food

Emails

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Despise though I might the GCHQ watching of us all, I am minded to think that just a check through my emails when I get back from a trip might give anyone, with an ounce of sense, an idea of the life of a Sussex Housewife.

You don’t really notice the emails every day but when they mount up after a while, you can get a picture of the woman behind them.

So, here we go – a run down of the emails I get:

House of Fraser – now I am a hell-bent charity shopper but there are times when I go for a 70% off sale and if I do, HoF do it well. Last year in a moment of insomnia at about 3 am, I bought a Calvin Klein coat reduced from £350 to £79 – and I love it even though I already had a coat for every season/day/mood/colour/outfit.

I do have to say that one of my coats was bought by my mum from Oxfam about 40 years ago and I still wear it with enjoyment.

Mr Fothergill’s Seeds – up until very recently, I was a lacklustre gardener. However, the kind attention and instruction of my good friend over the road who told me what to do and how to do it, has changed all that. Now I can spend a day in the garden, dividing my irises and planting a hundred bulbs.

God knows what I originally bought from Mr Fothergill and why I signed up for his emails but I would have known nothing about what to do with them. Now I happily google what to do with my crocosmia and already the garden is looking better.

Thanks I have to say to Juliet, rather than Mr Fothergill.

Trip Advisor – now I know people are snitty about Trip Advisor but I find it a useful check. Once my best beloved booked us into a hotel in Lewes so that we had a place to change and sleep the night around a friend’s wedding. He didn’t check Trip Advisor who in no uncertain terms would have told him to think again and book anywhere but this place.

To be fair, it was billed as the oldest coaching in Lewes and was on the high street – but by god it was awful.

After waiting a while in the hallway – avoiding the sticky carpets, the jukeboxes and the very drunk people (at 12 noon) we were told that the room we had booked was unavailable because the previous people had trashed it.

Thank the lord.

I asked to use the bathroom to change and found that its definition of a shower was a hose attached to the taps….

We drove home that night.

Trip Advisor keep extolling me to add new reviews with the promise that I will get another badge – I am not sure what these badges are for but I like the idea anyway so I review away and apparently 20,000 people have seen my reviews.

I am not sure I believe that but I carry on anyway.

Refugee Action – now this is my street cred of emails. I read them and sign petitions but don’t do much else. But I do read and respond to the Rural Refugee Network which, as I might have said before, is a fab small charity which aims to make people welcome here.

Then there are all those sites asking for you to sign a petition of some sort – proper wages, the fight against people trafficking, grammar schools and so on and so on.

I sign, some of them, and then I go to Twitter and read Brian Bilston, the twitter poet and the tweets about the Archers and then I go to Facebook and check up on what other people are doing.

I had promised myself that I would never post a picture of any meal I ever had on Facebook on the grounds that I hated other people doing it – why do I want to see your breakfast?

But then we stopped in Thirsk for a late lunch – not least because we had misread the atlas and confused kilometres for miles and didn’t want to arrive at my sister’s too early.

Anyway, the best beloved was dragged away from the reasonable sandwich shop, protesting mildly, and made to walk a few yards to the next cafe where we had a wonderful lunch.

And I put on Facebook a picture of my quiche and salad – it was just so beautifully presented – and then I used their wifi to look at my emails……..

A Day in the Life

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So, here is a typical Reluctant Sussex Housewife day.

Be warned, dear reader, this is not that exciting, but what can you expect from a blog that tells you on the label that this is housewife-ness and deepest Sussex.

It is also a rather long day and so you might want to go and do something more interesting or self-improving.

So, the Aga is on. I do miss it in the summer but realise that you can’t have a large oil-burning block sitting in your kitchen with the back door open and sitting in just your knickers because it is just too hot.

But now, today, even with the lovely warm weather we have been having, it is now back on and there is a chicken casserole in it.

The first casserole of the autumn.

(The best beloved’s son and girlfriend were down at the weekend and wanted a fire – we lit one. The first fire of the autumn.)

But before I could get the casserole together, I had a few other things to do.

Get my BB and his car with a problem to the garage for 8 am, and then him to the station to go and do grown-up policy things in London.

Then I had to get to a meeting on health and safety and catch up with some news, more of that later, over the Downs and far away.

That in turn, required me to look casually competent, a look I don’t often have to do for dog walking/Oxfam.

