Sticky jam

I made compote this week and so far no one has expired from botulism so I’m planning on making it again soon. If I ever get home that is. I’m writing this blog while crawling up the M5 (I’m not driving, don’t worry) from Brixham. I spend quite a lot of time in jams these…

In a jam

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…

Spitze!

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…

Right now

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 Flips And my radar starts To spot those onlookers Allergic to farts.

Boxed

A box can be a haven A shelter A home. 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. Hard. Then the box welcomes. Then the box sighs. You could crawl inside and hide, Licking…

Fair enough

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…

Up the road again

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…

Ask not for whom the bell tolls…

…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…