Marzipan loaf cake recipe

 A quick post to share the cake recipe from my last post. Every one who has had a piece has commented how lovely it is. It make a 'close' but very light cake with a delicious lingering flavour of almond and vanilla. 

I didn't add the cardamon as I personally dislike it. The crust is delicious and I will certainly try the 'toasted' version - hope you enjoy it as much as we have ... Nigella Lawson (BBC Good Food) Marzipan Loaf Cake

I only have the 'before' photos, before Himself spotted it and despite being restrained .... ate most of it....

snapshots and scents

The plan was - get up, shower, strip the bedding then stick on the washing machine, finally sitting down with a mug of peppermint tea and toast..... The first two happened fairly smoothly, that is until it came to pulling back the duvet only to find the cat firmly burrowed beneath Himself's warm padded shirt. I hesitated. Her eyes were so firmly shut it felt quite disrespectful to disturb her. Instead I worked my way through the wash basket hoping that by the time I was ready to pull the bed apart, Pan would have decided to get up and leave me to my chores..... not a chance.

So I carefully untucked the corners of the sheets, gently pulling them to the centre. This produced the 'ears of annoyance' and the 'frown of disapproval'. I stopped. This time, I slowly pulled the duvet to the now bared mattress - this was considered inappropriate behaviour and I was given the sharpest of glares. 

How is it I have been reduced to a timid char lady to an elderly cantankerous cat?! 

I tried again, this time she poured herself out of the nest she had created and slipped off the bed and away with a rather cross flick flick of her tail.

Later.....

Chores done, breakfast eaten, carpets briefly tickled with the vacuum cleaner I reached for my knitting to do whilst I finished my tea. For what felt like the longest time, I have not had the need or the urge to knit or crochet however that seems to have returned and in the last few days I have knitted a pseudo-Sophie scarf and a warm scrappy hat for work. 

The weather has vanished again, leaving a sepia-grey sky heavy with damp and cold air. It took quite a bit of an effort on my part to go out, so I rewarded myself with the snowdrops in the garden. 

The kitchen at the moment, smells rather warm and inviting - I have a marzipan and vanilla loaf cake cooking in the oven and the fragrance is filling downstairs with a mouth watering aroma.

I hope that it tastes as good as it smells😊

Postscript..... Himself declares the cake delicious and has scoffed two chunky slices, suspect it will be a 'make it again' 🍰

A space to breathe

Thursdays are for me. 

Although not always possible, I do try and keep them quiet. It gives me time to quietly bumble around the house or garden to see to things that require more than passing attention and if I have the luxury of time - to paint.

Today I dabbled (both literally and figuratively) with acrylics on blocks of wood to see if I could make 'giftable' planters for the Mother's Day stall we will be holding in March at work. It has to be simple enough to make several and affordable enough for our visitors - not always easy. 

And I painted a barn owl feather for my perpetual  journal - something I look forward adding to each week.

A chill wind blows through

We drove a little way up into the hills, parked the car and set off - with one eye on the heavy clouds on the horizon. They seemed to tumble and darken as they drifted alongside our walk.

We'd found parking which we shared with drifts of nodding snowdrops. They were protected by a small rocky bank and deep leaf litter from the steel cold cutting breeze which seemed to find every gap it could around my neck, up my sleeves and under my hat. We both pulled our coats tightly and set off across the fields, following an old pack horse track which trailed between farms.

We walked between forgotten barns and derelict buildings and tumbled down stone walls. All gently being consumed by nature. One barn made me pause so I could squint through a gap in the door. It was filled with cars from the 1970s, scavenged vehicles, cement mixers and piles of unused car tyres. All thickly coated in in generations of bird poop....

Another little stone building gently leaning over a river called me across to it. Himself bounded over with a grin and exclaimed it was a rather old (and well worn) "privy" and promptly sat down on the wooden boards .... Blokey lavatorial humour is alive and well! 

The little track turned upwards on to the hills lifting us into the chill wind. Our faces burned with the cold and my eyes watered fiercely. We leaned into the breeze and trudged our way along the now narrow muddy track through reeds and the limestone. Eventually I had to call time and we found a sheltered cove which was still in the sun but just out of the wind enough to recover. 

As the sun gently slid down the icy sky and the temperatures began to fall, we stumbled off the moors and back down on to farm land and towards the car. But before we'd finished our walk - we stopped to appreciate the sunset. 

It was good to be out, and despite that breeze being as brittlely cold as it was, felt clean and clearing and rather cathartic.

