Cornflower

Monochrome

A very grey day, with frequent heavy showers, may not seem the best time to take photographs, but I like the stark quality the light (or lack of it) has given to these pictures which I took quite close to home.

The massive-ness of the stone lions and the swooping curves of the wrought iron are all the more dramatic against the louring sky.

I wonder whether whoever created these shapes imagined them being seen in quite this way.

 

Fresh ideas

Despite having shelves-full of cookery books, "what shall we have for supper?" can be a hard question. It was answered yesterday by a flick through the current Waitrose "Seasons" magazine where I found this recipe.

Orange, chilli and thyme roasted chicken was simple, quick and very delicious, as well as being quite pretty in the making.

Here's the marinade in preparation,

and the finished dish.

We greedily had second helpings.

I've included a picture of the Jerusalem artichokes we ate with the chicken as they look to me like little hippopotamuses. We had them 'stoved', following the recipe in our much used copy of Jane Grigson's Vegetable Book. She says this method "... emphasizes their exquisite flavour and the golden-brown crust holds their tenderness in shape so that there is no squash of texture to spoil the dish." She is, of course, right.

Dovegreyknitter

I wish I could knit and read at the same time; how much more productive I'd be if I could master that particular multi-tasking skill. What I have managed to do is co-ordinate my knitting and reading matter just now - a dove grey coincidence, of course, but a very pleasant one.

On the needles is the most buttery soft handspun cashmere from Posh Yarn. The colour is called "Gentle", which makes it perfect to go with a new Persephone book, Frances Hodgson Burnett's tale of transatlantic marriage, The Shuttle.

I am shuttling back and forth between reading about poor little rich girl Rosalie Vanderpoel who leaves New York to settle at the English country estate of her utterly horrible bully of a husband, Sir Nigel Anstruthers, and knitting a row or two of willow pattern on what will be a scarf. If only Sir Nigel knew the meaning of the word 'gentle' or Rosalie had some of this cashmere to wrap herself in. How is it all going to end?

And which shall I pick up next?

Photographic memory

     Have you ever found yourself reading a book and wondering why you don't share the opinion of the reviewers as quoted on the back cover? "It's good, but...." is as far as you'll go in your praise.

     This was my reaction to The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards. The book started very promisingly; a birth, a decision, a turning-point, the fates of a group of people determined in an instant. It moved on with intensity and a careful playing out of the consequences of the earlier crucial moment.

     In the words of a central character, who sees worlds within worlds through the lens of his camera, "A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how", and it was this ponderous quality which let down the novel for me. The long middle section felt like swimming under water or watching a film in slow motion - it lacked pace because every scene, every action was laboured. While Dark Hearts of Chicago, which I read last week, was not a word too long at over 600 pages, this book (at 400) could have done with swingeing cuts, losing perhaps a quarter of its length to much better effect.

     That said, I'm glad I persevered and found out how this "doctor's dilemma" was resolved, because there was a lot of very good, perceptive writing in it. Am I just failing to notice qualities which others have spotted? More generally, do editors nowadays edit in the sense of make cuts in the text (or request additions to it), or is their remit to spot the odd inconsistency and do a little gentle tidying? A full spring clean or a flick with a duster? If anyone has an opinion on the book or knowledge of the editing role, I'd be interested to hear what they have to say.

Shell-socked

The lovely Lorna's Laces yarn which Avice so kindly sent me recently has been worked up into a sock.

I'm using Nancy Bush's Knitting Vintage Socks again  - because it's so comprehensive and I can trust the instructions to work - this time the 'Child's First Sock' (which is actually written for a woman's size) in shell pattern.

This is the most elaborate sock I've tackled to date in my short career, but it was very straightforward, interesting and a great pleasure to make.

The second sock is already underway.

Live and interactive

Not being someone who watches much television, I saw little point in having a fancy set, let alone satellite, cable or other 'bells and whistles' devices which provide more channels than anyone could possibly watch (or ever want to, as far as I can judge).

Recently there has been one week in the year when I wished I was less a Luddite and a bit more technologically advanced. Whenever Alan Titchmarsh (a national treasure if ever there was one) exhorts viewers of The RHS Chelsea Flower Show to "press the red button now", I've felt deprived and excluded.

But no longer. Having acquired a flat-screen, widescreen, bigger-than-it-has-a-right-to-be, freeview-enabled 'viewing apparatus' a few months ago, I can now do as Alan says and go at will into other parts of the show.

I'm not sure how much this interactive component adds to my enjoyment of the spectacle that is the greatest flower show in the world. I've been to it a couple of times, arriving to queue long before the gates opened, making a bee-line for the marquee (or pavilion as it is now) and in that early morning quiet breathing in the indescribable scent of thousands upon thousands of flowers with that 'green' note of damp foliage and moist earth at its base.

