Cornflower

Ecce, Romani!

 

    I love the way these gardeners have put their phone number on their van:

  We happen to have Roman numerals on our front door, and this does puzzle a lot of people, not least the occasional newspaper boy. Once when I called the shop to let them know we hadn't had our papers that day and explained about the numbers possibly being the cause of confusion, the lady said, "Right enough, we haven't many Romans on the staff at the moment ..."

Friday flowers

    Philadelphus.

Friday fun

    I wish Pippin were as well trained as these chaps (I don't mean the men)!

Lit. knit

 
 
    The new Penguin Classics edition of A Tale of Two Cities, its witty cover designed by Coralie Bickford-Smith (of course!). What would les tricoteuses say about being remembered in this way, I wonder.     

    In this article, you can see some of the things which inspire Coralie, including the bowl on which she based the cover for Love in a Dish and Other Pieces by M.F.K.Fisher. (The full set of the Great Food series of which that is part is here).

Evening in

    The evening sun lights up this spot. I've got my book (terrific so far), my knitting (making progress), so that's me until bedtime.

Impetus

    Sometimes, my rate of progress on projects is glacially slow, and what you see above is an example. Begun about a year ago with enthusiasm, then put aside not through waning interest but just because of other priorities, not even the arrival of a new sewing machine last September got me back to it. That in itself is a good case in point as apart from one session getting the machine up and running so that Harriet could use, I hadn't had it out of its box. Why? I knew it would take some time to get the hang of the fancy controls and I never seemed to find the necessary hour or two to simply play with it. (And talking of slowcoaches, I notice that the settings on the machine's speed control are illustrated by pictures of a tortoise and a hare).

    So, my linen tea towel, unhemmed but partially embroidered (it's meant to resemble the log roll picture there from Scandinavian Needlecraft by Clare Youngs), languished untouched for some months until I got another book, Practical Sewing Techniques by Ruth Sleigh-Johnson, and read the first sentence: "This is a book for those who sew already - and those who have a sewing machine in its case just waiting to be used." 

    That was the impetus I needed - Sunday afternoon was set aside, out came the machine, the instructions were read, and after slowly filling the bobbin (which my granny always called a spoolie) and working out the threading procedure, off I went. My tea towel now has a neat hem, and lo and behold, I discover I can use the zigzag stitch to embroider some of the twig design so I won't do it all by hand. Getting going at last may sound like a small, insignificant thing, but for me it's progress, and as I have enough linen left for three more tea towels (which I'm badly in need of, it must be said) now I've no excuse and can get on and do them.

Himalayan poppies

   Meconopsis 'Huntfield',

   Meconopsis 'Slieve Donard'.

Unlike yesterday's ones, these are real flowers, and may be found here.

Friday flowers - with a difference

    Snapped this morning in the Edinburgh branch of Topshop, old cupboards and chests of drawers with fake cornflowers!

    I'm not sure what the purpose of this display was, other than to clutter up the thoroughfare, but as the store's designers have used such a 'superior' flower, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.

Looking down

    Shadow ironwork - I'd have missed it if I'd been looking up.   

Lembas

    One of the few details I remember from reading The Lord of the Rings when I was a teenager was lembas, a bread made by the elves, shaped into thin cakes, and eaten particularly on long journeys as it was very sustaining (there's more information here). In my mind I saw lembas as oatcakes, something we always had at home and which I liked very much, and I would nibble them and think about travelling many miles through Middle Earth, beyond the Misty Mountains to Elrond's Rivendell.

    Strangely, for someone who is Scottish and bakes a lot, I'd never actually made oatcakes until today. My Highland forebears will be disowning me now because the recipe I used is not what you might call authentic!

    In F. Marian McNeill's marvellous book The Scots Kitchen: Its Traditions and Lore with Old-Time Recipes the basic oatcake recipe involves oatmeal, fat or dripping, baking soda, salt and hot water, but requires four special implements for the making: a spurtle, or porridge-stick for stirring, a notched bannock-stick, or rolling pin, which leaves a criss-cross pattern on the upper side, a spathe, or heart-shaped, long-handled 'paddle' for transferring the cakes from board to girdle, and the banna-rack, or toaster. Two pages of detailed instructions and quotations precede details of around ten oatcake or oat bannock variations (it's nothing if not comprehensive) including the simplest of all, the method used by Skye fishermen, that is, a handful of oatmeal would be dipped into the sea over the side of the boat, then thoroughly moistened, it would be kneaded into a bannock and baked. "On this frugal fare they could subsist, if need were, for days" - see what I mean about lembas?

    Anyway, the recipe I used is this one (scroll right down) which is likely one my granny would have scoffed at (rather than actually scoffed) containing, as it does, olive oil! I put the suggested sunflower seeds in, too, and I'm delighted with the results - substantial, nutty, very more-ish. I'm off to Rivendell now ...