And a very merry Vernal Equinox to you too ...

Today is a very special day. Yes, yes,  I know it's Friday ...
... but it's also the Vernal Equinox!

Now these things normally pass me by in the whirlwind of activity that is my daily routine, but the other day I found myself searching around for a reason to bake a cake. As regular visitors will know we don't need much of an excuse to have a party over here at Talk-a-Lot Towers. But I don't bake cakes very often, and, as a result, I still subscribe to the view that a cake is a bit of a celebration. So I found myself casting around for something to celebrate when my recipe finally came together too late for either Mother's Day or St. Pat's. And as only the Vernal Equinox was on the near horizon I decided to run with that.

So what is this Vernal Equinox? Well our dear little planet travels around the sun on an orbit called the ecliptic. It's a journey that takes a year to complete. During the course of that year it tilts on its own axis. When the North Pole tilts towards the sun we have spring and summer up here in the Northern Hemisphere, and when it tilts the other way we go on our seasonal journey into winter. And because of this tilting behaviour the sun is rarely directly overhead the equator. That only happens twice in the year, as the tilt reverses, and the hemispheres change seasons on the Vernal and Autumnal Equinoxes.   On those two days of the year, at the tilting points of the seasons, day and night are of equal length. And thereafter the change of the season soon becomes manifest, or it ought to if old Mother Nature is following her script.

It's all text book science today, but way back in the days before anyone went to school, the ancient people of the world saw a special kind of magic in these two days.

I'm always amazed that they noticed, but I suppose if we didn't have television and I had to either grow or catch our dinner every evening before we ate it out in the back garden I might also notice a slew of things that escape me at the moment. Anyway our wily ancestors recognised the Vernal Equinox as the day that marked the shift from the season of cold, dark barrenness to spring, the season of light, growth and the rebirth of the natural world after the long dreary months of winter.

For totally logical reasons many ancient people regarded the Vernal Equinox, the first day of spring, as the first day of the year. It was, after all, the day on which the cycle of the seasons kicked off.

The ancient Chinese are said to have seized upon the egg as the emblem of all this happy sunny stuff; a perfect symbol of fertility and the rebirth of nature. Given what they observed to be the perfect balance of the hours of daylight and darkness they imagined that special forces were afoot in the world. Someone, somewhere, on this day, found a perfect egg with a slightly blunt end that they were able to stand on its end: a feat not normally achievable with a regular egg. It was hailed as a miracle! And the sages of the day reasoned that the perfect balance of the day and the night, and the tipping point of the seasons must mean that the celestial bodies were aligned in such a way that the Equinox was blessed with certain gravitational anomalies not present on other normal days.

It was all a load of old hooey, of course. You need to practise a lot, but on just about any day of the year you can balance a blunt-ended egg on its blunt end if you take the pains to do so. Why you'd want to is of course another matter entirely.

Actually, because I like you all so much,  I'll let you into a little secret as to how you can impress all the egg-fanciers out there. If you place a plain wedding ring under the tablecloth in the exact spot where you'd like to balance your egg, and then take pains to remember where you've left it, you can make just about any old egg stand upright on its end, using the ring as a hidden cradle to support it. Here's one I did earlier (photo below) Impressive, heh?

The ancient Chinese art of egg balancing on the Vernal Equinox

Anyway have a very merry Vernal Equinox. As for me: I'm off to peer through the clouds at the solar eclipse and honour this auspicious day with a very large slab of marmalade cake, and I'll worry about bringing order and balance to my waistline in the season of light and rebirth.

All the best for now,


Bonny x

The very best Marmalade Cake in town ...

Yesterday I made a cake.  And, as a cake is a bit of a celebration over here at Talk-a-Lot Towers, I thought I'd better search around for something to celebrate. So having missed St. Pat's and Mother's Day it's a Vernal Equinox and Total Solar Eclipse Cake. How's that for something to celebrate?

Happy Vernal Equinox (on Friday) everyone!

The truth is this cake and I started out together about a week ago. We have history. Sad muppet that I am, I decided to make myself a Mother's Day Cake. The story gets even sadder as I put my experimental mixture into a cake tin that was way too small, which resulted in a cake explosion over the sides of the tin and all over the base of the oven. Then, not satisfied with the mess I'd made, I opened the oven door before the cake had finished rising, and the whole thing flopped. And then, when I finally extracted it I discovered that it was welded to the fancy cake mould, which, contrary to what it said on the label, really wasn't non-stick and ought to have been buttered like an oil-slick pre-launch.

