A Domesticated Male Jamming in the Kitchen

Damson Jam

There comes a rare moment in a mans life when he comes to work on a Monday morning, and feels as though he has spent the entire weekend in the kitchen.  Today, that event has come with me holding my hand up, and laying down such confessions.  

What was it that inspired/ caused me to do such a thing?  I'm not entirely sure, but it may have something to do with having lots of things lying around that need eating, a tidying of the fridge and freezer, and a wife who is persistent on discussing the logistics of our daughters birthday party nearly a month before it is due to take place.

Damsons growing in the tree

It started when Olive and I went blackberry picking, which is an annual thing we all tend to do.  What I wasn't counting on was that the majority of the blackberry bushes in the area were pretty much bare.  Also, when I got Olive to hold the tub while I picked said fruit, after ten minutes I was surprised/ not surprised (delete as applicable) to see there were only five left in there and a sweet girl was looking back at me with tiny black juicy balls smothered around her mouth.  A knowledge of her being happy, and an internal memo to convey the message Julia and I may need to be more vigilant on the toilet department in the morning, We set off looking for something different.

This time I found at the top of our road where there are some allotments, a number of Damson tree's overhanging and dropping fruit onto the pavement.  This was the chance for something new.  There was no chance she could eat her way through what we could get off those trees!  So we got to work, I pulled a branch down, and she pulled off the best Damsons, until we had a full bag.

Making the Strawberry Jam

I hate to pick more than you can chew, and as Damsons are quite sharp in their flavour, we kind of broke this rule after the first one.  With this in mind, I decided to make some jam, and with 1.2kg of fruit, we made a lot of jam!  I didn't stop there either, with the fridge being cleared of mouldy jam jars, year old gherkins, and the freezer emptied of a tub of strawberries from a picking session at another time, I got to making some more strawberry jam as well.  It wont stop there either, once some friends have returned the jars of jam that I have given out, and I find some more jars, I also found some frozen blackberries that take us full circle to where I began this piece.  They, will also meet the fate of the big pot, a blast of heat, and a man studiously waiting for the thermometer to hit the word 'JAM', aka 104 C.

My method for making jam is:  Clean some jam jars, and put them in the oven at 150 C to sterilise; weigh the fruit, and then weigh 90-100% of the weight in sugar, and approx 1/3 of the weight in water.  Heat the fruit in the water up until it gets soft.  Add the sugar in intervals to dissolve.  Add a few tsp's of lemon juice (if your sugar isn't jam sugar that should contain pectin).  Plonk the thermometer in, and crank up the heat until it gets to 104 C.  Take off the heat, spoon away the scum, and pour straight into the jars (which will already be warm, so wont crack).

So tempting when in possession to want to slap someone with this

First effort at filleting a whole salmon

Not being satisfied with jam, the supermarket were practically giving away whole salmon as well, so I managed to hold of one approx 18" long (so fairly small), and lay my hand at working out how you fillet such a thing.  The first effort wasn't pretty, but still in one piece, the second effort came off swiftly.  I then portioned them both up into bags for five separate meals at home.

I also bought some Spelt flour to bake some bread, but that didn't quite go to plan.  It is edible, but I wasn't happy with how compact the crumb was.  I will be sure to get that to shape on the next loaf... watch this space.

An Impromptu Trip to the Paralympics

Sky over the Olympic Stadium

It is always nice as a parent to find your child inviting themselves into your bed at a more civilised hour of the day, rather than an hour before the alarm clock rudely awakes you from a stupor.  On this occasion, both Julia and I were wondering whether to take Olive onto the cable car that rides from North Greenwich across the river into Canning Town.  It is one of those forms of transport that has been designed with the Olympic games in mind, and alike anything similar, you have to give it a go to see what it is like.

