Phew! What a year; we've collapsed in a proverbial heap after a manic end to the year.
90 evening meals in just over 6 weeks of the Thursford season. Chicken in a honey and cider sauce and rhubarb crumble being the most popular choices - around 35 of each.
And just when we thought we were done for the year, bookings opened for next years show on Christmas Eve. We'd left a note in the guest rooms this year encouraging them to book early and we had pencilled in some dates ready for people to confirm when they had booked tickets. And so they did and poor Mike took 16 nights of bookings on Christmas Eve - and again had to turn people away.
We end the year with 24 Thursford nights already booked (compare that to 2012 when we did 26 nights) and a total of 72 B&B nights and over 6 weeks of holiday cottage bookings already lined up for 2015.
Each year we get busier and more and more people come back - some guests are already booked in next year for their fifth and sixth visits. We've welcomed guests from near (quite a few from Norfolk) and far (this year Holland, Germany*, Spain, America, Canada, Australia and New Zealand); from a few months old to 92.
Thanks to the returning guests, Late Rooms and Trip Advisor, bookings continue to grow at a rapid rate (nearly 100 extra nights in 2014 than 2013 and almost three times as many nights as we did in 2012 - when for much of the time there were two of us). One thing that has dropped this year is the number of blogs - we'll try harder next year!
We also intend to book out time regularly over the coming year and to have a weekend off every 4 to 6 weeks so that we can also enjoy what every else comes to North Norfolk for. (Already three weekends are booked in February - that's our off season!).
Wishing all our readers a very Happy New Year
* Mike tried very hard not to impersonate Basil Fawlty but it was our German guests who mentioned the war (they were inquiring about the black silhouettes dotted around the village in early August which represented soldiers who had died in the first world war).
Wednesday 31 December 2014
Wednesday 24 December 2014
£3,000 in a brown envelope, no questions asked, and a visit from the riot squad. Just another day at the office....
Every couple of years I would be transferred to another branch of the Supermarket chain for which I worked. In general I was moved on because my work there was done and my skills were required elsewhere, but I'm sure that some of the moves may have been for other reasons to which I was not to be privy.
This frequently meant that I would be taking over the problems left to me by the previous incumbent. Often these were many, varied and complicated. In one store there were several long term sick staff who had not been managed correctly and as a result were still on the books with no likelihood of ever returning. Some had been absent for several years and I had the task of dismissing people that I had never met.
There have been all sorts of odd things that my 'fresh eyes' seem to see that others were either blind to or even complicit in. In one Store my branch Manager was also new to it and he came to me holding a thick brown envelope. He was slightly concerned because he had just been given it by the leader of the Car Wash crew that worked in our car park. When I opened it I saw that it was stuffed full with cash, £3,000 to be precise all in grubby used £20 notes. Apparently the gang leader helpfully explained that this was our 'cut' of their takings. Neither of us were used to such vague accounting and we decided that we would immediately record it on to our store accounts and that we would then try to establish a more business like approach for future payments. We could not find how the previous 'administration' had accounted for these funds and never did.
That whole car park cleaning team concerned us and we started to review the operation with a mind to cancel any agreement or contract that they may have had. Well as it happens fate took their removal into it's hands and one sunny summer afternoon I had a tip off that I should be aware that I was likely to have a police riot squad arrive in the next ten minutes They would be supporting immigration officers and were targeting the car washing team.
This sounded really rather interesting and so I asked a fellow Assistant Manager to watch the shop floor whilst I inspected the car park. Well by the time I had got to the car park the 'hit' was already in full progress. There were about 15 car wash workers and they were matched easily in numbers by the riot police plus some. It was no exaggeration to call them riot police for they were fitted out in the full riot kit with visors lowered on their helmets, new style batons and the full blue onesies.
They had sealed off every exit route and there were just a few stragglers being rounded up by the time that I got there. Some of the car wash guys had their hands on their heads but as far as I could tell this was just instinct and probably what they were told to do by the police in their home Country.
It was all very interesting and by the time the Police had carried out their checks in full and had taken all those that were likely illegal aliens away we were just left with two poor sods. I felt a little sorry for them, much as you do for the last kids to be picked for the footy team, well they weren't part of the 'in' team. That then was not just the demise of our car wash contract but the contractor too, for he was taken off with them never to be seen again.
I have worked alongside many interesting people who have come from all over the world. I asked a South African what he thought of Britain, "|Britain", he replied rather solemnly, "Is very..." he pondered looking for the most appropriate words finally settling for, "Very Grey". I could see his point, I would imagine that South Africa was like a HD TV starburst of colour compared to Britain being more like your Black & White TV. I thought to my self how ironic that analogy was.
Talking to one of our regular security guard contractors I discovered that he was from Somalia and that he was a political refuge. An unassuming and polite man he did not ooze with the normal 'toughness' that you'd expect was required from a security guard. Most of my colleagues did not give him the time of day which always frustrates me. It is often the same with the cleaners in store and I have always made it a point to talk with them and find out who they are. I consider them to be as important and as valuable as any other member of staff and as interesting too.
It was during one of these conversations with the Somalian guard that he told me of his harrowing time, I believe he was a government paid soldier fending off rebels. He casually told me that he had even been shot. A little later he lifted his shirt and showed me his wound. He clearly had 5 bullet wounds in a cluster just to one side of his stomach, I was gobsmacked that he was still alive then he explains that it was a machine gun that had struck him.
It is a sad fact that this violent world creates so many victims and that there are so many people out there that many of us see everyday and even work with but yet we never make a little time to find out about them the human, the person. However with so many of these people they manage to face off their adversity and I have to say that I take my hat off to them for getting on with life, earning a little money and working with such dignity.
Wouldn't it be lovely that if today (Christmas Day) everyone makes a resolution to chat with a colleague or neighbour and find out just one interesting fact about that person or whatever but most importantly take an interest in what & who they are as an individual and not simply another name and employee number.
Seasonal wishes to everybody, across the world, who find themselves embroiled in a conflict that is out of anybodies control, least of all their own control!
Merry Christmas everyone....
Friday 14 November 2014
The God, the Bad & the devil's advocate
Hoodies are very useful whilst vacuum cleaning. The hoody is a much maligned garment with an unfairly tarnished reputation and despite my knowing and indeed my championing of them I still feel out of place wearing one in Holt.
Holt is our local town, a picturesque place which they say would have looked much like Lavenham in Suffolk choc full of medieval beamed houses if it were not for a massive fire in 1708. The fire was so devastating that within 3 hours the vast majority of the town had been burnt to the ground. As a result the town had to be rebuilt in one 'hit' as it were and so most of the buildings are Georgian in their style making it quite an unusually well co-ordinated town architecturally speaking.
At Christmas, this Wednesday actually, they cover these Georgian buildings with those small LED lights, just about every single high street building and the whole thing sits very pleasantly upon the eye. The town is proud that it has only one chain store and to be honest that is a Boots the chemist which is also probably one of their smallest branches. There are no Starbucks, Cafe rouge, Costa, Pret a Manger, Subways nor are there any Ask, or Macky 'D's, or Burger King or whatever.
They range from the best homemade cakes of the 'Horatio Mugs' cafe to the quirky 'Folly Tea rooms' all are exceptional places to relax and enjoy high quality food made (that's not defrosted) on the premises. The reliance that we seem to have developed for the 'safe' places to eat where they all sell the same formula, and frankly near enough the same menu, is unsettling. What they make up for with good coffee and tea they equally fail with their boring choice of mass produced cakes and lack of all character. The point is that the little guy, cafe's, teashops and pubs and restaurants not only survive but positively thrive here and Holt is full of them. You might even say that the proof of the cake is in the eating.
