Lately in verbs

Walking in the park.  I'm continuing to enjoy the seasonal changes, though that unmistakable and rather wonderful smell of autumn is still absent.  (It probably needs colder temperatures and a hint of woodsmoke in the air.)   

We're lucky to have this public park on our doorstep. There's a walled garden, museum, lakes and a monthly farmers market. The site of the cottage where one Captain James Cook was born can be found here, too. (Yep, arguably the world's greatest ever explorer is a fellow Smoggie). 

Persuading one of the park's many resident squirrels to pose for the camera. It did involve a bit of lurking behind a tree (me, not the squirrel).  Fortunately, there was no-one around to wonder what on earth I was up to. 

 

 

Bringing some autumnal colour indoors.  I associate chrysanthemums with my mother who was always given a bunch of those huge standard bronze coloured ones for her birthday.  They're not so readily available these days but I picked up this potted plant (I think it's a Korean 'mum) in Sainsburys. 

Returning to basics with a spot of simple baking.  I don't venture much into the world of patisserie these days (the mister has a reduced appetite and my jeans are far too snug).  There's the weekly batch of chocolate chip cookies to coincide with a visit from the Boy or the littlest or both, supplemented mid week with something similarly quick and easy, like these buttercream topped buns, or Granny cakes, as the littlest calls them.  Just enough to keep my hand in.

Replacing a fatsia japonica which had given up the ghost.   The original plant had lived outside in a pot next to the kitchen door for years,  seemingly quite content. Until this summer, when the pot became inexplicably waterlogged, the leaves turned yellow before dropping off, leaving a soggy stump.  I've no idea what the problem was but clearly it was time to start again with a shiny new plant.

Meeting my cousin for lunch.  She'd been given an early Christmas present and brought it with her.  

The coffee shop  (in neighbouring North Yorkshire) was dog friendly (one Bedlington, one Cockapoo and two Skye terriers were already enjoying the facilities) and the pup was very well behaved.  Quiet as a mouse, actually, and almost the same size.  Best not mention the outing to Boo who is very partial to a toasted teacake.

Stocking up with a variety of Spring bulbs for the pots in the back garden.  Who knows, maybe this will be the year I actually get round to planting them.

Reading.  Of course.  Book number 55 this year was the debut novel from the creator of the TV series, The Killing.   

Set largely in Copenhagen, this is a crime thriller/police procedural about a murderer with a unique calling card.  It's a hefty read but the pace is maintained throughout, with strong characters, great atmosphere and a complex storyline that kept me guessing right to the end.  But subtlety isn't one of our killer's strong points and the murder scenes are gruesome, though not gratuitously so.  If you like your crime fiction to be Scandi and noir, then this is probably one for you.  If you've a sensitive stomach, best leave it on the shelf.

 

Octoberish

The tenth month of the year. 

One of my favourites.

In all honesty, I could quite happily hibernate every summer, only emerging once the diary page has been turned over to October 1st.  

Nights are now drawing in (as my dad used to say, it's getting late early), temperatures are droppping, leaves are falling, the hot drinks menu in the coffee shop has suddenly perked up and I've succumbed to the urge to dabble in the magic that is jam making. There's just a modest stash of jars on the shelf as no-one else here is a fan, but seeing them sitting there is oddly comforting.   Elderberries from the tree at the bottom of the garden have been turned into immune system boosting syrup which is proving to be deliciously colourful atop a bowl of porridge.  

October is also the month which will forever be associated with my mother's birthday.  Or, to be more accurate, birthdays. 

Until her 60s, she celebrated  on the 25th.  Then, a copy of her birth certificate was required to support her first passport application and she discovered the date her birth had been registered was the 23rd.  My dad suggested she celebrate on both days thenceforth.  So she did.  

When the (now 4 year old) littlest visited with his mama recently, we spent an afternoon in the Priory near the Boy's apartment.

Leaving the littlest defending goal and his uncle attempting to score for the Reds, I wandered the otherwise deserted grounds where the hues of late summer were vying for attention alongside the autumnal palette.

The colours of October are undeniably stunning -  the reds, yellows and oranges.   Though I'd have to say I wouldn't be seen dead wearing any of them,  nature does showcase the whole range  so very well.  It's an absolute masterclass on change.

Oh, yes, I love Octobers, me.

 

 

Miscellany

There have been some spectacular sunsets lately, with each one more stunning than the last.  Vivid orange, red, pink, magenta.  It used to be said that they're seen here because of all the surrounding heavy industry but much of that has long disappeared.  Whatever the reason,  I can't get enough and with every one make a grab for the camera (whilst hoping our neighbours over the road don't get the wrong idea about what I'm up to).

My mum was an October baby (Aunty M, too, though twenty years later) and on her birthday every year when I was growing up, my dad would give me a ten bob note from his till to go and buy flowers from Belt's, the local shop on the other side of the marketplace for all things floral.  Every year I'd choose those huge headed bronze chrysanthemums which forever since I've associated with my mother.  I went in search for some on what would have been her birthday the other day but had to make do with a multi cooured bunch of smaller specimens from the supermarket.

The Boy and I travelled up the A19 to Gateshead to spend a couple of hours in the company of Nigella at The Sage.  It was a nightmare of a journey, with traffic jams and road closures and badly signposted diversions and an increasingly ratty driver (who, moi?), but we only missed about 15 minutes and an entertaining evening was had by all. 