With this in mind, I whimsically pulled out the laptop, and checked to see if there was an off chance of catching some Paralympic action, no matter what event that we could take her to.  After a couple of clinics, there it was, a chance to watch athletics, with the catch being the session was for 7-10pm.  I bought them anyway, and the day was set, although never quite went to plan.

The morning chores were all complete with the shopping done etc, and then we got home for a late lunch before I realised it was recommended we arrive around 2.5hours before the start time.  The planned attempts of an afternoon child nap went out of the window, and the trip to the cable car was ditched as we feared we wouldn't get through the queue in time.  We were running on a schedule to arrive with an hour to spare by the time we left, and as with fortune favouring the brave, it all went swimmingly.

We got to take a meander around the Olympic Park, grab many people passing by with backpacks that said 'beer' (that should read, I did), settled into our seats at our leisure before the evening took hold.  There were many World Records broken, a couple of Irish athletes ran for gold medals, and more importantly Olive didn't seem fazed about being in a stadium that looked full for its 80,000 capacity, enjoying everything until she fell asleep around 9.30 when we decided to call it quits and carry her home to bed...

Biting her medal she won at her nursery's mini-Olympics

Panoramic view from our seats <click to enlarge>

Cheering on the runners

Hitting the wall

Faith in the Weatherman for a day on Great Gable

There comes a time once a year, where I organise a trip for a couple of grown males to get together in order to escape the confines of matrimony and motherhood by scarpering off to one of the mountainous regions and 'bagging' a peak or more.  This year was no exception, except there was only one taker as a couple bailed out at the last minute, and the other usual suspect happens to be loved up to the hilt, and currently incommunicable living the dream in China.

Hardknott Pass, spot the car.   Not my pic

There was much time spent eyeing every mountain weather forecast of the British Isles, as it mostly referenced rain, rain, and even heavier rain.  Without having a place booked to erect our tent; a long journey to meet my friend Branden in Cleethorpes; a random meeting of one Mr. Brown, amongst others; resulting in a serious amount of beer and sambuca, coupled with about 5 hours sleep and the knowledge I may have upset Branden's wife by not seeing her or the family all weekend... I was ready to let him sit in the drivers seat, and play the role of the suffering nightmare passenger giving directions to the Lake District whilst popping Co-dydramol to ease away the pain.

The friendly welcome leading onto the Hardknott Pass

The highlight of the drive was the sight of Branden's face trying to keep control of his car over the Hardknott Pass.  This road links the Dudden and Eskdale Valley's together, and is regarded as one of the steepest roads in the country.  It twists, it turns, it scares you when a car is coming at you, it makes you wish your handbrake was tighter and pray the clutch does its job.  It is closed for winter, it is approximately 30 degrees in gradient, it is an ambition of some silly cyclists, who arrive to conquer, and look worse pushing a bike up a very steep hill.  In essence, he wasn't happy with my choice of route when he just got a brand new company car a matter of weeks ago.

I chose to head to Wast Water, and hope we find a campsite along there with a view of tackling some of the larger peaks in the Lake District that I hadn't been up before.  It was 4th time lucky on the campsite front, and it happened to be right next to a cracking pub, where I decided to put my alcoholic daemons to rest with a gammon steak and a couple of beers.  I nearly passed out though when I saw the steak.  I didn't read the part where it was 16oz!  A whole pound of pig to eat was simply too much, but it was consumed, we can't let the little squealer die in vain.  I was gutted to not have my camera with me to prove this.

Branden and Great Gable at the start

The forecast of rain persisted throughout, but our little window of opportunity was for the next day where it said 'rain will lift above 750m in the Southern and Western fells in the afternoon, raising to cloud free summits later'.  For this reason, we were in no hurry to get started, but were soon on the paths of Wasdale Head heading towards the cloud that enveloped Great Gable for what turned out to be a perfect walk given the conditions.