Anyway, I was in Holt wearing my hoody and I have to admit that I felt that people may have been judging me, putting me in the yob bracket. The truth of course is that I only felt this because in my tiny little under nourished mind I still think that when people look at me they are seeing an 18 year old. I forget about my 54 haggered years and that, actually, to most people I look like a sad old fella who wouldn't harm a fly.
I think it was the latter Michael that the two lady Jehovah's Witnesses thought that they would be greeted by at the front door when they made the error of ringing my door bell a few weeks ago. I normally give them short shrift at the door with a rather boring "Sorry I'm not interested' in answer to whether I would like one of their leaflets. But that time was different. That time I think that I just may of had the devil in me and well I guess if anyone should be able to help with this who more appropriate than a couple of Jeovah's Witnesses.....
I think they rued the day that they came to my house. All the clues looked favourable to them in fairness. Our little jam shop in the porch looked 'homely'. They could see the plaque on the wall in the porch too with a little christian fish etched into it. And if they knew their latin they would have read "Pax Intrailtibus, Salus Exeuntipbus, Benedicto Habitantibus" carved around it. If they didn't know their Latin then they probably would just have thought that we were big Harry Potter fans.
Translated this reads;
Peace (to all) entering (here),
Well being to those leaving,
Blessing (on all) who live here.
AND if that hadn't confirmed that I may be singing from the same hymn book as them then the representation built into the wall out of flints of two fishes, five loaves of bread and (probably the clincher here) the large cross must had made them think this will be any easy win.
Well I had had a reasonably good day and as any of my family will tell you I am at my worse when I'm in a good mood, a real pain in the arse, especially high factor of "devil in 'im".
I answered the door with my usual polite manner, a manner that I maintained throughout. They started off using a new tack, which frankly was long over due as I feel sure that no one ever has a conversation with them unless of course they are of a like mind, which kinda defeats the object of their spreading the word tour.
This new tack was to suggest that they were doing a survey and wanted to ask me some questions. Well if I were a moron or blind then this would have worked but I had seen the group 'hitting' the street and had already sussed out that they were God' nigglers simply by looking at the cheap suits on the guys who had the statutory Jehovah's witness satchels on their shoulders which were rather optimistically brimming over with leaflets. Along with the 'God' leaflet in her hand it was very clear indeed whom they represented today.
So eventually they got around to my soul, which from all accounts is on the precipice of damnation (and at this point they didn't even see the devil sitting on my shoulder). I allowed them a little free 'talk time' as the mobile phone contracts might put it. Then I felt some healthy debate was required, after all if I am to buy this package then I need to know that I'm not being sold a bum deal.
We 'debated' several points and these are the top line ones, I honestly cannot remember all the points but I do know that at every time that they were stumped they fell back to safe mode telling me that the world will soon end and that I need to make my peace with God now before it is too late. This frustrated me a little because I genuinely was intrigued by my own questions and seriously hoped that they truly did have a good answer!
Questions like... If there are some good people on the earth why has he scheduled the demolition of the whole planet? I mean that's as bad (perhaps even a little worse) than the mean old teacher who kept everyone in detention because the kid that nicked the board rubber wouldn't own up, no names mentioned Chris Thompson! It makes him look a bit of a miserable old coot doesn't it?
or
If I had made the world, right. Then I created people and gave them this world and said enjoy it, I have made it for you then I just pile loads of if's and but's and rules that you can do this and you can't do that. And that we must rest on the sabbeth day with I believe giving thanks every seven days, etc, etc... Could you really say that he made that from an altruistic viewpoint?
Ans; He gave us the gift of life..
Well that doesn't answer my question at all I replied.
I mean, I know that I am a mere human mortal but honestly if I had made a world, a universe and I gave it as a present, I truly promise you that one 'thank you' would be lovely but to keep doing so week after week, well I would personally be embarrassed and after a while I'd think you were just socially inept.
Ans; He gave us freedom of choice...
Ahh but did he really? Your saying that I have freedom of choice in my actions yet if I choose not to repent to him then I go to hell. Sort of, but more ipso facto..... Hobsons choice really isn't it. You choose but don't do what I want and you go to damnation. Have you heard the word megalomania?
I guess I'm asking if it would come over a little less egotistic if had just said here's the world, universe and everything, no catches and I TRUST YOU to set the rules to live by, BUT if you break it, I ain't fixing it? Isn't that the true GIFT of life?
Ans; God works in mysterious ways....
Well we carried on for some fifteen minutes and I sensed that they were getting a bit discombobulated and so I drew the grilling to a close. I brushed the devil from my shoulder, and a little dandruff too, thanked them for their time and declined a leaflet I then wished them a fond farewell, they looked a little weary as they shuffled off.
I then went back to more mundane worldly things such as hoovering, which brings me right back on track with my original point... Hoodies are really helpful when you are doing the vacuum cleaning. You see I need to take bookings via phone calls which can come any time but if I'm using the vacuum cleaner then I can't hear the phone. So I chuck the phone in my hood as it hangs over my shoulders and it is so near to the head that I can hear it ring!
Post script
I only recorded this blog because a few days back I saw the Jehovah press gang in action again down our street. I observed them go down the other side of the road in the usual two by two format (I guess it worked for Noah, except that darn unicorn!! ). Anyway having done the other side of the street they then came back on my side. I waited and waited and I waited some more. But not a knock or a ring, sod all! So feeling left out I went to see where they had got to. Well it turned out that they simply by passed me and went next door instead. Effectively I have been blacklisted by the Bloody Jehovah's Witnesses!
Hallelujah, there is a God!
Holt is our local town, a picturesque place which they say would have looked much like Lavenham in Suffolk choc full of medieval beamed houses if it were not for a massive fire in 1708. The fire was so devastating that within 3 hours the vast majority of the town had been burnt to the ground. As a result the town had to be rebuilt in one 'hit' as it were and so most of the buildings are Georgian in their style making it quite an unusually well co-ordinated town architecturally speaking.
At Christmas, this Wednesday actually, they cover these Georgian buildings with those small LED lights, just about every single high street building and the whole thing sits very pleasantly upon the eye. The town is proud that it has only one chain store and to be honest that is a Boots the chemist which is also probably one of their smallest branches. There are no Starbucks, Cafe rouge, Costa, Pret a Manger, Subways nor are there any Ask, or Macky 'D's, or Burger King or whatever.
They range from the best homemade cakes of the 'Horatio Mugs' cafe to the quirky 'Folly Tea rooms' all are exceptional places to relax and enjoy high quality food made (that's not defrosted) on the premises. The reliance that we seem to have developed for the 'safe' places to eat where they all sell the same formula, and frankly near enough the same menu, is unsettling. What they make up for with good coffee and tea they equally fail with their boring choice of mass produced cakes and lack of all character. The point is that the little guy, cafe's, teashops and pubs and restaurants not only survive but positively thrive here and Holt is full of them. You might even say that the proof of the cake is in the eating.
Anyway, I was in Holt wearing my hoody and I have to admit that I felt that people may have been judging me, putting me in the yob bracket. The truth of course is that I only felt this because in my tiny little under nourished mind I still think that when people look at me they are seeing an 18 year old. I forget about my 54 haggered years and that, actually, to most people I look like a sad old fella who wouldn't harm a fly.
