Another early start

 Today featured another early start.

I had an appointment at the Ophthalmology Clinic over at Worcester Royal and needed to be out of the house at about half past seven.  This meant that I was whizzing around in the pre-dawn darkness emptying dogs and ensuring that the chickens were fed and watered.

It was a bloody good job that I sorted out the dogs and chickens because it was half past eleven before I made it back home.

The appointment was thorough and informative and it appears that I do not need laser surgery, but have finally been provided with a more accurate diagnosis and treatment plan.*  The only negative aspect of this morning's outpatient appointment was the forty five minute wait for the hospital pharmacy to dispense the requisite steroids. This was somewhat surprising as the pharmacy was filled with busy little pharmacists and dispensers and there were only a couple of outpatients waiting. I appreciate that the inpatients also require drugs but I just can't fathom why it took so long when there were so many staff and so few customers in the pharmacy?

Mind you, this is my view of most of the NHS. It seems to have loads of people doing stuff and an even greater number of people just wandering around and chatting. As a final point I will mention that the UK Quality Care Commission assesses this hospital as Requiring Improvement! Not exactly confidence inspiring, is it?

The afternoon descended in to several hours of laziness, including a snooze and a bit of binge watching. I eventually got my shit together late in the afternoon and took the dogs out for a walk and finished raking up the hedge clippings in the front garden.

There you go, that was Thursday.

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* For several months I have been treated by an NHS Service Provider. In other words, a private company that performs straightforward clinical services on behalf of the NHS. A cataract factory! The consultant I saw today has finally pointed me in the right direction if my eye condition doesn't improve.

What time is it?

 That was my first utterance this morning.

Apparently it is a husband's duty to ferry his wife and her crony to the Airport.*  So, this morning I was shaken from my bed shortly after five o'clock and heading towards Birmingham Airport, via Alcester, at six o'clock sharp.  30% and "M" are off to Amsterdam for a three day mini-break and I was the sucker that had to endure Birmingham's rush hour, motorway traffic in the dark. The drive wasn't actually too bad, although I doubt the sanity of anyone who would want to commute on the M42.**  

The airport run took about ninety minutes and, once home, I ministered to the chickens and took the dogs for a quick walk down the lane.

I then got back in to the car and headed over to Evesham to make floral arrangements for next week's funeral. This was quite straightforward and I have to say it is quite lovely that absolutely no-one wants to be a pain in the arse when you are referencing bereavement and funeral arrangements.  If people can be that nice, why do they default to being complete arseholes for most of their lives?

Anyway, flowers sorted ... CHECK ✅. 

Next I headed over to Redditch to purchase chicken food and a few fishing tackle essentials for Saturday's expedition to the Severn. Again, I was successful although these errands consumed virtually all of the morning.

The early start caught up with me after lunch and I have to report that an extended snooze took place. I then headed up to the orchard and topped up the bees' feeders before getting busy in the kitchen. A large bowl of tomatoes was converted to tomato soup before I took the dogs out for another short walk along th lane.

So that sums up Wednesday. In retrospect it looks like I didn't get much done, but it felt like I was on the go for virtually all of the day ... apart from the minutes when my eyes were shut!

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* The interesting point about this statement is that, whilst it may be my duty to take them to the airport, it is most definitely NOT the crony's husband's duty to pick them up when they return on Friday. When the crony was asked whether her husband would perform this task she replied "Oh no, Steve wouldn't do that".

** Today's local television news reported that it has been rated as the worst motorway in the UK. 

Rain stopped play ... eventually

My plan for today was to continue hedge cutting, focussing up in the orchard.

However ... there's always a "however" isn't there. A little fact or incident that puts paid to my original plans and diverts me to some other shit. Today's "however" was that I planned to make a start on the hedges in the orchard HOWEVER I noticed that 30% had left scatterings of hedge cuttings all over the place* and these needed to be raked up.

So, other than nipping out to Redditch for some building sand, my main accomplishment was the raking and piling up of hedge clippings. 

The rain came in about midway through the afternoon and I didn't fancy a soaking, so I spent a lazy afternoon indoors doing very little.  I like to call this "planning".

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* One example of this madness** was that she had raked up the clippings from one side of a hedge and had then moved on to another hedge, not bothering with the other side of the first hedge.

