Let Me Eat Cake…

I thought it was about time for me to report on my efforts so far in The Great Bake Off

I have to confess it’s not been a frenzy of culinary activity and after an incredibly slow start, there has only been a slight acceleration in pace this year.  But I’ve managed three successes out of three and have become ‘sold’ on the whole concept of planning a Sunday afternoon baking ‘sesh’.

It started out in October last year with Pineapple and Banana Loaf, followed by my inspired return from Christmas in Australia and the even more inspired Mango Fruit Cake adventure in March.  Today’s sunny Sunday success is Apple and Raspberry Squares…
Yes, that is evidence of my choppers tucking in for a little taste…
Whilst not wishing to brag at all (ok, maybe a little bit), I appear to have ‘mastered’ the whole cake with fruit thing so in the spirit in which My Year of Baking was born (ie. to remove the mystery from baking in all its forms), I promise to move into uncharted territory next time (maybe chocolate, pastry?)…although Easter is next week, and if I manage to find a substitute for mixed peel (I am allergic to oranges – but not lemons, limes, grapefruit – go figure), I might just need to give Hot Cross Buns a whirl…
So does anyone know where I can get candied lemon peel in SW London?  Anyone?  There could be a cuppa and a potentially decent Easter Bun in it for you….

The Deer Stalker…

I just finished reading a great book about human paranoia, Risk: The Science and Politics of Fear.  Things like this really make me think about what glorious yet strange creatures we human beings are – not in a ‘gospel truth’ kind of way but more like an Alice in Wonderland perspective on the things that happen every day that go almost unnoticed.

In reading the last chapter on the train today, I was struck by a rather pithy statement, the kind you find on high school exam papers followed by the word Discuss:

We listen to iPods, read the newspaper, watch television, work on computers, and fly around the world using brains beautifully adapted to picking berries and stalking antelope.

It struck me as a great way to sum up life…let me explain:

There are times for gathering berries, lots of berries.  Sometimes it’s the same berry.  Other times, lots of different berries are the order of the day, and it’s important to skip promiscuously between, around and/or over said berries depending on mood, time of day/ month, sobriety and youthful sense of abandonment (the latter not being restricted to the young alone).

Then there is stalking.  You know, when one’s head and heart are filled with dreams of the perfect partner/ house/ children/ job/ car/ holiday/ clothes/ hair/ position in life and this is faithfully pursued with diligence and relentless discipline, silently (or not) and purposefully…

But I have to say that I think there are some wires crossed…I seem to spend my time stalking lots of berries and picking indiscriminately through the antelope!
It explains so much…

The Pareto Principle…Ahead Of The Curve

Somewhere back there in distant sands of time, when being an economist of any note meant people named things after you, there was an Italian gent called Vilfredo Pareto who decided that there was something called the 80:20 rule (also called The Pareto Principle which sounds a bit like a Jason Bourne novel) meaning that 20% of a population controlled 80% of that population’s wealth.

It would appear that this rule can be applied to all sorts of things – grains of sand, hard disk drive errors, human settlement and areas burnt in forest fires, even Project Management where apparently doing 20% of the work will produce 80% of the project benefit – and I am wondering whether this can be applied to my 50 Book Challenge.  

I am 20% of the way through (having finished book 10 this morning, Stieg Larsson‘s The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest) and have to confess a rather high hit rate in the enjoyment stakes at this early stage (90%). 

Does this mean I am ahead of the curve – with 20% of the reading generating 90% cracking reads?

I Am Not A Tree…And Other Thoughts…

After a couple of hours in a local cafe with friends (yes there was a glass of wine involved) I have been catching up on the week’s worth of blogging and I found myself drawn once again to the meanderings of Lauren Holgate (@ ladaisi) by the catchy headline ‘You Are Not A Tree’.

