Whilst sitting cross-legged in front of Love Actually, my husband sat behind me playing with my hair

Me: “I love it when you play with my hair, would you plait it for me?”
Husband: “OK… Remind me how do I do it again.”
Me: “Divide into three, right over centre, left over centre… ad nauseum.”
Husband: “How do you stop it all merging into one another?”
Me: “You just do.. us women manage it all the time.”
Husband: “I need a third hand.”
Me: “No you don’t, you just work out a way of doing it tidily.”
Husband: “Yes, but women have secret appendages that men don’t know about…”
**silence followed by raucous laughter**

If I’m absent for a couple of days it’s not because I’ve fallen off the face of the planet, but I’m in the beginning throws of a cold and when such things happen I’m prone to a bout of the dying swan. I’ve just taken two Panadol Night and a glass of my favourite organic cider, which if nothing else should ensure I stay unconscious all night! Then an appointment with the dentist tomorrow.  Joy.

Today has been what one might call a “good day”. Not to jinx myself, I have said that and then touched wood, just in case. Today has been better than all of this week put together, so for me this is a cause of some celebration. Today was the day I finally got down to making the christmas cake.  I’m a superstitious thing at heart, and I can’t make my christmas cake on any day but the right day. Call it madness but I’m like that. I also salute and give a hearty good morning to any single magpie I see. Unlike my husband’s side of the family, who spit at them (though not literally, for decency’s sake). My own quirks aside, this week has so far been a bit rubbish. But today made up for it in all sorts of ways, so I’m a happy bunny.  The fly in my ointment, and my little grey cloud that has hovered was the news that Ed Harcourt cancelled the first 3 gigs of the tour, so Newcastle is now no longer happening.  It took a lot of hiding under the bedclothes to get over that one.  Silly I know, but true.

The recipe is the “cake-recipe-of-unknown-origin”. Handed over 20 years ago to my mother from a friend, who got it from a friend, it has been my christening cake, my christmas cake for as many years as I can remember, and also my wedding cake. Needless to say, this cake is very sentimental to me, and it really does deserve a bit of reverence. It’s a happy-go-lucky thing, it’s not a dark, rich cake, it’s a slightly paler but inordinately yummy cake. It caters to those who don’t like the heavy, bitter christmas cakes of old, but who love moist, mellow and buttery fruit cakes. I enjoy folding up saved Weetabix boxes to protect the tin and give an even cooking temperature, sorting through the fruit and smelling the brandy - even though I don’t like the stuff - it says Christmas.

It helps to get me in the mood for the task at hand if there is a cold wind blowing. And yesterday evening as we walked the dog, the wind was howling along the houses and it was an icy, November wind. The sort that chills you to your bones. Last night it seemed we had skipped Autumn all together and gone straight to Winter. Even the Harvestmen spiders clustered on the wall of my neighbour’s garage were clinging on for dear life. They reminded me of the Mayor’s bow-tie spider from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Today has also been a bit of a salve for the soul. The Aldo Leopold book arrived, just in time for me to enjoy after I finish reading a really good book called “Standing in the Rainbow” by Fannie Flagg. I went straight onto this book from her last book “Welcome to the World, Baby Girl” and though that book was good this one is so much better. It runs in the same, homely vein as the Big Stone Gap trilogy by Adriana Trigiani (all three some of the favourite fiction books I’ve ever read) which means it’s perfect to read whilst sat cross-legged on the sofa, knitting in hands, listening to beautiful music.

I also made a pot of pumpkin and butternut squash soup, because in my book, nothing goes better with knitting and reading than a hot bowl of something restorative.  It just screams Autumn.

Even Siva my iPod thought today was a good day, when she decided to play:

Perhaps I should take the hint.  Perhaps today it really is a good day.  I’ll touch wood though - just in case.

