Tomato Frenzy!

I'm sitting in the kitchen overseeing a massive tomato cooking operation. Inspired by Barbara Kingsolver's book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle I've bought tons of toms in order to stockpile the summer harvest. I wish I could pretend that I'd grown them all myself but the combination of a late arriving greenhouse, too small pots, inexperience and a total lack of a Scottish summer has caused my plants to be barren. Not to worry, the local farm shop and Organic Diane who delivers our veg box from her farm every two weeks, have supplied me with enough of the red stuff to keep us going through the winter.
It's a lovely job, making sauce. All you have to do is hang about for an hour or two while the house smells like the best pizza you've ever tasted and then when the tomatoes emerge, blistered and sweet, squish them through a sieve leaving skin and seeds behind. My sauce was a bit too thin for my liking so I boiled it a bit to reduce it some more. Then into tubs and frozen as soon as it cools.
Twelve kilos of tomatoes have been through the treatment this week.

The house organising is almost over ( at least this bit ) and we now have a lovely store-room as seen in the photo above. Yes, that is a bottle of unopened whisky on the shelf. It was a prize and we haven't got round to drinking it yet. Had the prize been gin, the evidence would be long gone. The store room is a funny wee place. About 15 years ago it was a hairdressing salon - one sink and only room for one customer at a time. When we took up the lino a few years back, there was still hair stuck to the floorboards. Many people in the village have been trimmed in my house.

Talking of prizes, we are off to York next week. My mum, the competition diva won us first class tickets and we have booked a lovely sounding B and B. My dad is busy too this weekend, he is part of a relay team doing a 24hour walk/run/stagger to raise money for Cancer Research. More power to his walking boots! Me, I'll be busy sorting out the knitting to take on the train to York. It's a long journey without needles.

Frogs, broccoli and Hurricane Nell.

We had a severe weather warning for Tuesday but in the end all was calm until the arrival of Hurricane Nell. Nell arrived on the eleven-forty train swiftly followed by Gilll, her mother. A later train was to bring Sam, another old friend so that we could meet up for lunch and more. We had a lively meal in our favourite Italian cafe with Nell greeting the owner in Italian ( it's just a pity he comes from Dundee ). It is amazing how much silliness one four year old girl can cause. I was wearing a top which showed a hint of shoulder and we engaged in a conversation about what might be at the end of my arms. The answer I was expecting was maybe hands or fingers, but according to my companion, at the end of my arms, I have nipples. Hmmm, must check . I think there must be too much Cinderella going on in the bedtime reading as when I asked about little sister Esme ( in truth, at home with grandparents ), Nell explained that she had been given away to an old beggar woman on the train, then had died after eating a poisoned apple!
Luckily for three women trying to catch up on many months of news, Nell loves Archie, in fact she thinks he is more beautiful than all the beautiful things in the world. So, while Archie and Nell enjoyed some mutual admiration, Sam, Gill and I had a bit of a natter.

We also had a visit from our neighbour's daughter this week with the offer of frogs - two large and assorted small ones. Now, our pond has it's own supply of frogs for the first time but we decided that there can never be to many webbed footsoldiers in the war against slugs and gratefully accepted some more. Haven't seen them since though as they are fond of the undergrowth and skulking within. There are now so many frogs around that when Archie mows the lawn I walk ahead of him, like a grousebeater, scaring the beasties back into the pond and away from the mower blades.

Aother gifts this week came from a Garden Club comrade called June. She might be in her eighties but she's a far better gardener than I am and I was so pleased to take delivery of some purple sprouting broccoli plants and some lovely rouge d'hiver lettuce to keep us in greenery over the winter. June is a Quaker and a peace campaigner and a trade justice campaigner and is secretary of our local Friends of the Earth group. She grows her own food and was once spotted wearing a home made Make Poverty History armband. June is great, when I grow up I want to be just like her.