Cross eyed and derpy

Saturday was one of those gentle early spring days when the sky is a thin almost translucent blue. The kind of sky that fills your eyes with light right to your very soul. It was still crisp and the breeze cutting but with coats, hats and gloves we were warm enough as we walked into town from our little weekend hideaway. 

Walking over the dark green arched bridge we met a border collie and his lovely owner. They were off for a walk she told us and that he'd (the dog) had just come back from the dog parlour and his fur was soft and clean. I buried my hands and face into his luxuriant coat and he smelt rather good. Apparently he was prone to rolling in things rather less that sweet smelling and had to have a 'shampoo and set' at least weekly. He was ever so slightly cross eyed with a derpy pink tongue hanging out of his mouth - he was wonderful.

Bumbling around the town while we re-discovered it, we noticed that over the years how it had altered from a town which seemed to be just a cluster of odd houses and even odder shops along a main route - to one that was filled with micro-pubs, bijou restaurants and trendy gift shops. 

Even the once rough and ready bakery which served really good (but huge) home bakes had scrubbed up and was more 'rustic' in a hipster sort of way. Fortunately the baking was still delicious and super sized. Seemed churlish not to order chunky mugs of tea and something to eat, so we did...... (no lunch was needed!)

Walking back to the cottage we reminisced how we'd looked into possibly buying a house here but were concerned at how out on a limb this town felt, now a decade later,  it feels vibrant and positive and even if we did want to move - we could no longer afford it. 

It was now time to walk off those calories we'd picked up in the bakery .... more to follow ...

Ey-up

 Well, that was January done and dusted. Strangely enough, as 'January' as January was, it did not drag anything like previous years - not sure why but am very grateful. 

I also managed to write 22 posts, only one less than the whole of 2024 - that was something which gently pleased me too.  We've just returned from a weekend away where we escaped to the Dales for a couple of nights. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle February.

After work on Friday, we trundled up in my car, following roads we have used and loved for years, through towns and villages, dales and fields which we have walked through with small boys, with dogs, with just each other. 

We arrived in the dark, having detoured through the nearest little town whilst we looked for the fish and chip shop we knew was tucked away in a twisty narrow back street.

 Once we'd tracked it down, we bought a 'chip butty' (roll/barm/bap/bread bun) for me and fish and chips for Himself. A few minutes later we had arrived at our home for the weekend, opened up, put on the kettle and were eating steaming hot freshly cooked chips smothered in salt and vinegar. 

I can't think of a better way to start a weekend than by licking salty fingers and drinking tea from a 'made in Yorkshire' mug.

If Winter comes Can Spring be far behind? (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Stepping in to the garden this morning was like stepping into an energy field. The air was crisp with the lightest of airy blue skies and I was surrounded by the sounds of blackbirds quarrelling, robins singing and the neighbour's hens making happy hen noises.

Leaves and twigs were brushed with the lightest of frost and in the sunlight they sparkled and twinkled catching my eye, filling me with joy. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly my spirit is lifted by days like these.

Whilst I was out, I fed the birds and cracked the glassy lid of ice on all their watering holes. I knew I was being watched as the trees rustled with blackbirds leaning forward to see what I'd left for them.

The cat has remained in bed - as is her want - she is a a bit of an 'old dear' and likes her creature comforts and usually I want to do the same, but not today. 

Today is too beautiful to miss.

A definite lack of rainbows

Being driven home in the dark whilst the car radio on allows my mind to wander. Himself is occupied by the drive and by nature is not a chatty person so I entertain myself with staring out the window.

The windscreen is stained by dried rain splatters and flicked up road dirt. This time of year it seems pointless trying to keep the car clean as every time I drive to and from work, my little white car has filthy streaks trailing down his sides. Yes, my car is male and he has a name - Bob.

In the distance small lights flicker as trees pass between us on the freeway and the farms sprinkled out on the hills. Sunday was a rather long day, we'd spent it with Youngest who'd put our a plea for help laying tiles on his kitchen floor and it turned out to be one of those 'takes longer than you think' jobs.

Storm Herminia was building up as Youngest's lovely girl and I were outside measuring the garden and discussing possible plans and layouts. It just got too wild and windy to linger so we retreated to the house and with mugs of tea and the internet we searched for ideas and inspiration whilst we watched the weather thrash about outside.

Monday was still reeling from the storm and although not as intense as the previous one, the walled garden suffered more damage. So after a meeting I started rescuing obelisks and wooden fence panels and dragging them into the glasshouse where they can dry off, get repaired then return to the garden. Some days at work - regardless at what life throws at me - I step up to the mark and come home satisfied. Then there are some days at work - I just want to shut the gate behind me and throw away the key.