Even on members' days the crowds are thick, and unlike Mr. Titchmarsh and his co-presenters, one can't actually go into the show gardens, so you crane your neck and squint from the walkway and try to see as much as you can, but it's still a remarkable experience and I long to go again.

One year, when our stamina was finally waning, we sat down in a quieter part of the Royal Hospital grounds to have a rest, but were quickly drawn to our feet by the sound of music coming from outwith the show. The Irish Guards (complete with their wolfhound mascot) were rehearsing for Trooping the Colour at a parade ground nearby, and their magnificent band got us up and out to watch them. They were amazingly good.

That's one experience that Alan and his red button can't provide.

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For more on the show, I'd recommend Leslie Geddes-Brown's book, Chelsea: The Greatest Flower Show on Earth

(Great cover!)

Favourite food

Special occasions mean special meals. Probably my favourite food of all is the scallop; I love its sweetness caramelised a little by the briefest cooking in a very hot pan, its silky-smooth texture and unique taste.

We had them with another seasonal favourite, samphire.

The salty crispness of the samphire goes so well with the scallops. We added pancetta and a beurre blanc sauce and the result was  - to my taste -  perfection.

What's your favourite food?

Hold the front page

I've just spent a few days in Chicago - the Chicago of 1893 and the World's Fair, that is - and I got there through the 630 pages of a book. So real does that city seem as depicted in William Horwood and Helen Rappaport's cracking novel, that I feel as though I really have been there.

Dark Hearts of Chicago is a great piece of story-telling. Ambitious young reporter Emily Strauss goes to Chicago to try to discover why so many young women have gone missing during the Fair, and to find out in particular what happened to Anna Zemeckis, believed dead by her father but actually clinging on to life in a terrifying asylum. Emily's chance of a job on Joseph Pulitzer's paper, the New York "World", depends upon her solving a mystery and filing a scoop on a testing deadline.

Over the course of a very tightly-plotted twelve day period,  a complex story unfolds, that of the seamy side of a city on the up as exposed by Emily and the engaging characters she meets who help her along the way. While the subject-matter is sometimes not for the fainthearted, the unsavoury underbelly of Chicago is treated decorously, not gratuitously, and though far from my usual fare of 'gentler' tales, I enjoyed it immensely.

An enormous amount of research must have gone into the writing of this story, and that could have made it stolid or top-heavy, but its authenticity is never undermined, only wonderfully supported by the wealth of historical detail. The pace is fast and the tone is bright and spirited, and it certainly made this reader want to keep on turning those many pages. I look forward to the next book in what will be a series, coming soon.

Thankyou

Thankyou to everyone who so kindly left congratulatory messages yesterday. 

They are much appreciated,

as was the glorious bouquet which I was sent!

I am glad

Twenty years ago today I was entering Dunkeld Cathedral on the arm of my father to the strains of Parry' s anthem "I was glad".

I make no apologies for mentioning this special wedding anniversary here on Cornflower. I was glad to be getting married then and I am gladder still now as we have much to celebrate and to be thankful for.

23rd. May, 1987 was the most special of days for us,

at least until 23rd. May, 1989 when our daughter Alice came into the world and family life began!

Seven things....part of

I've been tagged again, this time by Dee, to reveal seven things about myself. Forgive the visual pun, but that's just 'part of the picture', and the part I've chosen to disclose is alternative careers.

If I could, I'd like to be:

1. A doctor. I dropped science at school and went wholeheartedly down the arts route, finally choosing to be a lawyer, but medicine (particularly with a holistic approach) has always fascinated me.

2. A farmer. The Good Life beckons! I'd keep rare breed pigs and grow 'heritage' vegetables. Throw in a few horses and alpacas, maybe some cows, I could wear my wellies all day and I'd have fun.

3. A musician. Of all the arts, music is probably the most instantly powerful, and if my piano-playing was a thousand times better than it is, I'd take to the platform. I'm in awe of those who do.

4. An artist. Self-expression and the creation of beautiful things - how lovely that would be.

5. A florist. Same reason as for 4.

6. A magnate. Power and influence appeal , and I'd get the chance to say "You're fired!".

7. A writer. What avid reader doesn't have a hankering to write? It's the one item on the list that I've actually done - there's a finished novel sitting in my desk drawer; it will most likely stay there, but at least I can say I wrote it.

Now that's quite enough self-exposure for one day.

Salmon pink and egg-yolk yellow

Fishcakes: plain, simple but far from dull, and a real favourite of mine. I used salmon fillet, diced and 'cooked' in the juice of a lime, then mixed into very creamy mashed potatoes with finely chopped spring onion. I was in a hurry and didn't have time to let them chill before cooking, but they were shallow-fried in olive oil and served with salad, and my haste didn't seem to hurt them.

