Winter warmers

This week I have been sorting out my belongings that got packed away before my new floor was put down. I have then got my fab new curtains up and new bits and pieces in, and I'm really quite liking my living space. I also put up the 3 pictures I bought about 2 years ago, that have been stored still wrapped up in my downstairs toilet since I got home. They are by Eric Kean, a contemporary artist who died in May 2008 (only 6 months before I bought the paintings) whilst queuing to go through to departures at Liverpool John Lennon Airport. I bought Land, Sunset and Horizon, and they are looking really smart.



H pricking the sloes



Also this week I collected sloes to make a batch of sloe gin with. The best time to pick the sloes is after the first frost. It is tempting to collect them earlier, so the gin is ready for Christmas, but if you can hold out until the frost apparently it is a good thing. We have some brilliant sloe trees just at the back of our house, and right in the middle of them, quite high up, were masses of big plump sloes. On Monday lunchtime I had a walk out and was looking fetching, in hiking boots, a parka, and a woolly hat. I eased my way into the tree and managed to pick loads of sloes before extracting myself, with bits of bush sticking out of my hair and mud all over my jeans and boots. I had a quick walk to feed the ducks when disaster struck. In my dishevelled state I walked straight into the young man I carry a bit (OK a lot) of a torch for. I'm hoping he will come to taste some of the finished product. Paul just thinks I'm really sad getting in a state over a young man at my (tender) age.

Day 3 of sloe gin

We had a family bonding session preparing the sloes. We even had H pricking their skins. Then we had to poke them through the necks of the bottles I had, shove the sugar in, pour in the gin and shake. The bottles are now safely in the cupboard under my stairs where I give them a shake twice a day. I think it will be spring before the gin tastes great, but it is already looking a gorgeous colour.

Saturday was Twiglets (Tottington Wildlife Group) day. 7 or 8 children turned up with about the same number of adults, and we went to our field to make mud masks and twig sculptures. We had to pick up mud and mould it to tree trunks so we ended up caked in the stuff. Everything ended up in the washing machine when we got home. The kids love it - they get to spend an hour and a half outside getting mucky, and learn things as they go. Next month we are having a camp fire which should be great.

Today I went to my first Remembrance Day parade in Bury. I normally go to Ramsbottom in the morning then Tottington in the afternoon, but as H is in the cubs now he was taking part in the big parade. I only have to walk past a brass band and I start crying (I have no idea why, I just get such a lump in my throat) so by the time we got to the memorial at Bury Parish Church I was in a state. There were so many young people involved and they were brilliant. They have a parade, a service outside, a church service, the another parade back to the town hall so they were out for 2 1/2 hours, with them all behaving impeccably all the time.

The most moving Last Post I have ever heard was at the Menin Gate in Ypres in 1999. FB and I had found ourselves in Belgium almost by accident. We'd been camping in France, gone out for a drive, and, oops, we were in another country. We stayed a while as I found the roads easy to drive on. We went to the In Flanders Fields exhibition, but didn't go into the reconstructed trenches as FB was afraid. We also didn't visit the cemetries nearby as the weather had changed to rain (it did a lot of that during the holiday) and I'd put FB in a summer dress with little sandals, as we weren't intending going far. The Menin Gate is the war memorial dedicated to the British and Commonwealth soldiers killed in the Ypres Salient in World War 1 whose graves are unknown. The huge arched structure was unveiled in 1927 by Lord Pulmer, who said "He is not missing. He is here." The names of 54,896 Commonwealth soldiers who died without graves are etched on the structure but although vast, the memorial couldn't fit all the names on it as planned. A cut off point of 15.8.17 was chosen, and the remaining 34,984 names were instead included on the Tyne Cot Memorial to the Missing. On every night since 2.7.28 (apart from during the occupation of Germans in WWII, when the Last Post was heard each night in Surrey instead) at 8pm buglers have sounded the Last Post. In WWII it was resumed at Menin on the night Polish troops liberated Ypres, despite heavy fighting still happening very near by. Seeing the names inscribed on the memorial really makes you think about how lucky you are. Today, when H complained that he had to endure a '20 minute silence' and lots of standing up, we reminded him how preferable that was to a day in the trenches, cold wet and hungry, feeling lucky to be in the trench and not having to go over the top.

Next week I'm having a social life, so I may give you something less boring. I'm also spending quite a lot of my spare time on a project that I can't reveal just yet, but it's coming together really well......