Now, today, I am watching the finest of guti (that dreadful 'Scotch Mist / mizzle / drizzle / mist) that seeps through not just clothing but manages to dampen down through bones and flesh too. 

I know it is the dying days of January but surely we are due some nicer weather? I'd like to think so!

The pictures were snapped on Sunday evening on our drive home

A thorny issue

The garden was quiet again this morning once the storm had passed. There was a certain stillness - almost a sigh of relief - a moment's breath. The birds were flitting back and forth, making up for lost time I suspect. Today we'd planned to do the Big Garden Bird Watch ,  something we've tried to do annually for quite a while now. However, instead of sitting down in the summerhouse, notebook and mug of tea to hand, we were having to wrestle a 20 year old climbing rose who'd succumbed to Éowyn's howling winds and was now lying prone across the back of the garden in a very sorry state.

Himself and I armed with not mugs of tea or binoculars but with loppers, secateurs and the shredder got to work soon after breakfast. Metres and metres of heavily thorned and tangled rose branches were first lopped then shredded into piles of chippings. As we worked, the woodshed began to reappear from behind the unforgiving tangle.

To be brutally honest, I was not sorry the rose had to be reduced to a pile of wood chip. It had grown so big that the flowers - as beautiful and as scented as they were - were beyond our reach. We estimated it had grown over 12 metres (40 foot in old money) and was truly a monster. Now, hopefully it will recover and flower again in a year or two but at head height.

Did we still manage to see a bird or two? Well, surprisingly so - yes, many. They were so busy being birds that our shenanigans with the rose did not seem to bother them. 

Storm Éowyn

At some point during the night and through sleep deadened eyes and ears, I could hear the occasional gust of wind or rain splattering the window. Not enough to fully awaken me, but enough for me to notice.

This morning although blustery at home, it did not feel that threatening and it was surprisingly mild as we hopped into the cars and set off ..... until we hit the freeway. My car bounced and bucked and behaved as if he'd had too many oats and his feet were fizzy. By the time I'd reached work I was quite on edge as I trickled carefully along the lane into the park. It was strewn with twigs and sticks but very little else. No trees seemed to be down or branches dropped.

Then as the skies lightened from inky blue to leaden grey the wind built to a roar, ripping through trees and screaming around buildings.  The bright yellow weeding buckets we hang up on the raised beds were flung in to the air as they bounded through the garden before colliding with the wall and gate. Café chairs stopped huddling around their tables pirouetting swiftly before disgracefully nose diving with a resounding metallic thud. 

We watched from in the building for a moment or two before I ventured out down to the glasshouse. Although double strength safety glass, it is always with an amount of trepidation when I enter while the weather is as wild as today. The wind droned and groaned as the trees creaked and wailed however, in the glasshouse, radio and plant heater on, it felt warm and almost cocoon like.

However by lunch, when the wall was being stripped of pieces of brick by the wind, it was time to retreat. I sent volunteers home - it was not worth their safety (or mine) to linger longer than necessary.  With the winds behind me on the freeway my car raced home faster that I wanted however, now, sitting with the cat asleep on my shoulder, my second mug of tea nearly finished it seems that the winds may have tired themselves out - although still blustery and the trees still rocking and rolling, I think the storm may have blown itself thin.

My heart goes out to those further north and in Northern Ireland who have really felt the wrath of the storm xx

During last night's  'Winter Watch'  - the mindful moment,

 the cat decided to sit in front of the television

 to try and locate where the bird song was emanating from -

 when she had her 'Lion King' moment.

The calm before the storm

Locking the house this morning when leaving for work, we were serenaded by the male Tawny Owl (who is affectionately called Mr Hootie by Himself). The owl was mournfully hoo hoo hoooooo-ing in the tree at the bottom of the garden. We'd heard Mrs Hootie (she trills back a shrill kewick) roughly a week or so ago, but nothing since. 

The mist swirled around the house, clinging thickly around the lights along the road out of the village. It was still dark and murky by the time I arrived at work, the inky black sky was now a deep rich purple fringed by a silvery brume. The park, usually brought to life by dog walkers and bird song was subdued and muffled. I took my cellphone and snapped a couple of photos.

I returned to the Coach House and was struck how 'Dickensian' the buildings looked in the early morning gloom. The mist didn't fully lift all day, with a few teasing flashes of blue sky about midday however they soon slipped away as the mist returned.

It clung to everything, dampening eyelashes and decorating spider webs with sparkling gems of condensation.

And, despite my longing for light and sun and warmth, today was rather beautiful in it's silvery opaque shades.