Corn in the barley field ...

One of the many things I love about being in Devon in July is our after late evening stroll. We've got a lovely barley field just outside, which makes a great place to go to walk off our dinner-time excesses. As the sun sets, we enjoy the magical light of twilight. And whilst the weather hasn't been brilliant in recent days it always seems to get itself sorted out by dusk, allowing the sun to set in a relatively cloudless sky.

Levant Mine and Beam Engine, Cornwall ...

Yesterday morning started well, but clouded over in line with what the weathermen had told us would happen. We had set ourselves up, however, to outsmart the weather. Our rain-proof day out involved travelling down to Pendeen, near St. Just in Cornwall to see an ancient copper mine with a working steam engine, which had sounded really, really interesting ... to Emi and my father.

A mine (underground - and in this case one with workings that crept out for over a mile under the sea) a steam engine and lots of mine housings: what could possibly go wrong with our rain-proof plans?

Levant Mine Buildings, Cornwall

The Giant's Causeway ...

The Giant's Causeway, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

The other day we walked in the footsteps of giants down at the Giant's Causeway in County Antrim. It's funny how many giant stories there are over here, but the one about Finn MacCool, the war-mongering giant, who decided to rely on his wits and not to fight is one of the better ones.

Back in the day Finn was the leader of the Fianna, a fearsome band of warriors, who ruled the roost in these parts. As leader of the pack old Finn boy developed quite a swagger. Some might say he became a belligerent bully. And like all bullies he nursed a serious chip on his shoulder. For reasons that few could ever understand Finn MacCool was a giant with something to prove.

In Grandma's Irish Country Garden ...

Emi loves coming to my parents' house here amidst the rolling hills of south Tyrone. For me it's a pleasure to see him enjoy the simple pleasures that shaped my own childhood: the long country walks, the fragrant of vases of sweet pea that find their way into every room, the soft fruit ripening slowly under the July sun and the constant round of visits to friends and family with all the in-jokes and tall stories that invariably get told in the process.

I'm hoping that his Grandma's garden will make an impression that will last a lifetime for him. It's not that it's some fancy pants garden. It really isn't. It's just a country garden that's been my mother's pride and joy for almost half a century. She's spent a big chunk of her life in that garden, taking care of her precious plants, planning for next season, feeding her family from its bounty and enjoying its crazy, slightly chaotic colour.

Today it's full of scent: sweet peas, pinks, mock orange, sweet William, carnations and the most exquisite scented peony roses that I've ever beheld. I've put a photo of this last beauty below, and, believe me it's the most exquisite thing that's ever grown in a flower bed. 

One thing that my mum has understood very clearly from the get-go is the importance of looking after her soil. It's been well nourished over the years with loads of rotted manure and her own home-made compost. If you step onto one of her flower beds you feel the slightly spongy sensation under foot of thick, well-aerated soil that's been hoed and hasn't compressed. 

There are plants from just about everywhere she's visited. Some have been propagated from the odd seed pod that's surreptitiously found its way into her pocket. Others have come to their new home as slips, cuttings that have been carefully carried back in her handbag. And when it comes to buying her a present, well there's nothing that will bring a bigger smile to her face than something she can plant in her garden.

At the moment she's got an amazing display of poppies that came from a trip many years' ago to the Chelsea flower show, where someone sold her a few packets of mixed Himalayan poppies. They've grown and reseeded and kept the colour blooming faithfully every year for the better part of a decade. 

And then there are her little feathered friends. She feeds them conscientiously, and they watch out for her from the hedgerows around the lawn. Sometimes they mistake me for my mum and follow me around the garden too, watching to see whether I've got some treats for them. It's a funny feeling being stalked by sparrows and blue tits.

We've never really got too bogged down with the highfalutin botanical names for the plants.  The Mock Orange above is one of my favourites. It grows as an untidy looking shrub on an East-facing slope in the garden, but its fragrance is sublime. A friend who's a landscape gardener, always pulls an appalled expression when I mention how much I love this shrub. In her view it's an architectural disaster that looks like a badly constructed bird's nest. Harsh words, but for me the issue starts and finishes with its wonderful scent.

And in this garden nothing goes to waste. Delivery crates are up-cycled into flower pots. Wellington boots with holes in that have no chance of keeping your toes dry any longer find a new lease of life as homes for geraniums. 

