So, Ade has been in charge of the cooking, which for me has mostly been toast and Heinz tinned veggie soup - I know that most people want chicken soup when they are ill, some fancy Heinz cream of tomato, however I suffer from 70s childhood cravings and want the the veggie stuff.

He is currently roasting a chicken stuffed with tarragon, salad and bread are on the table and suddenly I feel hungry. Now I know that I must be on the mend...ohh, and I really fancy a glass of wine.

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Hours later, they were done so I warmed them with some slightly past their best blueberries and the last of the raspberries, red gooseberries and wild strawberries from the garden, and piled them into a bread lined bowl. I never had the delights of summer pudding as a child, because as my mum said, who would want to eat a pile of stewed fruit and soggy bread, but I now absolutely love it. The pud is sitting in the fridge; the ruby juice already beginning to stain the bread in patches, like blood on snow.

Was lacking inspiration for dinner, so turned to Sophie Dahl’s book entitled “Voluptuous Delights” (I admit I bought this because I loved the title, enjoy Ms Dahl’s whimsical writing style and thought she might have some secret recipe for stuffing your face whilst staying enviable thin and beautiful…alas, no secret recipe but many very, very good recipes for simple, seasonal breakfasts, lunches and dinners) and decided on linguine with crab, lemon, chilli and tomatoes. Light and summery unlike the grey drizzle outside. Sadly, the summer pudding won’t be ready for this evening, but we all need something to look forward to at the beginning of the working week.

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Haven’t really moved since I opened the package, except to bake some blueberry muffins to take to the beach this afternoon.

I was a plump, ultra shy who existed to read and liked nothing better than curling up on the sofa after a trip to the library with a pile of books and a couple of still warm jam tarts. No change there then…

However, I thought I was the only person who wanted to go and live up an alp with Grandfather like Heidi (despite having no idea what an alp was…they are a rare site on housing estates in Hull). Unlike other girls I never wanted to go to boarding school for the camaraderie, the fun of a hockey match on a winters day or for helping other, less fortunate (probably scholarship) girls in times of distress – no, like Jane Brocket, I was only interested in midnight feasts and tuck boxes crammed with slabs of fruit cake, tinned sardines and fizzy pop. My stomach churned with horror at the thought of “Swallows and Amazons” style adventure in boats, but I dreamed of their hearty breakfasts, big enough to fuel a days roaming and climbing, featuring creamy, steamy porridge, bacon, plump sausages and glistening fried mushrooms accompanied by a pile of hot, buttered toast. In our house childhood breakfasts featured a bowl of cornflakes garnished with a heavy frosting of white sugar, eaten whilst putting on your socks and finishing your history homework and lasted approximately two and half minutes.

Needless to say I have devoured this book of memories with many cups of tea, tears dripping off the end of my nose. I now want to spend the rest of the summer lying on my tummy in a patch of sun, grass tickling my chin, re-reading “Little Women”, “The Wind in the Willows” and “Milly Molly Mandy”. This is a great idea for a book, sweet and nostalgic as cherry cake scoffed out of a paper napkin – if you have children it is a lovely idea to tempt them to read and to cook. Even if you don’t, it will take you back to your childhood…so grab yourself a Sherbet Fountain and a copy of The Railway Children and indulge yourself.

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Als, sweet chicken and roasted oranges are not that tasty – I wish I had stuffed plain, delicious roasted chicken breast into a soft, white roll with a smear of mayo and eaten it outside in the last of the sun, then polished off the oranges with the juice stickily running down to my elbows.

I hate it when a recipe disappoints, especially when the individual ingredients are so plainly perfect.

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However, yesterday, looking at some rapidly turning strawberries I chucked them in a pan and boiled for five minutes with half their weight of preserving sugar. This is fast jam for smearing on weekday morning toast and dolloping onto scones or through some natural yoghurt for an al fresco pudding. Made fast, eaten quicker, it will not keep long but who cares. It is very beautiful too, lipstick red and full of slightly squished whole fruit. Strangely, it smells almost artificially of strawberries and reminded us of 1970s Hartleys jam.