I think it was the latter Michael that the two lady Jehovah's Witnesses thought that they would be greeted by at the front door when they made the error of ringing my door bell a few weeks ago. I normally give them short shrift at the door with a rather boring "Sorry I'm not interested' in answer to whether I would like one of their leaflets. But that time was different. That time I think that I just may of had the devil in me and well I guess if anyone should be able to help with this who more appropriate than a couple of Jeovah's Witnesses.....
I think they rued the day that they came to my house. All the clues looked favourable to them in fairness. Our little jam shop in the porch looked 'homely'. They could see the plaque on the wall in the porch too with a little christian fish etched into it. And if they knew their latin they would have read "Pax Intrailtibus, Salus Exeuntipbus, Benedicto Habitantibus" carved around it. If they didn't know their Latin then they probably would just have thought that we were big Harry Potter fans.
Translated this reads;
Peace (to all) entering (here),
Well being to those leaving,
Blessing (on all) who live here.
AND if that hadn't confirmed that I may be singing from the same hymn book as them then the representation built into the wall out of flints of two fishes, five loaves of bread and (probably the clincher here) the large cross must had made them think this will be any easy win.
Well I had had a reasonably good day and as any of my family will tell you I am at my worse when I'm in a good mood, a real pain in the arse, especially high factor of "devil in 'im".
I answered the door with my usual polite manner, a manner that I maintained throughout. They started off using a new tack, which frankly was long over due as I feel sure that no one ever has a conversation with them unless of course they are of a like mind, which kinda defeats the object of their spreading the word tour.
This new tack was to suggest that they were doing a survey and wanted to ask me some questions. Well if I were a moron or blind then this would have worked but I had seen the group 'hitting' the street and had already sussed out that they were God' nigglers simply by looking at the cheap suits on the guys who had the statutory Jehovah's witness satchels on their shoulders which were rather optimistically brimming over with leaflets. Along with the 'God' leaflet in her hand it was very clear indeed whom they represented today.
So eventually they got around to my soul, which from all accounts is on the precipice of damnation (and at this point they didn't even see the devil sitting on my shoulder). I allowed them a little free 'talk time' as the mobile phone contracts might put it. Then I felt some healthy debate was required, after all if I am to buy this package then I need to know that I'm not being sold a bum deal.
We 'debated' several points and these are the top line ones, I honestly cannot remember all the points but I do know that at every time that they were stumped they fell back to safe mode telling me that the world will soon end and that I need to make my peace with God now before it is too late. This frustrated me a little because I genuinely was intrigued by my own questions and seriously hoped that they truly did have a good answer!
Questions like... If there are some good people on the earth why has he scheduled the demolition of the whole planet? I mean that's as bad (perhaps even a little worse) than the mean old teacher who kept everyone in detention because the kid that nicked the board rubber wouldn't own up, no names mentioned Chris Thompson! It makes him look a bit of a miserable old coot doesn't it?
or
If I had made the world, right. Then I created people and gave them this world and said enjoy it, I have made it for you then I just pile loads of if's and but's and rules that you can do this and you can't do that. And that we must rest on the sabbeth day with I believe giving thanks every seven days, etc, etc... Could you really say that he made that from an altruistic viewpoint?
Ans; He gave us the gift of life..
Well that doesn't answer my question at all I replied.
I mean, I know that I am a mere human mortal but honestly if I had made a world, a universe and I gave it as a present, I truly promise you that one 'thank you' would be lovely but to keep doing so week after week, well I would personally be embarrassed and after a while I'd think you were just socially inept.
Ans; He gave us freedom of choice...
Ahh but did he really? Your saying that I have freedom of choice in my actions yet if I choose not to repent to him then I go to hell. Sort of, but more ipso facto..... Hobsons choice really isn't it. You choose but don't do what I want and you go to damnation. Have you heard the word megalomania?
I guess I'm asking if it would come over a little less egotistic if had just said here's the world, universe and everything, no catches and I TRUST YOU to set the rules to live by, BUT if you break it, I ain't fixing it? Isn't that the true GIFT of life?
Ans; God works in mysterious ways....
Well we carried on for some fifteen minutes and I sensed that they were getting a bit discombobulated and so I drew the grilling to a close. I brushed the devil from my shoulder, and a little dandruff too, thanked them for their time and declined a leaflet I then wished them a fond farewell, they looked a little weary as they shuffled off.
I then went back to more mundane worldly things such as hoovering, which brings me right back on track with my original point... Hoodies are really helpful when you are doing the vacuum cleaning. You see I need to take bookings via phone calls which can come any time but if I'm using the vacuum cleaner then I can't hear the phone. So I chuck the phone in my hood as it hangs over my shoulders and it is so near to the head that I can hear it ring!
Post script
I only recorded this blog because a few days back I saw the Jehovah press gang in action again down our street. I observed them go down the other side of the road in the usual two by two format (I guess it worked for Noah, except that darn unicorn!! ). Anyway having done the other side of the street they then came back on my side. I waited and waited and I waited some more. But not a knock or a ring, sod all! So feeling left out I went to see where they had got to. Well it turned out that they simply by passed me and went next door instead. Effectively I have been blacklisted by the Bloody Jehovah's Witnesses!
Hallelujah, there is a God!
Sunday 2 November 2014
The problem initiated with a visit to a National Trust property last year and concluded with the death of a food processor!
Our food processor broke down this week. It hadn't been very happy for several weeks and I knew something was afoot as it whinged and moaned more and more through the month, but I never thought that it would actually down tools!
The problem initiated with a visit to a National Trust property last year where shortly after Halloween I bought a super-sized pumpkin for just £1. This extortionate cost was funded by the sale of my own smaller pumpkins leading up to Halloween.
Well now, I kept the seeds from that pumpkins big belly, cleaned them, stored them and generally mollycoddled them for many months until it was time to sow them into little pots to germinate in my greenhouse. Eventually they were big enough to go out and do their thing in my allotment, which they did with some gusto I might add.
By late September the unbelievably prolonged warm summer had filled the pumpkin patch with all
sizes of bright orange balloons.
I stood there looking at the answer to the meaning of life itself. There were 42 of them. The largest of which were 22lb and I had several of those. This was better than I had hoped for but there was a problem as I wished to sell these for Halloween which was still 30 days away and they would certainly not last in this warm weather.
It was a hard call but I opted to harvest the lot (except 2 green ones that were living on the pile of cow manure) and I once more called on the help of my little green truck to transport them home.
My truck is called Claire Rebecca. This is because it has a green livery just like the Eddie Stobart lorries and whose trucks all have female names painted on them. For years & years on holidays across Britain my daughter has been trying to see her name emblazoned on one of them. God knows what we would have had to do if she saw one heading north on the M6 but we'd probably ended up in some dodgy industrial estate in the backwaters of Crewe taking her photo next to it.
So to overcome this I have now named my mini Eddie Stobart truck 'Claire Rebecca' and that should put an end to her quest.
So I filled Claire Rebecca to the brim then returned a second time and filled her again until my crop was all safely in. I walked along the street with my imaginary peacock tail feathers high in full display mode with my little truck full in tow. Sadly the imaginary peacock feather display drooped somewhat as a massive tractor trundled past me with his trailer bubbling over with it's 4 tons of sugar beet. I felt a little inadequate.
Still when I got home I sorted them into two types, 'Really ripe' and 'Just ripe', placing the really ripe in to the coolness of my wood store / tool shed / pumpkin climate controlled storage facility.
The just ripe ones were placed outside but under cover to keep them dry.
Now all I could do was wait....
Two weeks later.......
Having kept an eye on them I decided that most of them were fit to sell and I placed them on my front yard wall, all priced up, to see what I could sell.
