cold comfort

It is the end of a long and fraught day. Accidents happen, at least we got home in one piece.

On the train from Oxford this morning, at 9.30am, there is a group of rugger boys drinking Tattinger champagne. They were noisy, but not obnoxious. At one point the dark-haired one caught my eye.

"Are you ok?" he mouthed silently. "Can i do anything?"

My child is sitting next to me, stroking my hand. I know that i am yellow pale and the pain in my belly is probably written in shaky, sweaty script across my face.

"Thank you, no" i move my lips, although, later, when i realised he and his friends were all over 6' 5", i wished i had been in a fitter state to talk .. or just asked to be carried.

In other news; sometimes i crave a pack of cards that will tell me what is ahead, and yet, at the same time, i should pay more heed to my instincts.

Rhubarb & Fresh Ginger Crumble Cake, Adapted from Tamasin Day Lewis' Kitchen Classics.

Crumble

110g plain flour

4 tablespoons light muscovado sugar

85g unsalted butter

Pulse the ingredients together briefly until they stick together in a gravelly fashion.

Fruit

750g rhubarb, cut into 1cm chunks

2 tablespoons vanilla caster sugar

1 inch (thumb knuckle size) of dried ginger root, finely grated.

Toss the rhubarb, sugar and ginger pulp together. Use ground ginger if you wish - a teaspoon or so - but the dried root, with its papery skin which i don't bother to peel, has a particular fresh flavour that works best.


Cake

170g softened, unsalted butter

170g vanilla caster sugar

3 eggs, beaten

170g plain flour

2 tsp baking powder

1 tablespoon milk

Beat the butter and sugar together until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well and adding a spoon of sifted flour if the mixture looks like curdling. Sift in the rest of the flour and baking powder, folding carefully and firmly. Fold in the milk.

Scrape the mixture into a 25cm springform cake tin, base lined with baking parchment. Pile the rhubarb on the batter, then sprinkle the crumble over the top. Bake for an hour at 190ºC.





The crumble will be golden, crunchy and smelling of sweet butter.

Leave to cool for 15 minutes and eat warm with cream, although just as delicious cold, later.

Afghanistan

I am busy with school fundraising, which invariably, for me, involves baking. I had an unscheduled trip to the supermarket this evening for extra supplies, with my youngest child in the the car. We twice passed the growing ranks of people standing in subdued groups along our local stretch of road, furled standards with glimpses of gold, dark jackets among summer finery.

"Are those people waiting for the queen?" he piped from the back seat.

"No" i explain, "they are waiting for special soldiers"

"They are coming home" I said, praying that he doesn't ask any more questions as I think of mothers and sons while weeping massive, silent tears on my steering wheel.

a week, illustrated

He called me back into the room, with a glint in his eye.

"What do you think that is for?"

I blink for a moment in surprise, walk around to view it from another angle.

"It's a spanking chair, for sure" i say, "in a lovely damask."

I looked around the tastefully opulent furnishings, hopeful for sight of a queening stool too.

• wore a frock, danced along the Thames

• should have got dressed before making cherry poms (cherry brandy, pomegranate juice, ginger beer)
• smoked trout pate ✓ broad bean and pancetta salad ✓ duck, orange, olive & watercress ✓ Now: i can drink ✓
• is going to sit in the paddling pool and shuck a large bowl of beans.

smoked trout pate

pancetta & broad bean salad

• white chocolate with pepper & lemon + Two Door Cinema Club on repeat shuffle + paddling pool #betterthanglastonbury
• personal trainer in sadistic mood; am set to rights, and i've now got noodles arms.
• 6 hour round trip + day off work & school for a hospital appointment that was cancelled because of a leak in the ceiling #NHS #faultywiring
• Boy has beast quest, i have blomkvist: perfect companions for a train ride
• Some people are carrying ground sheets, groceries and green wellies on their backs.
• There are many shiny, pink people in london today. I am not #hotpants #fitflops
• There is a woman on the train moving her lips silently while reading her barbara cartland novel
• Talking to a friend setting a pitch at glastonbury while i sip latte at victoria station #differentplanets #samesun
• just left westminster tube but didn't notice anyone talking about the #budget
• Oxford is dazzled by strong sun, drinking blueberry + passionfruit juice and wondering whether the bus delivered us to australia instead
• Speeding beneath the hooves of the most ancient white horse, singing #johnnyflynn

AWOL

taster

I have lost a cook book - it must be somewhere in the house, but i have had to give up looking for now; Tamsin Day Lewis' Kitchen Classics for the Rhubarb & Fresh Ginger Crumble Cake. I have all the photos which i took last week, but no recipe, so i can't post tonight. This will have to do - a glimpse of the cake, and my gingerbread biscotti.

I am preparing for a dinner party on friday night (duck and chorizo, but not in the same dish) and a date tomorrow. He has promised; no wet kisses, no lunges. I need to put my head right before the morning.

brave

I spent Father's Day with my boys, just the three of us. As it happens, the place we decided to picnic at had a Gladiator School, which was fabulous fun. The children wielded spears and battled with swords all afternoon.