There was a Q and A session in the second half, with unscreened questions from the audience (how risky is that?).  There were the predictable ones ('What would you choose as your final death row meal?' 'Do your children cook?') but the best was from a young woman querying the contents of Nigella's utensil drawer.  It went something like this: 'I really like those cup measures you use on the telly and I've searched for them everywhere but just can't find any in the shops or online so that's a shame and where do you buy your knives because I bought a set from The Range and when I put them in the dishwasher the handles fell off?'. 

A mooch in the charity shop (there's a very good Oxfam one near here where prices are very reasonable) resulted in book purchases (three for me and a sparkly one for the littlest) and a bar of chocolate (not 'pre-loved', I hasten to add) for the non book reading (like Kanye and Trump, apparently) mister. 

 

 

Yoga hasn't been featuring much at all recently.  Following a skin biopsy (still awaiting results) and stitches, the advice was yes, you can do yoga but no, you cannot stretch for three weeks.  A tad oxymoronic, methinks.  So I've been sitting on my mat on the floor in the spare bedroom, managing not much more than some half hearted toe wiggling.

 

My favourite yarn shop at the coast offers a programme of craft workshops throughout the year and, as I'd enjoyed two previous needle felting sessions, I signed up for a third.  The aim of this one was to produce a woolly landscape based on a picture of choice (I plumped for one of my photographs from the Antarctic adventure, with a blue, white and grey palette) as inspiration.  Five relatively pain free (just the one elastoplast on this occasion) hours flew past as we all cracked on with our pictures, stabbing tufts of wool into rectangles of old blanket, which were finally glued onto canvassses.  Mine was, oh, what's the word……..hideous.  The mister, he of few words and even fewer compliments, was struck dumb at the sight of it.  Like so many of my attempts at crafting, it ended up in the bin.  Ah, well.  Nothing ventured and all that.  And at least there was a glimpse of the sea.

 

I resisted the call of the vacuum cleaner one morning (to be fair, it doesn't take much to turn a deaf ear) to tag along on the dog walk  through the wood that's just five minutes from our front door.  The lure of the beck was just too much for a certain spaniel to resist.  Photographing berries and fallen leaves and soggy dog proved  too much for someone else to resist.

 

 

 

Later today, there's a talk at the central library in town on Amazing Teesside Women.  Maybe I'll get a mention.

 

Like Anne of Green Gables, I love Octobers, me.

 

Miscellany

There have been some spectacular sunsets lately, with each one more stunning than the last.  Vivid orange, red, pink, magenta.  It used to be said that they're seen here because of all the surrounding heavy industry but much of that has long disappeared.  Whatever the reason,  I can't get enough and with every one make a grab for the camera (whilst hoping our neighbours over the road don't get the wrong idea about what I'm up to).

My mum was an October baby (Aunty M, too, though twenty years later) and on her birthday every year when I was growing up, my dad would give me a ten bob note from his till to go and buy flowers from Belt's, the local shop on the other side of the marketplace for all things floral.  Every year I'd choose those huge headed bronze chrysanthemums which forever since I've associated with my mother.  I went in search for some on what would have been her birthday the other day but had to make do with a multi cooured bunch of smaller specimens from the supermarket.

The Boy and I travelled up the A19 to Gateshead to spend a couple of hours in the company of Nigella at The Sage.  It was a nightmare of a journey, with traffic jams and road closures and badly signposted diversions and an increasingly ratty driver (who, moi?), but we only missed about 15 minutes and an entertaining evening was had by all. 

There was a Q and A session in the second half, with unscreened questions from the audience (how risky is that?).  There were the predictable ones ('What would you choose as your final death row meal?' 'Do your children cook?') but the best was from a young woman querying the contents of Nigella's utensil drawer.  It went something like this: 'I really like those cup measures you use on the telly and I've searched for them everywhere but just can't find any in the shops or online so that's a shame and where do you buy your knives because I bought a set from The Range and when I put them in the dishwasher the handles fell off?'. 

A mooch in the charity shop (there's a very good Oxfam one near here where prices are very reasonable) resulted in book purchases (three for me and a sparkly one for the littlest) and a bar of chocolate (not 'pre-loved', I hasten to add) for the non book reading (like Kanye and Trump, apparently) mister. 

 

 

Yoga hasn't been featuring much at all recently.  Following a skin biopsy (still awaiting results) and stitches, the advice was yes, you can do yoga but no, you cannot stretch for three weeks.  A tad oxymoronic, methinks.  So I've been sitting on my mat on the floor in the spare bedroom, managing not much more than some half hearted toe wiggling.

 

My favourite yarn shop at the coast offers a programme of craft workshops throughout the year and, as I'd enjoyed two previous needle felting sessions, I signed up for a third.  The aim of this one was to produce a woolly landscape based on a picture of choice (I plumped for one of my photographs from the Antarctic adventure, with a blue, white and grey palette) as inspiration.  Five relatively pain free (just the one elastoplast on this occasion) hours flew past as we all cracked on with our pictures, stabbing tufts of wool into rectangles of old blanket, which were finally glued onto canvassses.  Mine was, oh, what's the word……..hideous.  The mister, he of few words and even fewer compliments, was struck dumb at the sight of it.  Like so many of my attempts at crafting, it ended up in the bin.  Ah, well.  Nothing ventured and all that.  And at least there was a glimpse of the sea.

 

I resisted the call of the vacuum cleaner one morning (to be fair, it doesn't take much to turn a deaf ear) to tag along on the dog walk  through the wood that's just five minutes from our front door.  The lure of the beck was just too much for a certain spaniel to resist.  Photographing berries and fallen leaves and soggy dog proved  too much for someone else to resist.

 

 

 

Later today, there's a talk at the central library in town on Amazing Teesside Women.  Maybe I'll get a mention.

 

Like Anne of Green Gables, I love Octobers, me.