After a slow start word got around and cars pulled up and people started buying them and before long I had sold out of all the small ones then the medium size ones and so it kept going.
I kept a few for the children in the family that had booked the cottage leading up to Halloween for which they were very grateful. We even lent them the carving kit and gave them the candles etc.
Naturally being the big kid that I am I kept two for me to carve too.
I put aside any that started to show signs of going soft and made soup out of those. This was my main reason for growing the pumpkins as I love pumpkin soup. As well as the Pumpkin crop my Tomatoes were going berserk in production too and in the last week of October (just days from November) I had picked over 20lbs of the things. I cannot remember such a mild Autumn. I am writing this on the 2nd of November and I have Sweet Peas and Dahlias still prolifically flowering in the garden. I have just picked 6 ounces of autumn raspberries and we had tea in the back garden in short sleeves. Global warming gone mad!
So it is my assertion that as a result of a visit to a National Trust property a year ago and the volume of pumpkin soup thereby created which my poor food processor had to liquidise, that caused it to finally give up the go. I may sue the National Trust.
The irony is that my intention was to use the £54 that I raised selling the pumpkins to self fund next years allotment seeds etc but the new Food Processor cost £109 and so instead of getting £54 I've ended down by £55! How is that bloody fair?!!!
Still we have had a great October and here are some photographs to illustrate how summer like it has been.....
"And finally" as Trevor McDoughnut used to say.......
We had a visitor earlier in the month. Alison was the first to notice something strange going on in the garden whilst we were cooking the guests breakfasts. It was a Sparrow Hawk who had snatched one of our regular Collard Doves and was devouring it right in front of us. It was a Sparrow Hawk that I saw snatch away one of the fairly rare Spotted Flycatchers that were breeding in our vine two years ago and it may well be another that my children saw catch and kill a Blackbird. I know one thing for sure.... in case it thinks my grey hair is a Pigeon, I'm wearing a hard hat when I'm in the back garden next.
15,358
The problem initiated with a visit to a National Trust property last year where shortly after Halloween I bought a super-sized pumpkin for just £1. This extortionate cost was funded by the sale of my own smaller pumpkins leading up to Halloween.
Well now, I kept the seeds from that pumpkins big belly, cleaned them, stored them and generally mollycoddled them for many months until it was time to sow them into little pots to germinate in my greenhouse. Eventually they were big enough to go out and do their thing in my allotment, which they did with some gusto I might add.
By late September the unbelievably prolonged warm summer had filled the pumpkin patch with all
sizes of bright orange balloons.
It was a hard call but I opted to harvest the lot (except 2 green ones that were living on the pile of cow manure) and I once more called on the help of my little green truck to transport them home.
My truck is called Claire Rebecca. This is because it has a green livery just like the Eddie Stobart lorries and whose trucks all have female names painted on them. For years & years on holidays across Britain my daughter has been trying to see her name emblazoned on one of them. God knows what we would have had to do if she saw one heading north on the M6 but we'd probably ended up in some dodgy industrial estate in the backwaters of Crewe taking her photo next to it.So to overcome this I have now named my mini Eddie Stobart truck 'Claire Rebecca' and that should put an end to her quest.
So I filled Claire Rebecca to the brim then returned a second time and filled her again until my crop was all safely in. I walked along the street with my imaginary peacock tail feathers high in full display mode with my little truck full in tow. Sadly the imaginary peacock feather display drooped somewhat as a massive tractor trundled past me with his trailer bubbling over with it's 4 tons of sugar beet. I felt a little inadequate.Still when I got home I sorted them into two types, 'Really ripe' and 'Just ripe', placing the really ripe in to the coolness of my wood store / tool shed / pumpkin climate controlled storage facility.
Now all I could do was wait....
Two weeks later.......
Having kept an eye on them I decided that most of them were fit to sell and I placed them on my front yard wall, all priced up, to see what I could sell.
After a slow start word got around and cars pulled up and people started buying them and before long I had sold out of all the small ones then the medium size ones and so it kept going.
I kept a few for the children in the family that had booked the cottage leading up to Halloween for which they were very grateful. We even lent them the carving kit and gave them the candles etc.
Naturally being the big kid that I am I kept two for me to carve too. I put aside any that started to show signs of going soft and made soup out of those. This was my main reason for growing the pumpkins as I love pumpkin soup. As well as the Pumpkin crop my Tomatoes were going berserk in production too and in the last week of October (just days from November) I had picked over 20lbs of the things. I cannot remember such a mild Autumn. I am writing this on the 2nd of November and I have Sweet Peas and Dahlias still prolifically flowering in the garden. I have just picked 6 ounces of autumn raspberries and we had tea in the back garden in short sleeves. Global warming gone mad!
So it is my assertion that as a result of a visit to a National Trust property a year ago and the volume of pumpkin soup thereby created which my poor food processor had to liquidise, that caused it to finally give up the go. I may sue the National Trust.
The irony is that my intention was to use the £54 that I raised selling the pumpkins to self fund next years allotment seeds etc but the new Food Processor cost £109 and so instead of getting £54 I've ended down by £55! How is that bloody fair?!!!
Still we have had a great October and here are some photographs to illustrate how summer like it has been.....
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| Turnips in flower in front of Melton Constable estate church |
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| Brinton in a warm 20 degrees C |
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| Cley Church, not a cloud in the sky. |
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| 25th October and families crabbing at Blakeney in their tee shirts. |
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| Blakeney........ lovely. Who wouldn't want to live here? |
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| My prize winning Sweet corn, well they would be if we had a village produce show!! |
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| Our latest find, Holme Beach miles & miles of unspoilt beach and not a sun lounger in sight! |
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| My favourite 'Arty' photo of October. (I might actually print this one). |
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| Wells-Next-The-Sea Beach huts. |
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| Again one of my 'prize' Onions. |
"And finally" as Trevor McDoughnut used to say.......
We had a visitor earlier in the month. Alison was the first to notice something strange going on in the garden whilst we were cooking the guests breakfasts. It was a Sparrow Hawk who had snatched one of our regular Collard Doves and was devouring it right in front of us. It was a Sparrow Hawk that I saw snatch away one of the fairly rare Spotted Flycatchers that were breeding in our vine two years ago and it may well be another that my children saw catch and kill a Blackbird. I know one thing for sure.... in case it thinks my grey hair is a Pigeon, I'm wearing a hard hat when I'm in the back garden next.
Happy Halloween........
15,358
Monday 15 September 2014
Things that you don't want to hear from the kitchen.....
I greatly admire those B&B's whose dining rooms are attached to or are a part of their kitchen. Everything you do is totally open to scrutiny and you have to be not only totally on top of your game but of exemplary behaviour.
Whilst I think in general I could pass the scrutiny bit, I am sure that I would feel an immense amount of added pressure by having an audience.
However I have to admit that exemplary would not be the first word that I would use to describe my behaviour in the kitchen. For when things don't go the way I wish then I have to confess that I lose a little of my civility and perhaps the odd curse may slip through my lips. I am not proud of this but there it is. What is a man to do?
I was pondering the 'open kitchen' layout of a B&B and how it is probably for the best that my guests don't have to hear such profanities on a Sunday morning when I was reminded of an episode of "The Hotel Inspector". The hotel in question was run by a family whom seemed to disagree about everything and they could often be heard by their guests with some really random comments wafting into the dining area.
This got me thinking about things you would not want to hear being said in the kitchen as you await your breakfast. Here is a list of 20 that would fill me with unease....
1. "AAAAAAATCHOOOOOOOOOOO!"
2. "It's OK, it landed the right way up."