Girls, that did require some thought – in the old days, that kind of ‘uniform’ would have been second nature but these days, I have to give it a bit of thought – not that anyone noticed I suspect.

Dog walked, BB on train, I found myself very early for H&S appointment, so I nipped into Sainsbury’s for the chicken (see casserole above) and incidentally a useful couple of bras – as you do.

So, the H&S stuff was in relation to The Garden Show which happens in June and I work there for a few days with many very nice people and especially my lovely friend.

Her role is to smooth the ruffled feathers of exhibitors and mine is to behind her making equally soothing noises whilst keeping an eye out for trip hazards and missing children.

I love working at The Garden Show and am there because of my late friend – she who plied me with wine and then, dear reader, imagine my surprise the next day, I realised I had agreed to be the H&S person.

Should I believe in people looking down, as it were, I would think that she would be splitting her corsets seeing me looking like someone who knew what they were talking about – but hey, the man who did know what he was talking about said we were fine, and there was nothing much he needed to advise us to do differently.

So, to run an event you have to have an eye on the big picture and the finer details and the great woman who runs it now, does just that.

She keeps an eye on the financial disaster unfolding for an exhibitor, she knows all the car parkers by name, she remembers the name of the young person who came for a bit of holiday money and wants him back next year.

And today, she had her eye on her daughter’s broken leg – no, skateboards, alcohol and children’s parties do not mix – the terms and conditions she needed to amend, a couple of dogs and their relationship, as well as being more thoughtful and smarter about H&S than I was.

So, enough about how great The Garden Show people are. I am sure you don’t need more eulogising, dear reader.

But just another smidgen of that: In the margins of that meeting, I caught up with stuff about people who are part of the family of The Garden Show – and yes I know that is a cliché but it is true – nepotism at its best.

Two of those people are seeing each other and do you know what, that was the best of news. Two very smart, funny, lovely, bright people and the news that gives you that warm feeing of things being good.

Dear reader, you can seriously give up at this point and help yourself to a large glass of wine or even go for a long walk, because there is more….

So, off back to Oxfam.

Now, I have been away for two weeks and it seems that in that time, there have been a large number of clear outs from schools and homes, of books they don’t want.

I thought I was on duty for the afternoon – not on the till, but clearing those books.

Boxes, bags, piles, tables, benches of them

Art books, paperback fiction, children’s books, out of date cookery books, Readers’ Digest books of Facts dated 1989, atlases with missing pages and missing modern countries ( John Le Carre era cold war atlases), a ( another bloody) collection of the complete works of Dickens, jigsaws with missing bits, aged library books, books from other charity shops with 50p written in pen on the inside…..

And more and more were coming in.

I slipped out to get milk for tea and bumped into someone I know and asked if he and his wife wanted to come for supper.

He runs the ‘proper’ bookshop and she is a really interesting woman who is helping set up the Harting Supper Club – I am sure I have told you about that before.

That’s what Petersfield is like, you bump into people – and that is nice and very Waitrose.

Anyway, back at Oxfam, I was upstairs and my colleague downstairs and we were filling sack after sack, after sack, after box, after sack – you get the picture.

In the end, I didn’t have to work the whole afternoon as I am working all day tomorrow – and do you know, there will still be boxes, bags, tables of books.

So I came home and put that casserole in the bottom of the Aga.

Meanwhile – and I do suggest you give up at this point because even I am getting bored – I sold a teak sideboard.

When we got back from Brussels and France, stuff didn’t fit in the house and ended up in the garage.

For some years, I have been planning on selling the teak sideboard but never had managed to get the bloody thing out of the garage – it is very heavy.

This weekend, the BB’s son and he got it out. I photographed it and put it on Gumtree and Ebay.

Clearly, I did not ask enough because it had sold – several times over – a few hours later.

Jim was first come, so first served. He turned up this evening and told me about how he and his wife had enlarged their house and now needed stuff to put in it.

He told me this as he peered into the garage and looked to see if there was anything else he might be able to use/buy.

And then he said, ‘ I read your blog.’

Good Lord, dear reader…..

So, I am getting the casserole out and awaiting the return of the BB and then it is tea and bed – another scintillating day in the life of a Sussex Housewife.

P.S. BB came home, ate some casserole and then turned Aga down to the minimum……

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Rituals

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some of this year’s crop

If you are a housewife in Deepest Sussex, however reluctant, there are some rituals associated with this time of year.

