proud Mama in the world! I have a feeling that O managed to totally charm his vivacious young teacher and I really appreciated how E's teacher discerned and fostered her love of reading, writing and maths. Did you have a teacher that inspired and championed you? What books from your school days do you still love or which are still totally hated because of exams and essays?

I detested school, the old-fashioned teachers, the naked aggressive bullying, the choking atmosphere of catholic containment. Additionally, Northern Ireland in the late 1980's was a bitter and uneasy place. There was one sustaining class though, Eng Lit/Lang, taught by the lovely Mr H. This class, the first cohort of GCSE student,s gave me an escape from the day-to day mundanity and the anticipation of a permanent absence. The power of words and a university education could take me away from the chilling graffiti chalked up on the 'gasworks wall', a release from the constant self-censorship both in words and of actions and of movement.

The images above are just three of the rich and vivid books that we poured over that summer. That cover of Cider With Rosie, while not my favourite was the text that we used and just a glimpse brings me back to that stuffy classroom, the shuffle of paper, the laconic buzz of a distant fly and the smell of Tippex, Impluse and cut grass. As Laurie explores Rosie in the hay, there was a corresponding fission of anticipation in that classroom. Occasionally Mr H would divert off into a monologue about his hobby of flying micro-light aircraft. I would surreptitiously stare out of the mobile classroom window at the handsome curly haired boy while my friend N had thinly disguised thoughts for Mr H's moustache.

A little later, armed with A levels I escaped to the beautiful but sometimes haunting city of Bath to study, Handsome Curly Haired boy married the girl next door at 21, Mr H stayed on teaching at the same school chalking up thirty years at the same school. I wonder how many students he inspired to continue and enjoy reading and writing not as a chore or even a sometime habit but as an essential fundamental part of  everyday life. I wonder if he still spends the weekends flying his little 'plane. I wonder did any of us thank him...

Inspired by Sue's wonderful post about Cider with Rosie and the centenary of Laurie Lee's birth falling so close to my own birthday I was inspired to pick this book for our June book-club choice and I cannot tell you what a wonderful experience it was to re-read. The rich descriptive language, the abundance of unforgettable characters, the Grannies, the Uncles, Miss Fluck and her pre-Raphaelite suicide, this book touches my heart like few others. Now, re-reading as a mother, the chapter 'Mother' especially emerges as one of the most loving and compassionate portraits in the English literary canon.

"She was as muddled and mischievous as a chimney-jackdaw, she made her nest of rags and jewels, was happy in the sunlight, squawked loudly at danger, pried and was insatiably curious, forgot to eat or ate all day and sang when sunsets were red."

Consolidation Week

Last week on the Open University timetable was the Very Important Consolidation Week, a time for review and reflection on ones progress so far. What have I learned so far through this module? Actually it is all a bit of a weary blur so instead I  treated myself to a break from Solow, Ikenberry, Lenin, Gramsci et al.

Instead I consolidated myself with some slow time, time to ease oneself back into a frame of mind that is ready to take on the next 8000 words.
So we:
Walked and foraged,
in the beautiful tranquil Beaulieu Woods. Can you see all the wild garlic from my picture? Perhaps not but it was lush and bountiful so inspired by this article in Landscape magazine,

and gathered a handful and made a delicious chicken and wild garlic pie from the leftovers from our Sunday roast. Alas no pictures, we were far too hungry to wait but I am definitely going to try some more recipes with this fragrant and delicious little plant. (Of-course please act responsibly when gathering food from the country-side. Be certain that what you are picking is edible, you have permission to be on the land and that you leave nothing but a faint footprint.)

I have been crocheting and watching Shetland.
I am so glad that I began this project, it was inspired by this post by the lovely Kirsten and so soothing to work. I bought some gorgeous pure welsh wool from The Wool Croft in Abergavenny and it has been a revelation to use, so soft and fine, all my acrylics now feel too scratchy and scritchity. The Wool Croft is a gem of a shop nestling on the main street of the gorgeous market town of Abergavenny, I wish I had longer to linger and really appreciate all their sumptuous selection of yarn.

I was pointed to the excellent Ann Cleaves, Shetland series by Dovegreyreader via the equally enjoyable Lewis Man trilogy by Peter May which I devoured in a weekend, holding my kindle while I absentmindedly tackled various tasks completely transported to Shetland. The Jimmy Perez series, I am borrowing from our local library as they are returned. (For some reason in reverse order!) Is anyone watching the BBC adaptation of the Cleaves crime novels? They are very enjoyable, just the thing to settle down with by the fire and chill out with. The cinematography of the wild remote and ultimately mysterious island is beautiful but I am a little disappointed with the changes to the original texts.