3. THUD. "Ha, GOT IT!" "Bugger.... where did it go?"
4. "Tiddles! Get off that worktop NOW."
5. "What do you think it is?"
"I'm not really sure but I think I can get it out."
6. "Do me a favour and have a smell of this."
7. "Scrape it off over the sink..... It'll be fine."
8. "Is that a current or a fly?"
9. "Did you wash out the bleach from their teapot before you made their tea luv?"
10. "Wow! Earwax is almost exactly the same colour as egg yolk."
11. "Darling is this the olive oil or the sample you've gotta take down the doctors?"
12. "Are those floating bits meant to be there?"
13. "I can see the words 'Use By' but the rest is just a complete mystery I'm afraid..."
14. "Quick the blood is dripping over everything".
15. "What's the 3 second rule?"
16. "Well I'm not going to tell them.... you're in charge, you do it!"
17. "Is this last weeks bacon or this weeks?"
18. "I told you... I don't know how long the fridge was switched off."
19. "Stop the cat and get that sausage back!"
20. "Remind me again did you say that it's all right to serve it if it smells funny but looks OK or if it smells OK but just looks funny... I can never remember."
Happy dining.
Whilst I think in general I could pass the scrutiny bit, I am sure that I would feel an immense amount of added pressure by having an audience.
However I have to admit that exemplary would not be the first word that I would use to describe my behaviour in the kitchen. For when things don't go the way I wish then I have to confess that I lose a little of my civility and perhaps the odd curse may slip through my lips. I am not proud of this but there it is. What is a man to do?
I was pondering the 'open kitchen' layout of a B&B and how it is probably for the best that my guests don't have to hear such profanities on a Sunday morning when I was reminded of an episode of "The Hotel Inspector". The hotel in question was run by a family whom seemed to disagree about everything and they could often be heard by their guests with some really random comments wafting into the dining area.
This got me thinking about things you would not want to hear being said in the kitchen as you await your breakfast. Here is a list of 20 that would fill me with unease....
1. "AAAAAAATCHOOOOOOOOOOO!"
2. "It's OK, it landed the right way up."
3. THUD. "Ha, GOT IT!" "Bugger.... where did it go?"
4. "Tiddles! Get off that worktop NOW."
5. "What do you think it is?"
"I'm not really sure but I think I can get it out."
6. "Do me a favour and have a smell of this."
7. "Scrape it off over the sink..... It'll be fine."
8. "Is that a current or a fly?"
9. "Did you wash out the bleach from their teapot before you made their tea luv?"
10. "Wow! Earwax is almost exactly the same colour as egg yolk."
11. "Darling is this the olive oil or the sample you've gotta take down the doctors?"
12. "Are those floating bits meant to be there?"
13. "I can see the words 'Use By' but the rest is just a complete mystery I'm afraid..."
14. "Quick the blood is dripping over everything".
15. "What's the 3 second rule?"
16. "Well I'm not going to tell them.... you're in charge, you do it!"
17. "Is this last weeks bacon or this weeks?"
18. "I told you... I don't know how long the fridge was switched off."
19. "Stop the cat and get that sausage back!"
20. "Remind me again did you say that it's all right to serve it if it smells funny but looks OK or if it smells OK but just looks funny... I can never remember."
Happy dining.
Tuesday 9 September 2014
I nose what's good and I nose what's bad....
On Sunday it was August and still summer and then I woke up on Monday to find it was the 1st of September and Autumn had turned up on the doorstep without a by your leave. The dew covered the lawn with it's glistening pearls only broken by the fallen cob nuts littering the ground.
That old familiar scent of dampness hung in the air and I knew that summer was done.
It is an astounding thing the sense of smell isn't it? It is the ability to remember specific smells that I find most amazing. Autumn has that very specific damp, slightly musty smell and I feel sure that if you were blindfolded and taken in the Tardis to somewhere in Autumn that you would know instantly that it was so. My life is littered with memory points stored by their smell and I am frequently transported back to them in a nano second of picking up a scent that duplicates one of them.
For instant whenever I toast white bread (not brown or Granary, just white and it must be under the grill not in a toaster) I immediately picture the small staff refreshment room in the little Fine Fare Supermarket that I managed in the Goring road in Worthing. Despite being over 30 years ago it conjurers up a clear image of that room with the window to the right, the little inadequately sized table up against the opposite wall and the massively over sized Cheeseplant which somehow had survived to grow the full width of one wall and straddling across half of another. We had owned many Cheeseplants but they had never survived more than a few months at home. On the back wall was the kitchen work surface with a kettle, some cups often left in the sink with diluted bleach in them to get rid of the stains and a couple of loaves of bread donated by the business so staff could have some toast at morning break time. It is that specific smell from that particular grill in that room which my memory involuntarily jumps to and all of the above appears in my mind for the briefest of moments as if I were looking at a photograph of the scene, really powerful.
Another example is the ever so distinctive smell of the road works when I used to live in London back in the 70's. As a kid I walked to school and they seemed to be forever digging some bit of road up which meant digging into the London Clay and that smell is so strong in my mind that I can 'picture it' even now as I write this several hundred miles and 40 years away from it. Whenever I visit London and if I smell it, no matter where I smell it, my mind is transported back to the street in which I grew up.
If I linger a little too long down the Supermarket cake aisle I am reminded of the sweet, sweet smell of the inside of the Mr Kipling and Lyons cake delivery vans. They would pull up to our shop and I would agree the order then myself and the cake van driver would go to the van where he would open the back doors and this strong sugary sweet smell would hit me right in the face every single time.Yet another of those smells that I haven't forgotten.
Probably one of my favourites is the smell of raw bacon in the butchers where I buy my bacon up here. That scent takes me way back to another Fine Fare Supermarket in Leamington Spa. I was in charge of the Delicatessen there and I really loved it. The smell is not just that of the raw smoked bacon but of the bacon first thing in the morning as I set my counter up. The big walk in chiller was closed all night and so the bacon smell built up and when I opened the fridge door first thing in the morning SMACK my nose was treated to an assault of that smoky briny bacon. I am near salivating now at that memory smell.
It is so refined that for instance the smell of diesel soot reminds me of the No.7 Route-master bus whilst the smell of diesel itself flashes up a picture of me standing in the engine compartment of a narrow boat preparing to stuff my hand down the weed hatch.
The list is really big, now I think of it. I was in the village hall gym and as I lay on the parquet floor the smell of the wood mixed with the thin layer of dust took me right back to when I was a cub scout and our meetings in our school hall. It ranges from the new car smell which I hope many of you will associate this phenomenon with through to the sea smell of a Cornish fishing village including the smell of the Off License that I worked in and even the B.O. of a specific member of staff (a sort of stagnant baked beans smell).
They are indeed not always happy memories, hence I do not like the smell of hospitals, or alcohol on peoples breath or cannabis as they pull me back to specific memory points which I'd rather not be reminded of. But none the less you have to marvel at such a powerful sense, it is truly extraordinary.
Where was I?
Oh yes the Summer........
It had shot by this year faster than I can remember, probably because we had been so busy this year. On Friday we had the first single day in which there was no one staying in either the B&B or the Cottage since way back at the beginning of July. Whilst this is clearly good news in regards to the business it is fair to say that it has taken a toll on us both leaving us quite weary and in need of a break which we aim to take later this month.
With the coming of Autumn so follows some yearly tasks one of which is the ordering and storing away of fire wood. Unfortunately the wood store shares a space with the garden store and in the chaos of the summer the whole thing had become an utter mess. So I took an afternoon to have a complete sort out of both in preparation for the delivery of the wood.