It was cake-carnage, my friends. A great big tripple-whammy of a disaster.

Undaunted, and with a terrier-like determination that would put the Wonder Dog to shame, I tried it again the next day in a humble loaf tin. It was carefully greased and left in the oven for the requisite period of time without any curious door-opening to have a close-up on how the whole thing was getting along. And the result was pretty finger-licking good, even if I do say so myself.

Now the stealth ingredient here, which makes my cake just a little bit epic is the marmalade. It really is good. In fact, to state it plainly, if you like fragrant cardamon notes in your clementine orange marmalade, it's the marmalade of your dreams.  You can check it out here: Cardamon and Clementine Marmalade. It carries those wonderful top notes of cardamon into the cake, and it really is worth getting fat for. If you don't want to faff around making my special super-duper taste-it-in-your-dreams marmalade you can just substitute a tasty alternative of your own. I won't be too prescriptive but do bear in mind that your choice is important: the bottom line is that this cake will only ever be as good as the marmalade you make it from.

Anyway if you'd like to get your chops round some special marmalade cake, here's my recipe:

Ingredients

150 g butter
150 g caster sugar
1 large clementine (You could use any other small orange that you can lay your hands on. Blood oranges are good but their season is so short. My favourite citrus fruit is the clementine so I tend to use those whenever I can.)
2 large eggs
75 g of truly superb marmalade
150 g self-raising flour

And some icing sugar to dust on top of the cake once you're done.

1. Heat the oven to 180ºC  and line/ butter a smallish cake tin. For this recipe I have used a 1 1/2 pint Bundt pan. Alternatively you could use a 20cm x 11cm x 7cm loaf tin. If you're planning on using a Bundt pan make sure to grease it really well and sprinkle a dusting of flour on too for good measure.

2. Beat the butter and the sugar in the mixer until they are light and fluffy.

3. Whisk the eggs, and add them slowly to the mixture, a little at a time. Beat until they are uniformly mixed with the butter and the sugar.

4. Finely grate the skin of the clementine and add it to the mixture along with the marmalade. Mix until everything is uniform.

5. Fold in the flour. It's best to do this by hand with a big metal spoon. Keep going until all the flour has been absorbed without trace. It doesn't take very long so it's not too onerous to mix.

6. Spoon the mixture into the greased/ lined cake tin. Do not fill the cake tin to more than 3/4 of its depth, otherwise you risk a cake explosion over the sides, which is not pretty.

7. Bake for about 40 minutes in the oven, resisting all temptation to open the door and take a peek for the first 20 minutes or so. Check it after 35 minutes to see whether it's ready.

8. When it's done (a skewer, pushed in and then pulled back, should come out clean) take it out of the oven and leave it to cool.

9. When the cake has cooled dust the top with a sprinkling of icing sugar.

Enjoy in the sunshine after the excitement of the solar eclipse (fingers crossed) with a nice pot of tea.

All the best,

Bonny x

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

The very top of the morning to you!

And a very Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

May the Good Saint  turn the sunny side up for you.

Slán,

Bonny x

Free ebooks from Bookbub ...

The other day a friend told me about Bookbub.

Have you heard of it? It's an internet site that directs you to book promotions. The publishing houses discount books from time to time to promote new or even well-established authors, and increasingly they're pushing lost leaders with up to 100% discounting. That means, in normal parlance, my friends that in many instances they're giving away ebooks for nothing.

As an insomniac who's always looking for something to read in the dead of night on her iPad the site works quite well for me. Every so often someone, somewhere, seems to be pushing a book that I do rather fancy reading. Admittedly I don't find something compelling on every visit, but you can set up an e-mail alert notifying them of your preferences as to genre and author.  Then, when there's something they think you might be interested in, they send you an email to let you know about it, and you're able to download the ebook from Amazon, Kobe or whoever is offering the deal.

If you're interested in giving them a whirl their website is here: Bookbub. It doesn't cost anything to join. And they've even got some children's titles on offer.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

TGI Friday ... 5 Random things from the week that was ...

Gosh this has been a busy week over here at Talk-a-Lot Towers, but here's my random 5 for Friday:

1. Salt and Silver Photography

One of the highlights of my week was a trip down to the Tate Gallery to see their Salt and Silver photography exhibition. For anyone with an interest in social history or the history of early photography this one is a must-see. Many of the subjects from over a century and a half ago struck me as surprisingly modern. There was much in their body language and in the attitude of their poses that could have belonged to the Facebook generation.

