<< september >>

Monday, 29 2003

Today was a holiday - a Glasgow-wide day off where bright young things are water-skiing on one leg whilst having hot sex with a pan-sexual cluster of sheeny back-packing australians. I was bent over my ironing board, hot-pink tweezers in one hand administering to the crotch of my favourite aubergine breeks.

Last week's wearing of them, teamed with a scarlet bardot necked jumper and my deluxe pink suede coat - though enabling me to have a majority on the red corner of the colour wheel - had left the 'privates' region of said trousers looking like they had contracted a nasty STI: one characterised by a powdery spread of off-white bloom. Stiff brushes were to no avail, neither was a length of sticky plastic. I even tried stroking the area with a razor in an attempt to scrape off the suede-infected upper layer of breek-material (colleagues: if you should be able to tell this - alert me at once!). Sigh ....perhaps autumn/winter fashion will turn towards a liking for Superman-style groin emphasis. After tweezering my crotch for some hours, I moved on to hacking up a phallic butternut squash. Squash/pumpkin soup is my new obsession, and I feel I have perfected this afternoon with the late addition of three potatoes. Here follows my definitive recipe.

one onion, chopped
a lump of butternut squash/pumpkin, (giving you half a large pot) chopped into rough
cubes
three small potatoes hacked to shape size as squash
sprinklings of turmeric, chilli flakes and cumin (say a half to one teaspoon of each)
and two tablespoons of plain flour.
a kettle-full of boiling water plus one chicken stock-cube

Sweat onion in a little oil, add spices. Birl about. Add squash & tatties.
Birl about some more.
Add flour. Birl about again.
Pour over boiling water and add the chicken stock cube. (The water should cover the
vegetables by at least 1½ inches).
Leave to boil then simmer until the squash squashes nicely against the side of the pot
when pushed by a wooden spoon.
I like to mash this all roughly, then get out my blender & blitz intermittently to
retain some texture.
Add black pepper and salt if you really need to.
Serve with crunch granary toast!

This soup gleams with health! Nearly nine o'clock and here I sit with my Horlicks (delicious malted chocolate bedtime drink bought in bulk by old folks and me). Occasionally as I'm sure you know, one's mind turns to inventing: as the white-hot teaspoon thwacks my nose for a seventh time, mine certainly does. Why are there not ultra-mini whisks (with thermal handles) to use with such drinks where one needs to give the settling dregs a stir now and again? Something the size of a teaspoon, with a bulb-style whisk-y end would be perfect: like a hollow honey 'thing'.

Sunday, 28 2003

Today is polkadotmittens' 1^st birthday. I made this cake to celebrate!

mitten images courtesy of Tara Handknits

Tuesday, 23 2003

Heavens to Besty! This past week has passed in a flurry of snot and hot juice: smit with a persistent cold I have spent my evenings whinging and thinking about - but mostly failing - doing things of worth and relevence. I have though made headway into my human biology studies: Stan, if you're reading this, look forward to post-its scrawled with facts about protein synthesis covering the walls like mildewed lemon tiles. My UCAS application form has arrived, and my boss has been cajoled into fabricating a screed of hoo-haa about my potential worth to academe. What'll be will be. Best kens.Enough old wifey mutterings! Below you can see one of our holiday snaps. As you can see I am sitting on a tiny toadstool oblivious to the scream of Great Skuas (called Bonxies up Orkney way) beaking their way towards my head. Stan is obviously in cahoot with these birds, as he allowed the one in the fore-ground to get so close to me I could see it's teeth.

After I had recovered from this attack, we continued towards Yesnaby: a rocky headland where folks drive up to on sundays to watch big waves shatter against the ancient striated sandstone. All the way we took the road less travelled - that being along the edge of the cliffs. It's an unforgettable feeling: nestling against a tussock as the sea eats into the rock holding up you and the world. Caves and castles: natural and savage romance seen by ancestors stretching back hundreds of years.

Monday, 15 2003

Returning to Glasgow on Saturday night, the darkening sky lit with the city glow, the streets busy and silence defied I knew I was away from Orkney. It's good to be back, but I know for a few weeks I'll feel blanketed with brick and lights and noise. The peace of Orkney is still so real in my head as to be able to shut my eyes & hear the nothingness and see the vast sky touching a horizon leading to Canada.

a panorama of the valley on Hoy which surrounds the mysterious dwarfie stane, a neolithic rock-cut tomb

a panorama looking towards Hoy from Stromness harbour

 

Half way between Perth and Glasgow I looked up into the sky and saw a cloud formation which resembled a human being, stretched out in a 'superman' flying position, one arm pointing forwards towards the city.

Below was a rural idyll of farmhouses and sheep. A graveyard segued into a golden field of stubble: hay bales marking where the firm stalks had once proudly swayed.

'Onward' the cloud seemed to say to me then, sad at leaving my northern home for a dusky anonymous city. There I will eventually find bedpans and blood pressure, stethoscopes and speculums ...