I noticed while shopping online as I was comparing prices for fresh salmon with Sainsbury’s that they had a product that was the offcuts from preparing their fillets costing £11.50 a kg. As a home cook that has regularly prepared whole salmons into fillets for the freezer I understood the process. The reviews were less than favourable complaining about bones and fins etc. And I thought how bad can this be? Only one way to find out, so ordered a pack.

This is what came for just over three of our English pounds.

So I skinned them and found two bones and one fin.

I have an extensive pantry and I decided on Sushi which was probably a bit daring for a Sunday, but I tasted the fish and it was still very fresh and three days in date. I’m sure it’s probably packed at the same time as the fillets. So I prepped for that and there was so much.

I used just over a third of this. I feel I could get a salmon quiche out of the leftovers. But I’ll probably have a simple egg fried rice with salmon.

Very well seasoned sushi rice with rice wine vinegar, sugar and salt. With salmon, spring onions and finely shredded iceberg.

Prepped up with a dipping sauce of Japanese soy sauce, rice wine vinegar and sesame oil.

Yum! The dogs and I shared as it defeated me at the end. I think this is a good purchase and I’ll be buying it again.

I’ve been on a bit of a turkey fest in the last few days. It all started because Son no.2 has taken on the Christmas lunch this year and is creating his own version of Christmas which I know will be delicious, (he’s even making hazelnut marzipan! as one of the components in the dessert) but I fear it will probably remain turkey less. I like a bit of turkey, I do. But there is no way I could even with the smallest turkey do justice to it. Let alone how expensive they seem to have become these days.., I could get quite a decent cut of beef for the same price.

So when I saw something on TikTok and went ‘oooh…’ I’ve been waiting for Turkey thighs and drumsticks to come into supermarkets ever since.

The first thing to try was deboning a thigh and stuffing it with sausage meat. And it was pretty easy to do. Less than five minutes to wield my freshly sharpened filleting knife, remembering to go back for the knee cap. I still have to purchase a proper boning knife, maybe next year. Then stuff it with sausage meat and tie it up with string. Not bad for a first attempt I think.

Keeping the bone to make a trivet with vegetables and then roasting it off and slicing.

It was good, very good. Enough for three or two very hungry men. Or several sandwiches in the week, which is what I seem to be doing with it, it goes amazingly well with a homemade chutney, you can feel Christmas is in the air. I’m promising myself a proper dinner with it tomorrow along with the gravy I’ve saved. And one was popped in the freezer, happy days.

And you would think that would be the end of my journey wouldn’t you, but no, you know what Mandy is like when she gets the bit between her teeth.

I found some turkey legs. Laughs out loud. So I bought a couple, well three… and four more thighs.. Well it’s a seasonal item and I was so happy to have found an idea that worked.

This morning I prepared the turkey leg for a roast.

That was a lot more work. Look at all the tendons I found. I am pretty sure I did find them all, but at one stage I just kept finding more and more. It must have taken a good fifteen minutes, maybe longer. So I thought well, this will be a good experimental roast, but we will do something different for the other two legs. I stuffed this leg with peaches and rosemary and a little salt.

It was a lot trickier to roll but it came out just about okay in the end.

So then I was left with these two wonderful turkey legs.

And I thought I would take them into the America’s where they use sweetness very often with turkey, well with all meats really.

I sprinkled them with soft brown sugar and a little sea salt, doused them with a spicy barbecue sauce, added Marsala wine and water, the rest of the tin of peaches and rosemary and thyme from the garden. Then covered them in foil and cooked them low and slow for a good three and a half hours, maybe longer, I lost track of time.

Until they were ready. The fat stuck on the foil on one of them, never mind.

Let them cool and then stripped the meat and very carefully removed the tendons. Removed all the woody herbs from the gravy and mushed the peaches about a bit and rejoined the meat to the pan.

It was totally delicious by this point. I bagged up five portions that weighed seven ounces each. Enough for me for a single dinner and a sandwich and there were quite a few delicious scraps for the dogs.

And while all this was cooking. I prepped four more thighs for the freezer. This time adding a tablespoon of cranberry sauce to the three sausages that went into each one. I felt that it would benefit with the additional treat of a touch of sweetness.

So that is me winter turkey ready. I have six mini roasts for two/three people and five ready made turkey suppers for one ready in my freezer.