If you'd like to know more you can read about the exhibition here: Salt and Silver Exhibition.

2. Guerilla Gardening

Last Saturday was the most glorious day. The sun shone, the sky was blue and the mercury pushed its way up to a dizzy high of 16º C. Mr B had, several weeks' earlier, promised to help me with a post-winter tidy-up outside. He'd entered the date in his calendar as the day he would devote to the garden. And boy did I get lucky with the weather!

Normally Mr B agrees totally with James Dent: A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken. 

But last Saturday I convinced him that we really, really, really had to get rid of the ivy that was growing all round our garden walls. We've got a sweet little walled garden, but that bothersome ivy had grown into a thick forest and was throwing much of it into shadow. Mr B got the proverbial bit between his teeth, and here's what the place looked like the following morning:

Impressive, huh? Well, then of course we had to spend a day and a night clearing up, but that's another story.

3. Slinky Paws returns ...

Just when I thought he'd snuffed it the Slinkster re-appeared for an early-morning raid on the peanuts. I will admit to a certain grudging affection for Slinky, and I'm fine with him eating SOME of the bird food. I only get hot under the collar when he scampers with the whole caboodle.

Old habits die hard!

4. The Wonder Dog's new game

The Wonder Dog and I have spent much of the past week hard at work in the garden. And we've been gloriously happy digging around in the dirt together, and anticipating the full glory of the spring and summer that are to come.

What's she doing leaving all these things buried out here? She'll be really happy when I bring them all safely inside again.

I've been busy planting bedding plants and summer bulbs, which has given rise to a wonderful new game of fetch. The Wonder Dog seemed to be of the opinion that I was getting terribly absent-minded in my dotage, and, no doubt intent on being helpful spent his energy digging up all those things that I'd forgotten about and left buried in the flowerbeds. Needless to say I was less than totally delighted with this assistance, but it's hard to stay cross for long with someone who's as cute as the Wonder Dog.

Well if these bulb things are so special why d'ya bury them in the dirt, huh?

5. Heritage Violets 

A few years' ago I bought some heritage violets. The sale's pitch promised that they were of the self-same strain that Victorian flower sellers used to peddle in Covent Garden. It promised me the smell of sweet nostalgia and oodles of Olde Worlde charm. I wasn't totally convinced, but the lure of a good story, and the fragrant dream of what a bank of sweet-smelling violets would be like in my garden induced me to throw my scepticism to the wind.

And I'm so glad that I did. I really have no idea if they are in any way related to the flowers of yesteryear, but they look like they could be, which is plenty good enough for me. They have wonderful long stems, which makes it easy to gather them into a posy, and they have the sweetest smell. You have to bury your nose in them to capture it properly, but they smell like those parma violet sweets that we used to have when I was a girl. The flowers are so very delicate-looking, but the plants are really robust. I've successfully divided my original plant three or four times, and got them to root in other locations around the garden. They don't seem to mind being in the shade, and they add a lovely interest to difficult shady corners where I've struggled to get anything else to grow.

And that's my random 5 for this week.

All the best for the weekend and fingers crossed the sun will carry on shining,

Bonny x

As shared on Random 5 Friday and Friday Finds

Salt and Silver photography ... faces from the 1840's

It's not every day that we get a chance to stare history in the face, and marvel at how the good folk of yesteryear looked ... well ... a bit like us, but if you mosey down to the Tate today you'll be able to do just that at their Salt and Silver exhibition. The costumes, the gentlemen's whiskers and the hair styles belong to another age, but stripped of the fashion foibles of their time, the faces that look out at us look just like the ones we see in the mirror every morning.

Look at this photograph below. It's thought that the subjects were mother and son. I wonder where Dad is, and why he's not in the frame too. They're posing in their Sunday best, and mum's seated on a chair to rest her weary legs. Her nails look like they belong on hands that work hard every day, rather than hands that get treated to time-consuming manicures. Just look at the way she's threading her arm proprietorially through that of her son; look at how she's gazing with maternal affection at her pride and joy. It's an attitude that wouldn't look out of place in a status update photo posted on Facebook today. I love how the boy's neck tie is a bit askew with a loose end jutting out too far to the left of his chin. Maybe he was proud of having tied it himself for the very first time that morning.