** I am a completer/finisher. She is more of a starter and let some other idiot finish the job, because she's moved on to something more interesting. My wife is something of a mental butterfly.

Guess what I've been up to?

 Yep, no surprises here!

Monday was exactly like the preceding four days, more hedge cutting. Today I managed to cut the hedges at the front of the property, bordering the lane, and also the hedge alongside of the garden, bordering the arable field upslope of the cottage.

As I was working I heard the hedging contractor in a field just down the road and hoped that today's duties would include the hedges bordering the cottage ... unfortunately that was not to be. He actually tried the gate to the little pasture, but it was bloody locked and he disappeared off to do another field ... Fuck!

Anyway, I can't make hedge cutting in any way interesting, so I'll move on to the equally unexciting subject of potatoes. Back in July I planted a row of second crop potatoes. The Charlotte variety flowered a couple of weeks back and the foliage has now died away. I therefore decided to dig up a couple of plants and see how they have done.

Second Crop Potatoes. var: Charlotte

It is fair to say that the crop isn't huge and I needed to dig three or four plants for a meal.  We had them with home grown carrots and runner beans and roast pork this evening and they tasted superb. 

In retrospect, I have had far better crops with Spring planted, second early potatoes, but I wasn't able to get them in the ground this year as a result of very wet soil and other issues with the veg patch in the Spring.

However, the Maris Peer are still in the ground and looking very healthy. Fingers crossed that they produce a better crop.

On a mission

The past few days have been exhausting, and, as a consequence, any downtime has been spent slumped on the sofa rather than making entries in The Journal.

Let me explain.  The cottage has about three hundred yards of hedging. This is not your suburban, domestic 4' high privet or laurel hedging. This is your agricultural, 6' high, 6' wide, hawthorn and bramble, a cow aint getting through that hedging. It is thick. It is nasty and it is time to cut it back.

Most farmers use a tractor and flail hedge cutter to keep their field boundaries in order. Unfortunately access issues prevent their use at the cottage, so I need to resort to loppers and a variety of chainsaws and hedge cutters. 

To make matters worse, I was unable to cut the hedges last year due to my bad back and the farmer, whose land borders the cottage, didn't cut his side of them either. As a result the 6' high hedges now sport vigorous shoots reaching 14' skyward. 

It is going to be a bastard of a job and, with a fine spell of weather forecast, it is time to make a start.

Thursday, 3rd October. 2024

This morning started with a trip to the Vets as Whiffler was due his inoculations. Since we were out and about, we decided to head over to The Valley in Evesham and pick up a few terracotta pots. These will be needed for the tulip and dwarf iris bulbs that we picked up at the RHS Autumn Show last Sunday. 

We were home by lunchtime and, after eating, I headed out to make a start on the hedges. I decided to ease myself in to the task and started on the short length that borders the back lawn and the orchard.  This hedge had been laid a couple of years ago, so it was in good shape and needed little more than a good cut. Having said that, there was still four or five feet of growth that needed to be taken out of the top of it and the wild rose at one end was vicious.

After an hour or so I stood back and surveyed my effort and was reasonably pleased. It was now time to start on the hedges that border the property. These are monsters. I decided to make a start on the one that borders the neighbouring pasture, as this currently throws a lot of shade on the greenhouses and the veg patch.

First I used my electric hedge cutter to take back the growth on our side of the hedge. Then I grabbed a short ladder and set it against the hedge. It was now slow progress using loppers to take out the 8' high shoots of Ash, Hawthorn and Elder* as these are far too big for a hedge cutter. After clearing the larger shoots, I was finely able to use my petrol long-reach hedge cutter to level out the top of the hedge.

It was slow progress and I estimate that I can complete about five yards of hedging in an hour. At the end of day #1, I reckon that I had cut about forty or fifty yards of hedging and poor 30% had created a mountain of brash up in the orchard.

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* That is 8' above the top of the hedge. These shoots are a couple of inches in diameter at the point I was cutting them!

Friday, 4th October, 2024

It was hedging all day today. I continued the hedge bordering the pasture downslope of the cottage. This is probably close to fifty years in length and gets challenging, as twenty yards of the hedge runs behind the outbuildings. It has almost completely filled the 6' gap between the hedge and the back of the building, so clearing the overgrowth was tricky in such a confined space.

