Showing posts from March, 2008

A wild wet day

Well our friends came over from Manchester and it is indeed pouring down. There was perhaps half an hour when they first arrived when it was dry which is perhaps just enough time to get some idea of why we live here. They have gone on a long walk and I wimped out, needing to bake things for some afternoon tea, not wanting to walk in the wind and rain and being pretty sure that they, experienced long distance walkers, would want to go at a pace I would struggle with. So I have made some bread and a leek and cheese pie. I have rubbed the butter into the flour for some cheese scones and some fruit scones, ready to mix up so they will certainly be warm when the walkers come in. I have whipped some cream and decanted some gooseberry and elderflower jam into a pretty jar. The woodburner is lit and the house smells of baking and warmth. I have had the better of it today I think. The rain is streaming down the windows and the wind is lashing the yew trees. The hens are out somewhere

Seven things

Zoe has tagged me to do the seven facts about myself meme. Thank you Zoe. I like reading these about other people so although I'm not sure there is anything new to say about me here goes. My father was in the RAF. He was killed in a flying accident when I was three. My brother was just twelve months old and my mother was twenty four. When I was eleven we emigrated to New Zealand, my mother having remarried. We stayed until I was seventeen and I would love to go back and look at it again as an adult. Although we didn't have very much money it was a great outdoor life. Sometimes I wonder if that time accounts for tendency to take my cup of tea outside, to the amusement of my family, as long as there is the slightest hint of warmth. Wrong hemisphere now perhaps. I trained as an inspector of taxes (don't do it now, don't panic). A colleague of mine was once investigating the tax affairs of a large, aggressive Northern comedian. When he turned up at his house to

Where I live

The A55 belts through the north of Wales towards Snowdonia, Anglesey and the coast. Some of the coastal towns are rundown and flaking. Some are glossy with money, yachts and restaurants. In summer the road can be nose to tail with caravans. Very few people turn south and come inland. Here it is a different world, neither seaside towns nor spectacular mountains, we are in a gentler country. If you come to us along the Denbigh road you are very likely to be stuck behind a tractor for a bit. Pheasants fly up and blunder across the road. The fields on either side are studded with sheep. As you come around a curve between trees the Clwydian hills rise up, gentle valleys, wooded sides, the long ridge marching southward. This is border country and the long distance path which runs along the ridge is named after Offa's Dyke. It takes you up and over Moel Arthur, Penycloddiau and Moel Famau and on down towards Powys and mid Wales. While this is not deepest West Wales, not Gwynedd where Wel


Sometimes the weeks are just too full. I like having too much to do and I have often suspected that one of the things that forms part of the mutual attraction between my husband and me is that we both have a tendency to bite off more than we can chew. It's good to be married to a fellow sufferer who is up for all sorts and doesn't think you are mad or tiring. However, it can get out of hand. This week for example started with an intense gardening weekend followed by a Sunday afternoon and evening driving all over the place visiting ailing family. Monday was, as usual, looking-after-two-year-old-grandson-day, lovely and exhausting in almost equal measure. On Tuesday I caught the train to London, having fed cats and chickens, filled bird feeders, written notes, packed bags and charged mobiles. After work I was meeting Ian, who was also in London for a couple of days, and going to Kensington for a meal with a friend who normally lives in France. He has bought a little flat as the