As all children do I learnt about apples from a young age, A is for Apple is the first book we are shown as we begin our reading journey. Followed swiftly it seemed by the terror of watching Walt Disney and Sleeping Beauty, does she choose the bright red apple from the wicked witch? Later, as I have learnt about food in art I’ve admired Van Gough and Cezzane and most notably Rene Magritte with his bowler hat and huge green apple in The Thomas Crown Affair. Shakespeare penned the line ‘apple of my eye’. The apple is everywhere and not just in an electronic way.

My first love of the apple came about, like most of my first loves from my Nan’s garden. Nan had three apple tree’s, one that was in the middle of the veg patch that we were not allowed to go to, lest we trample the veg. I used to watch that tree shed its apples onto the dug over winter earth at the start of winter and look forlornly as the sad apples shrivelled up and decayed. I suspect Nan had too many apples by this point. The other two we could climb up and reach the fruit, trying to dodge the sleepy but crazy wasps that were in search of sugar. It must have been one of the first jobs that Grandad did when they moved into a brand new council house having been evacuated from Liverpool during the II World War. He planted three apple trees and a plum tree as they were very mature trees by the time I came to recognise them. What foresight, although with rationing still hot on their heels it may well have given them more insight about food security. They also had chickens and a very big veg patch with two greenhouses.

So when I was offered my allotment five years ago (having given up my previous allotment to go to London) I was ecstatic that there was an area with mature trees and fruit bushes. It was the middle of winter so not a leaf to be found so I wasn’t exactly sure what I had, but felt sure that I had two apples at least. I actually had a very good pear tree, two apples, a hazelnut tree, red currants, gooseberries, blue berries, blackcurrants and a josta berry. All mature. I’ve since added strawberries, raspberries, thornless blackberries and loganberries. Good old fashioned allotmenting books understood that it was the value, financially, of the fruit grown that then paid the allotments way for the rest of the year. And I was very happy to take over a founder members allotment who had understood this and put the backbone into an excellent plot.

I digress. (as always!) Since then I’ve learnt to prune, although I haven’t quite mastered the art of thinning the fruit out. I’m always a bit terrified of that bit. Mainly because if you get high winds in the spring, as you often do, there will be a natural thinning out. If you’ve ever noticed scrawny looking pears that are hard as nails after high winds in the market place, don’t buy them, they’ll never ripen, it’s just the farmers trying to make the best of the situation.

There weren’t any high winds this year so I have ended up with many small fruit. Which actually I don’t mind. One of the reasons I don’t enjoy commercial apples is the size, the chewing can go on for too long. Also, they don’t have the same spring in the taste as a freshly picked apple and once you taste the difference it’s difficult to go back. I rarely eat fruit out of season these days, unless its been prepared in season and frozen (or jammed!).

So today, being a rainy day, I prepped some of my apples, stuffed them full of butter, sugar, sultanas, pecan and cinnamon.

Then baked them, cooled them and popped them in the freezer for mid winter treats.

And then as I’ve now mastered the art of when to pick the pears, pears are picked when they are unripe, they only ripen off the tree. Pick them too early they never ripen, pick them too late and they rot from the inside out. I’ve been picking a couple a week for six weeks to test them, to see if they will ripen, and I’ve finally mastered what to look for, which is pretty much indescribable, its just a feeling of plumpness in the fruit and a glow on the skin. I’ve basically eaten a tree full. Which has been marvellous and I’ve not told anyone because they are so beautiful, a honeyed dripping perfectly juicy and ripe pear is a thing of beauty, I eat three in a sitting and I’m just not willing to share!!!

But I had some of the buttery mix left so I thought I would bake some off for my future self.

Another job I finally got done today was to pod the dried up runner and french beans. I use beans a lot in my winter cooking and it gives me great pleasure to be able to grow my own protein. If I could keep a pig I would, but as it is I’ll settle for the beans that are too old to enjoy, or that I’ve simply grown tired off because something else has sprouted up that has taken my fancy.

Drying until ready to be placed into jars.

I was sitting here lamenting the lack of biscuits in the mandycharlie household, being very much an ingredient kitchen and the last of the digestives bought for cheese and dog treats having been nibbled weeks ago. Mentally I was going through my cupboards as to what I might munch on, when a plan started to form. A quick rifle through the cupboards brought together all the necessary, the last of the Valrhona, Noir Guanaja, I literally have a handful left. Is there anything more comforting than having a kilogram of this sat in your store cupboards, as used in the best Michelin starred kitchens (according to my highly regarded chef of a son). Ground almonds, peacan nuts, juicy sultanas, vanilla and almond essence, flour, sugar, eggs,baking powder. Yep, I was all set. I would have included a hint of orange zest, but alas I was without.