Went to see Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince last night. Fellow Potties will not be disappointed but I expect anyone who hasn’t read the book (is there anybody who hasn’t…?) would be confused. The vast amount of cheap fat, sugar and e-numbers that were hurtling through me by the time the film came on only added to the excitement. I wouldn’t dream of eating a “white chocolate” mouse or foam teeth anywhere but the cinema and I do sometimes think that I should take my own supply of healthy snacks, but chomping on some unsalted brazil nuts or a banana would leave me feeling flatter than Ron Weasley after a double Potions lesson with Professor Snape.

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Alas, my decision to renounce alcohol has had to beat a hasty retreat in the face of all this builder misery and mayhem, so tomorrow I will raise a final glass of champagne as Dick and Billy shake the dust of my extension from their steel toe capped boots and then I will climb, giggling and sleepy, back on the wagon.

The good thing is that I can cook again…

If anyone needs a recommendation for a fantastic blog please try this one:

http://middleagedgapper.blogspot.com/

I confess it is written by someone that I know, but it is funny, warm and slightly eccentric – as all good blogs should be.

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Ade’s old friend drove up from London for the weekend. Had a table booked at our marvellous local café bar (Dazal, Newland Avenue, Hull – wonderful food, friendly owners that make every diner feel special and like a mate and usually someone that you know hanging out there) for 7.30pm. Tim still hadn’t arrived by 7pm and I was ready to start gnawing the kitchen table. I decided to walk down to ensure that they didn’t give our table away (in reality to make a start on s drink and any titbits that may come my way). By the time Ade and Tim rolled up I had already polished off an Elderflower Collins (gin, elderflower liqueur, lemon juice, soda water and utterly delicious since you ask). Backs were slapped, news exchanged, wine and beers were consumed and by the time the food arrived I hardly noticed what I was eating (root veg, cranberry and goats cheese bake, which I guess was probably ambrosial). Oh well, lets have a glass of prosecco to celebrate. At about 11 o’clock we all tottered back down the street to sit in the garden, warm and happy, more wine all round.

Woke on Saturday morning feeling OK but absolutely starving. Back to Dazal for loads of coffee, a feta salad and a mountain of warm pitta bread before driving to Dalby Forest for the main event – Paul Weller. Amazing. I have seen Mr Weller many times before, but last might he played his heart out in a field with a back ground of black trunked ancient forest and fog. Thousands of middle aged people, soaked through and muddy, singing “Eton Rifles” in a field in North Yorkshire. That’s Entertainment!

The three of us rose late and trundled off to local gastro heaven, The Boars Nest. Pate with chutney and living salad, salmon and samphire pie topped with crushed Jersey Royals and bitter chocolate mousse cake with sour cream topped off my weekend of no cooking. Now sitting in the garden with a glass of wine, enjoying the last of the sun and the Sunday papers (RIP Jacko).

Hope your weekend was as good for the soul.

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Back to reality now, the ironing beckons...

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I was very sniffy about the street party, however it was fantastic. Fortuantely the afternoon wasn't too soggy and although it poured down from early evening everyone brought out patio heaters, sun parasols and umbrellas and just got on with it. Neighbours who have walked past me 100 times without even nodding were sharing their provisions, wine and secrets, every child on the street was up well past their bedtime (there was no bad behaviour, wailing or chaos) and I'm really hoping that it happens again next year.

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My cranberry and almond white chocolate brownies had been a bit of a disaster as they had failed to cook in the middle - I think the butter and high fat content of the almonds and white choc were to blame. So, out of the oven come a collapsed, molten mess, which once it had cooled was still a mess but hell it tastes like heaven. Like a cross between a cake and a gooey pudding, Ade is glad it was too grotty to sell and has feasted on the remains all day. The good news is that my Rocky Road and cupcakes were a triumph. I gave them to some nice ladies who were running a cake stall to fund the local after school club which apparently does not receive funding. They told me that my cakes flew out so hopefully they have made a few quid and put some sticky smiles on some faces.

Rain has stopped play for now, but seems to be clearing. So, out again to join the fun - salsa dancing, silent movies with live piano accompaniment, a bbq and apparently the ritual burning of some symbolic community artwork, which all sounds a bit wickerman and odd. Oh well, I go with an open mind as I always look forward to an event that mixes fire and the consumption of beer.

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This is the point when I felt really frustrated and angry, after all this was a treat. We both work really hard and don't get much free time to enjoy together, so we should have mentioned to the surly, black clad girl that "served" us that the sarnie was dismal and the chowder inedible. Instead we got up, shuffled out without meeting the eye of any of the uber trendy bar staff who were all standing around chatting to their uber trendy mates lolling at the bar, and went home where Ade made fantastic Moroccan style lamb kebabs and roasted veg.

