Jamming

The news we have been expecting and dreading finally came last Saturday, when it was announced that a four week Lockdown would begin on 5th November. I felt like I should be doing something to prepare although I wasn't sure what. We made it through the last one without running out of anything apart from patience, sanity and clothes that fitted, so I am hoping that we will be fine this time too. I went to Morrisons to buy cider vinegar (for chilli jam) and pickling onions, and found it was rammed. Lots of very anxious, almost to the point of breathlessness customers, and staff just looking a bit weary. My daughter T works on the checkouts and has noticed an sharp increase in the rudeness of customers, which is maddening, so no wonder they look fed up.

Mr C loves a good forage at this time of year, and dragged me out in search of sloes at the weekend. Last year we waited until the first frost before we went picking, but found that there were very few left, so this year he was determined that we should be ahead of the game. He filled a couple of bags and then we headed home. The electronic scales needed new batteries so he decided to use the old kitchen scales to weigh them - which was like a maths lesson in itself, with conversions from ounces to grammes and back again. But now I have a freezer full of fruit which will probably make one bottle of sloe gin, which, if we are lucky, should last for a couple of days. Home made pickles and gin are all very well, but they are time consuming to make, and cost just as much as buying ready made. But the taste, of course, makes it all worthwhile. Apparently!

On Sunday, I made a roast dinner, as is the tradition. We always have roast chicken, because everyone enjoys it (even the edgy veggie), but I have had a few recent mishaps which have put me off - firstly the fan oven broke and needed a new element, and now it never seems to get quite hot enough - a couple of times when I carved the chicken, it looked a little pink, and I am so paranoid about poisoning everyone that I had to return it to the oven until it was well and truly cooked, by which time of course everything else was overcooked. Now I always add a few more minutes to the recommended cooking time, to be on the safe side. And then a couple of weeks later, when I came to carve (which I always leave until the last minute), the inside of the chicken was green. The bones were green and the meat was tinged green too. I tasted a little bit and it seemed ok but then when I showed it to Mr C, thinking I shouldn't serve it, he threw it in the bin. We found some veggie sausages in the back of the freezer which we had instead, with burnt roasties and Yorkshire pudding, and dried up veggies. Yum! So this week, we had pork instead, and it was fabulous. I went all out, Mr C did the shopping and bought multi coloured carrots which I roasted in honey, I made cauliflower cheese (which I can't usually be bothered to do), and the gravy was magnificent; gravy is my favourite part of the meal, and can make or break in my opinion. We sat down to eat and immediately there were arguments. Mr C was in a bad mood because he had been to Aldi. T was tired because she has been working hard at Morrisons, and is a WITCH when she's tired. H and L just love arguing with everyone and H's girlfriend was the only one who I would invite again if I had a choice, as she smiled sweetly as the insults and death threats whizzed around her head. We barely end a meal with the same number of people as we started with. I am sad that I won't have the choice who I have around my table once again, and that it will just be those same four savages, grunting and sniping and rolling their eyes around. They don't even notice how lovely the food is, or how crispy the potatoes are. I might just serve them all green chicken to finish them off, and then start all over again, handpicking new friends who will be amusing and kind, entertaining and appreciative whilst sitting around my table, just like Nigella's friends. Those old sayings are so true - you can't choose your family....

There are, as always, some exceptions, and one of them is my great nephew, who is still coming to play on Mondays, and for the first time ever this is now my favourite day of the week. He is just two, and is such fantastic company. He never grumbles, he has no expectations, and is delighted by everything. This week we made a kite with a carrier bag and some coloured tissue paper and string and he spent an age running up and down the hill on the field at the back of the house, laughing like a drain.

We stamped in the leaves and tried to catch sycamore seeds as they flew in the wind. My own children have started to say things like 'You don't make playdoh for us!' or 'why can't we play with the bubbles?', (they are 23, 20 and almost 16) and it is such a shame that their memories don't extend back to when they were 2 or 3, because I did, although probably much more grumpily and hurriedly because then I didn't have the time that I do now. I am hoping that I will be able to have lots of lovely adventures with our first grandchild too, when he or she finally arrives. Li has had the weirdest pregnancy, with so many restrictions and having to attend appointments and scans alone, and now to give birth in Lockdown too. But she is a trooper and doesn't know any different, and is just excited to meet the little one. I am hoping that the next time I blog, there will be news and photographs, although sadly all at a distance. But worth waiting for nonetheless.

I met up with my friend Foxy in Abington Park for breakfast on Sunday morning, which is the best place at this time of year. We knew what was coming and it seemed especially necessary and just lovely to take an hour or two out of a busy week to walk and talk with a good friend, when the world around us was going batshit crazy.

And on the previous Sunday, Mr C and I took the dogs to Delapre Abbey, which is also glorious at this time of year, and well worth a visit. On the final photograph, the Carlsberg Brewery is just visible on the other side of the lake.

I have signed up for NaNoWriMo, which is an international writing thingy (still not entirely sure of the details), a bit like a Couch to 5K for writers. If I write 1667 words every day, by the end of the month, there will be 50k words, which is fantastic. I started a few days late and have been trying to catch up, with my 2nd work in progress, a novel set right now. I am just writing and not worrying too much about checking spelling or tenses which continually change, or how the writing swaps between first and third person and then back again. I am just riding bareback through the mountains, and seeing what happens. There will no doubt be darkness (my writing goes there automatically, even though this is the third book which began as uplit), and a few sudden deaths, and somebody crocheting blankets and baking bread and making soup, and coffee and walnut cake, but I am fairly determined that there will be a hefty word count, and that some of it will be good.

I have also resolved to lose at least a stone during this lockdown, although that is not going so well. Sadly, my children and husband are determined to support local eateries by ordering in - yesterday - breakfast from Starbucks, lunch from KFC and so on, and me with no willpower, and a migraine which prevented me from cooking for the ingrates.

I'm hopeful that tomorrow might be a better day. I have already written about my ever shrinking wardrobe. At this rate, the only thing that will fit me by December 3rd will be a double duvet cover.

One of my favourite things that happened during the first Lockdown was walking the dogs with my adult children. And I am hopeful that we will be able to revisit that. Yesterday afternoon, H and walked down to Crowfields with Paddy and Polly. The fields were too boggy, so we walked on the paths instead, but it was great to be out in the fresh air with three of my favourite children. We talked about my new book and he asked if I had ever considered writing something cheerful, with likeable characters, and I said yes, every time.

Other things that have happened this week - a growing obsession with Greg Davies, fuelled by watching several episodes of Task Master a night. And there are a few programmes I want to watch on Netflix - The Queen's Gambit and The Undoing. And I might give Schitt's Creek another go, although I was 5 or 6 episodes in and still not gripped, but listening to other people rave on about it, makes me think I should really try again, just in case I am missing out on something incredible. And on BorroBox, I have started listening to Invisible Girl, the latest Lisa Jewell which is quite creepy, a good sign. At bedtime, I opt for gloriously soothing escapist chick lit, which is perfect to ease me into sleep, and make me forget about all the misery and frustrations of every day life in Lockdown. And although I moan (a lot according to my family), I am still very grateful for the life I have, and that my family are all well and safe and have relatively happy lives, all things considered. I hope that it will settle down, people will be kind and thoughtful and a vaccine will be found soon. Also world peace would be great. And an agent who loves me. But most of all that Baby Gudge will arrive safely and fill our lives with joy. Stay safe people. And happy. And well.