We have a fig tree in our garden and each year I forget to pick the figs I know, it’s terrible isn’t it.
This year I’ve remembered. And so I had a pile of figs and nothing to do with them last night. I found this recipe this morning and have just made two jars of fig compote, using some of our hedgerow blackberries too.
Basically, all you do is the figs into rough quarters, chuck in the blackberries, put some lemon juice in as well and some cinnamon and then boil it up until it goes squidgy. Then i mashed it up using a potato ricer for a bit and put it into jars that I washed out with boiling water.
Now, I know these are not properly sterilised but, I do not expect this compote to last the week anyway! And I will keep it in the fridge.
The whole thing took half an hour. And I was cleaning the kitchen at the same time. I wish it only took half an hour to clean the kitchen!
So, I’ve been off form recently dear readers…I switched Meds and something in The new mixed tablet disagreed big time with me and my tummy. It wasn’t pretty I can tell you. But I did get some beautiful sunrise shots during my sojourn in wales (toilet block was across the field…) so not all bad then ;)
Anyway, I’ve been able to curl up and read a bit including Finishing my simple life book as discussed in an earlier post. And on my return I’ve gone all ‘baking baby’ and tried a new recipe for quick brioche…I’m thrilled with it. I’ve always fancied making brioche but it took too long…no more. Here’s the recipe
And here’s the result…oh yeah. Pass the butter!
Beans beans can form a part
Of a childish rhyme
Used all the time
By my two boys
But then they start
To make that noise
And my maternal heart
And my radar starts
To spot those onlookers
Allergic to farts.
A box can be a haven
But also it captures the spirit
The wisps of self
Collected in a pool.
They should fly free,
Be able to stand up for themselves. But sometimes they fall.
Then the box welcomes.
Then the box sighs.
You could crawl inside and hide,
Licking stoney wounds.
But then you wouldn’t see the label
The label on the side
The tag, the name, the slot
The first thought when they think of you.
You couldn’t redirect the box,
You couldn’t relabel.
You couldn’t decide that you are still able.
You couldn’t do anything in that damn box
So I’m staying out here
In the cold and the rain.
I’m not getting in that box again.
To the vintage fair… Not as a member of the paying public no, but as a fine upstanding member of the stall holding community. I say upstanding, of course, that’s only my version… I spent most of the day bobbing up and down sitting on my chair because my foot was hurting so badly. However, peeping over the piles of quilts, I managed to meet lots of fellow quilt maniacs. I even managed to sell a couple making it financially worthwhile ( which is always good). however, I think spending seven hours or so standing behind a table, has cured me of my yen to be a market trader. I think it will be etsy from now on for me guys.
I was so tired when I got home that I just lay on the sofa for an hour and didn’t move. I’m sure the boys were thinking about setting up the Lego figurines on me by the end of it. A welcome change from the normal carpet terrain they use.
Anyway, me and the boys off to deepest darkest wales tomorrow very early in the morning so my posts may be short if non-existent. I don’t believe that they have any form of Wi-Fi where I’m going. That may be a good thing of course…
I’m sitting at Taunton Deane services eating a brownie (sorry weight watchers) and musing on the last most memorable time I was here…a couple of years ago we were trailing a new dinghy home when the trailer wheel blew and we got stranded on the M5. The boys were little so Other Half drove us to said service station before going back to the trailer and boat to wait for the cavalry. We were in TD for about three to four hours so I know every square inch of it well. I also recognise the staff, the same ones I spent most of my time apologising to as Little One went on a rampage thru the WH Smiths, tiny mitts grabbing all the shiny STUFF!!!! And here we are now, LO starts school in a few weeks, my life has changed immeasurably, we no longer have that dinghy and the prices have gone even higher at the coffee shop here (the latter is almost impossible to believe I know but it’s true, I may have to extend my mortgage).
Why the musing? I’m reading a book (The Simple Life by Rhonda Hetzel) that I got for pennies on the Kindle store. I’m only a couple of chapters in but it is very thought provoking – basically it’s her story of how she moved away from modern pressures etc to a Tom and Barbara ‘good life’ and the premise is increasingly appealing to me….what is truly important in life, I mean truly? Is is the rampaging 2 yo or is it the shiny packages and racking that he found soooooo attractive al that time ago? I’m voting little terror. But then you knew I would. didn’t you?!
…don’t worry, I’m not shuffling off this mortal coil or anything so dramatic. No, I wanted to make the point that the rattle of an alarm clock is but a distant memory as the boys and I settle into a Devon seaside routine of early wake up cuddles and the treachery of tangled four and eight year olds’ sharp elbows.
This morning Little One decided that 6.20am was a perfect waking time for me and his poor big brother. I was in the depths of a deep slumber and was all set to be grumpy when I saw the sun outside and decided to turn the inauspicious start into a bonus. So I kicked the boys out of bed and we went to the harbour for a bacon breakfast and large coffee (for me). There were tiredness tears later in the day but we held it together and as a reward Elder has told me he’s awarded the holidays so far a whopping 49/50 score!
I’ve been drawing and painting today too. Look…