It took all day to clear about thirty yards of hedging* and my hands have been cut to ribbons by thorns, despite stout leather gloves and equipment that does its best to distance the user from the hedge.

I just hope that the farmer gets his contractor to cut the hedges in the pasture, as the ragged edge on his side really messes with the completer/finisher in me!

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* This 30 yards included the ten or fifteen yards of copper beech hedging that forms a break between the front and rear gardens. The beech hedging was an absolute breeze to cut in comparison to the thorn filled. field hedging.

Saturday, 5th October, 2024

This morning saw me, bright and early, down at the local surgery for my flu and covid inoculations. As I wandered back to the car I realised that my left arm was going to be really sore later on, from both the injections and a day of hedge cutting.

I guess I managed about four or five hours on the hedges before I decided that I needed a change. I dragged the lawn mower out of the shed and spent a few hours tidying up the lawns around the house.  Mowing seemed like a positive picnic after the slog of the past three days.

Sunday, 6tth October, 2024

Guess what? Yep, another day working on the hedges. I finally finished the stretch behind the outbuildings and 30% has had the genius idea of hiring an industrial shredder to convert the cuttings in to mulch for use on the garden. We have used one previously, when we lived at The Pile, and they are absolutely brilliant tools.

We also had some potentially good news from our neighbouring farmer. 30% received a text message advising that his hedge cutting contractor will hopefully be attending to the hedges around the cottage in the near future.

I bloody hope so, because that will reduce my work by a massive amount.

A mildly frustrating morning

 This morning I had a plan.

I needed to go and pick up a bag of chicken food from the local feed store and decided to try to kill several birds with one stone.*  I grabbed a parcel that needed to be posted and a honey bucket that needed to be returned to Pete the beekeeper.

Smugly I mentally ticked off items on my to do list as I clambered in to the Land Rover and set off towards the village post office. Unfortunately I had messed up my astronomical, floral and faunal observations and the bloody place was closed. "No worries" I thought, as I had a vague recollection of there being a post office close to the feed store.

As I drove over to Redditch I caught sight of the post office just before I turned in to the feed store, where I learnt that they were out of growers pellets. Apparently a chap had come in on Monday and bought their entire stock.  My first thought was "bollocks", but an optimism neuron fired and I realised that, at least, I could get the damned parcel posted.

Two minutes later I was heading towards feed store #2 in Feckenham,* where I was politely informed that they only stock layers pellets. 

Arseholes! Our supplies were very low and I couldn't recall experiencing a situation like this in all the years we have kept poultry.  I grabbed my phone and gave feed store #3, over at Bromsgrove, a call. Their customer service was brilliant, as they confirmed that they had growers pellets and even went to check the stock levels.  I was delighted that I had located a supply, but then needed to drive another ten miles to collect the feed.

In all my forty minute errand took all fucking morning, I'd driven twice as far as I had planned and I failed to return Beekeeper Pete's honey bucket.

The afternoon was slightly more productive, as I managed to prepare, blanch and freeze two of the celeriac stems that I dug yesterday.

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* It's probably worth stressing that this errand should have taken forty minutes at most ... forty minutes, less than an hour, not very long at all really.

** minus the parcel

Goblin Fruit #2

 It was another soggy day and, again, I did my best to stay out of the rain and chilly wind.

I did, however, spend the best part of an hour outside harvesting five of my celeriac plants. They have grown beautifully over a Summer that can, at best, be described as cool with average rain and sunshine.

Just out of the ground

Washed and scrubbed

Trimmed, but not yet peeled

Having processed the celeriac to the point where they could be stored, I weighed them just to see how they compared to store bought examples. The largest were around 950g and the smallest of this bunch was about 650g after trimming. It seems that our celeriac is as big as those in the supermarket, but is much more fragrant.

If I am honest, after cleaning up the stems, I planned to do very little for the rest of the day. However, a modicum of motivation intruded on my laziness and I grabbed a large saucepan and the other ingredients for a batch of creamy celeriac soup. It took an hour or so to prep the veg and make the soup, but this batch will provide about ten servings and freezes beautifully.

After finishing the soup, I glanced at the three remaining celeriac stems. It looks like I will be blanching and freezing those tomorrow and, possibly, trying out a recipe for remoulade.

An indoors sort of day

The weather this morning was miserable. It was cold and there was a fine drizzle that did its best to surreptitiously soak you.