Wondering what it all meant (as it is quite obvious I am NOT a tree), I read on to learn…

Aha, I thought, this is to the point and kind of catchy…there just maybe a gem or two more here!
And then I quite liked this one…

…which is something I try to apply in my daily commute – by NOT being plugged in to earphones!  Believe me, there are moments of fractured glory every day if you watch and listen.  (BTW, did anyone realise that there is classical music playing in the Vauxhall tube station ticket hall during morning peak hour?)
But in all honesty, I think my favourite one is this…

Brutal, cynical and to the point.

Is this really the one that struck a chord with me?

Some say platitudes are ‘crap’ but in my experience, they have an ability to sneak in through a chink in the armour when you least expect it.  And now I’m starting to wonder what this might mean about me…and how I can, in my glass-half-full kind of way, define ‘stupid’ in a motivational and optimistic light.

‘Stupid is as stupid does’ (from inspirational tear-jerker, ‘Forrest Gump‘) is the only thing I can think of so it doesn’t bode well…

Did Somebody Mention Christmas?

Last we left things (see Lazy Saturday), I was bracing myself for a rather chilly foray into Kingston to run a couple of errands before heading over to A’s for red wine (yes more), a home-cooked dinner and some girly telly. 

So I set out just after 4pm (you know, just after our ‘sun’ has gone down and it’s, well…dark), crunching down the sporadically-gritted path to the bus stop, resolutely telling myself that a) it was not as cold as my nose was telling me it was, b) it was ok not to walk all they way into Kingston today because it was cold/it was dark/time didn’t permit and c) that I would feel much better with these errands off the to-do list. 

And then I got into Kingston to find…

…the lights are up…
…the tree is out…
…and there’s a gorgeous new old-fashioned sweet shop in Castle Street (where I spent about 20 minutes wondering around in child-like amazement).

Buoyed by all this festive cheer (and a reunion with my phone which seemed to go quite smoothly), I crunched on to A’s who had promised an evening of home-cooked lasagne and mooching on the couch, curled up under blankets and just feeling all warm and toasty. 

I didn’t think it could get any better, but it did… 

She was making lamingtons when I got there!

Eeeeeeeeeee (aka squeal of excitement)!
Delicious little chocolate-dipped, coconut-covered bundles of sponge-cake yumminess!

And not wanting to be rude, I had three…

I think Christmas may have come a little early (27 days actually) this year!

The Warrior Inside…

In catching up on some weekend newspaper reading this week, I was delighted to discover that the Hamer name is far-reaching…in fact much further reaching than I anticipated.

In The Times Magazine from two weeks ago, I came across this picture of a warrior from the Hamer tribe, one of the more successful tribes making their home in the Omo Valley in Ethiopia:

The men wear clay buns on their heads to signify that they have made a kill and a scar etched onto their chest for every life they’ve taken…this one’s obviously new to the warrior game!

And not to be outdone the women of the Hamer tribe “dye their hair red with ochre and wear intricately beaded clothing”…

They also wear rings around their necks when married (step up from the finger perhaps?) with the number of rings denoting their ranking as first, second, third wife to their polygamous husbands. This woman is a Wife No 2.

Hmmm I thought.  Not sure about that…polygamy and all those layers and repressive ‘signature’ jewellery.  I would rather just imagine ‘Mrs Hamer’ tripping barefoot down a theatrically dusty catwalk during London’s Fashion Week or maybe she could have a little sojourn Gok’s Fashion Fix to bring her out from the shadows of her warrior husband and to get her to ‘stop hiding under all those layers, girlfriend’.

Great hair though…

Summertime…and the blackberries are easy

We went blackberry picking today….hunting out those fat juicy gems in amongst the thorns and undergrowth…in our car park!

For those of you new to Gidday from the UK or those that have simply forgotten, it was just over a year ago that I discovered the joys of plump, juicy, fresh blackberries and bemoaned the fact it had taken me 40 years to do this.

So today, being J’s birthday and all (Happy Birthday honey!) and before the little blighters got eaten by other wildlife (human or otherwise), we ventured out into our street and car park to snaffle as many as we could.  And snaffle we did…an almost-full ice-cream container.  And I have the proud scratches on my forearms and hands to prove it.