We have a glut of green tomatoes (methinks “am I on a tomato theme?“), tomatoes which, however many bananas I put them next to, will not go red. This is because they are too young to ripen. There is little else one can do with them but chutney. At their youngest the skin is tough and the flesh quite hard, however this simple procedure transforms them into something wonderful. The tangy green flavour is not unpleasant, however it needs some attention and at the moment I’m not in an ‘experimental’ phase. I’m in a tried-and-true, comfort phase, so my known method of dealing with 3lbs of very unripe, green tomatoes is chutney.

Few things can survive boiling in an acid and sugar mixture for hours on end, yet by some wonderful feat of malty alchemy the end product is a uniformly browny-green concoction with a beautiful smell and taste. It successfully breaks down the green tomatoes into a softer, mellower texture. Perfect as an accompaniment to bread and cheese, on sandwiches and with your favourite meals.

I didn’t follow a recipe this time around, because I wasn’t using ingredients that the recipe I had, called for. So I used what I had in the kitchen which included onions (homegrown), courgettes (homegrown), tomatoes (homegrown), Worcester and Cox apples (British), Williams pears (organic), raisins and sultanas, sugar (light brown soft), vinegar (a mix of distilled and spiced-malt), cinnamon sticks and a mix - a very unique mix - of herbs, spices and seeds wrapped up in muslin. I like my chutney sweet, but with a tang, so I am happy adding the 11 ozs called-for in the recipe. It still has a tang, as of course it would - nothing with 1 1/2 pints of vinegar could escape the tang-factor. You chop the vegetables and fruit up into dice, add vinegar and spice, bring to the boil and then simmer for anywhere between 3 to 6 hours. However turn it up too high at your peril* - many a woman has made chutney and turned it up too high only to find it sticking to the bottom and burning. Slow and gentle is the way to go, even if it takes hours, which it will. Usually between 3 and 6, depending on the amount.

Chutney keeps incredibly well. It is one of the best ways of using up your glut, and as it keeps for a long time, is also wonderful as gifts at Christmas. However it does need to mature, usually for 3 to 6 weeks. I usually can’t wait that long, but the flavour does change completely and get much yummier when it is fully matured. So mitts off until it’s ready! Once cooked, put into hot, sterilised jars and pop a waxed disc on top. Cover with cellophane lids, as for jam, and leave somewhere to cool and mature. I call this “Christmas chutney”, just because everything at this time of year is being horded for that time when the nights are dark and lonesome, there is a tree glowing in my hearth and because just getting to write the word christmas gives me thrills - I admit I love the season a wee bit too much.

[Sorry for the awful picture quality, the day is so grey it needed a flash, which caused it to look a funny colour]

*I started writing this as it was on the stove downstairs and the bottom caught whilst I wasn’t paying attention. See! It really does happen! Do not leave your chutney unattended! It was fine, it hadn’t burned (phew), it was just beginning to stick.

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Now playing: Nat King Cole - Nature Boy

The thing with being essentially a “southerner” living “up north” is the language difference. In Lancashire it was all to do with the “ey-up cot”, which has now been supplanted by “wye-aye, pettul”. And it has a way of making me feel hideously out of place - everyone comments that I have a “posh” accent, even though it’s not cultivated, it just “happened”. My out-of-place feelings notwithstanding, I love it up in the great North East. For a start, Northumberland is the biggest county in the country and has such a vast expanse of land surrounding it, just waiting to be explored. We make the most of our National Trust membership and have explored many different parts of the county. There is definitely something wild about the landscape, heading inland towards Rothbury and Alnwick the land changes and for all you know, you could be in Scotland atop a ragged heather moor. Towards the coastline it is flat and dramatic, with the odd stunning castle or lighthouse on its shores.

Last weekend we visited Gibside (if you’re Geordie it’s pronounced Gibside with a hard G, if you’re not it’s pronounced “jibside” - I’ve heard it both ways and am corrected however I say it) and the most riveting about the whole thing was watching a herd of cows lie out in the beautiful Autumn sun. I’m not sure what we were expecting, it was a spur of the moment thing to go out, and as we hadn’t been there before, we headed out to Gibside. Luckily we went on a beautiful day which made up for the lack of much to look at apart from very pretty countryside.

