Two weeks early

We’ve just been into the garden to bring in the first bowl of elderflowers.

Unlike last year when we were pressed to make our annual supply of cordial before we went on holiday, this year we’re going to have it all done with time to spare.

It’s been a busy couple of days in the kitchen.  With people coming and going here, meetings and get-togethers, Ian here painting the house and a tea party to go to tomorrow, it was time to buy in the stocks of blueberries for my favourite cake (Blueberry and Pear “Emergency cake” from Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries).  I’ve made two so far and will make a third tomorrow morning.  Though the pear and blueberry combination is always a winner, peach and raspberry, apple and blackberry or any other variation on the theme work just as well.

With the aroma of the poached chicken (yes, I finally got around to that!) from lunchtime filling the kitchen too (made to Rose Prince’s recipe, with a delicious combination of cinnamon, cloves and black peppercorns), it’s a good day to be in there.

But I had to share these gorgeous flowers, too.  I bought them in Waitrose yesterday and were unsure whether they were tulips or peonies at first.  Once home, I saw immediately they’re tulips, but the colour and form of the flowers are amazing.

Though the flowers themselves are actually quite small, the stripes of raspberry ripple with a rich vanilla centre create a striking effect and each flower is a delight, especially where the pale green calyx is showing.

Sadly, of course, they smell of nothing at all. 

Twinkle toes

This time last week, I was in Cowbridge, Glamorgan, judging a fantastic cookery/craft competition organised by the WI.  Those “in the know” rate Cowbridge highly for a great range of individual shops and a lovely friendly atmosphere and there was one shop in particular which we remembered from last time – Jon Ian, whose shop window had displayed the most gorgeous shoes, most admittedly outside my price bracket!

Last week, though, the sight of these shoes in their window drew me inside to try them on.  Finding them to be the most comfortable, butter-soft leather, I was sold – or rather they were!  Since then, I’ve worn them almost every day and rather wished I’d bought a pair in black, too.

This morning, I rang to ask if they still had them.  Sadly not…but they telephoned their Cardiff store immediately and within ten minutes I had a call to say they would be in the post to me.

Isn’t that great service? 

Oooooer…

I had an email from my friend Jordi on Saturday and though I replied that I didn’t really think I could go and play, I put it on one side and carried on thinking about it. 

Hmmm.

You see, she had just booked herself a place on a rather interesting class and knew that I’d love to get in on the act as well.  I opened up the links, read closely and considered my commitments for late July.  Strangely that week was empty.

Hmmm.

When I saw that the class was to be held just a stone’s throw from where we usually stay, I muttered something loud enough for my Hero to hear.

Well?

He’s going to Sweden for a week in October when I am busy teaching, he reminded me, by way of encouragement (and balancing the perks)

Why not?

On Sunday afternoon, I did my sums and finally hit the “reserve place” button.

Fingers crossed!

About an hour ago, Jordi emailed to say she’d spoken to the registrar and all is well.

We’re in!!

In the last sixty minutes, I have booked flights, hotel, sent three or four emails to Jordi and received a similar number in reply, including restaurant suggestions and ideas for exhibitions to visit.  I gasped when I read Jordi’s message which said that the Alexander McQueen show will still be on whilst I’m there; anticipated supper at Calle Ocho and a visit to Kinokuniya to see my favourite Boro book which I hope will still be on the shelf; had a slight panic about my level of Photoshop skills and wondered whether I need to move to CS having used Elements for so long; ordered the book that is mentioned in the course notes from Amazon; whinged about my dislike of photoshopped images containing people with pointy hats, wings or both, cut outs of birds and faux spirituality; doubted my ability to do anything worthwhile from a standing start; questioned the artistic value of all my work; decided that I will be totally out of my depth but it won’t matter because I will have my Good Friend and Real Artist there and I can just claim I don’t understand because I’m British.

I totally forgot to put the chicken in the oven for supper.

Inspired

A couple of conversations with colleagues during the last few days have taken a similar path, leading to a common conclusion.  Though we spend our days “facilitating”, “enabling” and “supporting”, in our hearts, what we love to do best of all is “teach”.  We acknowledged that there is nothing quite so satisfying as watching our students progress and flourish, even if the thought of starting work with a new set of students working at a higher level than we’re comfortable with might be scary.

I guess you’d say we recognised and acknowledged our vocation.

Last year, I taught a group of women who had taken on the challenge of becoming WI Craft Judges.  Already skilled in many crafts and hugely experienced in at least one specialist subject, they were keen to share their enthusiasm and to do what they could to encourage others to have a go and rise to the challenge, doing what they could to support local shows and competitions.  The course involved compiling a portfolio, indexing and cross-referencing their work with the set criteria and learning outcomes familiar to today’s students but for many, a new and bewildering challenge.  They were a delight to teach and all were successful in achieving their qualification as a result of a great deal of hard work and a few drops of midnight oil.

One of the group comes from Gloucestershire and when nominations were called for this years learning awards, I had no hesitation in adding my support to a proposal in her name.

It was a real pleasure to go to the “Distinguished Learner Awards” today and acknowledge Marion’s achievement in a ceremony in our Council Chamber.  We sat and heard the stories of a few people who had overcome remarkable set backs to achieve success in their studies.  Some had found themselves unable to help their children at school and so returned to classes to keep up with them.  Others had been unable to fulfil their potential because of disability, family or financial circumstances.  It was great to watch as they proudly stepped forward and collected their awards, enjoying their time in the limelight.

But I’ll lead another round of applause here, for Marion.  It’s true to say that she didn’t face as many obstacles in her path as some of those people.  It’d also be true to say that qualifying as a WI Craft Judge won’t transform her life in quite as dramatic a way as say, learning to read with confidence will change that of a young Cheltenham woman.  But I don’t think that’s enough of a reason to overlook Marion’s achievement in any way. 

To embark upon a new and demanding course of training after some years takes courage.  Faced with a set of challenges, the possibility of failure and a commitment to upholding a professional standard it’s easy to see how some may feel daunted.  Evaluating our own work alongside that of others adds another dimension and it takes a great deal of courage, confidence and knowledge to not only identify the skills involved in a particular entry, but also to be able to offer advice and encouragement too.  In her work as a Craft Judge, Marion will find herself in a position to share her love of crafts and her incredible knitting skills and I, for one, was thrilled to see her achievement recognised today.

Bravo, Marion!

Never a dull moment

Friday afternoon at home.  My Hero and I are sitting at our computers, getting on with our respective business.

“Listen, do you hear water dripping?” says he. “Mmmm….sounds unusual.  I wonder where it’s coming from?” (gazes up at ceiling)

“Not in here” I reply, peering into the laundry, “and not in here” as I look into the cloakroom. “I’d better look upstairs”.

“Nothing up here either”

Strange.

The drip gets louder and the first one hits the floor at our feet.  Within ten seconds it’s pouring from the ceiling so I run and grab a washing up bowl and a towel, whilst he runs to turn the water off at the stopcock.

I am on the phone to the builder, who assures me that someone will be here within minutes.

My Hero removes the panel from the ceiling, and once the deluge is over, notes that the water is not coming from a pipe but from the room above.  I run upstairs to look and discover a corner of the kitchen under an inch of water.

It’s the fridge. Again.

As we turn off the water supply to the fridge and mop up the water, a call from downstairs comes from the builder who’d raced to our aid, bless him.  We can reassure him that we’ve identified the problem, have turned off water and have more or less got the situation under control.  Having ensured that there’s nothing further he can do for us he returns to wherever he’d come from and leaves us to look at one another and call the repair people.

Eleven and a half months since they last came.

Thank goodness I blogged!