Rhubarb, rhubarb, how I love thee

Rhubarb, rhubarb, oh how I love thee. I love your versatility, I love your colour, I love your sharp, sweet taste. Yes safe to say we love rhubarb at 88. We had our first taste of the season last night.

Baked rhubarb is one of the simplest things to do yet so lovely. Cut your rhubarb up into 2 or 3 cm bits, place in a bowl, put in a medium oven. Test it after 15 minutes by getting your potato masher and simply seeing if the rhubarb is succulent by... yes.... mashing it. If it oozes gorgeous pink and red juices it's done. I then add my secret weapon - golden syrup. Sweeten it to your taste. Serve hot or cold with ice cream, custard, cream whatever. Scrumptious.

Rapunzel Diaries 3: Blackpool Tower

Blackpool Tower, Blackpool

I have relatives who live about 5 miles down the promenade from Blackpool and yet I had never been up its famous tower until last year. You might think that's a bit of an oversight for a gal who loves towers but hey I can be patient....just as I'm waiting patiently for my husband to take me up that other famous tower across the Channel.


To tell the truth I do prefer a tower where I can walk up the stairs to the top. At Blackpool it's much more civilised and regimented - up the lift you go. But it's a grand experience. Fabulous views and we did get to go up some steps to the second level. It also has a rather exciting bonus feature in the shape of its glass floor which is rather wonderful if a little disorientating.










There are lots of lovely iron finials and curvy and quirky bits which you don't get on your average stone built folly tower. It's  also a very grand red rusty radiant colour.

There are some extra features: not every tower has an area where you can have a boogie but we got to sit in the famous Tower Ballroom and watch a tea dance which was quite mesmerising even if the seats are rather in need of a refit. And there are some fabulous tiles on the main stairs and foyer - reminders of grander times past.

It's a fine tower. Every city should have one. And I'm pleased that I made it up there at long last.

The Girl from Del Leeds

My mum would take the large pyrex dish out of the oven. Open the drawer, take out a spoon. Open the cupboard, take out a saucer. Under my watchful gaze she would spoon away the brown caramelly skin that had formed  (I would turn my nose up at that) and then take a spoonful of the creamy pudding and put it on the saucer to cool a little. I would then taste that delicious rice pudding.

My job was rather like the Man from Del Monte's job. Do you remember those adverts when the man in white suit and Havana hat would say yes and the orange harvest could begin. He never did say 'No', did he? I was the Girl from del Leeds but I could say yes or no to the amount of sugar in my mum's rice pudding. I was the arbiter of creaminess and sweetness. A lot depended on my decision on the exact flavouring of that rice pudding.

It was so creamy and luscious, baked in the oven for two or more hours with pints and pints of milk (we lived on a dairy farm) and I suspect far too much sugar. It always lived up to its promise of comfort and satisfaction. Never mind the tinned Ambrosia you could buy, this was the real food of the gods.

Then the next day my Dad would eat any leftovers up cold. No need for an extra bowl, just consume it out of the dish it was made in. That way he could scrape all the best sticky bits off the side. I think he sometimes poured golden syrup on. Ah the ritual of a rice pud.

I made one last week. My dessert is probably slightly less sweet, taste buds and lifestyles have changed. But it's still as good. I would have taken a photo but it was consumed before I had chance.

The only problem with a rice pud is cleaning the bowl afterwards - it took me a week to clean after soaking after soaking. Perhaps there was method in Dad's cold consumption of the rice pudding the next day - pour over the golden syrup and eat the bowl clean. It would have made my job a lot easier.

Zoo, zoo, zoo

We're going to the zoo, zoo, zoo. You can come too, too, too. Yep the other day in celebration of my daughter's 6th birthday the four of us from 88 went to Chester Zoo, Zoo, Zoo and we all enjoyed it too, too, too.

Oh there were so many creatures. The painted dogs made a big impression on my son, about 6 of them all curled up together asleep, two of them sleeping head to toe as my children do when they go to stay with their grandparents. The dart frogs were particularly magnificent, all bright green and electric blue but deadly poisonous.

