The Long and Rambling Post - Warning This Post May Fill You with a Strange Sense of Ennui

It has just occurred to me that I have not posted for a very long time. Well, what constitutes a very long time in the world of blog anyway. I am assuming that most of you are explaining away my absence by imagining that I finally cracked and garroted the DH with a guy rope is some fit of camping related mania and have been justly sent down for a twenty year stretch. This is not the case. I've just been a bit busy, which is a poor excuse for not blogging, but it's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

The DH has had a lot of time off, which was great, and we've been all over the place, visiting friends and having fun. We've been to the Cotswolds, Stonehenge, Salisbury, Warwick, Worcester, Peterborough (very underrated Cathedral) and been on various second-hand book buying sprees and teas out and yes, even picnics. Now, I do have a few pictures of all of this gallivanting, but I haven't quite got around to attaching the camera cable and software to my new (second hand) PC so I can't post them. Yes, I'm finally blogging on a proper PC and not that bizarre laptop which had half of the keys missing. It's a smashing PC, actually, really fast, it was the DH's old work PC, given to him when his workplace was refurbished. Blimey, I'm rambling. Badly.

It's also been a bit full on with the girls. They've had a lot of friends around to play, and the eldest has had a sleepover. Freya has been Miss Maker all holiday, which is lovely, but those activities need plenty of supervision and we've all got into this rather cosy routine of morning busy-ness, but afternoon slob out movie watching, and this has been great. Favourite movie so far. Hmm, the kids will say Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, I will say A Night to Remember (not the orignial Titanic movie - but a bit of 1940s screwball fluff, excellent). Also, Freya has had a course of speech and language therapy over the past week, and this has meant thatI've had to walk her to the clinic every day and wait whilst she sorts out the difference between saying "k" and "t". The good news is that her therapist thinks she's responded so well to treatment that if the work is consolidated she probably won't need any more formal work. I think Freya and her speech problem may deserve a post on all its own. Not that I think many people would be interested in it, but that if our experience helps another worried family out there, then it's worth talking about.

Oh, what else have I been up to? Hmm, I've been knitting like a crazy women (I've gone shrug/bolero crazy and the girls have a shrug for every summer dress they own, but the joys of the "shrug", again, may deserve a post all of its own), I've read many good books (I really, really will do a few book reviews soon), and I've been baking just a little. Here are two good recipes. The first is for Marmalade Cake, as mentioned in the previous post, the second is for Ginger Shortbread - a superb vintage shortbread, a doddle to make and horribly, horribly moreish.

Marmalade Cake

6oz butter, 6oz caster sugar, 3 eggs, 10 oz self-raising flour, 3 level tablespoons of chunky marmalade, 2 oz mixed peel (chopped), grated rind of one orange, 5 tablespoons of water.

Line and grease a seven inch round cake tin. Beat butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat in egg yolks one at a time., the one tablespoon of flour. Stir in marmalade, peel, orange rind and water. Fold in the remaining flour. Whisk egg whites until just stiff and fold into the cake mixture. Turn into a prepared tin and bake at 350 F, gas mark 4 for one and a quarter hours until risen and firm to the touch. Icing (if wanted): Blend 4 oz of icing sugar with sufficient orange juice to give a stiff consistency. Pour over cake and allow to trickle down sides. Leave to set. Cut slices of crystallised orange in half and use it to decorate the top.

This recipe was taken from The Farmhouse Kitchen by Mary Norwak. A 1970s book which can still be bought for pennies in second hand bookshops and on Abe Books. It's highly recommended and contains many authentic regional country dishes. Here's an extract from the introduction to the book

Whether the windows of her kitchen overlook a green, growing field in Yorkshire of the tall golden wheat of Kansas, the country woman has a bond with her counterparts all over the world. She knows the bounty of the land, but also the fickleness of the weather and its effect on crops and income...The country woman is perhaps the most creative of all good cooks. She works from a pantry supplied by nature as well as the supermarket...

Now for Ginger Shortbread, a recipe taken from Farmhouse Fare, a fantastic little book from 1947, highly recommended to anyone self-sufficient-ish, or green living or simple living.

2 breakfastcupfuls of flour, 1 breakfastcupful of moist brown sugar, 1/2 lb butter, 2 teaspoonfuls of ground ginger, 1 scant teaspoonful of bicarb, pinch of salt.