The Aga is back on. Obviously, there was an outbreak of very warm weather immediately after it was ceremoniously re-lit but I resisted attempts to have it turned down or off and today is gratifyingly chilly – and it is currently draped with drying knickers and socks.

Then there is the business of turning nature’s bounty into jars of stuff which can be sold to friends in aid of Syrian refugees – a ritual we started at the beginning of the war so it has some years standing – none of this johnny-come-lately refugee crisis activity.

Our crab apple tree had taken a couple of years off and was looking poorly but this year (after some ministrations) it has rewarded us with a big crop.

Too big infact.

Making crab apple jelly is a time consuming faff which involves having bags of dripping mush scattered around the kitchen for many hours, re-boiling and all that sort of stuff.

My recommendation is that you just don’t bother unless it comes with your job description.

The18 jars do look nice – a very pleasing pink and popular with the punters.

But the garden path is generously littered with more of them which I feel bad about going to waste so something more will have to be done with them.
(In case you are interested, yes there will be some elderberry vinegar and blackberry and apple jam and when I get bored with that, I will do some more interesting pickles.)

There are also clouds of pheasants released ready for the shoot and this year the landowner seems to have let out more than the usual number.

They change over a few weeks from hundreds of little brown jobs into magnificently plumed gorgeous looking birds – well, at least the males do.

They are very dim birds, and when they hear a car coming they seem to feel an overwhelming urge to run across the road or gallop off in-front of the on-coming vehicle.

It is hard work not to run them over, and can add quite a bit to your travelling time along our lanes this time of year.

However, just before Christmas the land-owner will bring a brace over – all cleaned and sorted and ready for a very nice supper.

Then there is the upholstery in aid of Syrian refugees which has also been going for a few years.

A friend and I re-upholster some chairs and sell them on Gumtree or Preloved so, obviously, the idea is to get the chairs and fabric cheap, and make a healthy profit.

Being an aficionado of the local tip shop, I got very excited when I saw a pair of G-Plan dinning chairs.

G-Plan being part of the current ‘Mid-Century, darling’ craze and only costing me a fiver, I was very pleased.

For reasons I won’t bore you with, I have been in contact with a very nice woman who is making a film for Oxfam.

I told her about this find and it turns out she is a G-Plan fan and wants the chairs. She also has the fabric she wants them done in.

Good news you may think, and indeed it is, but I feel a bit cheated – selling them so easily, not getting the chance to chose the fabric ( always the best bit of re-upholstery), makes me feel the ritual is not complete.

So I am on the hunt for some more chairs.

I went to an auction but ended up buying an elm ladder-backed rocking chair which we will keep. ( I do like to rescue old elm chairs because we won’t see the like, as my grandmother used to say.)

I will keep looking but time is not on our side – upholstery takes longer than you might think.

But on the upside, this is a chilly Autumn Sunday and there is Antiques Roadshow on tonight – a ritual I always enjoy.

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Omelettes

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Six young lambs have appeared in our back field today and despite the morning’s gloom – more the effect of living north of the Downs than any solar eclipse – Spring seems to be springing.

One of the gauges of this is the fact that we – the women – will be walking down to the pub tonight with dogs though I suspect a head torch might be required – or walking very fast.

In the height of the summer we – the women involved – also walk back, slightly looser footed and rather giggly and at least one of the men, not mine I hasten to add, views this as rather louche and unbecoming. (Though he has not said anything of the sort since he got the clear and unrestrained message to wind his neck in on the subject.)

Anyway, Spring also means an end to comforting, warming casseroles and stews which have sat in the Aga for hours and provide rib-sticking comfort food.

Even I, a casserole fan, and one who really rather likes a proper winter, must give in to the warming weather and lighter nights and go in search of something appropriate to cook.

I was thinking of my favourite summer meal which is omelette, chips and salad and I remembered the best time I ate it.

Not in a Provençale restaurant, though I have had good ones there, nor in Paris in July when all sensible Parisians are on holiday and you have to search to find a decent bistro still open.

No, this memorable time was in Sussex many years ago before I had any idea I would end up here.

My oldest friend and I had decided to do a walking holiday along the South Downs Way and had secured the good offices of a chap to carry our rucksacks from one B&B to another whilst we strolled along the chalk paths by day.