A quick weigh, chop and mix and I soon had them ready for their first 25 min bake in the oven.

After baking.

A five minute cool and then slice through at an angle with a serrated knife. I’m sure my angles are not sharp enough, but no matter.

Then another 15 minute bake.

And finally all of them together cooling before being placed in the biscuit barrel.

Not bad eh, from ingredients languishing in the kitchen cupboards.

As some of you might know I have in the last two years lost a substantial amount of weight, intentionally. I intend to carry on for quite a while longer so I don’t want to invest in a large wardrobe but things were getting a bit ridiculous in that I only had one pair of jeans that fit well having shrunk out of all of them. It’s easy enough to take in a skirt or wear a loose fitting dress but trousers or jeans are a different matter.

I found that Seasalt have an eBay shop that they seem to sell their end of lines at a much discounted price. Its a bit hit and miss on sizes but it doesn’t take long to look and I found three pairs of Lamledra corduroy but they were only in a regular length which is just a bit neat on me, I really need their tall version, but beggars can’t be choosers when three pairs were the same as one at full price. Two pairs were purchased in the size I am now and one gaily coloured pair to shrink into by Christmas.

Trying them on I felt they needed that touch of length and fortunately I have a reasonable sewing stash and located my tailors grosgrain ribbon and set to work. Opening up the seams with a seam ripper and attaching the ribbon.

Then flipping it over and sewing it down. It probably added less than an inch, but made the difference where they now look like they are not trying so hard to be long enough.

All three pairs done. Hopefully the original stitching lines will fluff up in their first wash.

And if they shrink in length on washing I’m thinking of adding a paisley cuff to them with a matching back pocket. We shall see.

A dear friend, Noelle is starting a weekly meme called Tree Appreciation Tuesday, she has this blog http://noellemace.blogspot.com/2023/10/tree-appreciation-tuesday-participant.html?m=1So I thought I would play along. Anybody that knows me already knows my love of trees and those that know me really well know I love the mighty Oak best of all having been raised in Oaks Road and having an Oak tree at the bottom of the garden I’ve literally loved them all my life, from the abundance of acorns in the autumn that go red inside when they’ve had a sharp frost to their acid green leaves in the spring. An Oak tree can bring so much wildlife into a garden with birds and bees, bats and moths and such delight from watching squirrels race around their mighty trunk to owls hooting in the dead of a winters night.

This is a mighty Oak at Stoneleigh Abbey, said to be Shakespeare’s Oak. It’s over a thousand years old. How lucky are we to see and touch it. Photograph taken in 2016 shortly after a preservation order was placed on the tree. Although why it took that long to think it was a special tree one can only imagine. May it continue to inspire poetry and lovers for many a long year.

Now the heat of the summer has dissipated…, what am I talking about… that was a bit of romantic poetic licence wasn’t it? Shall we dawdle through my memories of last year? It started amazingly well, we had a mild and dry January and February, I was so happy about that as it enabled me to catch up on all the jobs that had been put to one side. Also it meant the winter fuel bill wasn’t as high as I’d feared, which was an added bonus. Then it rained and rained, which meant it was mild, which again was a bonus financially whilst at the same time the government breathed a sigh of relief that we didn’t have a winter like in the 80’s where there was snow and ice on the ground until the end of March and we would have had many people die from the cold. Happily we didn’t have to go through that and the rigmarole of what the press would have done with it, because I suspect any hint of snow and they were ready…

But I digress, Spring didn’t seem to appear, it was mild, so above freezing but it wasn’t warm. I didn’t have to power up the paraffin heater in the greenhouse but it was slow growth from the seedlings and many failures. May was still cool, and I was thinking ‘OMG what sort of season is this going to be?’ With that thought in mind maybe I should have put myself forward for the Nostradamus of the allotment world. But then June came, I seem to remember we went from low twenties to 32C in 24 hours. I watched it on the met office, days before it happened, and to be honest (and please excuse the language) I thought, ‘Oh fuck, that’s me buggared’. So did everything possible to mitigate a change in temperature of nearly 10c in a day or so. Obviously the greenhouse was well watered, as was everything else, twice a day. And then because of that my newly planted brassicas had an attack of flea beetle, one which they were not going to survive without spraying chemicals, which I’ve never had to do before, in 20 years. It was a night of anguish, but one I feel was the right decision. I sprayed them.

