jane brocket

ings

 

:: quilting with lilac

:: baking sticky date cake

:: reading Home Cooking

:: admiring Amaryllis 'Benfica' on the wondowsill; still the best red amaryllis I've seen

:: watching wonderfully quirky programmes about caravans and English guidebooks on BBC Four

:: planning a curry for tomorrow; Madhur Jaffrey is still my trusty guide after twenty years of making her recipes

:: coveting the Gene Tierney Collection after reading this  

:: reflecting on four years of blogging (yes, since February 2005)

and

:: wondering where time goes

fringe activity

I can't believe this is the first time I've ever put a fringe on anything apart from my forehead. I knitted this to check a super-simple knitting pattern for a teddy bear's scarf which will be in my next book (which comes out in July).

Aren't the crocuses in the grass pretty? They were here when we arrived eleven years ago and still surprise me by appearing as if by magic every spring.

 

biscuits and a slice of book

A little while ago I sent a text to Phoebe with the word 'gosh' in it. As quick as a flash (the way teenagers do when they are texting but never when they have a bedroom to tidy) she sent a message back asking 'since when have you ever said 'gosh'?' Well, you pretty young thing, a lot longer than you'd know.

When I made a pile of books read in the last fortnight, the first words that came to mind were a very pleased 'gosh, I've read some good books recently'. And I really have. You know how it is; sometimes you just get a good run of titles that all seem to lead on beautifully from one to another and when you've finished the sequence you suddenly feel quite lost.

My run started with Nature's Engraver: A LIfe of Thomas Bewick by Jenny Uglow which contains the most amazing woodcuts by TB and a marvellous evocation of life in late eighteenth century Newcastle. At first I thought the woodcut illustrations must have been reduced to fit in with the text and then I realised they are actual size and filled with incredible detail, humour and love of nature. A brilliant book.

The day after I parted company with Thomas Bewick a second-hand copy of Flowers for Mrs Harris by Paul Gallico arrived in the post, so I sat down that evening and read the whole book in a sitting. I do love doing that, and this book was the perfect one-sitting read. I saw it recommended in the paper by Justine Picardie who wrote about it with such affection that I had to see why. It's a little like Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, except Mrs Harris lives for a week in Paris.

I then went straight into by The Great Lover Jill Dawson which I thought was fantastic. I'd heard JD on Woman's Hour and was intrigued; she made it quite clear that this was very much 'her' imagined Rupert Brooke and not necessarily the Rupert Brooke of other accounts. As I don't have a fixed view on RB (apart from thinking he was utterly beautiful and wrote a couple of truly memorable poems), I thoroughly enjoyed Jill Dawson's convincing and sensitive portrayal.

And now I'm reading Tea and a Slice of Art. The subconscious link must be tea rooms; Rupert Brooke lodged for a while at Orchard House which was also a tea garden (and still is) in Grantchester and this is about the lithographs commissioned to brighten up the Lyons' Tea Rooms after the war. I saw the exhibition in Eastbourne in 2004 but have only just found this book, which is perfect with a home-made ginger biscuit.

Oh yes, the biscuits. Gosh, I nearly forgot. They are there because everyone needs a biscuit with a slice of book. Don't they?

growth spurt

It's as though someone has switched on the light, at last. It's been so dark lately I've hardly noticed that nature has had a massive growth spurt and there's major activity everywhere. At Wisley yesterday I finally saw wonderful clumps of snowdrops and drifts of pale purple crocuses, as well as all sorts of witch hazels like this one, hamamelis 'Glowing Embers'. And you could almost hear the daffoldils pushing their way up through the soil to announce their imminent arrival.