I loved the red pandas. My favourite children's animated film is Kung Fu Panda and Master Shifu, a main character, is a red panda - I tried to stop myself channelling Dustin Hoffman (the voice) through the red panda nonchalantly eating his bamboo shoots at the zoo and tried not to be disappointed when he didn't talk to me in oh so wise words nor attempt any kung fu moves.

The giraffes were the most obliging to their audience, walking majestically between the covered enclosure for people inside and then out again into the sunshine for their fans outside.....if they could  I am sure they would have signed autographs. We marvelled at their unique print designs on their tall bodies as we did with the zebras too.

I found myself uttering 'cute' and 'ahh' a lot and believe me I am not one to fawn over animals. I met animals I'd never heard of and really really didn't realise there were quite so many pigs and hogs roaming the earth.

But do you know one of the most enjoyable pastimes was just sitting down having a picnic in the sun with my family and observing the other curious and weird animals at the zoo that day: homo sapiens.

A pea shoots

Pea shoots - big discovery at 88 over the last three years. Throw a load of dried peas (the kind you get at the supermarket for mushy peas) onto the top of some soil in a container, cover with more soil very thinly and leave, occasionally water and let the sun shine on down.

Just about ready to cut but they will get bushier and taller

They will sprout and eventually you get succulent, sweet pea shoots which are fabulous in salads. They are by far the easiest thing I have so far discovered to grow and pretty full proof. Once you cut them they will even come again. The supermarkets have cottoned on to these now and charge a small fortune for something you could grow with your eyes closed plus you can sit back and feel just a little smug. Have a go.

A Pea Shoots : I have a wonderful image in my mind now of a little freedom fighter pea with  gun in holster (or perhaps even a pea shooter!) about to give it all to a slug about to devour  his little seedling comrades. Power to the peas.

Knit one, purl one

I've been concentrating very hard recently at 88. Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one. I am learning to knit. My knitting guru is my friend, Joy. Knitter and crocheter extraordinaire, she has taken on the challenge of passing on her knitting know-how. I am enjoying it. My husband calls me 'Granny Blakeley' but I believe I am dead on trend, taking up the knitting cause.

Tackling rib

My Mum was a great knitter from the days when she and her sister would go out on a Friday night and she would knit a short-sleeved jumper each and my auntie, a professional seamstress, would run up a skirt each. She tried to teach me when I was young but I would either add or lose stitches very recklessly and eventually I gave up. But it has all come back to me vaguely, a bit like a knitting echo from the past and my fingers have stepped back into the rhythm. The nearest I have come to a knitting needle in recent years is my handy needle by the oven which I plunge into cakes to see if they are cooked and which by the way is also very effective in loosening lego pieces which won't come apart with bare hands.

Joy, my guru, has great plans for me but after my initial practice, I think I'll embark on squares and make up a blanket....of course it may all come asunder if I have to use one of the needles to prize that lego apart.

Laundered loveliness

Does anything smell as wonderful as fresh sheets, dried by the breeze? Thank goodness we are now in the season we can put washing on the clothes line. My Mum (88) always used to wax lyrical about the sun shining and a gentle breeze and washing on the line.  I used to look at her and think "Oh dear" but I know what she means now. Just as I now realise how a cup of tea can be refreshing even on a hot day - turns out Mums do know best. There is something supremely satisfying about washing, drying, putting away all within the day. My Mum would also air as well. She would just put the line dried washing for a last airing round the fire or in the airing cupboard after taking it off the line. Then and only then was it ready to fold away. I, on the other hand, am a bit slovenly with my airing - I rarely do it. And don't even talk to me about ironing.

Towels drying today

Funny what you remember about a simple thing like washing on the line from home all those years ago. I can remember the pole for holding the washing line up at one end always lent at a precarious angle until Dad retired and had the time to straighten it. It never did seem quite right for it to be ramrod straight. The clothes prop to elevate the washing skywards was an old wooden one with a fork at the top rather like a snake's tongue.  I can remember my mum running out when it started raining and depending on how hard it was precipitating (being polite there!) dictated whether the pegs were put back neatly in the basket or thrown willy-nilly on the grass. Talking of which.....is that raindrops I see...........