There was too much mixture for one meal, so what was left was cooked next day for lunch and eaten with asparagus and hollandaise sauce:

Pure indulgence, of course, but now and again there's nothing wrong with that.

A little of what you fancy definitely does you good, don't you think?

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Cornflower is touched by the warm response his first post has received [it'll go to his head, mark my words..] and will be responding to comments as soon as he can. He's away all day today on what he describes as "a corporate group-hug" but would much rather be here talking about trees and poetry!

Eight things...sort of

I've been tagged by Jill to list eight random things about myself. This apparently simple task has me stumped. Having done the 'weird things about me' list before Christmas, I was thinking there wasn't much to tell and when I asked a couple of family members to suggest something, one said I should mention I have small feet while the other said there was nothing at all random about me anyway, so that's not a great start.

Instead I'll give you a few random features of my house beginning  - above - with one of the pillars which flank the front door. The house was built in 1824 and is in typical late-Georgian Edinburgh style. There ought to be a butler or at least a maid to answer one of the two remaining bells (which no longer work):

but we are comprehensively servant-less. The butler's tray, where dishes would have been placed on the way into the diningroom, remains -

There are several fireplaces with surrounds of different materials (is this limestone? - correct me if I'm wrong) including one truly vast one which we still use.

Typically, there is lots of intricate cornicing and plasterwork:

high ceilings,

working shutters:-

During its history the house has been lived in by a major in the Bengal Lancers, six spinster sisters, and a convent of nuns. Their chapel was what is now a bedroom, and a priest used to come to hear their confession in the cupboard under the stairs. Although it's many years since the nuns left, we have been approached on occasion by people seeking spiritual guidance!

You might guess that we consider ourselves very fortunate to call this place home.

Fallen giants

Mr Cornflower has been allowed a guest spot; he hopes regular readers will forgive the intrusion.

Last nght the wind blew down a great tree in the park, and this morning the children swarmed over it like Lilliputians on prostrate Gulliver. It made me reflect on my feelings about trees; not just the commonplace thought which has occurred to pretty much everyone on contemplating a big old tree, "that living, growing thing was here long before I was born and will be here long after I'm dead", but the reverence many people feel for trees which can be a metaphor for our place in the world. We are like leaves; we are the life of the tree and its glorious adornment, but each generation will bud, uncurl and flutter to the ground while the tree itself follows a much deeper, longer rhythm of birth, growth, maturity and death.

The Trees by Philip Larkin sets out these two rhythms; it can be bookended with another of his poems "And now the leaves suddenly lose strength" (sorry, no link but you'll enjoy it when you find it) which sees the leaves fall and swirl in autumn.

I have only a few tree books (see sidebar) but they cover a wide range, from utilitarian field guides to inspirational coffee table stuff (from which the picture of the Fredville Oak in Kent, below, is taken.)

And if Cornflower lets me have another guest spot, I'll write about the tree house we built in our Scots Pine, or about that masterpiece of arboreal escapism, "Brendon Chase" by BB.

Room of one's own

I've been looking again at Where Women Create: Inspiring Work Spaces of Extraordinary Women by Jo Packham, through which we get to peek inside the studios of twenty artists and craftswomen. Their workplaces range from the bold and brilliant to the minimalist and restrained, while what comes out of them runs from paintings and quilts to collages and pottery. The book shows sources of inspiration and materials, and describes the work methods and habits by which these very different women do what they do.

So, because I enjoy the more 'conversational' posts where everyone comments and tells their own story, here's one on 'creative spaces'. Where do you do what you do?

I create in the kitchen, in that I make things there and interpret recipes and invent a bit. I knit almost anywhere - that's the beauty of a truly portable pastime - although the yarn lives in a couple of baskets on the ottoman at the end of my bed where I see it all the time. If it was put away I'd forget what I had: out of sight, out of mind.

But this happens to be Cornflower's 250th. post, which means that most of my creating at the moment is done here at my desk. The 'Desk of Power', or seat of world-domination (!), has been featured here before, but never has it been used to such an extent as in the last few months since I started this site. I read at the desk and knit here too:-

and words and pictures come together here every day.

So where do all of you write/sew/paint/knit/, etc.? Do you have a room of your own, or do you claim a corner of the kitchen table and move your projects at mealtimes? Do you like things clear or cluttered, materials visible or stored away; is it a 'public' space with free access for the family, or do you shut the door to keep out interruptions? If words are your medium, do you use pen and paper or keyboard and monitor? Do you keep records of what you make, such as in a project journal? Share your creative stories, if you will.