My jam mojo

My jam mojo may indeed have deserted me DCS. In fact I may have to remove from you the crown of most domestically challenged of the sisters if I cannot make my jam set, but what to replace my crown with? I lack the shoe and fashion gene which our father passed only to you. ( Our mother lacking this gene as well).

I have read stories about women who can't make jam, or pastry, or grow veggies or knit and sew, and I have shaken my head in disbelief and horror. I make cakes without recipe books or scales and gaily chutnify and jam any spare fruit and veg from the garden and then this. This has never happened to me before (except once, with peach marmalade, and I put that down to the vast quantities of brandy I addded to it "for flavour").

The failure of this jam to set has left me bewildered and bemused. I haven't even gone to the help pages of cookery sites, I cannot face it until an alternative view of reality manages to assert itself.

I have to believe at that point I will "come up with something", I just have to.

Note to DCS: I have put an onion marmalade recipe on the other blog, just in case I can never recover. It is very easy.

Strawberry picking

Today we made the journey to the strawberry fields to pick large quantities of strawberries. We left #2 at work and #1 in bed and set off up the long and winding road to the tablelands. The road is known for making vomiters out of even the most stalwart of children so I did pack a change of clothes for #3 and #4.

Sure enough #4 started immediately. " #3 were you sick last time you came up here?".
" No." says #3.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Retching and heaving noises from #4. " Do you feel sick now?"
"No."
More retching noises, "now?"
"No"
More heaving noises (and a smacking noise, but that was me with my shoe).
"No"
More retching and heaving noises from #4 followed by the real thing from #3. Ha ha ha from #4 and he settles down to watch the tops of the trees pass by below us. (It's a very steep and windy road.)

I distract #3 by telling him that we are going to pick strawberries. Possibly his most favourite thing in the whole world, next to chocolate. Dip a strawberry in chocolate and there is very little he won't do for you. #3 announces sadly that he won't be able to pick or eat any strawberries, what with being sick and all, removes his pants, and lies down on the floor of the car.

Number four asks number three to put his pants back on. "I throw up if I sit down when I'm wearing pants." announces #3. Nonplussed silence from the other three members of the party.

We arrived at the strawberry picking place and #3 was out of the car like a bullet out of a gun (thankfully pausing to put on clean pants and t-shirt) and onto the fields madly eating and picking. Not sick any more then?

We picked vast quantities of strawberries and returned home. (Thankfully #3 restrained himself from vomiting on the way back down, what with all the strawberries and everything.) He did however remove his pants, due to the whole can't wear pants and sit down without vomiting thing. I must check with the school about that next week.....

I have now made batch one of what will probably be several batches of strawberry jam. Number 2 has returned from work, and #1 is still in bed. #4 was going to help with the jam but went off the idea when he realised that they all needed hulling and went off for a swim instead. Number three helped by eating some of the strawberries.

Not a happy cat

This is a cat with a problem, her servants. (Cats don't have owners, they have servants who look after the houses they live in and feed them.) Her servants have fixed a large bell to her collar to replace the small one that previously warned birds of her approach. She didn't really mind small birds flying away. What is bothering her is that the larger bell can be heard clearly by the blind shitzu from next door. Today she had an "incident" with the shitzu when she went to tap it on the butt and it heard her coming.

It has heard her coming before but been a little confused about what was going on. Finally the dog has worked out that the tinkling noise of the bell is associated with the claws in the butt, and the provision of a larger bell gives it more warning. One of the cat's main sources of amusement has been removed, for now.

This is a cat with attitude, and the attitude at the moment is a bad one. She will have to add this to the long list of grievances she has against her servants, and come the revolution they will be the first against the wall.

She may let the butler off. Now hold on every one this is a bit sickening, but true. This cat comes and pokes her ear onto my husband's toe. She keeps doing this until he wriggles his toe in her ear. She presses her ear against his foot as he wriggles his toe. I feel sick.

Still not smoking

I'm still not smoking. Smoking is still looking very attractive to me, very attractive indeed.

I was talking to a lady in the shop today about how I had just given up. (I've not turned into an anti smoking bore, she asked me, and therefore asked for it....) I was relating the sniffing story and the way I had disconcerted my fellow shopper in the supermarket by inhaling so deeply next to her.

A stifled giggle later I look over at the next customer in line. He was nodding wisely. " I nearly got arrested," he said. Unthinkingly, he had followed some poor woman out of a shop as she lit up. He followed her almost to her car, veering off with only nanoseconds between him and a stalking charge.

" So, how long until it smells bad to me again?" I asked imploringly.

" Ooh, twenty, thirty years."

Pleeeeeeeeeeeese someone tell me this will get better. Also my family would like to know it gets better, as would the cat, the chickens, and the neighbours. I am grumpy, very grumpy. Actually, I am grumpy, but I was a homicidal maniac so maybe its getting better? ( Any-one want to argue with me about that? uh? uh? come on then.)

Back-yard Camping

My frangipani...it's actually a far richer, deeper red than this, a deep blood red, so I've got to master photoshop or some such program now. Who knew blogging could be such hard work? My husband buys me a cheap digital camera and I start posting photos, now I want to make them good photos, whatever next. Probably a picture where #4 looks angelic....beyond my skills.

Number three and four wanted to camp in the garden last night. Against all my instincts ( silently screaming, NO NO NO NOT EVER EVER NO NO), I agreed.

I told Homer he had to sit up all night by the back door in case he was needed.

Anyway off go #3 and #4 to the tent, complete with sleeping bags, torches, pillows, spare shoes,(a kitchen sink) and yes, I did say spare shoes. My whole family is dysfunctional, including the cat. I blame my sister for the need for two pairs of shoes on a camping trip across the garden that will last at the most eight hours. Before leaving them for the night I did a quick check that there were no lighters, candles or home made rocket launchers in the tent.

Number three fell into a deep and cherubic sleep until the early hours when he came in all warm and toasty and got in his own bed just to finish off the night. Number four lasted about one hour. I asked Homer, " How come #3, who is known as a bit of a wuss, can sleep all night in a tent, but #4, who is the complete rufty-tufty lasts all of an hour?"

" That's easy, number three knows the worst that is out there, it's number four. He's seen his fear and faced it. Number four can only imagine."

Dear DCS: I still maintain that you couldn't decide between your pictures and your jewellery in a house fire as you'd be far to busy deciding which shoes were most appropriate to wear whilst being rescued by a fireman.

More fruit trees

I just put my avocado tree in the garden from its hiding place under the shade cloth at the side of the house. Now we wait to see if the burning sun kills it, or it decides to thrive.

It seems strange to matter of factly talk about planting an avocado tree when I hadn't even tasted real avocado until seven years ago. Avocados don't ripen until you pick them from the tree so the tree acts as a kind of larder. If you don't pick the fruit it stops producing more fruit, so you get a supply and demand situation going on, hopefully.

I have also ripped out the tomato tree, I am enjoying eating the tomatos but I can't preserve the excess in any useful way because it is all cherry tomatoes. I make lots of chutney etc, but really, life's too short to skin and de seed cherry tomatoes, and the yield is way too small per tomato. Never fear, I have back up bushes of Roma and yellow tomatoes just coming on.

The chickens are a little put out at the vast quantities of ripe and semi-ripe tomatoes they have just been presented with. (The neighbours have long since started slamming doors in my face as they see me approach with my tomato bucket.)

Am I bad?

I just clicked on one of my own AdSense adds offering free Vaseline products.....I wanted the free gift and I like the product. Will AdSense hunt me down and fire me over a tube of Vaseline, hope not