How very English...

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Got up early this morning to make some bread rolls. Taking hot bread out of the oven must be the most satisfying feeling in the world. And it's certainly the best smell. Ate the first one in the garden, still warm with a mug of tea. Hot bread is meant to be really bad for you but I'm certainly not feeling any ill effects xx

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I have a fancy for a white chocolate brownie with almonds and cranberries, mainly cos I discovered a couple of bags hurtling towards their sell-by date yesterday. Might be a good option for my stall at the street party and possibly a bigger seller than slug scones.

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Mr Slater’s inspirational website suggested crab and tomato soup, so I have tinkered with his recipe (not because I think I can do any better, just cos I am too lazy to go out and buy the right ingredients) and have softened three shallots with a long, scarlet chilli, diced finely. Then I added a very large punnet of cherry tomatoes, halved and warmed till they started to collapse. Add a litre of chicken stock (from a cube) and the juice of half an orange and simmer gently for 30 minutes. Add the crab meat, white and brown, a tablespoon of Thai fish sauce (in my case it was much more but I love it) and the juice of a lime for freshness and zing. Eat with lots of crusty bread in the garden as the sun comes out to gently stream the rain saturated air dry. Deeply savoury, light and filling this soup has the fire and colour of the exotic yet is curiously cosy and English too.

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Might have a bit of toast to cheer myself up.

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Now excitedly waiting for the start of a new series of “Supersizers Go…” which apparently this week focuses on food of the eighties. According to the blurb in this weekend’s paper, the intrepid Sue and Giles spend this episode bravely scoffing nouvelle cuisine and Findus Crispy Pancakes. Now, as someone who was a teenager growing up on a Hull council estate in the eighties I’m not sure that I will recognise the BBC2 80s menu. A roast joint and lots of (well boiled veg) for Sunday lunch, which after a bit of action with the crank handled mincing machine was stretched to become “savoury mince”, accompanied by buttered boiled spuds and cabbage on Monday. Friday was home fried fish and chips whilst Saturday lunch of tinned ham, jackets and tinned peas was served on the dot of twelve so my Dad could slump in front of “World of Sport” all afternoon. In between was a rota of lamb chops, pork chops, mixed grill, spag bol, fish pie, shepherds pie, meat and potato pie, gammon and pineapple rings followed by trifle or fruit pie and Carnation Milk for special occasions, all accompanied by mounds and pounds of veg or two lettuce leaves with a sliced squishy tomato. Frozen food was for lazy blighters with more money than sense. Heaven only knows what my Dad would have made of a plate of nouvelle cuisine – probably had it between two slices of Hovis before a slice of malt loaf with a cup of tea.

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Thinking of making a huge batch for our local street party, the Ella Street Festival next weekend and selling them for charity (in cellophane tied with ribbon, whilst wearing pinny and heels, naturally) but very worried that filling the house with sugar, butter and half tonne bags of mini marshmallows is simply a recipe for disaster!

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Ade drove off full and happy for an afternoon of surfing. I settled in the shade of the cherry tree to watch the blackbirds plunder the ripening fruit and to read Stuart Maconie’s excellent, amusing “Adventures on the High Teas”, whilst a free range chicken from Aldi turned golden in the oven. It was the first time I had bought a chicken from a discount supermarket, and I had been a bit worried that it might not be as good as a free range bird from the farmers market or Sainsburys, however it was delicious, simply stuffed with three types of thyme, marjoram and sage plus a big fat lemon, no fat, basted twice. Ate with jersey royals roasted with rosemary and a bowl of sliced tomatoes dressed with crushed garlic, balsamic vinegar and a good grinding of sea salt. The sun is out, and early summer has finally come to my kitchen. It’s been a long time coming.

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So, today hasn’t been much better than the rest of the week. Breakfast was blueberries and yoghurt (healthy option) and an all butter, mature cheddar and wholegrain mustard scone, still warm from the oven (greedy option).

Lunch was an egg and home grown cress sandwich with a bit of extra light mayo. I must admit it was probably the best egg sarnie I have ever eaten due to the superior quality of our egg box nurtured fresh cress. Followed by a double chocolate ice cream tub at the ballet. Oh and an apple when I got home.