Mix all the dry ingredients together, work in the butter until it becomes crumbly. Spread into and well-greased dripping-tin and bake in a moderate oven of 3/4 hour. Cut into finger whilst still warm and lift gently from tin with knife blade. This is an economical shortbread which is quickly made, and is a good stand-by as it keeps well in tins.

Now, I used American cup measures rather than breakfast cups, I baked it in a 20cm brownie tin, and I set the oven to about 150c, I also baked it for about 50 minutes. I didn't cut the fingers until the shortbread was nearly cool, and it cut well. It tasted lovely, like a cross between a ginger nut and left over crumble topping. Don't worry about the fact that you don't bind the shortbread, just press it gently into your tin, the moist brown sugar does the binding in the oven, just like it would a flapjack - for this reason you must not use white sugar.

At this point I'm going to award you a medal for getting this far in my post and not snoozing off. But you'll be glad to know that this disorganised ramble is about to finish as I must iron and pack for a trip to Spain! Yes, we're off to Spain for ten days to see my parents. Quelle joi! But before I go I want to tell you, gentle reader, that you're my little coo chi face, my oochi, coo chi face...no better still I'll let Gert Frobe and Anna Quale tell you for me. Enjoy this extreme piece of silliness, my friends and, until anon!

Tamiflu A-Go-Go and On Yer Bike!

Poor old Dulcie (my eldest girl). She was a real sore throat-y, vomit-y, ear infection-y, conjunctivitis-y mess. Freya (the little one) was just fine, slightly snotty, slightly off her food, but otherwise bouncing off the walls and demanding a kitchen table full of paper, glue, feathers, beads and paint to keep her occupied, whist Dulcie lingered in her room, waiting for me to bring warm drinks and an hours reading (The Lady Grace Mysteries, very good for those who are 11-13 ish). Darn that swine flu, darn it to heck! (This is how I imagine good, Christian, women who post their thoughts on the internet swear. In real life I'm a little less Ned Flanders).



They're better now though (thank God), and Dulcie and the DH are off to the frozen North this weekend to sing a a rather beautiful priory. The little one and I are not going, simply because as soon as we get back we're off to Devon for our annual camping holiday and I just couldn't imagine having the time to pack for a choir trip and packing for a camping trip in just a few days, the logistics of the thing just twisted my melon, man. Poor Freya hasn't quite cottoned on that we're not going this year, I'm being too much of a coward to tell her the bad news because last year she loved it, it was all fairground rides and paddling and fish and chips and hardly ever sleeping. And of course, if you're four, the heady delights of Bridlington are a glamorous zenith.



I shall attempt to make her weekend as fun as possible. After we've aired the tent and packed the rucksacks and shopped for a picnic I'm going to take her to the Coventry Transport Museum. I know, you may think that such a trip is hardly comparable to an old fashioned seaside adventure, but to Freya the Coventry Transport Museum is heaven. When she first started school she did a project on the history of transport and they made a big deal about bicycles. What she doesn't know about Penny Farthings you could write on a postage stamp, but what she really likes, what she really, really, likes are the Safety Bicycles - because, as she says, ladies could ride them and not get their skirts caught in the wheels! For some reason, she finds the idea of ladies in long skirts riding bikes wonderful. So this spot of Youtubery is for her.



A while ago I watched a social history programme which featured many of the bikes in the museum and Paul Atterbury said that the wide use of bicycles at the turn of the last century has been credited with expanding the gene pool! This is a nice thought, bicycles truly are a very convivial technology!

Anyway, my youngest is not the only one who is a little bike crazy ce moment. I do not drive. To get about I either walk, use the bus or wait for the DH to come home so he may chauffeur me about like I'm Lady Muck. However, I used to ride a bike. A man's mountain bike. A man's mountain bike which I can't get on unless I contort myself into impossible positions raising my rear end and lifting my leg in a highly inappropriate way. When I used to ride it to and from work I wouldn't get on it on school premises just in case any of my pupils saw me. Freya would tell me that I need an old-fashioned lady's Safety Bicycle, so that I may ride it in a skirt, indeed so that I may ride it without having to visit the chiropractor. So right now I am hankering after a Pashley Princess.