It was definitely an indoors day. After sorting out the chickens and taking the dogs for a short walk down the lane, I spent the day pottering. Bills were paid, little jobs were completed and I even took a chance on finding the village post office open*, as I needed to post a parcel.

In summary, I managed to potter through the day without having to resort to a significant quantity of daytime television. A decent siesta was taken and a variety of admin tasks and little jobs were completed.

The weather forecast for tomorrow looks similar, so I need to have a think about what might be achieved on Tuesday.

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* The village post office has opening hours that are even more complex than the timing of Easter. Apparently Easter is scheduled on the first Sunday after the Paschal full moon. Our Post Office opening appears to be dependent on an array of complex astronomical calculations combined with the presence or absence of local fauna and flora. Basically you need to recall when the Lords and Ladies are in flower, whether a hedgehog wandered through a specific garden last night and the position of Orion in the night sky .... or just chance it.**

** I'm not sure which experience is more disappointing; arriving and finding it closed or arriving and wandering in to the dismal broom cupboard that is our local post office.

It's a good job he doesn't bite!

Several weeks ago we purchased tickets for the RHS Autumn Show at the Three Counties Show Ground in Malvern.  We've been on a couple of previous occasions and enjoyed the show but two factors encouraged us to go again this year. Firstly, we have a much bigger garden and retirement has given us the time to explore the joys of having a proper garden.* Secondly, for the first time ever, the Three Counties Show society has allowed visitors to bring their dogs.**

We decided that we would only take Hobson, after taking all three dogs to the Game Fair. The Rat isn't a great fan of unfamiliar crowds and it is a long day for Whiffler, who is now in his eleventh year.

After completing our morning chores, we threw Hobson in to the back of the Defender and headed over to the Malvern show ground. We had a lovely day, but it was fair to say that Hobson was the star. He looked incredibly smart, having been groomed on Friday and, being 26" at the shoulder, he certainly drew attention wherever he went.

We had lots of people come up and ask about him and I noticed that people were reaching out to stroke the top of his head as they wandered past. As it says in the title of today's entry "it's a bloody good job he doesn't bite"! It is common sense to ask a dog owner before reaching out to stroke their animal. I've come across a few mutts that respond to a proffered hand with a growl and a lighting fast snap. Fortunately Hobson is a calm and friendly lad and he bathed in the adoration of the crowds.

He was an absolute star all day. He walked beautifully alongside us and there was no lunging to try to greet or sniff the other dogs at the show. He even behaved himself when we took a walk through the small animals display and encountered llamas, ponies, pigs and goats, although he did try to eat some pig pooh at one point. I am amazed at what a calm boy he is, considering that he is only twenty months old.

Anyway, we had a lovely day and even had a few plant and bulb bargains, as it was the last day of the show. A final thought on the day was provided by 30%; "it's a good job we didn't take Whiffler as well, we would have become an attraction rather than visitors".

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* The garden at The Pile was a reasonable size, about one fifth of an acre, but it was low maintenance; being mostly lawn, paving and a short length of laurel hedging.

** This was a "one-day only" concession on Sunday 29th September. Previously all other Three Counties events have been assistance dogs only. The realist cynic in me wonders if this was a trial to explore whether allowing dogs increases footfall and commercial revenue?

Mouse Guards and Cheesy Peas

After running around for most of Friday, with little to show for it, today was a little more productive. I'm not promising that it was exciting or interesting, but definitely more productive.

First job of the day was to check on the BMW, which is currently off the road and under covers in the carport. I replaced the moisture absorbing crystals in the damp prevention device and dug out another couple of bags of absorbent crystals from the shed. These had been sat around for years, but I could see no reason why a couple of hours in a low oven wouldn't desiccate them ... experiment started.

After sorting out the car, I headed off down the road with the dogs for a short walk, while 30% headed off to the supermarket. On my return, I pottered for a while before I gathered a spade and mattock and wandered up to the orchard.

My intention was to lay a couple of paving slabs at each end of the chicken coop. The weather will worsen over the coming months and this measure will mean that I avoid trudging through a muddy slurry at each end of the day. I didn't actually get very far with this task as 30% returned from her errands and we stopped for lunch.