Many of the photos in the exhibition are small, which creates logistical difficulties for someone with terrible eyesight like yours truly. And I'm sorry if you were there at the same time as me, and I seemed to be hogging some of the exhibits with my nose as close to the glass as I dared put it. The truth is that I found those faces and portraits from the far-distant past totally compelling. I really had to tear myself away from some of them to give the rest of the people in the gallery a chance.

The whole shooting match kicked off with an amazing polymath called William Henry Fox Talbot who figured out how to make his first camera way back in 1835. Apparently he was motivated to do so because he was a bit rubbish at sketching. He'd used the camera obscura and the camera lucida to help him with his compositions and got to wondering whether he could invent some new gizmo that would capture the scene before him without needing to resort to pencil or charcoal. In time he came up with the technique of producing a negative image of the subject using paper soaked in silver iodide salts. These darkened on exposure to the light producing a negative image of the subject before them.  This negative image was then photographed again to produce a positive image. It was a fiddly process by the standards of today, but it was easier that what his rival photographer, Louis Daguerre, was doing with his cumbersome plates.

Henry Fox Talbot

The image (below) of Nelson's column as it was being constructed was taken by Fox Talbot himself. Isn't it amazing to see a scene that many top-hatted Londoners must have driven past in their carriages tut-tutting over? They probably thought it an eyesore and a huge inconvenience. And just look at all those bill posters that entrepreneurial types have stuck to the hoardings to promote their wares. How very 21st century! Look at the little wooden hut, where I'm guessing the workmen would  have locked away their tools of an evening when their day's work was done. It looks just like next-door's garden shed.

And the image below is another one of Fox Talbot's, showing the view from his hotel window in 1843 when he'd gone to Paris to promote his newly invented salt prints. Isn't it an intriguing snapshot in time of a Paris street scene with the cabbies all patiently waiting in a line for a fare?

I was enchanted by some of the bucolic scenes of country life. Just look at the wonderful image below by Paul Marès of an Ox cart in Brittany, taken in about 1857. Doesn't it look charming? Like it could have been painted by the Impressionists?

For me it is a perfect example of that soft, velvety texture that was a key characteristic of the technique, and made the image appear much more arty than the sharp definition of the contemporaneous Daguerrotypes. However, those white crosses that were painted on the wall, seemed a bit sinister to me. They jar with the gentle charcoal quality of the composition. On reading about the image I learned that they were commonly painted on walls of rural houses to warn passers-by to keep their distance when the occupants had succumbed to some awful infectious disease. That little nugget of information brought a sinister note to the idle ox cart. Was the driver suffering alone somewhere in the bowels of his home when the image was captured? Did everyone round about feel terror clench their chests when their eyes fell upon those markings? Did they all walk on by and ignore the plight of the people inside?

Or take a look at these Newhaven fishermen in the photograph below:

Do they look as though they're swaggering to you? Once again, in the age of self-promotion on social media, I find their pose thoroughly 21st century. Dressed in jeans and t-shirts they could be a bunch of lads off on a stag weekend. I wonder what they thought about getting their photograph taken? Did they even understand what the man with the strange camera was doing? Did he ever come back and show them their photograph after it had been printed?

And for me that's the lovely thing about this exhibition: it gets you started on a journey of a thousand maybes. As you look at all these individual moments in time your mind, or maybe your heart, craves the backstories and the what-happened-nexts. For anyone with an interest in either social history or the history of photography this exhibition is totally compelling.

If you'd like to go along and see what all the fuss is about for yourself you can check out the website here: Salt and Silver: A rare and revealing collection of early photography. It's running until 7th June. Enjoy!

All the best for now,

Bonny x

Taking cuttings from your woody herbs ...

I was supposed to go and see the Rubens exhibition at the Royal Academy today, but it was just too nice outside in my garden to spend the morning cloistered indoors with a bunch of porridgy nudes. I'm convinced the great man must have been a total misogynist: what other reason could there be for him to have painted such lumpy, washed-out, unattractive ladies? Maybe I'm mistaken and they were simply his type. Maybe I'll make it tomorrow ... if the sun's not shining ... and I don't get a better offer.

And so today I've been busy digging in the dirt outside, which, for me, is a total joy at this time of the year. My sage bush is looking its age - a bit like one of Rubens's women, and my rosemary bushes are in danger of getting devoured alive. I love rosemary, and manage to add it to just about everything I cook. So in order to big up my supply lines I've taken some cuttings of both the sage and the rosemary.