Freya is, of course, quite right. I hanker after this bike. I hanker after it just like 19 year-old boys called Liam hanker after Subaru Imprezzas with alloy wheels. This bike is handmade in Stratford-Upon-Avon, so it's a local product (and therefore morally good), this bike is the Rolls Royce of the Safety Cycle. I shan't bore you with its particulars, you already know that it's expensive and I can't afford it. But a girl can dream. A girl can visit the Coventry Transport Museum and dream.

The Raggle Taggle Gypsy and the Hearty Goodwyfe - Or, Does Genetic Inheritance Form Physical Capability?

When we were first married the DH and I took a trip to Sorrento on the Amalfi coast. Whenever we went to a restaurant or shop the waiter or shop assistant would rattle onto the DH in Italian, simply because DH is so short, dark and curly-haired that they thought he was a native of Naples (they do the same in Spain), he looks as though he hails from the Med and not Northampton.

When you look at me you can tell that I'm English, and if not English then perhaps from Germany, or the Netherlands, or Denmark. I'm tallish (5'7"), heavy-ish, fair-skinned, blue eyed, stout of limb and hardy of body. There is no aristocratic frailty about me, I look like I could plough a field, and I probably could. Apart from yesterday, I don't think I could have ploughed a field yesterday, for yesterday I experienced heat exhaustion.

Now, we're having a heatwave in the UK, temperatures have hit the mid/high thirties and we're not used to it. I am not, and have never been "good" with heat, even as a child, even though I enjoyed the sunshine, I found real heat quite difficult to take and would often burn and throw up on our annual jaunt to Majorca. Yesterday, I did - as I normally do - a 3 mile school run (walking), went grocery shopping, dropped off some books and jam to a friend (walking) cooked tea, washed floors, folded laundry, vacuumed and the tutored in the evening. Towards the end of the day I began to feel distinctly ill; headachy, nauseous, fingers and ankles slightly swollen; it was so bad I could not eat my chicken salad, and that, gentle reader, proves without a shadow of a doubt, that I wasn't quite right. I was much better after I'd had a cold shower, a cool drink and had elevated my feet for an hour, but even so, the heat had affected me for the worse.

The DH loves this weather. He's like a lizard and thrives and basks in it. He comes home from work unusually chipper and suggests long, country walks. Indeed, when we visit my parents in Spain, whilst I sit quietly in the shade, he climbs mountains. The heat energises him, recharges his batteries, and brightens his personality. In short, the way the heat affects him is absolutely opposite to the way it affects me.

Here's the thing. The DH's maternal grandfather was proper Romany Gypsy, with a caravan and everything. This is why the DH is so dark, his genetic predisposition to dark skin and brown curls is because of the gypsy in him. Is there something about his genetic make-up that "remembers" an Egyptian past, that is to say, even though the DH's ancestors came to England hundreds of years ago, is there something about his genetic type which makes him not only resilient to heat, but to thrive in it?

Conversely, my maiden name is very English, it's an Old English word, and is also the name of a village not 15 miles from where I live. Is it possible that my ancestors, being quite the opposite to gypsies, have been Midlanders since the Anglo-Saxon times, staying put in cold, drizzly England for years and years? Is this why I find heat in England to be an abhorrence?

Now, these are just the musings of a heat addled brain, but I'm interested to see your experience of the heat. Are you dark and bask in it, like my DH? Or, are you fair and hate it, like me? Or, and I suppose this is more probable, you can simply take it or leave it?

Oh, and by the way, despite the DH's being a raggle taggle gypsy, he has never offered to read my palm, cook me a hedgehog, sell me some pegs or tarmac the drive (more's the pity). He does, however, do a mean David Essex impression. Enjoy the youtubery, goode huswives!

Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, Blaming, Miss Read, Advice

I hope you enjoyed this beautiful piece of music by Gorecki. Sometimes it's good to feel the strong emotions music and art promote, perhaps because we can feel a oneness with our fellow man when emotion is shared in such a way, perhaps great artists have the knack for expressing what we cannot?

I just thought that I would give you an update on my father in law. He is doing a little better, his pain comes and goes, but it is manageable. I want to thank you all for your kind prayers and thoughts, I truly believe they have helped us, and my father in law, get through some difficult times.

For all of you bookish types out there, I thought I'd share some recommendations. First, Blaming by Elizabeth Taylor (no, not that one!). A strange, clever novel, whose main character is so intensely human the reader's sympathy with her shifts on a constant basis. I think Taylor understands that people's inner narrative is often not as generous as their outward actions, I know this is true of me, therefore I found the book to be rather real, and often quite touching. Oh, and here is a link to a Guardian article about her work and a recent biography.