I always come away with a serious case of delphinium envy. Aren't these blue beauties (above) stunning? They just won't grow like this for me in London. 

 

At the back of the garden the lawn morphs into a pathway that leads on to the field beyond. There's lots of cow parsley, fox gloves and meadowsweet down there at this time of the year. It's a haven for wildlife. Occasionally they find a hedgehog cuddled into a nice cosy clump of dry elephant grass in the autumn.

And this (below) is Miss Blondie, my mum's dog, who guards the garden from any interfering pussy cats who might be tempted to come in and dig up the plants. She's a sweet old girl who's seen a fair few summers, and ranks well above the Wonder Dog in our little household pecking order. As the junior cadet he respectfully waits his turn, and generally does what he has to in order to stay on her good side.

The climate here is quite damp. Moss grows really well, as does lichen. Just look at the beautiful growth on this dead branch. I think it's got moss grown over with a couple of different types of lichen. It's really much too pretty to prune.

And that's about the size of it: nothing that's going to win us any RHS gold medals, but it's our very own little corner of garden heaven nonetheless.

Happy Friday! And all the best for the weekend,

Bonny x

Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge ...

Yesterday Emi, my father and I visited one of my favourite childhood haunts, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, just outside Ballycastle in County Antrim. I remember coming here as a little girl and being both scared out of my wits and exhilarated with the challenge of crossing the bridge. Reaching the other side safely always felt like a really big deal to my eight or nine year old self.

The wobbly bridge swings in the sea breeze between the mainland and Carrick-a-Rede island, some 100 foot or 30 metres above the waves spanning the 60 foot/ 20 metre chasm over the sea that makes Carrick-a-Rede an island. These days the nice people at the National Trust award Crossing the Bridge certificates to the brave folk who make it out and back again. 

  

Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, County Antrim

Carrick-a-Rede is an anglicisation of the Gaelic Carraig-a-Rade, which translates as rock in the road. The road here is the sea route of the Atlantic salmon, which follows a westward journey past the island, and the island is the rock in that road. 

Waiting for the Holyhead to Dublin ferry ...

On Friday Emi, the Wonder Dog and I arrived in Holyhead six hours early for our ferry crossing to Dublin. I really hadn't intended to be quite so early, but with the vagaries of what the traffic might be like on the M6 we'd left London first thing in the morning to arrive in plenty of time. As luck would have it we encountered no problems on the roads, but arrived half an hour too late to make the earlier sailing. So what could we do with six hours to spare in Holyhead?

Home-made black currant cordial that won't rot your teeth ...

Last weekend the Fates were on my side, and Mr B, who’d been delegated the task of picking the black currants down in Devon, came home with just over a kilo of wonderful, ripe fruit. I’d asked him to get them for me never thinking that he’d actually follow through and deliver. But, notwithstanding my skepticism, and against all the odds, Mr B found his way to the black currant bushes, recognised them for what they were and harvested the crop – or as much of it as was ripe for the picking. He promises me that there are more yet to ripen in the not-so-very-hot Devon sunshine.

I decided to turn them into some black currant cordial, which I can add to a glass of Cava or still white wine on a hot summer evening. I have even been known to add it an innocent glass of sparkling mineral water to turn it into a minor celebration too.

It reminds me of my childhood. Growing up in the north of Ireland there weren’t many fruit crops that we could consistently rely upon to deliver jam-making produce in our cool, damp summers. But our little black currant bushes never failed us. As a consequence my mother and grandmothers relied heavily on this rare bounty for making jams, jellies, cordials and pies.

They’re a real heritage crop. In the dark days of the Second World War when the Nazi naval blockade was threatening the nation’s nutrition the government seized upon the black currant crop as the only means by which they could prevent an entire generation from being weakened by scurvy. The currants are full to bursting with vitamin C, and, as part of the War Effort, they were turned into syrup, which was then fed to the children to keep them healthy.

More recent studies have shown that consumption of black currants can also help reduce the effects of heart disease, diabetes and maybe even Alzheimer's. They're a bit of an all round superfood.