In the afternoon we shifted gear and got on with shit! The slabs were laid by the coop and, while I was up in the orchard, I topped up the feeders on the hives and pinned the mouse guards* to the hive entrances. We then spent a happy hour ensuring that various drains around the property were cleared of debris. 

As the afternoon waned, I cleaned up and headed in to the kitchen. Mummy Sheila had been invited over for a bite to eat and we had decided that we would attempt Matar Paneer,** following the Asian cookery demo on Wednesday.  I used a BBC Food recipe*** and we were delighted with the outcome. It was more spicy than the recipe demo'd on Wednesday, but one could always reduce the chillies and garam masala, according to tastes.

The dish was eaten with garlic naan, poppadoms, pickles and minted yoghurt and was lovely ... another vegetarian triumph!

Sheila departed shortly before nine and we spent the remainder of the evening slumped on the sofa.

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* It is claimed that, if you can fit a pencil through a hole or crack, a mouse will be able to get through it. The little sods have a tendency to creep in to hives over the Winter months and cause chaos eating the comb and honey. Hence perforated metal mouse guards are pinned over the hive entrance. The bees are still able to come and go, but mice are excluded.

** I loved the Fast Show and it amuses me that Matar Paneer is cheesy peas.

** Note: BBC Food, not BBC Good Food

Busy doing nothing

 Well, as today closes, I look back and surmise that I seemed to have been on the go for most of the day, but I'm not sure that I achieved much.

Shortly after breakfast I encouraged Whiffler and Hobson in to the back of the Defender and headed over to Stratford upon Avon.  They were booked in for a bath and clip. As I drove in to this delightful* little Warwickshire town all seemed well and then everything seemed to come to a stop. At this point I should advise that this was ten c'clock in the morning, and therefore not an understandable rush hour jam.

I eventually made my way across town and dropped off the dogs. A mental note was made to leave home in plenty of time to collect them, or, preferably, abdicate from this duty and remind 30% of this point.

I stopped off at the supermarket on the way out of Stratford and picked up the key ingredient for the Matar Paneer and also added a key ingredient to the Defender; diesel.  I then headed across to Bromsgrove for a dental checkup. 

These two activities had consumed the entire morning and, by the time I had lunched and taken care of a few odd jobs, it was time to head back out to collect the dogs.

Another hour was spent in the car, and the time spent in traffic jams was used wisely; making changes to the play list on my phone.

As I close out this Journal entry I will point out that I spent at least three hours driving today and covered over 75 miles on country roads. My wallet is somewhat lighter having filled up the Defender and made my Dentist slightly richer. The dogs also look beautiful, but I'm not sure any of this counts as an achievement.

It's probably time for another list.

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* It has its good points, but I'm not a massive fan, particularly of its traffic system. Like Evesham, the entire town will grind to a halt as a result of a dog taking a shit on the High Street.

Running out of steam

I'm not sure whether it is the change of the seasons, an underlying bug, or just a couple of days of rain, but both 30% and I have felt somewhat lacking in energy and enthusiasm today.

Her ladyship headed out to the supermarket this morning and then on to volunteer at a local support group for people with memory and cognition issues.

I was home alone and, despite the morning sunshine, it took conscious effort to do anything other than unavoidable tasks.* Having kicked my own arse sufficiently, I grabbed a wheelbarrow, loaded it with beekeeping kit and headed up to the orchard to take a quick look at the colonies.

Pete the beekeeper had suggested that I put the colonies in a double brood box configuration to encourage them to draw foundation in to fresh comb. However, cooler weather had been forecast and I didn't want to leave new colonies in a hive like a cathedral and expect them to keep it warm and build fresh comb.

Apologies for this if it is getting a little technical on the beekeeping front, but it is useful for me to keep a few notes on how the colonies are progressing. In brief, they both have plenty of capped brood, but the cool weather meant that I kept inspection time brief.** I resisted the temptation to keep the frames out of the hive for too long, checking for larvae and eggs. Hopefully we will get a warmer spell for the next inspection and I can take a better look then.

30% returned in the late afternoon and we agreed that a lazy afternoon was in order. I think my most significant achievement was skinning a few tomatoes and making passata, as this will be needed for the Matar Paneer that I plan to make over the weekend.

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* The feeding and watering of chickens and letting the dogs out for a pee

** If brood are chilled during an inspection it can kill them.

Matar Paneer

 This morning I was awarded an extremely temporary membership of the local Women's Institute. In other words I was invited out with 30%, Mummy Sheila and The Wordle Witch.