The house, ancestral home of the Bowes-Lyons family (the Queen Mother), is a splendid thing. Not as large as many, nor as imposing, but a splendid Jacobean house nonetheless. However the fact that it’s ruined and you can’t get near it for fear of falling masonry, spoilt the whole effect for us. The National Trust have been meaning to sure-up the walls of the house for many years to enable visitors to tour the house in its ruined state. But through a lack of funds, interest or both haven’t seemed to do very much but mow the lawn.  I am glad that the crows, rooks and jackdaws are enjoying their stay.  What an amazing place to raise their young!  We follwed signs for the stables, hoping for a bit more information, but again, apart from the odd information board, a couple of mangy saddles and three old, delapidated carriages there was very little indeed.

Though what was lost in interesting features, was gained in views and walks.  There were some beautiful vistas to be had. It’s surprising how the landscape can be so beautiful a mere 5 miles from the ugly consumerism of Gateshead’s Metro Centre. I heard woodpeckers and saw many pretty winged creatures, but the red kites eluded us.

The walled garden wasn’t a walled garden, it was a walled car-park, with a few apple trees (I believe less than 10) and a small kitchen plot.  Not what I’d call a walled-garden at all, definitely not up to the NT’s normal standards!  The chapel, which is what the NT holds stock in, was closed to us visitors because there was a wedding going on.  We waited for15 minutes hoping the photos would finish so we could get in, but relented because they wanted more photos than we had time to wait for.  Overall we came away disappointed in the whole place, and apart from a nice walk, we probably wouldn’t visit there much again (especially having had to battle hellish A1 traffic on the way home).  Though their coffee shop sells the nicest cakes and coffees.  Oh and the toilets are apparently “award-winning”.  We didn’t visit those.  Perhaps that was their secret?

However the best thing about the whole day was seeing that it is, before my very eyes, Autumn.  My favourite season is here!  I kicked - small - piles of leaves around and held little acorns in my hand.  Fallen leaves and cinnamon colours made up for everything else.  Clouds and silver linings, swings and roundabouts, I had a good day anyway.

Ok, that may be a little bit of a lie - we’re not actually moving to Shanghai, those are the lyrics from a song by my favourite songster, Ed Harcourt. We’re actually doing something far more exciting (to me at least), we’re going to see Ed live! I’ll give you a bit of back story…

It was October 2001 and I was 15 years old. We had moved 6 months earlier, into a really nice house, in a wonderful area, but the move, mixed with the fact I’d broken up with my boyfriend had left me feeling a bit down and out of place. You know, teenagers’ angst. I had some christmas/ birthday money left in my bank account which I withdrew and took myself on an improptu shopping spree around HMV. I came away with two CDs, both would become my rocks though this tempestuous time and beyond. The first was one I knew I’d wanted for a long time, Sarah McLachlan’s Fumbling Towards Ecstacy which to this day is one of my very favourite albums. If I’m having a bad day, or I just need something to completely relax to, that is the CD I choose. I had some money left, and I’m not sure how I found Mr. Harcourt, I believe I was just browsing through the infinite array of CDs when I happened upon this beautiful cover:

[borrowed from kkbox.com]

It was Ed’s first EP, Maplewood, which would become my most-listened-to album. It also started a love afair with his music that is as strong today as it was when I first ever listened to the opening bars of Hanging With the Wrong Crowd. I have all of his albums and have loved every single one. He is an amazing song-writer, singer and instrumentalist. There is actually not one song I don’t like, apart from on his first LP, Here Be Monsters, the rendition of Apple of My Eye - the Maplewood version was infinitely better, but perhaps that’s just me…

Either way, when we got these in the post this morning, you can imagine my complete delight - it involved dancing, wildly around the room and then thanking my lucky stars. It really is funny, because all the best books, music and films I’ve read/ listened/ watched have all been on the basis of their cover - so perhaps the old adage is false, maybe one really can judge a book by its cover… Click below to listen to a couple of Ed’s songs.

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Now playing: Ed Harcourt - Shanghai