Secondly, I've been eating up the Miss Read Fairacre novels. The literary equivalent of gobbling buttered toast simply to comfort oneself. Considering my proclivities towards country living, happy childhoods and well stocked pantries I've come rather late to Miss Read, however what a joy it's been to read them!

Now, here's a poem for all you Pooh Bears to philosophise over.

Advice

When you are faced with two alternatives

Choose both. And should they put you to the test,

Tick every box. Nothing is ever single.

A seed's a tree's a ship's a constellation.

Nail your true colours to this branching mast.

Robert Crawford

Well, anon gentle reader, I hope to see you soon!

A Right Funny Nun You Are!

For your amusement, here's the late, great, Jake Thackray singing Sister Josephine.

Yes, no longer will the cloister toilet set stand upright!

Oh, I'm having a proper Jake-fest today. Here's the very beautiful Hair of the Widow of Bridlington.

If Ye Love Me

April is in My Mistress' Face

Enjoy some glorious music, on this glorious April day!

This is Why You Should Never Make Faces at a Copper

Why not have a laugh 1914-style and enjoy Daisy Doodad's Dial? It is actually laugh out loud funny, and really wonderful to see the humour of a by-gone age...oh, and it does put pay to the myth that British, turn of the century females were all ever-so proper, never mind what Florence B Jack's The Woman's Book has to say on the subject!

A lady's manners should be perfect on all occasions. Manners cannot be donned and discarded at will... When she entertains, she is apast master in the art of asking the right people to meet each other and of making them all feel at ease in her society.

That is Like Massively Disrespecting of Your Trousers!

For all of you old film buffs out there, please enjoy Armstrong and Miller and their slang airmen...oh, and this is also for anyone who has ever taught Year 11 boys, bottom set!

Jobs in January

Want to know what your grannies were up to this month seventy years ago? Well, let's ask Aunt Kate, of Household Guide fame, the 1930s doyenne of home-efficiency, baby waders and crazy flavoured jam.

Extra warmth is necessary on these cold wintry days. A new fur coat is not enough for the purpose; the "inner man" must be considered too. Hot steaks and steamed puddings should all play prominent parts in the menu these days. Do not make the meals too heavy, however, but make discriminating use of recipes containing fat, sugar and starch for their heat-giving properties.

Don't be afraid to let Baby out in the fresh air, however cold the weather. Wrap him up warmly in his pram, and place him in a part of the garden which is sheltered from the wind. See that the hood of the pram is up properly. Wrap a hot water bag up in a flannel, place it at the foot of the pram, and Baby will be as cosy as can be.

The Sales are on! This is the time of year when normally level-headed women are apt to lose their sense of balance. It's easy enough when you are surrounded on all sides bu so-called "bargain." But remember that nothing is a bargain unless you have a use for it. Look out for substantial reductions in linens, household goods, lengths of material suitable for skirts and dresses, and your visits to the Sales will be worth while.

Washing day in winter is dreaded by housewives, one and all. The actual washing may be got through more or less as usual, but the drying off presents a problem. This is the time of year to take advantage of the laundry for "big things" such as sheets and tablecloths. You will not begrudge the cost when you find your washing so much easier to handle minus all the major articles.

However heat-giving and decorative the modern gas or electric fires, there is nothing to beat the comfort and cosiness of a coal fire. Big fires, of course, mean big accounts to the coalman, and so here is a hint on coal economy. Half a teaspoon of saltpetre mixed with half a cup of water and poured of a scuttle of coals will not only induce a brighter fire, but will make the coal last longer.

You know, gentlemen often come up to me and say, "Dulce Domum, you seem to have an inexhaustible amount of pep and ginger. How do you, as a member of the gentler sex, fill your day? Tell me the mysteries of the average housewife." I of course refer them to this 1930s education video on Youtube, when you get similar enquiries I suggest you do the same. Enjoy!

Tilly, the Tomboy, Visits the Poor

Have a look at this piece of anarchic nonsense from 1910!



Here's what I've learned.
That teenage girls in 1910 rolled their eyes at their fathers just as they do
today.
That they may not have had "hoodies" in 1910 but they definitely had
"bonnets".
That I wouldn't want to meet these girls on Twelfth Night!

Enjoy!