In doing so I ended up replacing all of Percy Gandons gardening tools back in their bespoke brackets.
The guy was a perfectionist. None of these generic garden shed tool hooks from B&Q for him, oh no, no he hand crafted each bracket to fit each tool individually and so I find that despite the shears being blunt and the lawn edge clippers ceased up I simply cannot remove them, it would be wrong.
Finally the two areas now clearly defined I was ready for the wood and a few days later I spent four hours moving the wood from the street to the store. Eventually the task was done and so I did what I do.......... I took a photograph of it. A job well done I feel.
Now it is just a matter of bringing in the rest of the harvest including picking all the apples off that apple tree!
That old familiar scent of dampness hung in the air and I knew that summer was done.
It is an astounding thing the sense of smell isn't it? It is the ability to remember specific smells that I find most amazing. Autumn has that very specific damp, slightly musty smell and I feel sure that if you were blindfolded and taken in the Tardis to somewhere in Autumn that you would know instantly that it was so. My life is littered with memory points stored by their smell and I am frequently transported back to them in a nano second of picking up a scent that duplicates one of them.
For instant whenever I toast white bread (not brown or Granary, just white and it must be under the grill not in a toaster) I immediately picture the small staff refreshment room in the little Fine Fare Supermarket that I managed in the Goring road in Worthing. Despite being over 30 years ago it conjurers up a clear image of that room with the window to the right, the little inadequately sized table up against the opposite wall and the massively over sized Cheeseplant which somehow had survived to grow the full width of one wall and straddling across half of another. We had owned many Cheeseplants but they had never survived more than a few months at home. On the back wall was the kitchen work surface with a kettle, some cups often left in the sink with diluted bleach in them to get rid of the stains and a couple of loaves of bread donated by the business so staff could have some toast at morning break time. It is that specific smell from that particular grill in that room which my memory involuntarily jumps to and all of the above appears in my mind for the briefest of moments as if I were looking at a photograph of the scene, really powerful.
Another example is the ever so distinctive smell of the road works when I used to live in London back in the 70's. As a kid I walked to school and they seemed to be forever digging some bit of road up which meant digging into the London Clay and that smell is so strong in my mind that I can 'picture it' even now as I write this several hundred miles and 40 years away from it. Whenever I visit London and if I smell it, no matter where I smell it, my mind is transported back to the street in which I grew up.
If I linger a little too long down the Supermarket cake aisle I am reminded of the sweet, sweet smell of the inside of the Mr Kipling and Lyons cake delivery vans. They would pull up to our shop and I would agree the order then myself and the cake van driver would go to the van where he would open the back doors and this strong sugary sweet smell would hit me right in the face every single time.Yet another of those smells that I haven't forgotten.
Probably one of my favourites is the smell of raw bacon in the butchers where I buy my bacon up here. That scent takes me way back to another Fine Fare Supermarket in Leamington Spa. I was in charge of the Delicatessen there and I really loved it. The smell is not just that of the raw smoked bacon but of the bacon first thing in the morning as I set my counter up. The big walk in chiller was closed all night and so the bacon smell built up and when I opened the fridge door first thing in the morning SMACK my nose was treated to an assault of that smoky briny bacon. I am near salivating now at that memory smell.
It is so refined that for instance the smell of diesel soot reminds me of the No.7 Route-master bus whilst the smell of diesel itself flashes up a picture of me standing in the engine compartment of a narrow boat preparing to stuff my hand down the weed hatch.
The list is really big, now I think of it. I was in the village hall gym and as I lay on the parquet floor the smell of the wood mixed with the thin layer of dust took me right back to when I was a cub scout and our meetings in our school hall. It ranges from the new car smell which I hope many of you will associate this phenomenon with through to the sea smell of a Cornish fishing village including the smell of the Off License that I worked in and even the B.O. of a specific member of staff (a sort of stagnant baked beans smell).
They are indeed not always happy memories, hence I do not like the smell of hospitals, or alcohol on peoples breath or cannabis as they pull me back to specific memory points which I'd rather not be reminded of. But none the less you have to marvel at such a powerful sense, it is truly extraordinary.
Where was I?
Oh yes the Summer........
It had shot by this year faster than I can remember, probably because we had been so busy this year. On Friday we had the first single day in which there was no one staying in either the B&B or the Cottage since way back at the beginning of July. Whilst this is clearly good news in regards to the business it is fair to say that it has taken a toll on us both leaving us quite weary and in need of a break which we aim to take later this month.
With the coming of Autumn so follows some yearly tasks one of which is the ordering and storing away of fire wood. Unfortunately the wood store shares a space with the garden store and in the chaos of the summer the whole thing had become an utter mess. So I took an afternoon to have a complete sort out of both in preparation for the delivery of the wood.
In doing so I ended up replacing all of Percy Gandons gardening tools back in their bespoke brackets.The guy was a perfectionist. None of these generic garden shed tool hooks from B&Q for him, oh no, no he hand crafted each bracket to fit each tool individually and so I find that despite the shears being blunt and the lawn edge clippers ceased up I simply cannot remove them, it would be wrong.
Finally the two areas now clearly defined I was ready for the wood and a few days later I spent four hours moving the wood from the street to the store. Eventually the task was done and so I did what I do.......... I took a photograph of it. A job well done I feel.
Now it is just a matter of bringing in the rest of the harvest including picking all the apples off that apple tree!
Friday 8 August 2014
If you are planning for a year, sow rice if you are planning for a decade, plant trees if you are planning for a lifetime, plant bloody Broad Beans! Chinese proverb.
I was asked the other day if I regretted taking on the allotment. I guess the inference being that it was just too big a task with everything else that we are striving to achieve here. I was surprised at the speed and vigor of the involuntary answer that I immediately fired back at him. "No, not at all, absolutely not."
Half of my leeks are hidden in a frenzy of weeds, I've all but given up eating potatoes and yet have several hundred pounds of them sitting in the ground. I have experimented with unusual squashes and now have to look up 'interesting things you can do with a squash', most legal and some slightly dubious. My Pumpkin patch is simply becoming enormous and quite scary actually and God only knows what my Sweetcorn is doing. But yes, on the whole it is actually great fun and my only regret at all is that it does play second fiddle to the business and suffers as a result which frustrates me at times.
I have some great allotment neighbours and we have some nice chats and that and it is really special to be working, sometimes topless, on a warm sunny big blue Norfolk sky day in the silence of my own thoughts with just a Black bird singing or perhaps the call of the Oyster Catchers as a pair fly low over the allotments landing in the field beyond.
Lovely.
But my time constraints do sometimes cause issues and the Broad Bean saga is one such example. I have long hated Broad Beans until I grew a few and found out how delicious the young tender beans are. Actually I found that I liked them so much that I was eating them raw straight from the pod on the allotment.
So it came to pass that I decided to plant quite a few seeds this year and who knew, they all came up and soon I was planting dozens of small Broad Bean plants. So far so good. Having successfully stopped the birds from pecking at the seedlings with some strategically placed netting I waited for them to grow. Which they duly did, unrelenting and with some spirit I felt. Soon I was forced to remove the netting and it wasn't long before the birds clearly thought that the Broad Beans looked far too menacing a proposition and left them well alone.
Time passed, the business got bookings then more bookings and then more and I started to pick the odd pod for dinner but the race was running at too fast a pace for me. The plan to catch 'em young and freeze 'em hard passed us by as more and more B&B bookings flooded in and it was not long before my visits were barely once a week.