Finally, planning and reading:
It has been so much fun planning our allotment planting, last Sunday we were there for hours, clearing, weeding and Mr S had so much fun digging, he snapped the fork! The kids picked out some bright flower bulbs from the garden centre, multi-coloured freesia for O and sunny yellow begonia's for S. In vain, I tried to steer them towards the chocolate and ruby dahlias which I have fallen in love with particularly after reading the completely marvellous 'Virginia Woolf's' Garden by Caroline Zoob.

This book is an absolute joy, a treasure for your favourite gardener or book-worm. It is a elegant combination of biography and garden design inspiration. Caroline Zoob's affectionate portrait of the Woolf's marriage and the construction of the garden is perfectly complemented by Caroline Arber's stunning contemporary photography, archive pictures and Zoob's delicate embroidered planting schemes. To sit in a quiet sunny room with a steaming cup of coffee and dip in and out of these pages has been one of the highlights of the week. I do wish you some great highlights of your own for the forth-coming week which takes us yet further into spring!

Wild Garlic and Chicken Pie
Caramelise some onions and garlic.
Add left-over free-range chicken from Sunday roast.
Add peas and chopped wild garlic.
Cover in Béchamel sauce.
Season to taste.
Pop into a piecrust made from shop bought frozen puff-pastry.
Cook until golden brown and bubbling.

He's Back!

 

Actually, he has been down from the attic for about three weeks now. The kids demanded that we put the decorations up ages ago. I was insisting that this year we have a real tree for the scent but there wasn't any for sale when the munchkins were decorating so back came our little plastic leaner. Mr S did buy me a teeny living one which I will try to keep alive until next year.

I blame flippin' Marks and Spenser, for M&S Christmas begins simultaneously with Halloween. Groan, how much life and hard earned cash can the marketing and advertising execs squeeze out of us this year. Although having had that whine, it has been nice here, we have sort of dandered (Northern Irish slang for a slow wander) into Christmas, doing Christmassy things when the notion takes us before popping off to complete real-life chores and taking the time to recover from prolonged seasonal maladies.

The first week in December found us visiting Santa at the lovely Tankardstown House in County Meath and even though lots of unexpected numbers of children turned up, we bought some nice gifts for some nice relations and got to see the big man in the end for as long as the children wanted and then we had a gorgeous run around the walled garden at dusk.

Even though at the moment I feel quite physically and mentally drained due to a four week long cold virus and having to write 2000 painful torturous words on the economic liberalization of India, I feel very content and inspired. I also bought some beautiful handmade gifts from Jelly Jam who has a wonderful Etsy shop, I adore the Christmas lavender cushions and had to get one for myself.

 

While having a read of Jelly Jam's blog, I discovered a new-to-me blog Bobo Bun, I was so inspired by Mrs Bun's take on living with vintage and am very envious of her ability to make beautiful clothes. Energised by all this loveliness off I went to trundle around the charity shops and to my delight I found four sweet little vintage desert dishes for 50 cents a piece!

These are just like the ones my Granny used to serve her desert in. Desert was quite rare in her house for some reason, she preferred a strong cup of tea and a biscuit after her dinner but occasionally she would treat you to some ice-cream topped with tinned mandarin oranges. So these dishes are both a stroll down memory lane and filled with some baubles and tea-lights give out some lovely thrifty sparkle. Christmas, for me is full of nostalgic moments and the drawing in of light is a powerful symbol at this time of year. Especially tonight as it is blowing up a tempest.

So as much as Christmas is about drawing the light around oneself in the dark days of mid-winter (oh I love that word) so it symbolises the end of one year and the birth and regrowth beginning in the next. We all went to the allotment on Sunday to plant our new baby apple trees, I got two from the brilliant Future Forests in Bantry, Co Cork. They are old heritage varieties  and I love all the names and the tasting notes, we bought a 'Lough Tree of Wexford which is a small red eating apple and a 'Ballyfatten' which is a big fat cooker. It will take around two more years before there is any apples but it is so nice to plan for the future.

(Oops, I pressed the wrong button there, writing a draft post while drinking wine is a mistake -extra photos tomorrow.!!!)

Tomorrow: the storm has passed leaving little damage here in Oriel but others were not so lucky so today I am taking it easy and concentrating on the real importance of Christmas. This is the first day in a long time when I have not had to rush off and do something or have realms of study to complete. Yes, there is too much dust and a mountain of ironing and packing to do but more important is to spend slow, luxurious time with the ones we love and read a couple of great books.

At Christmas, I usually return to some much-loved childhood favourites and one special book is Alison Uttley's 'The Country Child' . The descriptions of the chill of the landscape, the bounty achieved by hard work stored within the farm and of Susan decorating the farmhouse are enchanting.

"Holly decked every picture and ornament. Sprays hung over the bacon and twisted round the hams and herb bunches. The clock carried a crown on his head and every dish-cover had a little sprig."

What are your favourite Christmas books and traditions? Oh, only six more sleeps!