I have been knitting, honest, it's just that we've embarked on a wholescale house organising spree which has even spread to the new potting shed as you can see. I am, however knitting a ballgown for a Barbie. Let's hope it's Hurricane-proof!

Visiting the Duke of Portland

I'm on the sofa in a delicate state after last nights 50th birthday party on a farm just outside Forfar. My lovely knitting bee chum Julie was the birthday girl and the house was full of friends family and dogs. Julie is a spinner as well as a knitter, not to mention the patchwork, crochet and all manner of other clever things. She can even spin dog hair, which is handy as I could do with a little hair of the dog right now. In the winter I have plans to get her to teach me how to use a drop spindle.....
There was food, wine, beer, gin and all manner of good spirits, the weather was on our side too and we sat out around the bonfire. Neil, Julie's partner has a band called The Duke of Portland, they played some songs and then there was a free for all with guitars, djembe, flute, harmonica, mandolin and voices. Just right for a summer evening. We went home with good memories and the smell of woodsmoke on our clothes.

Earlier on in the week I took some photos of Anna stepdaughter's film/dance project that she is working on. I don't often get the chance to photograph people so this was a great opportunity. There were six dancers and I spent two hours or so in the rehearsal room with them, enjoying their agility and physical confidence. Unfortunately the room was infested with flying ants which made for some interesting dance moves.

Archie finished the painting long before I had got even halfway through the mountain of pictures to scan. The rooms look lovely and bright and I'm relieved to be able to walk through the house without putting my clothing in peril. Days later I've been finding odd marks the same colour as the walls on my jeans, my shirts, my coat. Must talk to Anna's dancers about improving my sense of balance.

There are no photos of the party, I had the sensible thought that I should leave my expensive friend at home - cameras, alcohol and bonfires are a dangerous combination!

Bats and and the photography blues.

I've been scanning in my collection of old photos this week. Archie took a sudden rush of blood to the head and decided to paint three rooms of our house and my contribution to the cause is to reduce the amount of stuff that gets returned into them. I've been taking photos since I was about eight using everything from my first Poloroid - a Christmas present from the parents who knew I had no patience - to my dad's SLR, and these days the joys of digital. There are literally hundreds of pictures and I decided to sort them out and scan them. It has been great seeing the pile reduce as I chuck out blurry landscapes and pictures of people whose names I can't remember, but it has also been a melancholy task. Lots of thinking to do. Shall I keep pictures of people I once cared about but who hurt me? How do I feel about seeing images of people I loved who have died but are now smiling out at me from my computer screen? One of the most poignant things is to see photos of my younger self, especially in my teens and early twenties, absolutely stuffed with confidence and the knowledge that I was unique and special and bound for greater things. I wish I'd bottled those feelings so that I could have a sniff of them now and then when my grown up confidence deserts me.

On the upside, I met a dead bat! We were hanging out with Sylvia the jeweller and her beasties on Saturday night and had just eaten a glorious meal of lasagne ( with hand made pasta ) and lemon surprise pudding. As we lay about with groaning tummies, a strange noise was heard on the stairs. It was Original Puss and she was carrying a bat. Luckily for us, if not for the bat, it was already dead. So, as you do in the middle of a dinner party, we had a good look at the body.
The bat was a Soprano Pipistrelle and most likely a youngster just learning to fly. His wings were incredibly tough but soft, like suede. Tiny little feet and beautiful ears. Not vampirish at all. Rangercraig who was also at the dinner party took the bat home to be pinned and displayed at the Ranger Centre for other folk to admire. Beats after dinner mints anyday!

Too much information?

Thank you Gooseflesh for the tag. It's Sunday morning so I have lots of time to think and Archie is here too in case of memory failure. I've also added a photo or two from the family archives. That's me with the rabbit and my father Tom, and brother, Tom in the other shot.

Here goes

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so:

1. Harmonia's Cuppa Tea
2. Vaguetarian Tea Room
3. drawing on the walls
4. Gooseflesh
5. Magnusmog

Next, select five people to tag:

Floofle
Zanac
Miss Frugality
Tattie Bogle
and a random fifth who can choose themself. ( I've run out of ideas already! )

What were you doing 10 years ago?