Our destination was a Farm Shop out on the Stourbridge road and the event was an Indian cookery demonstration arranged by the local WI Federation.  It doesn't take a genius to guess that I stuck out like a sore thumb, as I was the only man* in a group of fifty middle aged to elderly women; many of whom seemed to have a slightly confused look about them.

The demonstration was excellent. Our hostess was originally from Northern India and gave us an hour long talk about Indian cuisine and spices while demonstrating how to cook Matar Paneer; Paneer cheese and peas in a spicy tomato sauce.  It was great fun and the dish tasted superb. 

After my recent success with runner bean curry, I'm tempted to have a go at Matar Paneer over the coming weekend.

The morning of cookery seemed to have kindled my culinary spark,** and a wet afternoon and a glut of tomatoes further encourage me to head in to the kitchen.  My output wasn't particularly exciting, it was another batch of cream of tomato soup that will be frozen for consumption over the coming months.

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* This slightly puzzled me. The Coven made it clear that anyone was welcome, provided they paid the fee, and I'm quite happy in the company of a group of women. I don't really understand why there weren't any other men there. After all, there are plenty of male cooks?

** Clearly not much of a spark.

Harmony and Balance

I'd planned to inspect the hives today and got as far as locating various items of beekeeping paraphernalia.* Unfortunately that was as far as I got. The weather cooled and a significant hypoglycaemic event put paid to my plan.

I did, however, manage to clarify and bottle the last of the honey and I now have 30 lb, 8 oz ready for sale ... I just need the punters to turn up now.

In other news, I finally managed to make contact with my Dentist. I have an appointment scheduled for Wednesday morning and my better half pointed out that we were due to attend an Asian cookery demonstration. Consequently I phoned and left messages on Monday requesting a re-schedule. I heard nothing until this morning when the Receptionist called to remind me of tomorrow's session. 

I advised that I was not able to attend and pointed out that I had left a message yesterday.  The Receptionist advised that she hadn't listened to the messages.  I was somewhat annoyed at this, especially considering that the Dentist's answerphone clearly asks you to leave a message, and goes as far as to tell you that you can re-record your message if you fuck up the first attempt!

I was somewhat miffed, but the Receptionist kindly offered me an appointment late on Friday morning.  I gladly accepted, well aware that the dogs needed to be taken to the Groomer, but conscious that I had sufficient time to drive from Stratford to Bromsgrove and be there on time.

I recounted this good fortune to 30% and saw a look on her face. It appears that I had totally forgotten that she had promised to take me to lunch at the new Greek restaurant in Stratford on Friday.

Trying to take an optimistic approach, I pointed out that her annoyance about not being able to make the lunch was probably broadly equivalent to my annoyance about the Dentist's Receptionist not listening to their messages.

This, I sagely advised, was an example of the maintenance of cosmic balance and harmony ... then I ducked.

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* A couple of brood boxes, several dummy boards and a couple of frames of foundation ... it's a completely different language!

The Black Cow of Doom

 It was another rainy day and I did my best to stay indoors.

I can't say that I kept myself busy, but I wasn't completely idle, and I got another ten pounds of honey clarified and bottled.  I'll be glad when this task is finished; as the effort to extract crystallised honey from a 30lb tub is doing my tennis elbow no good at all!

That's about it for Monday. I sorted some honey, fed and watered chickens and picked a few tomatoes, not the most productive of days.  

So instead I'll recount a little of the Black Cow of Doom; one of the panoply of mystical beasts and beings that inhabit my imagination.

Back in 2010 we spent a week up on the Lleyn peninsula in Wales with the dogs. We had a super time and, whilst driving, I regularly saw the road sign warning of cattle.  I took this to be a dreaded portent, and the legend of the Black Cow of Doom was born.  From that point forward, whenever the warning sign is seen, her name is called with awe and reverence and a ritual gesture is performed to ward off ill spirits.*

Let's jump forward to the beginning of last week; 30% and I were sat up in bed enjoying a cup of coffee.  As we looked out of the bedroom window a black cow appeared in the field across the lane. It mooed and the grandfather clock struck eight o'clock. If ever there was a portent that had PORTENT spray painted across it in luminous green.  I referenced the dark coloured bovine of terrible fates and we performed the appropriate gesture.