Then one day I squeezed a little time to go and water the Toms that I had planted in the poor excuse for a greenhouse up t' allotment and I saw that the Broad Beans were no longer my friendly buttersweet little succulent beans, but were now fully blown giant pods of a bean. These needed picking and fast. I started picking with great gusto and enthusiasm. After 20 minutes that waned a little, a further 20 minutes and some nasty insect bites later I'm getting a bit bored of this. After an hour or so I really could have just given up.
Eventually I had picked all that there was to pick, the harvest was ready to bring home and I filled two large market garden trays with them. These I loaded onto my mini Eddie Stobart truck which is called 'Claire Rebecca' and I hauled the cargo back to Alison.
I found out two things when I got home;-
Firstly that I had harvested 40lb of Broad Beans (in their pods).
And secondly that Alison's "You've got to be kidding" face is not that dissimilar to her "What the *?@*" face that she pulls when I bring home from the auction one of my more interesting finds such as a Lobster pot or indeed 5 chimney pots.
A little later I also found out that 40lbs of podded Broad Beans equates to about 20lbs of loose Broad Beans and that my wife apparently has "the patience of a saint."
It was as we were podding the beans we realised that these were just over the edge as far as using them on an actual dinner plate and that in attempting to eat them we would look a little like those tobacco chewing baseball players, chewing on the same bit for some 10 minutes before eventually having to give it up and spitting it out of the mouth in disgust.
Well I for one was not interested in composting all this hard work and so a plan was hatched.... We would make Broad Bean soup I announced. Alison did not seem to be filled with the same verve as me with this suggestion and enquired if indeed there really was such a thing as Broad Bean soup?
"Yes, of course there is," I lied....
"What's in it?"
"Broad Beans" I replied smugly. She wasn't impressed and so I added...
"And Bacon!" Where this came from I know not but it sounded doable to me.
"And Cheese." I pushed my luck a little too far at this point and 'A' went off to google it.
Well I was soon vindicated and soup it was to be then. Only one problem you had to par boil the beans first then move the tough outer skin on each and every bean a count that we estimated to be getting on for a thousand beans and it could only be done one by one... by hand.
It is fair to say she wasn't happy.
We set our selves up at the patio table with a bowl full of beans to be 'shelled', another bowl for the discarded grey skins and a third bowl for the fresh young beans within. It was slow at first as we picked a bean, cut it carefully then picked at it until we extracted the bean from the skin. It was laborious and took forever. After several minutes I 'experimented' with different techniques and it wasn't long before I had discovered that a quick slice down the spine and a pinching movement between the thumb and forefinger would cause the bean to fire out like a tiny bullet. Right, we were away now and having shown Alison we were spitting the little fellas willy nilly. There was some collateral damage as every now and then a bean would scoot off into the distance or would bounce off my nose. K-poww and one would ricochet into Alison's arm. Alison even managed to fire one straight up into the air having it about turn and dive straight back down again right into her cleavage. I insisted that it was not to be put back into the 'soup' bowl, naturally.
Another hour of our lives lost for good then. Well a good few hours later 'A' has made 26 pots of soup paste (It looked uncannily like green polyfilla) and stashed it in the freezer. That's lunch for me for nearly a month! Having enquired it would appear that no one else in the house will be partaking of this culinary delight so it looks like I'm going to be the sole consumer.
I have to admit that I was hoping to share the burden, no erm the... task of getting through this putty but apparently it is all down to me.... did I mention that broad beans give me wind?
So here we are a week or so later and I'm fighting, or working, my way through them. Broad Bean soup every lunch time, mmmmm, D E L I C I O U S! That's after I've added a ton of black pepper, watered the paste down with half a pint of milk and added some cream and a good dose of grated cheese, any cheese will do just make sure it is a strong one as it has quite a battle on it's hands!
Next week Onion & yellow Zucchini soup (300 onions to use up) and if you thought Broad beans left me windy you don't want to be around after my onion soup supper!!
Half of my leeks are hidden in a frenzy of weeds, I've all but given up eating potatoes and yet have several hundred pounds of them sitting in the ground. I have experimented with unusual squashes and now have to look up 'interesting things you can do with a squash', most legal and some slightly dubious. My Pumpkin patch is simply becoming enormous and quite scary actually and God only knows what my Sweetcorn is doing. But yes, on the whole it is actually great fun and my only regret at all is that it does play second fiddle to the business and suffers as a result which frustrates me at times.
I have some great allotment neighbours and we have some nice chats and that and it is really special to be working, sometimes topless, on a warm sunny big blue Norfolk sky day in the silence of my own thoughts with just a Black bird singing or perhaps the call of the Oyster Catchers as a pair fly low over the allotments landing in the field beyond.
Lovely.
But my time constraints do sometimes cause issues and the Broad Bean saga is one such example. I have long hated Broad Beans until I grew a few and found out how delicious the young tender beans are. Actually I found that I liked them so much that I was eating them raw straight from the pod on the allotment.
So it came to pass that I decided to plant quite a few seeds this year and who knew, they all came up and soon I was planting dozens of small Broad Bean plants. So far so good. Having successfully stopped the birds from pecking at the seedlings with some strategically placed netting I waited for them to grow. Which they duly did, unrelenting and with some spirit I felt. Soon I was forced to remove the netting and it wasn't long before the birds clearly thought that the Broad Beans looked far too menacing a proposition and left them well alone.
Time passed, the business got bookings then more bookings and then more and I started to pick the odd pod for dinner but the race was running at too fast a pace for me. The plan to catch 'em young and freeze 'em hard passed us by as more and more B&B bookings flooded in and it was not long before my visits were barely once a week.
Then one day I squeezed a little time to go and water the Toms that I had planted in the poor excuse for a greenhouse up t' allotment and I saw that the Broad Beans were no longer my friendly buttersweet little succulent beans, but were now fully blown giant pods of a bean. These needed picking and fast. I started picking with great gusto and enthusiasm. After 20 minutes that waned a little, a further 20 minutes and some nasty insect bites later I'm getting a bit bored of this. After an hour or so I really could have just given up.
Eventually I had picked all that there was to pick, the harvest was ready to bring home and I filled two large market garden trays with them. These I loaded onto my mini Eddie Stobart truck which is called 'Claire Rebecca' and I hauled the cargo back to Alison.
I found out two things when I got home;-
Firstly that I had harvested 40lb of Broad Beans (in their pods).
And secondly that Alison's "You've got to be kidding" face is not that dissimilar to her "What the *?@*" face that she pulls when I bring home from the auction one of my more interesting finds such as a Lobster pot or indeed 5 chimney pots.
A little later I also found out that 40lbs of podded Broad Beans equates to about 20lbs of loose Broad Beans and that my wife apparently has "the patience of a saint."
It was as we were podding the beans we realised that these were just over the edge as far as using them on an actual dinner plate and that in attempting to eat them we would look a little like those tobacco chewing baseball players, chewing on the same bit for some 10 minutes before eventually having to give it up and spitting it out of the mouth in disgust.
Well I for one was not interested in composting all this hard work and so a plan was hatched.... We would make Broad Bean soup I announced. Alison did not seem to be filled with the same verve as me with this suggestion and enquired if indeed there really was such a thing as Broad Bean soup?
"Yes, of course there is," I lied....
"What's in it?"
"Broad Beans" I replied smugly. She wasn't impressed and so I added...
"And Bacon!" Where this came from I know not but it sounded doable to me.
"And Cheese." I pushed my luck a little too far at this point and 'A' went off to google it.