And then of course the kids broke up for their summer holidays. So, we had a blocking low pressure. I have never known a low pressure not drift on. Europe was screaming about their heat wave, people were dying from fires. The UK was damp and wet and without a glimpse of sun. I really think those children and probably most of the UK residents need to be checked for a vitamin D deficiency.

But what happened on the plot was that the vegetables didn’t grow but the weeds did. Weeds will always grow first. At this point I was fighting tomato blight from the dampness and then the warmth and the weeds. I never give up on my tomatoes although they have succumbed, I normally enable them to limp onto Christmas. But the hoeing and weeding was unbelievable, so much to do, so unless necessary I did the bare minimum.,as did many of the allotment holders.

Miraculously we have had a mild October. And so off we all go again. The allotment is becoming more buzzy with cars parked up early evening to get as much done before the dreaded clock change at the end of the month.

So, a small area was cleared. That area was nearly knee high at times in some of the thistles that seem to grow and seed really well in just a very short time.

I have apologised to my neighbours for nearly allowing them to seed. One year to seed, seven to weed.

The asparagus seems to be doing well. It will be two years before I can pick freely but it looks like I may have a small taster next year, I only planted the crowns this year.

Winter crops of green leafy vegetables. Rainbow chard, Italian black kale, brussel sprouts (my favourite) and broccoli and purple sprouting.

But I must show you this that I found in the tops of my brussel sprouts… its not ideal if you have a weak stomach, but nature is marvellous and we seem to have a couple of large snails and babies.. it looks to me like a snail crèche, how amazing is that, for a brain the size of the tiniest dot.

And then there was the leeks to do.

It’s good, all good. May the warm dry weather last and bring a spring to our step at the end of the year.

I realise that often in life we are in a state of transition without realising it, from the moment we make our first baby steps, those first days at school, our first romance and onwards onto many journeys, some longed for, some unexpected. And then sometimes I feel that there is no transition and that really my world has become very small and is it even worth writing about anymore having rather turned into a project about naval gazing, bearing in mind that really my life has become the allotment, knitting, swimming and cooking (and the occasional drinking in the pub). When I was a little younger and pottering around London, I was happy to push those walls further and further back that surrounded me and try to experience all that I could. Now, well I’m pretty content to just let the walls build where they may without the fierce fight to keep them at bay. Then I’m just writing about the allotment and my little daily bits and bobs and really is anyone interested in that, they’ve probably heard my excitement and disappointments in my veg many, many times before?

But I am in transition, so let’s witter on about that. Last week I went to the local book club. This had many advantages to me. One was meeting new people and hopefully forming friendship groups from that. Of course the guidance of reading a new book and examining it afterwards is a great help, especially when there is so much being published these days. To me the writing industry seems much more prolific than when I was younger. I suppose that is the difference between having to write with a typewriter or by hand and now with everyone having a computer in their pocket. You could literally write a book on your phone. Next I received a fabulous goody bag of which I am very happy, a crime fiction about poisonous plants, what could be more exciting to a gardener. The book was Devil’s Breath by Jill Johnson. I’m waiting for the book of the month, it promises to be a wonderful read.

I’m giving you the full blurb given to us by the bookshop as it just sounds exquisite.

‘The Japanese bestseller: a tale of love, new beginnings, and the comfort that can be found between the pages of a good book. When twenty-five-year-old Takako’s boyfriend reveals he’s marrying someone else, she reluctantly accepts her eccentric uncle Satoru’s offer to live rent-free in the tiny room above his shop. Hidden in Jimbocho, Tokyo, the Morisaki Bookshop is a booklover’s paradise.

On a quiet corner in an old wooden building, the shop is filled with hundreds of second-hand books. It is Satoru’s pride and joy, and he has devoted his life to the bookshop since his wife left him five years earlier. Hoping to nurse her broken heart in peace, Takako is surprised to encounter new worlds within the stacks of books lining the shop.

And as summer fades to autumn, Satoru and Takako discover they have more in common than they first thought. The Morisaki bookshop has something to teach them both about life, love, and the healing power of books’. 

And it is our first piece of translated fiction, so it will be very interesting to read the tiny details involving identity.

Another advantage was to actually be out in the evening, to then sidle into the local hostelry and meet with people who I know but rarely cross paths. So a happy hour was spent chatting before ubering home.