The highlight was a gladiatorial display, and afterwards the children were coached in arena etiquette and encouraged to down three combatants. At the end the fathers that were watching were brought in as hapless (unarmed) prey for the excited youngsters.




Across the small display area i can see my eldest child, tall and lanky yet so young, with his foam sword and serious expression. He doesn't have a father here to beat up like the other children, and i can see him look across at me with acknowledgement of the absence. He gives a little shrug that means he is being brave, and his nod is meant to reassure me as much as himself; my heart breaks all over again.

lines

My dress is full length, in soft, black jersey, with generous straps across the shoulders highlighting a deep v from between my breasts to my throat, with the same slice opening between my shoulder blades. With my chest unbound a strap will readily fall off a shoulder to allow one heavy orb free. I am lying full stretch along my sofa, wrapped in fabric. He lies on top of me, naked, his silver head on a covered breast, his hand cradling the other, bare. His right arm is deep within the skirts, the fabric hooked up to my hip.

We make stripes, this man and i, with pale flesh laid over blackness laid on dark leather, the flicking light of the television screen dancing on my exposed leg and his flexed back as we melt together into night.

take me away

I was propositioned yesterday. A proper proposition - not someone off the 'net, piqued by the images here - but someone who knows me, the actual me. My Boss.

We sometimes have coffee together. He caught me yesterday as i walked out of the gym, asked me to come for a drink later. I smiled, avoided the question, refused coffee.

"You've been quiet," he said "are you blue?"

"Spend next weekend with me," he suggested, "I'll make you smile".

"But you are committed .." i said, delicately (not knowing whether he is married to his partner).

"So?" he smirked.

I wanted to punch him. Getting laid is not the solution, especially at work, even if work happens to be a swanky hotel.

choke

Making biscotti (again). Sad about a friend (who wasn't). There is a lot to be said for a conversation (even if it is to just say goodbye).

a wanderer

morning walk

afternoon walk

My eldest boy slept in my bed last night, while i was away. He wanted to feel closer to me and oddly it made me feel better to know he was curled up asleep on my pillow.

HNT/no.4

An old lover is trying to tempt me back into his bed with words and pictures.

There is a certain allure; the deadly dating game is wearing me down and sometimes i think fondly of returning to the arms of someone who so vividly remembers what, when and where i like it, without the mire of a relationship.

Except, it is the relationship that i really want (despite the recent hiccups) so i shall plod on.

Meanwhile, he calls me kitten and teases me with glimpses of daddy's new and beautiful ink. He also remembered that i can never have a tattoo, so he photoshopped one for me.

starting nothin'

I offered to drop him home.

We had been walking - my favourite local wander along the Thames and past the lock, the tunnel of greenery for relief from sun (or wind) and a fence or two to test agility - and it was only as we approached the car park that he told me he didn't drive.

It is not that i shy away from younger men. Two of my recent lovers have been even younger than he is, and they had never made me feel anything but soft warm putty in their hands but somehow this time i feel as if i am giving a lift to my babysitter.

I stopped on the double yellow line on the high street of my local market town, as he indicated. It is noon, with townsfolk on the move, seeking lunch.

"Can i kiss you?" he asked.

I offered him my cheek but he ducked under my nose and skimmed his lips across mine. The memory of the moisture still prickles on my skin.

"I really like you" he said, "can i kiss you again?"

I tried not to rear back too hard.

"I must go" I said, resisting the urge to scrub my mouth with the back of my sleeve, at least until i pulled away from the kerb.

fishin'

I caught him with a piece of frozen squid and let him go again.

I'm going home tomorrow.

wish you were here

Brownsea Island, hiding in the sea mist.

• Coffee and my biscotti while perched on boat fenders, waiting for the tide.
• Brownsea island, corfe castle a vague shape in the mist, garish bright cigarette boats heading out for expensive jaunts
• Riding waves. These engines remind me that i haven't masturbated today
• Moored illegally in wareham, trespassed through a garden and scaled a fence, with boys. Ice cream motivation
• Got caught climbing back into garden but smiled sweetly, all forgiven.
• Picked up a pair of tired canoeists and towed them to the mouth of the river, waving to their companions as they passed
• We didn't mean to go to sea
• Sleepy in my father's car

grope

My hand on his bare thigh, seeking the edge of fabric to wriggle my fingers underneath, exciting heat under my palm, cradling soft skin in the gentlest of grips; i am that teenager boy in the thrall of exploration.

cute but dead

The children had a lesson in hunting and gathering today. They watched while a rabbit or two (or three) were dispatched, and helped carry the carcasses back across the field to be skinned for supper.

"cute, but dead" he said sadly, although he will enjoy the pie.

cockles & shells

You'll find me down on the shoreline, chasing the tide, scented with sea brine and sun cream.

me & mine

My children came home this afternoon.

They admired the freshly painted bathroom (it's blue, mummy!) and spread lego over the floor, but gradually we all migrated to the big brown leather sofa where i lay full length and they fitted in around me as we usually fit. The boy behind my hip rested his head on the dimple of my waist as we watched tv and i could feel sleep creep up on me, that sweet oblivion that has avoided me all weekend.

I'm not ok, but thanks for listening x