I was lucky to have been brought up in the countryside and very, very lucky to have had a farming Uncle that showed us the ways of the land from a very early age.  So whenever I get the chance to go for long country walks or trundles out in the car just to see what I can see, I do.   I love to see the newborn lambs at Easter, Easter is all about the lamb, one way or another.  But another fun thing I love to do is to say hello to the previous years hand reared lambs, or rather let them come over and say hi to you.

You’ll soon realise they are the hand reared sheep because they tend to do this. 

Walk boldly up to you, much like a labrador. 

Poke head through the bars of the gate, 

for a long ear rub, you can just see hubby’s hand attended to her needs. And eventually after much ear rubbing 

walk off slightly reproachfully that there were no tasty treats in your pocket.

Another fun fact is if you happen to be friends with a farmer that has hand reared any lambs and they are going to slaughter, the milk fed lamb is delicious, forget all about salt marsh lamb, you’ll never taste a sweeter meat than that.

Having gorged ourselves on the finest of British legs of lamb over Easter cooked to perfection which to us is definitely on the pinker of pink sides  (and followed by a rhubarb crumble and cream which was divine) we had a reasonable sized chunk left.  I left it for a couple of days pondering its further execution when inspiration struck, we had wine left over, a lamb ragu would be perfect. 

I gathered together the basic ingredients, chopped onions, grated carrots, minced garlic. 

Chopped up the lamb to try and finely mince it, mine is probably a bit on the rough side, but no matter.

Then fried the onions until lightly golden, added the carrots and garlic and fried until the moisture was off the carrots and added the lamb and fried that off to brown the meat up, added a large glass of wine and burnt off the alcohol, reducing the liquid until a smear is left in the bottom of the pan.   Next I added the tomatoes, tomato puree, herbs, a good splash of Worcester sauce (not in the picture) and a little water which was used to clean out the tins of tomatoes, salt and freshly cracked black pepper and let it all bubble gently for half an hour. 

Cooked off the tagliatelle, grated the parmesan and combined.  It was yummy.

Wannabe Gastronomy Indeed.

Does the joy of playing near water ever really go away.  Even when without the addition of young children to encourage in the life long pursuit of duck feeding, pooh stick racing and frog spawn hunting there is a certain excitement to being near the water.  Lately I have found a previously hidden to me adventure to explore, reflections forever captured photographically. It is an art in itself and one I am loving exploring, even in the pouring rain.  But this time I was in gentle sunshine and I played all afternoon, my camera and I, just me and it, having fun in the sunshine.

I love the countryside I do, even if its in a municipal but rather lovely park. I see the signs coming in the middle of London, but its glimpses rather than the full blown effect, buds here, blossom there, bunches of daffs springing upwards through the long winter grass. But to be able to smell the fresh clean air, let my eyes relax as they are able to see the horizon and absorb the colours of the acid greens springing to life in the distance on the specimen trees, then and only then does my soul truly sing.

A few days ago I was spending  time with son no.2 as we wandered around our Warwickshire town when he sprung (when I say sprung I mean, expecting me to pay) the idea that he would like a hair cut and a beard trim. Okay I said, looking up at my Anglo-Saxon warrior who had obviously not seen port for a while.

We entered the hairdressers, always the finest place you could ever think of taking a bald woman, and son no.2 explained the depth of his makeover. I smiled, the hairdresser looked a little startled and then she set to work.

She sheared his head, I was humming Ba Ba Black sheep at the time, I’ve seen less fleece coming off a sheep, which took five minutes and then spent half an hour taming the beard. 

I must say I think he looks great. It is interesting to watch makeovers like that on your children regardless of age, there is always a new appraisal situation going on in your conscious mind as the child becomes less of a boy and more of a man, be the haircut at five or twenty-four.