It was a steady walk up, in a very fine drizzle.  The cloud stayed put, but occasionally, there was always a slight glimpse of something somewhere that looked high up.  People we passed all gave their view of the top, "it's horrible up there, nothing but rain".  Still, we were steadfast, and stood by the weather man with the faith that they are never wrong (no comment required). We were also sure every now and then, even in the thick of it, we could occasionally see below into the valley, and see a lake or another fell nearby.  We knew the clouds were lifting.

Once we got to Beck Head tarn, it was a simple task of taking a bearing with whatever features became intermittently visible, and then scramble the final 200m to the top.  It was cold, it wasn't wet, the views could be voguely described as 'fifty shades of grey'.  People came, said "hi" then left as quick.  There was a man there itching to get a photo, but gave up despite our protests that the cloud had been rising with us throughout.  We ate some food, waited, waited some more, then decided to take our pictures on the top:

Muggy as I stood 899m up on Great Gable

There's some water over there

Cloud free summit, and just a few chosen fell left

Wasdale from Great Gable, the Scafell's left, Western Fells right.  Wast Water centre

The only people we met before heading down.  Crazy fools

We were on our own, and changed all plans for an easy route back down.  We like to push ourselves at times, and the sight of two guys carrying their bikes to the top with a fun packed trip back in mind made us decided to go down the hard way.  In fact, if I could see where I was, we would have gone up this way, as we both like a good hands on scramble.  We took a very steep descent heading towards Napes Needle, but coming out the wrong side of it in between the two large buttresses on a huge amount of scree which to say was loose would sound too easy.  It was steep, and only once we got to grips with stopping ourselves slipping onto our bums all the time, we were relieved.

Before the scramble began

Beginning the descent

Branden finding his way down

This was very good fun, and kept us alert

The view from the climb, a long way down

Once we were out of the worst of it, it was a case of scrambling back to the main path we came up, get to the Wasdale Head Inn, and share some stories with some other walkers.  It turned out, all those that persisted with the weather were glad they did so for the reward of the views that surrounded them.

Looking back at the route down

Great Gable

Wast Water

It was well worth the effort of a lot of hours travelling this weekend, and camping in the rain.  If only to give someone another education when it comes to playing me at Backgammon over beer... I never lose.

An Olympic Holiday Part 2 - Pembrokeshire

A view out to sea from the campsite

After a delightful five nights in Norfolk, and some quality time with Olive's Nana, we headed off to Pembrokeshire for the second leg of our summer holiday.  There was a little pessimism about the weather before heading out, as it was inconsistent in whether it would be damp, wet, or a washout.  However, the later we waited the better the forecast became.  There was one wet day, which we opted to spend getting wet in a waterpark, which was great fun for all of us, other than that, it just kept getting better.

So much so, we decided to stay for an extra night.

Monkstone Beach

We stayed at an excellent campsite on Trevayne Farm in between the towns of Saundersfoot and Tenby.  Yet again, it was another working farm with livestock, and really friendly workers who engaged with the children around their daily routines.  From the campsite, there was a view straight out to sea, and I reckon we were able to see the Brecon Beacons far away in the distance.  A short (but steep) walk away was the little beach in Monkstone Bay, which was a delight to walk across appreciating the rugged cliffs around us.
 

We headed for a 3km coastal walk into the near town of Tenby one day as the setting was as good as can be, and it was an opportunity to get onto a beach and eat ice cream.

Tenby South Beach

There was a wet day, but after a day out swimming, and my ladies being fast asleep on our return, I decided to head out for a walk anyway.  I headed onto Monkstone Beech, and while the tide was out, headed around jutting rocks onto Saundersfoot Beach.  There was only myself, and a few hardened people collecting Razor Clams.

Looking back onto Saundersfoot Beach

The rest of the time was spent enjoying the various beaches and coastal land that surrounds this coast.  The decided it was time to come out and play, so we spent time on Barafundle Bay, which was a good 10-15 minute walk from the nearest car park.  There was also time spent on the beach at Manorbier on another day, where we made Olive a boat out of the sand to play around in.