I had just qualified as a Social Worker and was working in a Day Centre with people who have chronic and enduring mental health problems. In a lovely piece of serendipity, I had moved back to the area my family came from and my office was right across the road from the building where my grandmother had worked as a District Nurse many years before.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Quite possibly sitting on the very same sofa as I am now.

Five snacks you enjoy:

Crisps ( chips ), bread, chocolate - either the posh extra dark stuff or just a Mars Bar, proper chips eaten from Marco's chippie in Arbroath, biscuits and cheese.

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:

The complete works of Billie Holliday - just ask Miss Frugality!

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

Buy the house threee doors down which has a huge garden.

Hire an organic gardener

Wait for a summer

Watch things grow

Eat the end result.

Five bad habits:

I hate telephones.

I like to wear pajamas all day - even when gardening.

Leaving teetering piles of books/knitting/jam jars ...... all over the house.

Saying bad words to Magnus on receipt of bites or scratches.

Extreme bad temper when tired.

Five things you like doing:

Kissing Magnus on the nose.

Kissing Archie on the nose.

Talking to my garden.

Being a family.

Using my head.

Five things you would never wear again:

Vintage Victorian French knickers worn over a swimsuit - as daywear.

Red MC Hammer trousers with pictures of fish on them.

Grey super-high heeled vinyl boots.

A mechanics overall as party wear.

Home made puff ball skirts.

Five favorite toys:

Nikon D40 digital camera.

Dell 6400 Laptop

Vintage and current knitting books and magazines

The greenhouse.

The village woods - for finding free berries and mushrooms at this time of year.

Tags and old photos

I'm just in the door and I've been tagged. I'm already a meme behind but this doesn't involve Wiki-ing things and can be completed sitting on my sofa recovering from a surfeit of cheese, wine, bread. Oh the bread! We had a favourite bakery in the village we stayed in and went there every morning to buy pastries and baguettes. I no longer fit comfortably into any of my clothes. It was a lovely time away and we managed to speak French to everyone - and everyone managed to keep a straight face. There is a cliche about French people, that they are arrogant and don't take kindly to people talking French badly ( and God help those speaking English ). We had the opposite experience, even in Paris. People were super patient, helped us when we didn't know the word for something and were just downright friendly.

The trip started out badly, as well as the extra security at the airport which was really scary - Scottish police don't look right holding guns - we also lost one of our party at the check in desk. Poor old Grahame, he got all the way to the airport, queued for over an hour at the check in only for his passport to be deemed too damaged to be acceptable. The page where his photo is was damaged and although the staff were lovely they weren't allowed to let him on the flight! By then we were way past the time for boarding the plane so the other three of us had to give him swift hugs and run for the departure gate. Luckily Grahame's MIL lives a few miles away from the airport and he stayed with Meg for a wee holiday instead. Kilmarnock is not quite the same as Paris though!

It was a holiday of wandering about, sitting in cafes and eating as much as possible. The attitude to food in France is great - although I'm sure people shop at supermarkets, there are also lots of specialist cheeseshops, bakers, chocolatiers and in St Germain, a beautiful hand made pasta shop and a shop just selling honey and things made from honey. The weather was cool enough to make walking easy until the last few days when it was so hot we could only sit under the parasol in the garden moaning and dipping slices of bread into our Nutella jars. I can't wait to go back.

Bugger - I've run out of space for meme-ing. I'll try again tomorrow when I can find photos of me with big hair. Here is a photo of the Dam in our village instead.

Bonjour Paris!

Passport - check.
Tickets - check.
Yarn and sock instructions - check.
Needles and emergency crochet hook - check.
Cat wrangler - check.
Attempted suicide bombing of a Scottish Airport yesterday - check.

Worried? You bet I am, I've never knitted socks before!
See you in a fortnight.