Martha's Marvellous Munchies

Finally!  It feels as if we've been saying that Toby's "nearly five" for the whole year that he was four.  But now he is well and truly five years old.  To celebrate, he requested a jungle animal themed party.  We decided to risk inviting seven children to our house - which seems relatively unusual.  Most of the parties Toby has been to have been at the village hall or a soft play area.  Admittedly this way did involve a little more planning, preparation, and moving of breakable items upstairs, but we enjoyed it.  Oh, and the kids did, too. So, the games.  Some party games are non-negotiable; so I spent half an hour entombing a present in many layers of jungle animal wrapping paper, and Graham spent fifteen minutes sweating over the music player, trying to make sure that every child got a turn to unwrap it. Apart from that, we had: - wooden animal shapes to decorate with pens and stick-on felt pieces; - Crocodile Swamp - jump on a piece of wood when the

"Martha, tha's brought me thy wages like a good lass, an' I've got four places to put every penny, but I'm just goin' to take tuppence out of it to buy that child a skippin'-rope." So says the warm-hearted Mrs Sowerby to her daughter in Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic The Secret Garden .  And the gift of a skipping-rope begins a change in Mary Lennox, helping to transform her from a spoilt and sickly orphan to a strong and spirited young lady. This quote was jiggling around my mind the other day, because life was hectic.  "I've got three places to put every minute," I thought.  If I wasn't doing this then I could be doing that , and if I wasn't doing that then I could be doing that other thing... But sometimes, even in those kind of times, there is something that makes you say, "I'm just going to take two minutes out." Money and time share some characteristics; a certain rigidity and a certain fl

Autumn is for apples!  Our generous neighbours across the road have once again been setting out trays of windfalls for anyone to help themselves.  After I'd stewed and frozen a few bagfuls, I decided it was time to try out some new recipes, which you are welcome to peruse below. We also went along to Calke Abbey's Apple Day, where we got to wander round the orchard and taste some of the dozen or so traditional varieties that they grow.  We enjoyed the Ribston Pippin enough to buy a bagful.  The bag then broke in the unlit and sloping Gardeners' Tunnel, and we had to chase runaway apples down the hill in the dark!  Apple tasting.  Yes I know I have grass all down my back. Toby helped out with some apple pressing.  The machine chewed up and squashed down a mass of apples to produce juice, all run on manpower (or childpower) alone.  The juice tasted mostly of bruised apple though, I thought.  Perhaps it would be better fermented. He pushed the handle round to c

Today is National Poetry Day .  Poetry is the fine dining of literature.  We spend most of our days tossing together the everyday pasta of prose, finding a few quick metaphors in the fridge and splashing in a dash of humour to add to the flavour.  But sometimes we want to spend the extra time to make a meal to linger over.  We pick out the best of our rare similes and assemble them artfully, paying careful attention to rhyme and metre.  The restrictions force us to pare down to the essentials, letting the flavour of the ingredients speak for themselves.  The intention is not just to sate the appetite for words, but to stroke the senses and stir the imagination.  To create an occasion.  A poem. I'm afraid my blog is not a fine dining establishment this evening.  I tried to put some ingredients together, but they somehow failed to produce anything worth keeping.  Fortunately others are better poetry chefs than I am, and they have left a menu.  You can enjoy the free National Po