In a few weeks' time my rosemary will probably be in flower, and as the sap is rising and the growth hormones are stirring it seems to me that this is probably the perfect moment to take cuttings. And the process is about as easy as tripping over the door mat.

All you need to do is slip off a side shoot of about 5 to 6 cm (2 + inches) from the main stem of your plant. It's not brain surgery so you don't have to be too exact. Just bear in mind that if the cutting is too long it makes it more difficult for the emerging roots to support the whole thing, and get it growing as an independent plant.

The (groovy pink) arrows in the photo above are pointing to suitable side shoots that could be slipped as potentially viable cuttings. And the photo below shows a whole bunch that I've slipped off.

I gathered my little bunch together and put them in a jar of water for a few minutes so that they would stay hydrated, and to ensure that the ends were wet when I put them in the rooting powder. That way a lot more of the powder sticks to them.

I used some special seed and cutting compost for potting them up. It's better than regular compost because it's got a finer texture with better drainage so that the cuttings don't rot before they root, and the finer texture creates less obstacles for nascent root growth. You could make your own. There are hundreds of recipes out there in cyber-land, but I took the easy route and bought some from my local garden centre. 

Now you need to remove all the leaves from the bottom 3cm of each cutting. The idea is not to have any greenery that will sit below the soil line or be in contact with it as it'll probably rot and ruin the chances of your cutting taking root. 

Next  dip the cutting in some rooting powder to help the rooting process along as much as possible. You can buy rooting powder in just about any garden centre. Then using your finger make a hole in the compost at the edge of the pot and plant your cutting, gently firming the compost around it to hold it in place. You should aim to have about a couple of centimetres of the stem below the soil line. Carry on with your other cuttings, planting them all around the edge of the pot, so that they'll be easier to separate after they've taken root and started to grow into independent plants. 

When they are all planted up you need to place them in a sheltered spot and make sure that they stay moist without allowing the soil to get waterlogged. I've place mine on top of one of my larger pots that I have yet to plant up for springtime. The pots with the cuttings will be able to draw a certain amount of moisture from the larger pot beneath, and they'll be able to drain into it as well. 

With any luck I should have enough little plants to share with my friends in town who like to grow cooking herbs on their balconies. 

All the best for now,

Bonny x

Love your leftovers ... Beef and Mushroom pies

The Sunday Roast is a weekly favourite in our house. We love a good roast dinner with all the trimmings. It's a bit of an occasion, and we like to linger around the table, taking our time, putting the world to rights and enjoying what Emi calls golden rainbow family time. It's the one time of the week when no one's in a hurry.

It doesn't matter whether it's beef, chicken, duck, a leg of lamb, or a shoulder of pork; they all taste better for having been slow-roasted in the oven. And ditto too with the veggies and potatoes. My Spanish family rarely cook anything outside of bread, pizza and cakes in their ovens, but over here in Blighty we've always loved our oven-cooked savouries.

One of the great things about this type of cooking is the left-overs. A good roast of beef, like we had last Sunday, can easily be stretched out over a couple of dinners. And what you do with the left-overs can be just as tasty as the main event.

Last night I made these beef and mushroom pies from our Sunday leavings. And they went down a treat with the troops at supper time.

If you'd like to have a go at making some of your own, they're easy and quick to prepare. Here's my recipe, which should produce individual pies for 5 or 6 people (depending on how generous you are with the filling):

Ingredients

My left-over Sunday Roast weighed about 400g after I'd cut off all the bits of fat

250 g sliced mushrooms
2 bay leaves
1 large carrot peeled and sliced into smallish slices
1 large leek, washed and finely sliced
4 toes of garlic finely sliced
200 ml of gravy also left-over from our Sunday dinner - made using the cooking juices from the joint
200 ml red wine
A couple of sprigs of finely chopped thyme
pre-rolled puff pastry
1 egg for an egg-wash (optional: I don't do this as one of my troops has an egg allergy and I can't be faffed trying to remember which pie I haven't put the egg-wash on. It's easier for me to go eggless.)

