My Chicken Soup Supper

Once or twice recently I’ve mentioned a useful all-in-one-pot chicken supper that I’ve created with the added advantage of having an almost authentic, just-like-my-Great-Auntie-Lena-used-to-make chicken soup the following day. A lot of you asked for the recipe and so I forced my friends to come over and share this meal with us so that I, in turn, could share it with you.

All you need are two carrots, a parsnip, two sticks of celery, a leek, an onion, two cloves of garlic, some potatoes (freshly dug from the garden, I might add!) and some chicken pieces placed in a large, shallow casserole dish.

Par-boil the potatoes, chop the vegetables and sprinkle it all over the chicken.

Add chicken stock, Telma stock cubes preferably, until it almost reaches the top of the dish. Cover with tin foil and cook for two hours. Check it every half hour, turning the vegetables and potatoes so they don’t dry out. For the last half hour leave the tin foil off so it all goes lovely and brown.

Not quite cooked yet!

The dish can go straight onto the table... which Mr A prepared earlier.

And the proof of the pudding supper...

Is in the eating!

Important point: The gravy is not gravy. It’s chicken soup! 

Put it in the fridge and don't worry that it turns into jelly. Heat it up next day and enjoy your chicken soup with lokshen (vermicelli) or knedlach (dumplings).

Who said cooking was difficult? J

  

Rock and Roll! At my Age!

I’m just about recovering from our nice, restful weekend away, but then I’ve only got myself to blame. We’ve been to the Warners Holiday Hotel near Harrogate and I dragged Rod along to one of their Rock and Roll classes. Warners is the sort of place where you have to join a class or two, get involved, or you haven’t had the full “Warners experience”.  The problem is, I never think these things through. I mean, one and a half hours of Rock and Roll! At my age! I ask you!

It never looks that tiring when you watch the celebrities doing their routines on BBC TV’s Strictly Come Dancing. They don’t ever have to sprawl across a table gasping and sipping water and I’ve never seen any of them having trouble walking afterwards. But that’s them. This was me! And what a shock it was! Not only is the music scarily fast, but the teacher wouldn’t let us get away with walking through the routine. Oh no! She kept shouting out, ‘Remember to bounce!’...

...One and a half hours of bouncing! At my age! I ask you!

And so that’s why I’m only just recovering from our nice, restful weekend away. In future, if I want to have a dance I’ll stick to the hand jive. It’s so much more dignified.

Anyone who can remember the Hand Jive first time around, the one with Johnny Otis, will have a bit of a nostalgia trip watching this You Tube clip. I don’t remember it myself, of course... honest I don’t! But I dare say some of you will.   *dives for cover as assorted blogger missiles whistle through the air*

My words through an artist’s eyes

I’m trying something new with my writing. I’m working with an illustrator. I suspect a couple of sharp-eyed followers will already have noticed a contradiction. Two posts ago I wrote of my dislike for change and now I’m about to embrace it. But when it comes to writing, I’m always keen to explore different styles and if I ever stop trying to improve my work then it’ll be time to hang up the keyboard.

Sue Hague

I have my writing group to thank for this idea, yet again. [They’re lovely, are my writing group!] We all belong to a children’s book group which meets once a month to read and discuss children’s books... and to have lunch, of course! One of the members is an artist. Her name is Sue Hague and whenever we have a meeting at her house we are in awe of her artwork, especially the finely detailed flower paintings. She is passionate about observing and recording all those tiny details in the world around us, the details that most people don’t notice... the same details that I, as a writer, try to record with words, whereas Sue uses a mixture of acrylic, watercolour and soft pencil.

Last week Sue ran an art workshop for us writers. We’ve never done anything like this as a group before. It was an amazing experience if a little messy... 

Our first task was to rub oil paint onto an acetate sheet and scratch a picture onto paper which had been placed over the top of the paint. My result was a little smudgy but the activity had been satisfying and absorbing in a compulsive sort of a way.

Alex Gutteridge (left), me in the middle and Debbie White who I suspect had prior art training! 

Pippa Goodhart

We worked with materials that I never thought could go together... like a pen, some bleach and a sheet of soft coloured paper. The effect appears gradually. It’s another fascinating process. This isn’t my attempt. It’s Pippa's.

I didn’t produce anything that would hang on my walls but then that wasn't the aim of the morning. What I did come away with was a lot of inspiration, especially when it comes to looking at those finer details of life that are all around us... but there was more. I had a chat with Sue about the art of illustrating and it was then that we planned our collaboration. I have a number of children’s picture book manuscripts, words only, with written illustration guidelines where relevant. I have a rough idea of what the pictures might look like but I was interested to see if Sue’s expert input would add another dimension to my work.

As soon as I got home I emailed a manuscript to her. She came straight back to me with ideas that were already ‘running through her head’. Changes began to happen, improvements began to emerge, as she suggested some fine tuning to my story line, things that I wouldn’t have thought about on my own. She’s now working on some rough drafts and we’ll be meeting up very soon to merge our ideas. We’re hoping to make a joint submission and although we both know that it could well join my list of rejections, it’s been extremely useful to look at my words through an artist’s eyes... and who knows, it might even be accepted!

    

Cool cats on a hot day

Charlie says: "What was Mabel doing in my conservatory?"

Charlie says: "You can't beat a cool doorstep on a hot day. Lovely!"

Charlie says. "Oh no! Mabel's back again!"

Summer has arrived in the UK! Hope you're all keeping cool.

 

Chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee...

I’m trying to prepare a second sepia blog. I’ve selected photographs of my family in the 1920s and I’ve scanned them onto the computer but every time I try to think about the words...

Chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee...

