Category Archives: food

Image

Dream On

My house is currently on the market.

For Sale. On the crest of the housing market boom. In the bubble.

Hubble bubble toil and trouble.

There’s an offer on the table. HOORAH. It’s a paltry offer. BOO.

Meagre. Scanty. It wouldn’t even buy me the chimney stacks on the Old Parsonage. The pretty, perfect Parsonage with its pilasters and pediment, its Flemish bricks and fossil finials. I want to live here. In a real life Doll’s House, with its sexy symmetry and glamorous garden. Why can’t I live here? Why shouldn’t I aspire to neo-classical neatness and Georgian Gorgeousness?

Because, peeps, because I suffer from the joint diseases of impecuniosity and proletarianism. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon shoved where the sun don’t shine. All I’ll inherit is a very dubious Ercol dining suite. But one can dream, and one can pretend, which is why we ended up at The Old Parsonage in Arley, Cheshire, last Sunday.

The National Garden Scheme – Yellow Book – features gardens in the UK not normally open to the public. Perfect if you are nosey like me.

Or like plants.

Or flowers.

Or afternoon tea.

Or quirkiness.

Or ponds.

Not so perfect if you are moving house and have ridiculous delusions of grandeur. Sitting on the terrace of a garden bulging with begonias and poppies and peonies and roses and putting off the evil hour when you have to leave through the quaint little gate in the quaint little hedge and return to your not so quaint little house on a not so quaint little street in a positively un-quaint Northern Town.

Dream on.

12 Comments

June 4, 2014 · 8:05 pm

May 16, 2014 · 12:54 pm

Cornwall – Week 1 – Minority Status – One Lick is Never Enough

So following on from a very successful trip to North Wales, where – hold the front page – IT DID NOT RAIN ONCE! We decided to chance our arm with another staycation and head for Cornwall.

Which is a VERY VERY VERY long way away. 362 miles, and 6 hours 15 minutes to be precise.

Kernow, (Cornish for Cornwall my lovers) is a Celtic Nation.

The Corns, Kernovians, Cornishers (?) were proudly celebrating, having just been awarded minority status.

This means the UK has promised to protect the rights of minority groups to “enjoy their own culture, to use their own language, to establish their own schools… and practise their own religion”.

I thought I’d share some of this culture, which we certainly enjoyed, oh yes my handsome:

Breakfast, started off healthy, sadly this didn’t last long:

As the rather delicious smoothies were washed down with:

Followed by pudding, from this Michelin Starred Ice Cream Van:

‘One lick is never enough’ – states the flourish on the van door, and it wasn’t, leaving a disappointed dog:

So, after a quick walk/stroll/amble along the South West Coast Path spotting ship wrecks at Coverack:

It was time for refreshments – Cornish Afternoon Tea – jam goes on first, then cream in Cornwall:

Well, that filled a hole, but having arrived back in Falmouth, we decided Fish and Chips might be in order for supper. However, first we bought beautiful bread from this bang – on bakery:

Before joining the queue here at the Best Chippy I’ve been to since the last one I went to:

Now, I know in Glasgow, Deep Fried Mars Bars are de riguer, but here in Kernow, the more discerning diner goes for the Deep Fried Creme Egg.

And on that note, I’m signing off and heading for my hand bag where there should still be some Indigestion Tablets lurking.

Kernow + Culture = One Lick is Never Enough!

Week 2 – Minority Status – to follow.

1 Comment

Filed under Artisan, Community, Cornwall, Culture, Dogwalking, English Countryside, food, Musings, National Trust, sea, travel, Writing

Tagged as Bank Holiday, Cornish Pasties, Cornwall Minority Status, Coverack, cream tea, Falmouth, Kernow, seaside, South West Path, St Ives

Image

The Co-operative – here for you for life

I met a lady from far away, whom, whilst showing me her wares, (a cardboard suitcase oozing vintage scarves) whispered I should visit a market in a Northern town.

Two scarves (one polka dot polyester, one lilac silk) and 47 miles later I park here:

Hope Mill. Or rather Hope Mi.l, according to the sign on the fir green door, not so much dark and satanic as dank and sagging.

The smell was overwhelming, growing stronger as I paced towards the bustle of the Market Hall.

Fish and Chip Shops. Attacking from three different angles. Enough vinegar to pickle the whole town.

Stalls set out in a square grid. Anything from armless Action Men to rampant bronze lions. With a great deal of CD’s, chipped plates and Chinese fakery in between. But it was good. Interesting. Very busy, and shouty. Lots of activity; banter, buying, bartering. I bought. Earrings, cufflinks and two bulbs of smoked garlic. I put back a Losol jug. Which I now regret of course.

It began to rain. I asked a woman with dreadlocks and creamy cappuccino skin to suggest a decent cafe.

And did she:

The Bear. Deli downstairs, eatery upstairs via a staircase Scarlett O’Hara wouldn’t sniff at. Was once The Co op, when once the Co op stood for Caring and Sharing. Unlike now. Help yourself why don’t you?

Pink lemonade in a silly ballon and celeriac soup in a bowl with basil and bread like this:

They like their chow in this Northern town. And they’re happy to share it. The ‘Incredible Edible’ project plants orchards and vegetables in unused spaces around the town. For everyone to partake. Cherry trees in the car park, and flocks of herbs along the canal.

What a marvellous idea. Prettify brown sites, rally a community, eat your greens.

Simple. Cooperative.