Method

1. Over a low heat sweat the leeks, carrots and mushrooms in a saucepan with the bay leaves and the thyme and a good glug of olive oil for about 15 minutes. You want them to be soft, but not browned.
2. Add the red wine, and turn the heat up to burn off the alcohol for 5 minutes or so, stirring to make sure that the mixture doesn't catch on the bottom.
3. Add the diced meat and the gravy. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Stir well so that everything's nicely mixed and set to one side (off the heat).
4. Roll out the pastry and cut circles for the bases of your pies and for the tops. I use a pie tray with individual pie moulds that measure 9cm in diameter and have a depth of 6 cm. I think they produce a pie of perfect proportions for each person. Through trial and error I've discovered that if I use a Portmeirion cereal bowl to cut around it makes a perfectly sized circle for the pie casing, and cutting around the base of an Emma Bridgwater mug makes the perfect pastry roof to go on top. Ideally you want your case to sit just a little bit higher than the top of the mould so that you can squish it into the roof to seal the whole thing up, but we'll get to that later.
5. Butter the pie moulds to stop things sticking, and line them with pastry.

6. Spoon the beef and vegetable mixture into your pie cases. Be sure and pick the bay leaves out of the mixture and discard, as they won't make great pie-filling. Place the pastry lids on top, and push them gently into the walls of the cases with the prongs of a fork to seal the edges. Then slice through the top with a knife to make two or three steam vents.

7. If you're doing an egg-wash. Beat your egg and glaze the tops of the pies with the egg mixture using a pastry brush.
8. Bake in a pre-heated oven at 220º C for 20 minutes. Then, without opening the door, turn the heat down to 180º C, and leave them to bake for a further 25 minutes.
9. Remove from the pie moulds with a palette knife and serve with a Greek salad or whatever sort of side-dish takes your fancy.

Enjoy with your nearest and dearest and a decent glass of vino.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

TGI Friday ... 5 Random things ...

Yippee it's Friday ... and the sun is shining ... and tomorrow the mercury is promising that it will push its way up to 14ºC up here in the Big Smoke.

I think Spring may finally have sprung! And not a moment too soon in my book. I so dislike those cheerless grey days of January and February, but now we're into merry old March,  the sap is rising and I'm feeling so much better. There's something to be said for having more daylight as the days lengthen, and there's a lot to be said for the gentle caress of the sun on your face when you venture out of doors.

So, without further ado, here are five random things that have rocked my world this week.

1. Spring Flowers

I'm really enjoying the spring colour that's gently pushing its way through all the drab greyness of winter. Yesterday I collected a whole bunch of lovely blooms for my flower press, and they made my heart skip happily in the bright sunshine. If you'd like to read about flower pressing I've written about it here: Making a Mother's Day Card; and How to press flowers at home.

If you love flowers, pressing is a great way to spread the joy throughout the year. It's such a kick to use your pressed flowers in the grey of winter to spread a little colourful, flowery cheer on cards, book marks or even to compile a pressed bloom journal of all the wonderful colour that grew in your garden the year before.

2. Emi's a girl in the school play

Now this is well to the west of weird in my book: my very boyish son is playing a lady in the school play. His school is all boys so there's always an issue about who plays the female parts. They're staging a version of the Pied Piper and little Emi has been cast as one of the mothers who loses a child. He says he got the part because the Master asked him if he'd mind being a girl, and he said that he'd be happy with any role they gave him. We've had to buy him a dress (weird and getting weirder), and kit him out with a lady's wig and a shawl (off-the-scale weird). When I finally get over myself and stop saying weird  I'm going to embrace the positive and feel happy that he has the self-confidence to feel comfortable playing that part.

3. Slinky Paws, the bandit squirrel, appears to have died through over-consumption of fat balls!

My nemesis, old Slinky Paws, has been conspicuously absent since Monday when he gorged on 3 huge fat balls that I'd hung up for the birds. In my last dispatch from the front I mentioned how the battle lines had been drawn following the Wonder Dog's disastrous encounter with Slinky's left-overs. 

Slinky in action

4. The Wonder Dog has made a remarkable recovery

Happily (for both of us) the Wonder Dog's digestive tract has now fully recovered and he's back to normal service. 

It was SO not my fault!

5. I'm sharing my garden with a goldfinch!

In Slinky's absence I've fallen in love with a little goldfinch who drops by from time to time for some seed. Isn't he just the most adorable little chap?

When I was upping my game against the Slinkster with some squirrel-resistant feeders I bought one that will only dispense seeds to the smaller feathered fraternity, which I'm going to keep stocked up with niger seed for the finches. Apparently they go nuts for niger seed.

And finally I'd like to say Welcome Back! to Nancy at a Rural Journal, who's come back from her sabbatical to resume her Friday Blog Hop. We've missed you Nancy; it's good to have you back.

All the best for a lovely weekend,

Bonny x

As shared on Random Friday