Weeding Out...

A local resident..who doesn't like the cats...

the 'naughty plants' (les mauvaises herbes)... a much nicer term than 'weeds' for a plant growing in the wrong place.  I'm so not a gardener.  But having had someone come and do some gardening, including clearing one of the (very few) borders, I thought that it was a good idea not to let things get out of hand again.  I'm going to have to clear the rest of it myself, though... no money for frivolities like help with the gardening.

Oddly enough, when I actually get out there and start doing it, I feel fine about it.  I think it's the same process as happens when I'm working.  There is a real need for concentration (I know a weed from a plant, but it's sometimes touch and go...), and so the task becomes a contemplation, and the contemplation becomes a meditation, albeit in a very uncomfortable position (must ask for a kneeler mat for my birthday...). 

And then there's the cats.  They think it's Very Strange that I'm in the garden for any length of time; I'm usually just passing through on the way to the studio, or out to the car... so they study what I'm doing with a certain measure of incredulity.  After a while, the oldest comes and pats me on the arm, and that's the sign that enough gardening has been done for the day, at least in his view... and its time to Play.  That involves him chasing a stick around the garden, or a bit of dead plant... and the other three looking on, waiting for the opportunity to jump in. 

And then there's the frogs.  There are about five of them, and they have all been getting busy in the pond.  The evidence for that is in the piles of frogspawn and the splish splashing every time I go out the back door.  They're keen, but shy.  And, of course, they don't like the cats. 

I seem to be somewhat converted to the idea of gardening... might even  plant some flowers this year... if we get enough rain to make a hosepipe ban avoidable... seems pointless, otherwise.

when you don't have any chocolate in the house?  I asked on Facebook, and got some interesting answers. Drink, they said, sex, pancakes...right down to, go and get some.  Good move.  But I'm trying not to go out in the car unnecessarily, and the need for a chocolate fix isn't really a major problem, particularly when I'm planning to go out tomorrow.  So I'm going to do what everyone does in this case... make a chocolate cake. 

My son earned my disapprobation when he said that Byfords of Holt make better chocolate cake than I do...but he might be right.  Sigh.  But I remembered an old Delia recipe for Chocolate Beer Cake, so whipped out her first big recipe book...and it wasn't there.  It was in one of the earlier books, the Evening Standard one, I think... which I gave away long ago, thinking I didn't use it.  Well, I didn't...except for that cake.  Thanks to the joy of the internet, however, I am reprieved... it is here. 

Phew.  I don't like TV chefs as a rule, and have only ever bought that original Delia cookbook and one by the ubiquitous Nigella Lawson, but I rarely consult them.  I don't like their style, but for different reasons.  They both irritate me hugely, though I accept that they do what they do well, and are worshipped (I use the word advisedly...) by millions.  I guess I just don't like being told what to do.  I've been cooking for over thirty years, and have gone from reading a recipe and following it verbatim, through consulting a recipe, and following it vaguely, to creating my own recipes, vigourously.  And unwritten.  And containing words like 'slug', 'smidgen' and 'bit'.  Maybe I should write a cookery book...but first, I'm going to make That Cake...

 Meanwhile, I'm looking forward to Spring, to see how my clematis will do after being hacked to the ground by the gardener last autumn.  He swears it will run rampant...I hope he's right; it's one of my favourite flowers.  The cats are keen for Spring Proper, too, and have followed me about all day, asking me to switch the rain off.  Of course, we shouldn't want that, as drought is a real problem for Norfolk, but secretly, I think everyone but the farmers would like a nice day once in a while.  It has cleared up here, after three days of persistent rain, so the cats have shot out of the catflap to do catty things.  Let's hope they come back again...