And I have to sing their praises for today’s gardener. They fruit reliably every year. I've had very little to worry about from either aphids or mildew - or anything else for that matter. They don’t need much attention. You just plant them in a hole in the ground, mulch around the roots a bit and let them get on with it. Prune them towards the end of winter and that's about it.  If you’re only going to grow one fruit crop in your garden I strongly recommend that you chose this one. 

And having packed all that fruity goodness into my cordial the last thing I want is to include cavity-inducing, tooth-rotting sugar, so I've substituted xylitol in place of regular sugar. If you wanted to use normal sugar that would work fine too.

Anyway if you’d like to make some cordial here’s the recipe:

10 Top Knitting Tips for Avoiding the "Grim Ripper" ...

I’m having a rip roaring time at the moment. I’m knitting a summer cardigan using a 4-ply cotton yarn in a lovely sea-blue colour that really makes my heart sing. As usual I couldn’t find a pattern that gave me what I really wanted so I’ve set about designing my own perfect cardi. Working out how to make it all hang together with consistent pattern repeats has been pleasingly mathematical, which isn’t to say that it’s all been plain sailing.

But, over the years, I've learnt a few tricks that help make the whole business a little bit easier, and help avoid some of the inevitable ripping. Here are my top 10 tips for saving your sanity and avoiding the grim ripper ... 

Tankfest 2015 ... a beauty pageant for ... tanks and armoured vehicles

Last weekend we were in Dorset for Tankfest 2015 ... and, whilst I really wasn't expecting to feel this way, I have to say that it was pretty amazing. I was dragged along because the child had got lost last year, resulting in the whole festival being locked down for 20 minutes on a code red, as Mr B and several members the British Army ran around frantically trying to find him. The whole thing was so traumatic (for Mr. B) that they insisted I come along this year to sit on a picnic rug and give them a rendezvous point to come back to if they got separated.

I agreed, knowing how much they had both enjoyed the festival last year, but expecting that it would be a day to be endured rather than enjoyed (I didn't set out on Saturday morning with any great love for, or interest in, tanks!). But I spent a very pleasant day, doing my knitting on a grassy bank with thousands of tank enthusiasts, a hot sun overhead and the most amazing armoured vehicles going through their paces in the arena in front of us. It was a fabulous spectacle: dramatic with a hell-raising capital D and a great big mechanised roar ... .

Mid-summer bath bombs ...

I'm just loving these long, balmy summer days. And it's great that our barmy British weather is finally playing along with the notion that it's summer time.

How better to relax after a hot, busy day in the sun than with a long soak in a rose-scented bath? And that's just what these amazing bath bombs will deliver ... in spadefuls. They smell wonderful and, as they dissolve, they release a swirling eddy of little pink petals into your bathwater. Divine! Things could be only be improved upon further with the addition of some lovely music and a glass of something cold and fizzy to wet your whistle ... just saying ... .

Anyway they're super easy to make. Here's my recipe ... 

When a silver thimble was wedding bling ...

Yesterday morning I was racing through gallery 116 at the Victoria & Albert Museum when I chanced upon a little exhibition called A Stitch in Time. Well, in truth it's little more than one display case on the bridge of the marble stairway that runs up to the third floor, so it's a teeny weeny bit extravagant of the good folk down at the V&A to bill it as an exhibition, but, nevertheless, it made me stop and think.

Until the second half of the nineteenth century us regular folk - not the Great and the Good with their fashionable tailors, costumiers, hosiers and milliners - would have had to get by with home-made clothes. Today sewing, knitting and the other textile crafts are regarded as hobbies, something we do for fun, but back in the day they were essential life skills for all but the wealthiest heiresses.

A good wife and mother had many talents, and not least among them was the ability to clothe her family. Being nifty with a needle was, for many, as important as being able to read and count. It was certainly a talent that a young woman would have wanted to flaunt. Oh, yes, back in the day being nifty with a needle would have been regarded as just a little bit sexy.

Black currant jam with vanilla and star anise ...

Oh happy days! I'm so in love with summer. It's totally, absolutely, no-question-about-it, my favourite time of the year.

I love those long summer days, when I can leave the garden door open, the Wonder Dog can come go as he pleases and the balmy summer breeze can blow through the house. I love that moment in late spring/ early summer when the roses go crazy and explode with colour and fragrance. I don't like to think of it as mid-summer cos' that would suggest that it was already half over, and I want to hug this baby close and make the season last for as long as I can possibly hold onto it for.