Now, I need to state quite clearly that I don't believe any of this nonsense. It is just stuff that amuses me and it was a complete coincidence that we saw the Black Cow of Doom the same day we had a family bereavement.

Oops!

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* I also give 30% a gentle punch whenever we see a yellow car, but that is completely different.

Goblin Fruit

Autumn has definitely arrived. A steady rain greeted me as I headed out to tend to the chickens and a hat and coat were grabbed to keep off the worst of it. The rain was forecast to linger for the next couple of days, so I needed an indoor activity to keep me busy.

I spent the morning pottering and sorting out another batch of honey. There is a lot of waiting while the set honey liquifies and it seems that I spent this time drinking coffee.

With another four and a half pounds of honey bottled, my thoughts turned to the afternoon's entertainment. We had a few leeks and some celery lingering in the bottom of the fridge and my eye had been caught by a couple good sized celeriac in the veg patch.  Hat and coat were deployed again and I wandered out with a fork.* 

Homegrown Celeriac

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, although most might say that celeriac is the goblin of the veg patch. The creamy white bulb is about six inches across and its fine network of roots bring a up a huge clump of earth when they are hauled from the ground.  After shaking off a few pounds of soil and trimming off the fine roots, one is left with a muddy, distorted bulb that is entwined with coarse grasping roots.*** 

It is a multi-stage process to prep the damned things.  First, most of the soil is washed off in one of the water tanks in the garden. Then the larger roots are cut away. The various creases, crevices and nodules are packed with earth and much trimming, scrubbing and washing is needed before one is able to peel away the outer skin and reveal the creamy white flesh.

They may be goblin fruit but they are worth the effort to grow and prepare. They have so much more flavour than the prewashed examples available in the supermarket.

After prepping the celeriac, each hypocotyl weighed about 750 g and were used to make up a double batch of James Martin's creamy celeriac soup. We now have five litres of this beautiful soup bagged and stored in the freezer.

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* Garden implement rather than cutlery. I'd look a complete chump trying to dig up an hypocotyl** with a piece of kitchenware. Context!

** Most seem to refer to celeriac as a root vegetable, but it is actually a swollen stem just above where the roots form ... the hypocotyl.

*** I'll take some photos next time I dig one up. They really are an odd looking thing.

2nd October '24: I have literally travelled back in time to add a photo to this Journal entry.

Open for business ... again

 My little road-side honey stall does a surprising amount of trade considering that we live on a lane that has more pedestrian and equestrian than vehicular traffic.

I won't be so crass as to give revenue and turnover figures, but, in a little over four months, I have sold about sixty pounds of honey.  That's not bad considering that, once it has been bottled and labelled, the effort involved is minimal other than collecting the cash and keeping the little stall stocked.

There are times when I consider the effort of harvesting honey from the hives and wonder if being a reseller is the way forward.*

Anyway, to the point of today's entry, Pete the beekeeper dropped off a thirty pound tub of honey yesterday and today my main achievement was that I managed to clarify, bottle and label about one third of it.

I resupplied my little stall and we are open for business ...again.

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* Then I wander up to the colonies for an inspection and realise that I have an interest that has moments that are truly zen. Who wouldn't want that!

That's eight of your "five a day"

The title of today's entry comes from a conversation shared during dinner ...

The veg patch and greenhouses are bountiful and I am concerned that it may well be possible to eat too many vegetables. Last night's supper included beans, cabbage and carrots and pounds of tomatoes are arriving in the kitchen every day. Allegedly this evening's meal of liver, bacon and onion gravy included eight portions of vegetables!

I'm not certain of the veracity of this statement, but I'm giving myself an A+ for gut health at the moment!

Right, this Journal entry is a little jumbled, but I'll now have a go at pulling it in to some semblance of order. 

30% and the dogs headed off for a morning walk shortly after breakfast and I wandered in to the kitchen.  There is a large bowl sat on the worktop, filled to the brim with tomatoes of various sizes, shapes and colours.  This morning I planned to reduce this glut somewhat and set to preparing the ingredients for another batch of tomato soup.

An hour or so, later I had used over two kilos of toms and produced about four litres of soup. The worrying this is that I had used barely half of the tomatoes and I'll be picking more tomorrow.

