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Showing posts from April, 2015

Meal for one

This is not say that I don't love you but now I have waved you off to London for the evening and I have cleaned the kitchen floor, showered and changed, lit the wood-burning stove to counter the chill of the late April air, I am just so happy to be here alone in our yellow kitchen, slicing the buttered and peppered Jersey Royals left over from last night's dinner, chopping a small red onion, snipping chives into confetti, whisking two eggs and sipping cold white wine.

It seems that omelettes were made for solitude, made for one. They slip out of their pans and onto a single plate. They yield to a fork held in one hand. And this one asks to be eaten here and now, after I've sliced it into four and layered it beside a small nest of rocket drizzled with oil, while I'm still standing at the kitchen bar. No etiquette of table or table-mat, no knife, no napkin. Not a single spoken word.  

This is not to say that I don't love you but the last slice I thought I'd never e…

International Haiku Poetry Day

Or, on this blog, International Haiku Poetry About Food & Drink Day!

making soup my hands could be my mother's hands

no one knows what I'm talking about... pumpkin pie

morning coffee a list of things I believe I will do today

Hungry Writing Prompt Write about the poetry in your life.

What mothers give us

Here is my mother's pressed glass cake stand, one of her wedding gifts from 1952, that she gave me some time ago. It's moved houses in Kent, and travelled with me to the South of France and back again. 

In her personal essay, 'My Mother's Blue Bowl'*, Alice Walker says, of the two bowls her mother gave her: [My mother] taught me a lesson about letting go of possessions - easily, without emphasis or regret.
That's how I feel about my mother's gift to me.
Hungry Writing Prompt Write about something your mother gave you.
It also feels like a part of my mother's life. For the first few years after her marriage she lived with her in-laws and she remembers her mother-in-law, Catherine Rees, asking if she would please teach her how to make one of her light and fluffy Victoria Sponges. 'She was so humble,' my mother still says of her. To welcome another woman into your home and your kitchen is not always an easy thing to do. And I remember my mother making c…

The Only Way is Running

And take-offs! Unexpected drama this morning at the doctor's surgery at Kings Hill, a brand new village built over the last 25 years on the former site of RAF West Malling, when a petite and glamorous young woman appeared to mistake it for the set of that bastion of English culture, The Only Way is Essex (good taste prevents me from sharing a link). 

Now, I've only ever seen the trailers so perhaps my opinion is uninformed but that was my immediate response. Not because of any one thing about her though. It was more the accumulation of details (the most superbly fitted velour tracksuit I've ever seen, brand new Ugg boots, bouncy blonde pony tail, spray tan, false eyelashes and nails, a gorgeously pert pair of breasts, a tiny waist and a Smartphone surgically attached to her palm) combined with her behaviour (stalking back and forth in front of the reception desk, some heavy duty finger pointing, and admirably articulate yelling for 'Nicola' to come out and speak to …