Yesterday morning I was delighted to find that my little black currant bush (of a year and a half in my garden) had borne its first decent crop, which was all starting to look very lush and ripe.  Not wanting to waste any of this precious fruit I headed out and harvested the bounty. It weighed in at a very respectable 460g, which I decided was more than enough to warrant getting my preserving pan out for.

And this is what I made:

What to do when your marmalade hasn't set ...

Don't throw it out!

I had a bit of a disaster recently with some marmalade I'd made from a batch of sweet oranges. They just hadn't had enough natural pectin in to get a good set, and my jars were full of the most delicious marmalade, which had the consistency of an orange smoothie. The flavour was great, but the stuff was impossible to use on toast!

If you ever suffer a similar disaster here are three steps to turn the situation around:

High on the ancient walls of Girona ...

Girona is our local big town out in Catalonia. It's a fab little city that gets a bit overlooked, standing in the shadow of its big brother, Barcelona, just down the Costa. But if you're looking for somewhere with a history that predates the Romans, with fortified city walls that have lived through 25 sieges over the course of their long history, good food (we've got El Celler de Can Roca, the world's number one restaurant in town), loadsa' museums and architecture to swoon over - well, this little city could really hit your sweet spot.

It's a place that's bustling with life and activity where Emi, the Wonder Dog and I spend many a leisurely afternoon strolling around, people watching, imagining the past, admiring the present and all the while enjoying a good ice-cream. Weight-watchers beware: they make some seriously good ice-cream in this part of the world.

Swirling rose jug cover ...

Well I'd better 'fess up first: I never actually set out to knit another jug cover. It all started in an idle moment when I was at home on my own, and I wondered whether I could knit a circle using short row shaping. Knitting a circle on four double pin needles is pretty easy, but I'd never tried it with short row shaping. So I set to work, and this is what I produced:

I love the way it swirls out from the centre like a kaleidoscope. My colours were inspired by the sea, so I thought it only fit to embellish everything using a special bead made out of sea glass, beach-combed from our village beach back on Spain's Costa Brava.

It's all really easy. Please read on if you'd like to check out the pattern:

Sea Rose Corsage ...

I've been having a bit of play over here at Talk-a-Lot Towers. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, my roses are blooming and I'm really enjoying the wonderful summer weather. Earlier today, as I was trying to design a rose as decoration for another creation that I'm working on, I came up with this sea rose corsage:

What do you think? In the very centre I've made a bead out of a piece of sea glass, beach-combed from our village beach last summer. It was the inspiration for the sea blue and sand colours that I chose to crochet in - and, hence, the notion of a sea rose.

Just read on for the low-down on how to make one of your own ...

Munstead Wood and Sweet Hermione the perfect summer roses ...

Sweet Hermione

Spotty dotty knitted bag ...

Does the weather influence how you look at colour?

I find that when I’m in Spain I always chose bright, cheerful colours. Back home in London my choices tend to be a bit more restrained, but over on the Costa Brava I’m drawn to the big sunshine colours. And you can see the influence of that big Mediterranean sun in this new dotty, spotty bag that I’ve just cast-off.

I've lined it with a contrasting lawn cotton so that all the woven-in ends aren't visible when I open it. It's really quick and easy to make: perfect for a weekend with your needles out in the sunshine. Just read on for the pattern.

Costa Brava cliff top walk ... and the hermit crab derby ...

This afternoon Emi and I headed off with the Wonder Dog for a last walk along our favourite cliff top path. I've written about it before, but it's such a joy I could wander happily along it every day of my life and never get bored. The sea changes every day, and the cliff tops are home to a rich array of plants and animals. Every time we venture up there we find something new.

This is where we started, up above the port just behind our home.

The stone witch of Girona ...

Yesterday morning Emi and I set off on a mission ... to find the famous petrified witch of Girona who'd been really, really bad back in the day when the powers that be took a really, really dim view of that kind of behaviour.

Girona's stone witch, high on the cathedral tower

The ancient cork forests of Sant Feliu de Guíxols ...

Yesterday morning we set off for a walk through the cork forest that clings to the dry barren hills on the other side of town. 

It's an ancient place where development is prohibited and the wildlife flourishes. 