Last winter was one I never wish to go through again, so I swore to myself that this winter there would be plans. And plans have been made starting with seven trips to the local theatres being booked and some already enjoyed. I didn’t know whether I would be happy to go on my own but actually its okay and the more I do it, the more comfortable I am with it. When I think about it that would have come from the trolling around London on my own and seeing some amazing West End matinee performances by looking at Theatre Monkey in the morning for cheap tickets and then dashing into the centre just in time to see the performance. Life is definitely a bit slower now!

And with that premise of going out in the evening, my sister came over and we went to watch a band in a local pub and that was good too and my intention is to do a bit more of that as well.

I mean to say, how long have any of us got? I received news two days ago that a dear photographer friend had died a couple of weeks ago from complications of covid and pneumonia combined with COPD that he caught in February. He’d been self managing and had been doing very well, even getting out to photograph, until he took a turn for the worse mid September and simply died while getting into hospital. It doesn’t bear thinking about does it.

So onwards I shall go, maybe to gently nudge the walls a little bit, to see where they shall go.

Its 3.00 a.m. and the urge to write has overtaken me. What is interesting to me is that this urge whilst still being deep in grief has roughly happened this year where the seasons change marked by the equinox’s. I don’t know what it means but I am pretty sure it means something because its certainly not intentional. When I feel like writing I can rattle off ten posts a month, but to find my few posts this year have roughly timed with the change in seasons is, well, interesting.

How am I feeling? Better, a lot better. I know I am still on the journey of a new widow after a long marriage but the spark of joy in life is returning and I have purposefully given myself permission to relax and let the moments of contentment and happiness flow. Also and to laugh, as heartily (without sounding like a crazy woman) as I can. I think over the last couple of years I have missed the laughter the most.

Son no.1 and no. 2 and I took hubby to The Thames, to London Bridge at low tide a couple of weeks ago, shortly after we had taken time as a family to remember him on the first anniversary. It was a very difficult day, but one I feel that brought us closer together with the support we had for one another and the feeling that we did fulfil hubby’s last wishes. I know personally it has lifted a great pressure from me, as we had, had difficulty finding the right date and time for all of us and to eventually carry out my promise, made many times over the course of our life together but most notably the day before he died gave me a feeling of that we had discharged hubby’s wishes in as fine a way as he would have wanted. But that it was also bringing closure to that very painful part of our life together, the part with the illness and the pain. Now with luck (although the flash backs still persist but not quite as violently) I get to enjoy the happy memories.

So the last couple of months I’ve taken to doing the bare minimum at the plot. I think I tend to do this every year though, to take a breather. Although of course there have been jams and chutneys to prepare, which I could still make but have decided to stop making as I have enough, although an idea for a pear chutney is floating in my brain this year, so I may well try a small quantity to test it out.

I have however been picking and eating and enjoying! the food I have been making so that is all good. The tomatoes, which have been on the verge of blight all summer with the rain have done very well, my freezers are full to exploding. Sweetcorn has been delightful, the broad beans were tender delicious delights of which I have a frozen store for midwinter to tempt the jaded palate after Christmas. I could go on, over all, its been very good.

I’m back to making soups twice weekly and fresh food most evenings. Of course there are so many leftovers when cooking for one, but the whippets don’t seem to mind and I think it gives them additional nutrients which can be no bad thing. They certainly enjoy their treats. I have even ordered an Abel and Cole veg box to supplement my own vegetables and give variety, which was a pleasure last week. I think once every few weeks will be about right for that. The vegetables they supplied last week were everything I wanted them to be and definitely more varied and better quality than I would have been able to purchase from the supermarket.

This week I picked my own veg box.

One of the cauliflowers that did good, some black italian kale, some rainbow chard, the last of the french beans, the rest being left to go to seed to provide dried haricot beans in the winter, the first of the purple sprouting and the first of the leeks. Pears which are having trouble ripening this year so far and may well be poached with a raspberry sauce. Oh and of course tomatoes and I’m sure I could find a cucumber if I wanted to.

So I made minestrone which is one of my favourite soups and is so versatile to make with whatever is good in the garden as long as you have tomatoes, onions or leeks, a root in the way of a carrot, some leaves, a pulse and some pasta and good stock. Starting slowly with a gentle saute of the onions/leeks and roots to bring out the sweetness and flavour and then you can add pretty much anything, I throw in sweetcorn and diced courgettes and french beans and any vegetables that look good, even a little potato has been known to be added to the delicious bubbling pot. That with a good grating of parmesan and I’m a happy girl.