We were also quite nasty and got her to come into the sea to play.  There were many protests, but as soon as she settled, it was fun having her swimming to each of us in turn.

Barafundle Bay was even good enough for those with boats to come and take a look.

Barafundle Bay <click to enlarge>

Looking onto Barafundle Bay

We also spent some time looking over Skrinkle Haven.  Try as we could to get this spot to ourselves, we couldn't find a way down... even though I could see one clearly shown on my map

Skrinkle Haven <click to enlarge>

Aside from all the beaches, ice cream, and fish & chips eaten, Olive did enjoy getting to know some of the animals at the farm.  There were a pair of pigs, lots of sheep in the fields, as well as a nice number of free range chickens roaming around.  Olive had to say goodnight to them all before bed, and even got to help put the chickens to bed as well.

Jack, who was a noisy boy keeping his hens in line

We also went to some gardens where Olive could run around, and she found the little frog, which she picked up, and put back into its pond.

An Olympic Holiday Part 1 - Norfolk

At home, it was decided that after we were unsuccessful with all applications for Olympic tickets, the next best thing to do would be to escape the madness, and get out of London for a nice holiday camping together.  Julia and I took a decision to book 5 days each in a place of our choosing, and it was agreed to spend some time in the middle at her parents to catch up, and to get the washing done for the next week.

Julia got the first shout, and with that she picked a lovely campsite at Breck Farm, in between Holt and Sheringham in the north of Norfolk.  This was a lovely place, with the necessary facilities, hundreds of chickens roaming around, as well as a few sows and a randy boar.  We were allowed to light a fire in the evenings, and couldn't have picked a better place for our introduction into Norfolk life.

The first day was spent on the lovely grounds of Holkham.  It is a massive estate, fresh with woodland, meadows, a lake, and to remain typically English, a game of cricket.  Here, we decided to hire bikes for a couple of hours to explore, before heading off to Holkham Bay, which was a vast expanse of beach, that seemed to go on forever before you even reached the sea.

Holkham Hall <click to enlarge>

She makes it look easy

This was tiring work

Building Sandcastles on Holkham Bay

Knowing there was a dull day on the horizon, we decided to head to a brilliant place called Bewilderwood which is a children's adventure play area based around the novels of a local children's author Tom Blofeld.  Everything inside of it was child friendly for all ages, with tree houses, and high rope walkways, to mazes, zip wires of variable sizes, slides, swings, as well as interactive story times, boat rides, and general sing-a-longs.  Needless to say, Olive loved it.

Below is a video of a vertical slide that is approximately 30ft in height.  Julia wouldn't go near it, so I went up to let Olive take a look, as she wanted to go down.

In the end, there was nothing to worry about, the crazy kid was fearless at first sight:

 

Time was spent trying to catch Crabs in Wells-Next-The-Sea, and Sheringham.  To be frank, we were useless, but a couple of people took pity on our bucket to keep Olive happy.  We also headed onto Sheringham Beach, and noticed lots of people were writing words and their names in the sand with pebbles.  Regardless of some rain that was coming our way, we couldn't leave without leaving our mark.

Sheringham <click to enlarge>

We may have gotten a little childish in our old age

The rest was spent wandering around the countryside near to the campsite where there was a lot of woodland to get Olive excited to hunt for a Gruffalo.

It was a long trip over to Shropshire to stay at Nana's, but we thought we would try taking Olive for a proper walk up one of the local haunts I've mentioned in this blog, the Telford Wrekin.  We took some friends who have two young boys, and tried to make it as fun as possible for them all on the way up.  There were some defiant moments, and a bit of carrying on the shoulders (never helpful when going up a lump of a hill).  

On top of the Wrekin <click to enlarge>

There was fun had by all though as we got ourselves recharged for the next leg of our holiday.

I picked Pembrokeshire, in the south of Wales.