Ooh, bloody hell! Crap! Crap! Crap!

You’re here already waiting for something to read.  I forgot that you were coming and here’s me in my pyjamas, hair in a scarf, the crumbs of breakfast still on my chest.  –  If you have boobs you’ll appreciate that joke.

Look, sit down, no better still make yourself a cuppa, look at some pics while I run upstairs and put something on and then we can begin again.

That’s better – did you get a drink?

It’s been a funny week. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, but I never seem to get everything I think I should be doing done. It’s not as if my list is that long. In fact, my list is non-existent. I keep meaning to make a list but somehow get lost in the day and by the time I remember it seems too late to start.

Yesterday I sat wrapping apples in newspaper to try to keep them a little longer. The veg drawer in the fridge is full of apples, and now two boxes in the cupboard under the stairs. I’ve pestered the neighbours with carrier bags brimming with sweet Peasgood Nonsuch and tart, blushing Egremont Russets. They’re starting to avoid eye- contact again.

Even the local drug dealer was tempted with a bag and proudly reported making apple crumble before not too shyly asking for more. Making friends, me, one apple at a time.

The trees are still full, basking in the late autumn sun while it lasts.

I’ll bag the rest up and hang them on the back gate, free to all comers, making sure to leave plenty for the birds or the cats, whoever gets there first.

It’s the sharing that I love, in growing your own food. Offering neighbours and friends a bag of something as they leave.

‘Can you do anything with courgettes?’

‘Would you like some tomatoes?’

‘Could you use some pumpkin?’

I always grow too much. Sometimes it’s a pressure, not wanting to waste what there is but not having the energy to do anything with it. The kids are all coming home this weekend, and will each take home a bag of fruit, jars of jam, or maybe chutney? No, we decided last week no chutney. Am I repeating myself?

This year I’ve filled the freezer with tomatoes, raspberries, more tomatoes, apple puree, oh and some tomatoes. There is a delight in pulling out an icy box of sweet sunshine goodness in the depths of winter, and making something warming. It’s the memory of summer that brightens my day. The frugality of it appeals but also the sheer indulgence. Tomatoes and stock from the freezer, a few onions, herbs from the garden – dried in the sun,  some cheese scones whipped up quick, cooling while I blitz up the soup – a feast.  

And sharing the fruits of my labour only makes it all the sweeter. That and i am sick to the back teeth with bloody tomatoes!

Ooh, this is making me hungry.  

Will you stay for lunch?

Come and perch in the kitchen. Ignore the dog. You put the kettle on and I’ll make us some soup. It’s no bother, I was making some anyway. If you can face the Jenga that is the freezer and liberate us some beef stock I can make a start. I even labelled everything this year, so no weird surprises or guessing what’s in the box.

See, aren’t you glad you caught me all unprepared? Sometimes the best days are the ones that catch us a little undone. There’s watercress growing in that first veg bed. We could have a salad with the soup, if you like? Apple, watercress, there’s a bit of cheese in the fridge.

Can you use any watercress, we’ve plenty?  Pick yourself a wee bunch.

Now that would make a lovely soup. Watercress, parsley, a couple of spuds. The perfect autumn hug.  

I’m taking a break from the blog for a couple of weeks while I get some work done for another project. Hopefully when I come back I’ll have some exciting news!

Take care of yourself and we’ll speak soon – are you sure I cant give you some tomatoes?