Then try as I might to steer the culinary conversation away from cheese – I’m trying to up my plants and cut back on my cheese and meats – that little cauliflower cried out for a cheese sauce. So I marched to the corner shop and came back with cheese and milk and as a side note that little culinary shopping trip came to nearly seven pounds on two items! £4.00 for 300g cheese and £2.67 for the milk. I think I will be doing the longer walk to the supermarket in the future. But I made a delightful cauliflower cheese with an added addition of some sweet potato to make it a little more substantial. It was everything I wanted it to be.

A hug in a bowl.

And that’s me really. There is much to be done at the allotment, I need to get it clear for the winter, I’ve already started on it. There is knitting afoot of which I will update you. The chimney sweep came yesterday, the coal store is full as well as plenty of kindling. I am starting to get ready for winter and do you know I am looking forward to it. There will be theatre trips and shopping excursions, knitting groups and reading clubs, frosty mornings and late afternoons allotmenting, winter evenings in the pub, nights reading and knitting in front of the open fire wrapped up in blankets, whippets and cats, perusal of vegetable seed catalogues and much planning of the growing, a little sewing in the way of a new quilt for a special occasion and best of all hearty winter roasts and stews. Life is good.

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The start of my allotment year started when hubby became so poorly in July of last year. I don’t think it had really dawned on me what was happening, we still had hope. At the time I was just trying to keep the allotment going with watering along with daily long trips to the hospital and just an over whelming sense of exhaustion. After hubby died I was glad of the winter in which time I had to rest but of course there were oh so many jobs that had simply not been done, along with a rat infestation in the shed to deal with. Son no.1 came along during the winter on a dry day and helped me clear out the shed and helped dispose of bag fulls of rubbish that had accumulated and next on the list were the dandelions that had established over winter and big swathes of grass on the undug winter soil. Without his help I don’t think I would be in such a great position as I am with the allotment today.

Then every dry winter afternoon I worked on the plot. I’d wander up their about midday and work until the chill came about 3.30 pm. I’d never worked a plot on my own before and there was a lot to do. I’d often done most of the winter digging and grown the seeds, but then hubby would have dug over the compost bin and moved muck – these jobs are still on my to do list, along with doing all of the planting. So I dug and dug and dug some more and planted seeds and tried to remember where I’d put things and just worked on the premise that every step was a step forward.

There were many days that I got home cold, tired and exhausted. Greeted and fed the dogs and then stood under a hot shower to try and warm the bones of me in what was a very cold house due to the fear of excessive fuel bills this winter. Sometimes I’d start a coal fire up, having prepared it before going out, at my worst, I’d switch on the heated throw on the bed and me and the dogs would crawl into bed with a film and a good book. I didn’t mind those nights, they were quite cosy. And it gave me longer in bed which rested my lower back which had been injured during one of the many visits to the hospital on the mini bus going over at speed a hump in the road. Ten months later it is only just starting to improve.

In spring the allotment needs increase and at that time it is a race, one that starts very slowly while we allotmenteers are carefully weighing up the weather conditions, we may even test the weather by planting a few plants, but we know we are taking a risk. And then, almost overnight, the weather changes and it becomes a race to get everything in. That is when it is important to have consistency, two to three hours every day wins this race. It is very important not to over do it and get an injury or you risk losing out on a years work.

My biggest fear has been not being able to manage the allotment on my own. I don’t drive which brings its own constraints. I’m still not 100% sure I will manage it. Sometimes I’ve come home exhausted, my back aches, my legs, arms, neck ache, I’ve wanted to cry and to throw in the towel. I’m giving myself two years to tickle the allotment into really good shape. But I am proud to tell you all that I’ve just put my leeks in. The last of the veg has gone in on the Summer Solstice.. It just feels so symbolic, I did it! I got all my veg in! The greenhouse is flourishing, the veg is growing, I’m even befriending crows! And the allotment cat is never far from my side, she clearly approves of my endeavours.

As every month passes I feel my confidence grow both in being able to handle the allotment but also my own life on my own. I don’t feel as lonely in the house, the chatter in my brain keeps me good company, thinking about the vegetables I’m growing and what to make with them along with firing up my sewing machine to take some of my clothes in as I’ve lost a fair bit of weight (intentionally) or even getting around to the odd row of knitting. So it is time to wake the blog back up and chatter about all things in my world, the crazy that is me.