We were going to indulge in these tonight as a post birthday dinner treat but I’d already promised to make my first ever apple crumble (after a birthday resolution to master some basic dessert skills beyond cheese arrangement) so the blackberries are being held in abeyance until tomorrow – but are still on hand if the crumble is appalling.

 

Wish me luck!

Up, Up and Away…

Now I’ve done some high-flying things in my time (like jumping out of a perfectly good plane strapped to the front of a burly sky-diving instructor) but in reading Friday’s Metro, I was inspired to new heights by an article about the new Palletways Dragon balloon and its maiden flight over the town of Bath in Somerset. This photo encapsulates the birds-eye view from this glass-bottomed beauty:

I do not know which pair of feet belong to this intrepid Metro photographer but it looks to me like a breathtaking and slightly scary experience.  And forget the pony, I think I want one!

I’d also be looking for a bunch of brave souls (and perhaps a small windfall to cover the expense) to trip this light fantastic with me…

Any takers?

Ugg-ly…An Australian Travesty…

For most Australians, one of the things that dismays us completely is the predeliction of the English in wearing Ugg boots not as slippers or comfy and warm pre-yoga clogs but as fashion items.  And I don’t mean the trendy looking Uggs that have emerged over the last season (if you click here to see some from their website, you’ll see that there are some un-Ugg-like ones) but the traditonal fleecy ones that they insist on wearing to accessorise a summer dress and bare legs.
But then I saw something today that shocked me, made me gasp and weep at the sheer travesty of it all…the ‘costume’ (and what a highly appropriate word that is here!) for Australia’s representative in the Miss Universe competition featuring “high-heeled ugg boots, a brown one-piece swimming costume hand-painted by an Aboriginal artist, a multi-layered rainbow skirt and a lamb’s wool shrug”…
Need I say more?

14 Sleeps To Go…Is Home Really Where The Heart Is?

My sister has been travelling for work in the last week and she’s been posting some amazing pics of her drive through North Queensland (Australia) on Facebook.  The winding roads along the coast from Cairns and inland through the range, hugging the mountain sides and meandering past quiet beaches, brought back memories for both of us not only of the time we lived there as kids but also of the many visits back post our parents’ separation.  And it made me ask myself, how many places can have a hold over one’s heart? 

This week, I’ve been interviewed for a blog called Seen The Elephant.  The author is an American woman I met through J, who has lived in both the UK and Japan before returning to the States where she now lives in New York.  Her fascination is with people like herself, who move away from their ‘home’ country and choose an expat life…away from family and all of those indelibly established traditions, friendships, habits and opinions that we combine to create our ‘life’.

For those who’ve never felt that longing to emigrate, it probably appears that we ‘throw it away’ to embark on some new adventure with little obvious reason to do so…and becoming an expat definitely creates both physical and emotional (at least for a time) distance as both sides deal with the rising crescendo of unanswered questions like ‘Why did you leave?’ ‘Why don’t you want to stay close to your family and friends?’ and ‘(When) Are you coming home?’

How do you explain that you have found ‘home’, a place to belong somewhere else?  The place that fulfills you like no other, in spite of all the pieces of your heart held captive by other times and places?  Where, for some unknown reason, you ‘fit’?

When I left Melbourne six and a half years ago, I could never have imagined the journey ahead. Maybe what drove me was that yearning to belong, to find my true self unencumbered by the expectations and pressures of the life I’d established for myself.  

And from things I read and people I speak to, the permutations and combinations of reasons are as endless and varied and ever-changing for all of us. For some, the search is a lifelong one.  And when we do find ‘it’, it seems less to do with one particular thing but rather a melting pot of environment, circumstance and new choices that, if taken on their own, would never be enough.

But truth be told, there probably is no ‘answer’ for me or anyone else…just that eternal rollercoaster of peace and restlessness and peace again as we alternately push against our boundaries and bask in moments of rare contentment.