The children have gone back to school in daylight, the birds are singing, and even the quilt I'm working on has grown over the weekend. Things are looking good.

sweet sixteen

(maple syrup candy or 'sugar on snow')

This is the photo I was going to use on Valentine's Day, Tom and Alice's sixteenth birthday.  But I have been a little distracted by the fact that Simon fractured his collar bone early on February 14th when he fell off his bike after hitting a patch of black ice. He's mending, but his shaving and wine bottle-opening skills have gone to pot.

mix and match

 

Like many people of my age, I grew up eating cakes made from packet mixes, puddings made from from sachets of powder, and lemon meringue pies whose components came in little bags in a box.  Although I loved to bake, I often wasn't able to because we didn't always have the right ingredients, or the margarine took forever to soften, or I'd eaten the condensed milk from the tin. So it was a great treat to be allowed to buy a mix and make something for tea:  little buns with icing so thin and mean it was practically transparent, Angel Delights padded out with slices of banana (my mum insisted) and lemon meringue pies that slithered apart.

These days I thank my lucky stars every time I bake because I have fresh eggs, soft butter, and a variety of sugars and flours at my disposal. But the packet-mix concept still holds an allure for the younger bakers here who love to wander round to the corner shop to buy one when they are bored. The difference is that they see it as a means to an end, not an end in itself - a far more creative approach than I ever had. So this is Phoebe's customised Betty Crocker chocolate cake made with all the extras she could find in the tiny baking section.

And how did it taste? All I can say is that opinion was divided, although it was agreed that cake mixes are not what they used to be. Thank goodness.

hot and cold in kew

Just the day for a  heated greenhouse. And what a greenhouse. Blustery cold weather, the type that makes my ears ache, forced me into the Palm House at Kew Gardens when I'd gone with the plan of looking for the first snowdrops. I did find some poking their heads up very prettily, but they couldn't compete with the lure of this amazing building (built 1844-48) and the heating which sustains the most incredible plants. Some are huge, like exotic houseplants on super-steroids, but I liked the more delicate climbers that work their way up the wrought-iron and glass structure, like this passiflora:

 

After warming up I wanted to find the witch hazels but so many of the paths were blocked for various works that I had no option but to retreat into another heated space, the new Shirley Sherwood Gallery of Botanical Art which shows work from the Kew collection and from Dr Shirley Sherwood's collection. These works are breathtakingly exquisite in their detail and simplicity. I love this sort of art because it uses ultra-plain backgrounds that allow you to see every last nuance of a flower or plant or seed. I came away wanting to own a painting by Susannah Blaxhill whose work stood out in a gallery crammed with botanical gems; her beetroot painting (on her website) is awe-inspiring.

The snowdrops can wait a little longer.

snow white and rose red

 

As I stood by the kitchen window looking at the whiteness, I felt I should be pricking my finger and letting a few drops fall onto the snow...I've spent too long reading fairy tales, I know. So perhaps it was just as well I have a blood-red amaryllis in full flower on the windowsill. (This is 'Black Pearl' which is much darker than this when there isn't bright white snow behind it.)

Then I started to see more snow white and rose red around the house. Like this fabulous white 'Mont Blanc' amaryllis which is like a brilliant spotlight on a dull day (photo taken before the snow fell).

And the powdery-snowy icing sugar on a red jam and white cream Victoria sponge cake made at the weekend.

It's hard not to think in fairy tale images when you have a temporary fairy tale landscape outside.

good vibrations ii

While I wonder how most of a country can be brought to complete halt by some snow (call me old-fashioned, but when I was young and it definitely snowed more frequently than it does these days, there was never a whisper of schools closing - the best you could hope for was a late arrival and very wet shoes) the children are still picking up the good vibrations. Phoebe did this literally on the trampoline that looked as though it was covered with a huge, smooth duvet - until she started bouncing and then it looked like an exploded souffle.

good vibrations

 

7am: whoops of delight that the heaviest snowfall in ten* years has fallen on a schoolday and, for the first time ever, has caused all three schools to close.

7.01am onwards: making the most of this surprise gift.

*they are now saying 18 years. All the more reason to enjoy the good, snowy vibrations while they last.