In the early afternoon Beekeeper Pete turned up at the back door with a thirty pound tub of honey.  He had noticed that my little roadside stall had been taken in, and realised that I must have run out of stock. It looks like the next few days will be spent clarifying and bottling this batch, and my little side hustle will be back in operation.

In the late afternoon 30% drove me over to Droitwich for an appointment with the Ophthalmologist. I have become more than a little worried about my eyesight over the past couple of days; as I have started to experience some pain, cloudiness and sensitivity to bright light. These are all symptoms of glaucoma and my hypochondria had kicked in.  It was fortunate that I had a scheduled appointment today.

I was given a thorough, and painful, check-up and do not have glaucoma, but I do have a problem with the ducts that drain the area between the cornea and iris. Apparently I will be booked in for laser treatment in the very near future to alleviate the condition.

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* Don't Ask.

Tree Ferns & Poultry

This morning it was decided that we would pop over to Rowberry's Nursery for a look around before heading over to Morrison's in Bromsgrove to collect a duvet from the dry cleaner. 

There is an interesting annoying back story to the dry cleaning of the duvet involving the changing of bed linen, roast lamb for Sunday dinner, a bone, a dog and the integration of the latter two elements.  I'll leave it to the casual reader to construct a narrative that pulls all of these together.

Anyway, we headed over to the Nursery and had a pleasant time wandering amongst the plants. Our attention was drawn to the fabulous Tree Ferns in the greenhouses and we got a little envious. We do have a little tree fern. 30% purchased it a couple of months ago from B&Q. It's not very big, standing about 40cm high with a spread of about the same amount. The smallest examples in Rowberrys were about 1m high and close to 1.5m across.  We peered at the price, expecting it to be eye watering, and found it to be only £20 more than the specimen from B&Q.

In an instant the decision was made that our little tree fern was obviously lonely and would grow far better in the company of one of these magnificent examples.  As I type this, it is sitting in a bath of water under our variegated Maple giving its roots a damned good soak.

In the afternoon we finally go the chicks sorted. The oldest birds* were moved in to their permanent home in the orchard and the youngest birds were relocated to larger brooder in the store room. It will only be a few more weeks before the older of the Crested Cream Legbars can be introduced to the Marans and Norfolk Greys. 

As for the remaining chicks, 30% has advertised them for sale. Anyone want to buy a chicken or two?

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* Three Cuckoo Marans and  five Norfolk Grey pullets 

Unexpected visitor

30% had planned to spend much of the day with Jules and they headed off in the general direction of Stratford at around ten this morning.

Home alone, I headed in to the kitchen, assembled ingredients and equipment and spent the remainder of the morning cooking up another batch of tomato soup. The tomatoes in the greenhouse are finally ripening and we have a fantastic crop of Alicante. The fruits are almost as big as dessert apples and it's great to be able to produce your own food.  The soup will be bagged and frozen and be a delicious lunch at some point in the coming months.

As I was finishing up the soup, the dogs started barking and that usually means we have a visitor. I wandered out of the front door and saw a young chap walking down the drive towards the house.  It took a moment or two before I realised that it was my half-brother. I hadn't seen him for probably twelve years and you know how it is when you see someone out of context.

After that hesitant start we shared a hug and spent the next couple of hours catching up. Our recent bereavement was the instigation for his visit and, obviously, much of the discussion was focussed around recent events.  The visit wasn't awful, but I am not close to my family and have had minimal contact with any of them, other than brief encounters at family funerals. Consequently the conversation was somewhat stilted at times as it is difficult to know which topics of conversation are off limits. We both did our best and it was a pleasant enough experience. It was decent of him to take the initiative and call in for a catch-up. 

I suppose the big question is; will this visit bring about a change in our relationship? I think probably not. We have drifted apart over the years and in that time we have all developed our own friendship groups, relationships, lifestyles and interests. A dozen years is a lot of drifting and I'm not sure that a little bit of shared DNA is enough to rebuild relations.

The visit was certainly a disturbance in the force and left me a little slightly unsettled.  I suppose I am going to have more of this over the coming few weeks.

In other news I shortened the two section of trellis that we purchased yesterday and spent a happy hour getting them fixed to the side of Rose Cottage.  30% was delighted by the result, but thinks we should add another couple to the old shed.