Our first day we got dropped at the start of the Seven Sisters. It was pouring with rain and howling a gale. My best friend was shouting to the taxi driver to come back and take her home but her words got lost in the wind.

So we set out. As any reader of a previous blog of mine will recall, I am pretty useless at map reading, so she kept it in her hands.

Actually you cannot really go wrong, just keep walking along the path away from where you started and hope, in our case, not to get blown over the cliffs.

After what seemed like hours and hours and hours ( and was indeed hours and hours and hours) we turned inland along a path – trudging, cold, drenched, hoods up and quiet.

At one point my best friend turned round to say something to me and found I had been beamed up by aliens.

Behind her, as far as the path stretched, there was no sign of me at all. She stopped, a little alarmed at the loss of someone she had been best friends with since the first day at university.

She turned slowly all the way round scanning the rainswept fields.

Meanwhile, I had stopped too and was on her left hand side. As she turned slowly to the right, I followed her round wondering what she was looking at.

So we did this little comedy basic of her going nearly 360 degrees before she realised I was standing next to her.

How we laughed. Mind you given the day, we were easily pleased by anything which was not rain or wind.

So, having been reunited we discussed how bloody hungry we were and luckily, god sent, there was a sign to a National Trust Café.

(On later walks my best friend would frog march me at breakneck speed to get to a National Trust Café where they had a cake she had had her eye on, but on this occasion we just wanted warmth and somewhere dry.)

Along the last mile or so to this café, I had decided as this was my summer holiday, my tradition dictated I should have omelette, chips and salad.

Needless to say this was not listed on the menu but as I dripped on their floor and looked for all the world as if I had walked many miles in appalling weather conditions, I begged.

I explained this was my summer holiday, and on every summer holiday etc etc.

The waitress hesitated, went into the kitchen and then came back and said did we want cheese and ham or just cheese omelettes?

Celery and AA Milne

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I find it sometimes depressing how many donated-to-Oxfam books I throw away instead of taking them home to read.

But you can’t read all of them – and I could almost feel as if I have read all the Waverley novels by dint of the number I have touched and, I afraid, consigned to recycling.

Also, as I have said before, there are a lot of books that never should have been written – including the complete oeuvre of Jeremy Clarkson.

Anyway, I did, one day recently, pick out a small book by AA Milne. Although I knew he had written more than Pooh books, I had never read anything else by him nor really come across anything.

So, when I found it lying in amongst some dog-eared Jane Austen I bought it.

It is called ‘Not That It Matters’ and is a collection of essays about all sorts and not much.

(I would be tempted to say something about how these could have been great blogs if that wasn’t such a crass statement, so I won’t – but of course they could have.)

One is about eating celery and is called, ‘A Word for Autumn.’

This is how it starts:

‘ Last night the waiter out the celery on with the cheese, and I knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn, there may be – the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the misty evenings – but none of these come home to me so truly. There maybe cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the leaves may chance before their time; it is only with the first celery that summer is over………..

‘There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of heat.’

I am so enamoured of AA Milne’s writing that I am tempted to type out the whole essay but I will desist. (After all supper calls.)

I like this essay – ad many of the others – because it says so much about the social mores of 1928 and the expected reader – of course you would be somewhere where your celery was given to you by a waiter.

Further on he writes about how outraged he is when a fellow diner – ‘Another diner came in and lunched too ‘ – who reached across and took the celery.

After some explanation of how he had been keeping the ‘sweetest and crispest shoots till the last, ‘ he turns to the fellow diner and celery-stealer – ‘He realized later what he had done and apologized, but what good is an apology in such circumstances?’ ( interesting that AA Milne or at least his publisher, used American spellings)

I also love it because it says so much about how to write well about nothing much – something I would love to be able to do.

And finally, I like this essay because it reminds me that celery was once seasonal.

Being a bit of a foodie in my spare time, and having lived sur le continent I like to think that I do seasonal stuff – asparagus in its time, lamb in spring but mutton in autumn etc.

But celery is always in my fridge, I love the stuff and had completely forgotten that in my childhood it came in autumn and was not around in summer.

So, I sit here in March looking out on a great sunset after a hail-storm and after I have heard the first larks on the Downs and am ashamed.

But I am going to make celery gratin tonight and eat it with relish.