For many centuries the cork industry was one of the stable sources of income that fed generations of people here in our little village. They peeled great sheets of bark from the trees on this dusty hillside and dragged them back into town to fashion into a multitude of things: floats for the fishing nets, life vests, elaborate decorative and devotional objects, and of course cork stoppers for wine bottles and oil amphorae. 

Chartres blue ...

We arrived in Chartres in the early hours of yesterday morning, exhausted by our mad dash out of London. Emi's exams over, we were hungry for the open road and the warmth of the Mediterranean sun. Spain was calling us home, but, en route, we decided to stop off to sample a bit of Chartres blue; a blue that was created in the 12th century using a secret formula, known only to a trusted few, and lost forever on the completion of the great cathedral. Truly, there is no other blue quite like Chartres blue ...

Happy Friday!

Gosh it's good to see you, Friday. It feels like an age since last we met ... .

It's been a l-o-n-g week over here at Talk-a-Lot Towers. I've been busy with work assignments and Emi has been revising for exams, which are due to take place next week. He's been a great little soldier, throwing his shoulder to the wheel and just getting on with it, but it feels tough on a chap who's only 9 to be stuck indoors grappling with revision, especially on those wonderful afternoons when the sun's been shining and the great outdoors has been beckoning.

And all the while I've been watching my new rose to see its first bloom. It's a much anticipated event - a bit like that kettle that you keep watching, which never seems to boil.

I fell in love with this rose back in the dark days of late November, and bought it on impulse when I stumbled upon it in the garden centre. It's called Munstead Wood in honour of Gertrude Jekyll's garden. And I've got high hopes for it as a pot pourri rose. This is what they promised me it would like:

Spring into Summer Socks ...

Have you had a pyjama day recently?

I rarely get the chance to spend all day in my jim jams, but when I do there's nothing I like more than a pair of the softest woolly socks to team with some fluffy slippers as I take things easy ... really, really easy. So if you're looking for a suitably indulgent pair of socks to team with your Uggs, then look no further.

And the good news is that they're really easy to make. Moreover using double knitting wool instead of 4 ply, and knitting on 4 mm double pins turns them into a super quick project that you could easily knock out over a wet weekend.

Want to give them a go? Then read on for the pattern.

Enjoying the first rose of summer ...

Marmalade Biscuits

It's Sunday afternoon. We've finally got the homework done - yeah! The sun has put in an appearance. Mr B has cut the grass and there's that great spring smell of a freshly cut lawn. It's pretty fabulous outside, and I can feel a nice cup of al fresco Rosie Lee with one of my very best marmalade biscuits coming on. 

Now I know I've gone on in the past about how much I love marmalade (my middle name is Paddington). But, honestly peeps, I've got the very best Clementine and Cardamon Marmalade known to man - and I'm always keen to use it in everything, and at every available opportunity. It really is that good. 

And these biscuits with their subtle notes of cardamon and allspice, and the chewy bits of baked clementine from the chunky-cut marmalade are really very good, very good indeed. In fact they're just perfect for dunking in a cup of tea in the garden on a fine spring afternoon. 

Would you like to try one?

Jug cover ... with sea glass beads ...

Are you geared up for lemonade season?

It's always the simple things in life that matter most. And one of my favourite summer pleasures is a glass of ice-cold lemonade, sipped in the shade of my London plane tree on a hot, sunny day. It's even better when you make it for yourself. I've worked out own recipe using xylitol in place of sugar so that it's kinder to our tooth enamel. You can find my recipe for pink, homemade lemonade that won't rot your teeth here: The Very Best Homemade Lemonade

But the problem with enjoying that precious glass of anything outside is the flies. There's nothing quite like a dead bug floating on the top of one of those lovely bubbles to put you right off. So I've made this jug cover, weighed down by threaded shells and sea glass that I've beach-combed, to keep those pesky insects at bay:

It's pretty easy to make ...

Apple blossom in Cider Country ...

This 'ere be Cider Country ... and I be a Cider Drinker ...

Yes, that's right, I'm channelling my inner Wurzel!

There are few things in God's good earth that are more beautiful to a cider-drinker's eyes than the apple blossom in May. And this year, I am happy to report that the apple trees are looking especially marvellous. I know that this doesn't guarantee a bumper crop, but, hey, it's a start.