Daddy Chaffinch is at it again. He’s been chwee... chwee... chwee-ing all day, every day for almost a week now and it’s driving me crazy. I think it must be his way of telling his babies that he’s just popped out for some nice juicy insects and he’ll be back soon. 

‘Aaah, sweet,’ I hear you say.

No! It’s not sweet. It’s aural torture. Please Chaffinch babies, grow up and fly away... preferably this afternoon.

This is the second brood that Mummy and Daddy Chaffinch have brought into the world this year. Their nursery is hidden in the depths of our wisteria. The wisteria is up against our bedroom wall and yes, chaffinches get up early... very early indeed!

I was excited when The Chaffinch Family chose our garden for their nursery. I was feeling virtuous that our home-made compost (that writhing mass of brown which Mr A keeps spreading furiously across the garden) is providing them with lots of fresh food. I’m also grateful that Mabel and Charlie were never educated in the ways of hunting cats.

So this should be a positive experience and it would have been if only Daddy Chaffinch hadn’t turned into such a repetitively rowdy father. That bird is pushing us all to the limit. Even Mabel and Charlie have been doing a few of those silent I’m-coming-to-get-you meows today and if this goes on any longer I’ll be making I’m-coming-to-get-you noises too...

... It’s ok. I feel better now I’ve got that off my chest. I’m going to go back to writing my sepia blog now but don’t bother trying to talk to me because I’m wearing ear plugs. 

Chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee... chwee...

   

You'll never guess what happened on 30 May...

So it’s the May Bank Holiday and I’m sitting up in bed sipping a mug of tea (made for me by my lovely Rod.)

I’ve got Charlie on my lap 

(sitting on a silk scarf because I don’t like cat fur on the quilt) 

and Mabel sitting under the dressing table 

(because she doesn’t do laps). 

BBC Radio 2 with Miranda Hart and Jon Holmes is making me laugh and then they run a feature on this day in history and...

“Yessss!” I say. Charlie opens one eye in a moderately disinterested way. “That’s what I’ll blog about today!”

And this is it... except that I’ve done a bit of research and discovered some different events so that the BBC can’t complain about me ‘stealing’ their script (assuming that the BBC even know I exist.)

Did you know that on 30^th May...

• In 542 King Arthur died following a battle with Modred (assuming that either men actually existed!)

• In 1431 Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake in the market place at Rouen, France. (She was only a young girl of 19. Humans can be so cruel.)

• In 1536 Henry VIII married Jane Seymour. She had been the lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn who had been beheaded just 11 days earlier. (Like I say, humans are cruel.)

• In 1821 James Boyd patented the rubber fire hose. (Not amazingly interesting but the only item from the Radio 2 programme that was verifiable!)

• In 1842 John Francis tried to assassinate Queen Victoria. (How different the history of our monarchy would have been if he’d succeeded.)

• In 1939 the Labour Party had their first General Election win. (In those days many people despised working class men and thought they wouldn’t be able to rule the country. Haven’t we moved on.... erm... have we moved on?)

• In 1989 Cliff Richard released his 100^th single record called ‘The Best of Me’. (No, I’ve never heard of it either but you can see an ever-youthful Cliff singing it on the You Tube link below.)

• And in 2011 in Leicester UK it poured with rain (which means that Rod’s vegetables are coming on a treat. The broad bean flowers are almost ready to turn into yummy pods. I may even blog about our first home-grown meal of the year.)

   

4 for Friday: a trip to London

1. A London Hospital

Every six months Rod has to go to London for a two-day series of tests to check on his Amyloidosis. The specialists at the National Amyloidosis Centre were very pleased with his progress following last year’s stem cell transplant. We came away with grins on our faces.

The NAC is a specialist unit tucked round the back of the Royal Free Hospital, which incidentally featured on the National news when we returned home. The hospital had scored badly on its care of the frail elderly. Doctors are having to write out prescriptions for water so that elderly patients don’t die of dehydration. I’ve blogged about this problem here and here. I was featured in the local newspaper and I was interviewed for BBC TV News. 

I know that I can't make a difference on my own but I'm about to throw myself back into this campaign. There are so many issues still to be addressed and, of course, I'll blog about it.

2.  London Taxis

The cost of using the London Underground is now so expensive that we decided to go for a bit of comfort. There’s nothing quite like hailing a black cab and jumping in. I’m an excited kid again, being treated to a day out by my Dad.

Chatty London Taxi drivers took us from St Pancras Station to the Royal Free Hospital and back with no problems and the added advantage of being able to watch the tourists milling round Camden Market.

But at the end of the first day, when the hospital had finished with Rod until the next morning, we headed for the West End... and, oh my word, the traffic! Admittedly Barack Obama was in town and the Chelsea Flower Show was in full swing but even so! The taxi crawled. The meter ticked. When it clicked above £22 we paid up and walked the rest of the way... and a lovely walk it was too.

3.  London's West End

Street upon street of shops selling all things Union Jack, (I’m choosing to ignore the occasional seedy sex joint,) permanently full eateries and swathes of tourists wandering the streets. I suspect that many of them had tickets for the theatre and were passing their time, just as we were, in the London sunshine. 

We had a drink in a London pub and we ate spaghetti in a London Italian Restaurant. It's all so different from Leicester. Even the spaghetti had more taste... or was it the holiday mood that we'd adopted?

4.  A London Show: The Jersey Boys

People had been urging me to go for ages.

“You’ll love it,” they said. “It’s just your sort of show.”

And they were right. The Jersey Boys, showing at The Prince of Edward Theatre, makes clever used of the Four Seasons’ hit songs to tell the story of their fame and infamy. I never knew about the New Jersey underworld, the debts and prison sentences. I just loved their songs. I still do. The show was brilliant and you can hear some of the music here.