Well I was soon vindicated and soup it was to be then. Only one problem you had to par boil the beans first then move the tough outer skin on each and every bean a count that we estimated to be getting on for a thousand beans and it could only be done one by one... by hand.
It is fair to say she wasn't happy.
We set our selves up at the patio table with a bowl full of beans to be 'shelled', another bowl for the discarded grey skins and a third bowl for the fresh young beans within. It was slow at first as we picked a bean, cut it carefully then picked at it until we extracted the bean from the skin. It was laborious and took forever. After several minutes I 'experimented' with different techniques and it wasn't long before I had discovered that a quick slice down the spine and a pinching movement between the thumb and forefinger would cause the bean to fire out like a tiny bullet. Right, we were away now and having shown Alison we were spitting the little fellas willy nilly. There was some collateral damage as every now and then a bean would scoot off into the distance or would bounce off my nose. K-poww and one would ricochet into Alison's arm. Alison even managed to fire one straight up into the air having it about turn and dive straight back down again right into her cleavage. I insisted that it was not to be put back into the 'soup' bowl, naturally.
Another hour of our lives lost for good then. Well a good few hours later 'A' has made 26 pots of soup paste (It looked uncannily like green polyfilla) and stashed it in the freezer. That's lunch for me for nearly a month! Having enquired it would appear that no one else in the house will be partaking of this culinary delight so it looks like I'm going to be the sole consumer.
I have to admit that I was hoping to share the burden, no erm the... task of getting through this putty but apparently it is all down to me.... did I mention that broad beans give me wind?
So here we are a week or so later and I'm fighting, or working, my way through them. Broad Bean soup every lunch time, mmmmm, D E L I C I O U S! That's after I've added a ton of black pepper, watered the paste down with half a pint of milk and added some cream and a good dose of grated cheese, any cheese will do just make sure it is a strong one as it has quite a battle on it's hands!
Next week Onion & yellow Zucchini soup (300 onions to use up) and if you thought Broad beans left me windy you don't want to be around after my onion soup supper!!
Saturday 2 August 2014
Thursday 3 July 2014
Lets spare a thought for the Pump Out man.
Lets spare a thought for the Pump Out man,
a thankless task emptying out another man's 'can'.
He'll put on rubber gloves and the wellies too,
just to remove the things that you and yours do.
Along the lane he trundles in his tanker so small,
emptying every body's septic tanks or their cesspool.
It's a lonely job and not the place to be..
especially in a heat wave at 36 degrees C!
They toil all day rolling out their pipes and kit...
It has very little kudos pumping out another person's...
pit.
You'd have to enjoy it or it'd be a bummer of a rap...
Peering deep into the tank to look at your fellow man's....
trap.
It's hard to impress the girls when going out on a date,
if you tell her "I'll pick you up at 7 in my tanker mate!"
Ostracised by one and all, they even reject your money at the bank,
You know it's bad when the Fishmonger says "Cor blimey he stank!"
So spare a thought for the Pump Out man,
for removing tons of feculence is not grand.
But it is a noble job which someone has to do
and thanks be to God that it's him and not you!
M.Thomas
Our pump out guy came last week, he is often seen passing by in his bright blue tractor with matching tank being towed behind. More often than not his wife is riding 'shot gun' in the cab with him, true love runs deep (about 6' deep actually). I am truly staggered at just how much 'stuff' is processed by our tiny septic tank. It is a very old structure, could easily be 100 years old. Brick built it is just 6' deep and at best 3' square with all our waste entering through one pipe at the top where the solids drop to the bottom. On the opposite side there is one pipe exiting the pit. It's job is to take the liquids away to an area to soak into the ground (in a neighbours garden!).Well in that year I have had hundreds of nights with B&B guests all busy flushing, showering, washing etc. I and ours all doing the same, the holiday cottage occupants too. On any one change over day my washing machine is normally running for at least 8 hours constantly. Absolutely hundreds of washes go through in the year. On top of that all of the rain water running of the back roof of the main house and the whole of the east wing also runs into the tank. So I think it is quite astonishing that this tiny tank can process that volume. My pump out man was very impressed and said that I "Had a lovely crust formed on the top of my solids". I'm so proud.
Summer is here and things are growing fast and furious. We picked several pounds of Blackcurrents the other day and have made some lovely jam from it which the guests are already eating up.The Raspberries are good and the Loganberries prolific so more jam urgently needs to be made there.
We spent several hours picking Gooseberries down the allotment too, it seemed to take for ever. Tub after tub of the things. We spent the evenings watching TV whilst we topped and tailed them. We have still not finished the job and so ave not weighed them all yet but we reckon there's between 24 to 28lbs of them.
Picking, freezing, picking, preserving, picking, jam making, picking, eating, picking......
Did I ever mention that I left work to get away from the drudgery of it all?
The Redcurrents look like they're next and all the time the Rhubarb keeps cropping so we pick it and freeze it for crumbles for our guests in November / December.
I have a small field of New potatoes which I need to start digging and I have about a hundred Onions which look like they are just about ready to harvest.
The Brassicas are in eventually and as you can see my little trolley was very useful in getting them down to the allotment.I think of my little trolley much like Lieutenant Hubert Gruber from "'Allo'Allo" thought of his little tank with much affection and pride, but not in such a gay way.
I really don't like fully grown Broad Beans but these are delicious and I can't eat enough of them.
Now cast your mind back to September 2012 and this was the allotment plot which I had inherited...
And from the same view point you can now see a bed of 300 onions ready to be pulled....
I have to admit that I'm pretty chuffed with myself now I look back at the progress made. Despite the full on business, the renovations to The Old Bakery and even squeezing in a few holidays my 'patch' has actually done quite well.
So here are a few photos to show what I have replaced the weed infested plot with....
A small field of both 'New' Potatoes (Kestrel and Casablanca) and main crop (Desiree and King Edwards), all staggered to give me different cropping times, hopefully taking me right through to January as they did last year. This is handy as I use these in all the guests meals right up to Christmas.
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| Kestrel New Pots, Mmmmmm! |
I had some nice carrots & Parsnips last year, but not many because the weeds over took them both. This year I worked really hard to minimise the weeds and so far it is looking promising.
I'm hoping that this Sweet Corn is productive too, I have doubled the plants this year because I so enjoyed the taste of last years crop. It has been bone dry with hardly any rain and I have been using plenty of my stored water to get all of the young plants going.
A large patch of assorted squashes, Black Beauty Courgettes, Patty Pans, De Nice a fruit rond and Yellow Scallop are in there somewhere. I have also planted A LOT of Pumpkins which I may sell on my garden wall again like last year (depending on the success of the crop of course). Oh and I'll make my favourite Pumpkin soup too.
A great crop of Blackcurrants, many of which are really large the biggest being as wide as my thumb nail.....
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| Mmm, perhaps I need a manicure. |
And Next up are the Redcurrants which are also prolific and pretty large too.
We have had pounds of Strawberries and at least 10lb of Loganberries from the garden along with something similar in weight in Raspberries from both the garden and the allotment. There are about 30 Runner Beans growing plus Berlotti Beans, a whole row of Autumn Raspberries, yet to crop and a good hundred Leeks in their early stages. I have even planted some Sweet Potatoes but I'm not too convinced that we'll see much happen there.
So all in all looking quite promising, just need that Summer rain now.
An update on the fedge... Well as the photo above shows all my canes seem to have taken and with the Mock Orange pouring over the arch the room has really come together now. We even had a little girl go in their (from the cottage) so mum would read her bedtime story in there.
It is Poppy season again and there are a few fields out there just blushing with poppies. They look spectacular and I just can't resist taking more photos of them.
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