Want to take a look around the orchard? Come on, I'll give you the grand tour:

Stonehenge ... epic!

There are few sights that are more commanding than this one: 

As I drive out of London, on my way home to Devon, I look forward to seeing it on my right as I make my way across Salisbury Plain. It marks the half-way point of my journey.  Sitting in the traffic on the A303 I often ponder the mysteries of those stones.  How did they get there? By means of one of Merlin's magic spells? Coincidentally by the movement of the melting ice-sheets  - glacial erratics, I believe is the term ? Or were they put there by the muscle-power of a race of men whose culture and beliefs have been lost across the span of time that separates their world from our own?

As you can see it's a place of mystery that inspires you to think outside the box of your everyday existence and to forget about the traffic.

The Curtain Factory Outlet ...

Have I ever mentioned that I've got a bit of a thing about curtains and soft furnishings ... .

No? Well, my secret is out: I love 'em!

And now let me share another secret with you: if you're looking to shop where the trade go shopping, where there are over half a million (yes, that's right a cool 500,000 +) bales of fabric to chose from, and all at very reasonable prices then it's the wonderful Curtain Factory Outlet, up in Finchley, North London that you're after.

Happy Birthday ... to me !

Today is my birthday ... and, as everyone else has gone off to work and to school, it's just me and the Wonder Dog here having a party.

And in our own quiet way we're having a ball.

Look what I dug out of the dark depths of my closet over the weekend:

Happy Friday ...

It's been a hectic week here at Talk-a-Lot Towers. I've really struggled to get back into my normal routine. It's amazing how three weeks off seem to have lobotomised me to the point where I can't remember which day Emi needs his gym kit, when I need to put the recycling out and what time we have to be at swim club ... .

Le Château de Cheverny ...

Would you like to have a look at the real Marlinspike Hall, country home of Captain Haddock and hangout of that great hero, Tintin?

Hostal la Fosca, Palamós, Spain ...

Looking for a beach-side, child-friendly, dog-welcoming restaurant set on a pristine beach in a beautiful cove on the Costa Brava? Well, you might like to try this place!

Mama Pepita's sewing machine ...

It's a sad thing, but I never knew my mother-in-law. She died twenty years before I became part of Mr B's family, and it is one my abiding regrets that I never got to meet her. Right up until his death my father-in-law used to sit on the terrace, and tell me how wonderful she was. He missed her every day of his long life without her. He used her name as the password for anything that needed password protection. It may not have been very secure, but it told you everything you needed to know about their marriage. And dear Papa was the most devoted of husbands, staying true to her memory through thirty years of being a widow.

Do you know your gargoyles from your grotesques?

Now here’s a question for you: do you know your gargoyles from your grotesques? No? Well, as I’ve only just figured it out myself, let me explain the subtle difference between the two: the gargoyle is a glorified water spout, used by medieval stone masons to funnel rain water away from the bricks and mortar of their monumental cathedrals. It was an ingenious means by which they could protect their precious handiwork from water erosion. All along those extravagant flying buttresses there was a serious risk that the flow of rainwater over the years would wash away the mortar, and, even back in the days before the Health and Safety brigade had much clout, everyone realised that bad things would happen if monolithic structures lost the glue that held their bricks together.

A splendid row of gargoyles saving the royal bricks and mortar from the rain at the Château de Chambord, France

Random thoughts on a sunny April morning ...

Do you count your blessings? I must confess that I'm usually too busy to spend much time thinking about mine, let alone trying to marshall them all into an orderly numbered list. And I've been super busy this past week. I've had my family to stay and lots of good friends to catch up with, who don't have any language in common with the aforementioned family, which has led to a lot of simultaneous translating. I've had work to do, deadlines to meet and the most wonderful sunny afternoons that I've not always been able to make the most of. But, just for Nancy and Random 5, here are five of the things that I've been truly grateful for.

Fontevraud ... where medieval women called the shots ...

Now I have to confess to having been a fan of Eleanor of Aquitaine for a very long time, and it was this interest in Eleanor that drew me to the Royal Abbey of Fontevraud, where she lived out the final years of her long and eventful life, and where, after her death in 1204, she was buried.

Wild Asparagus tortilla ...

My dear friend Marian came over for supper the other night and look what she brought:

Don't they look pretty? Good enough to eat?