Dinner will be a jacket spud with one of those teeny weeny mini tubs of Philly light – haven’t got time to faff with much else as I am shedding my culture vulture, ballet going frock and opaque tights for false lashes and a bit more cleavage for the burlesque. Also, have a pre-burlesque tipple in the fridge – some of the Elderflower champagne that Queen Mab recommended a while ago. I’m sure there are some much needed vitamins in elderflowers – vitamin C maybe?

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Monday: cooked a quorn sausage linguine at home, however as was rushing around and not giving it much love and attention I overdid the dried chillis. Edible but only to the point were our mouths exploded.

Tuesday: work buffet for lunch and work buffet at 9pm (yes 9pm, the time when most normally people are settling down to the watch the telly)

Wednesday: pre-yoga meal of soup and a bread roll, except I didn’t go to yoga as I was still at work at 6.45pm.

Thursday: went out to eat so chickpeas and ice-cream sundae (not on the same plate). Starting to feel like that bloke who ate McDonalds for a month, except he was probably healthier than I am due to the slices of tomato in a Big Mac.

Friday: Work buffet for lunch although this was a posh one for the head honchos which means that the deep fried spring rolls come decorated with strips of yellow pepper, had to face Morrisons after work, home to a packet of stir fried veg and noodles, mindlessly shoved into face whilst choking down sobs in front of Comic Relief.

Starting to feel crabby, bloated and lethargic (some would say I’m naturally like that…). Breakfast should be blueberries and yoghurt but those cheese scones do look delicious. And they are still warm…

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The taste was horrible – couscous was like lumpy mud. Very, very disappointing.

Ade has just jumped in the car to go and pick up a take-away. At least it’s a more healthy option than getting a delivery

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Today was rubbish. Ade has braved the bitter wind and what is described on the News as “wintry showers” to continue to plant seeds and prune climbers. I have prowled around doing a bit of sporadic ironing and resisting the urge to bake. I have been saving my last couple of teaspoons of Christmas tea to soak fruit for a spiced tea bread, which would be great on a chilly windswept beach whilst watching Ade bobbing around with his surf board; because of the spices involved – cinnamon, saffron and dried citrus peel - it needs to be done before Easter. I also have a fancy to try some cheese scones that bite back with extra strong, grainy cheddar, a generous teaspoon of English mustard powder and maybe a sprinkle of fennel or poppy seeds. Or some Cornish pasties, which have such a greasy “Greggs” image nowadays but if made with time, love, quality mince and decent veg, cooked long and slow then encased in tender, crumbly short crust pastry are an example of cost effective, homely cooking at its best. All of these would sustain a surfer through hours battling the curling grey waves of the North Sea, or the rain lashed observer, spending long hours wandering a lonely stretch of English coast line or huddled, wrapped in a parka, reading the Sunday papers in the car.

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Having spent today slumped at my desk feeling evil, reviving only slightly when diet coke and a family sized pack of jelly babies passed my lips; I am now going to punish myself with a cleansing yoga class. And why does the phone ring almost constantly when you are nursing a hangover and a splitting headache means that you are compelled to pick up the phone on the first ring, only to find that if you open your mouth to speak you feel as if you might throw up. Not dignified, at all.

Anyway, we did actually have a lovely chat and a fabulous dinner – we both had char grilled halumi cheese in warm pitta bread with roasted veggies, couscous, salad and that cooling yoghurt stuff with bits of diced cucumber and mint in. Delicious, but I’m not sure if it was that civilised because this morning my suede shoes had a light dusty of dehydrated couscous and the scary rubbery pebble that I found rattling around the bottom of my bag turned out to be a bit of decaying grilled cheese.

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The secret to a good risotto is to stir, stir and keep stirring – it’s quite calming after a busy day to do a bit of mindless stirring. It needs to be oozy. Secondly add a whole Jamie Oliver of herbs; anything that you like but lots and lots of it. And thirdly, use a decent stock because that is what wiggles its way into the grain of rice, so you might as well have stock that will it taste nice.

When I was fat I cooked the rice and any veggies in olive oil then added butter – lots and lots of butter melted into the rice when it was resting towards the end, then another knob on each individual serving, along with a thick blanket of freshly grated parmesan. Now I am thin I dry fry and use a tiny scrape of parmesan stirred through at the end of cooking and it is as creamy and tasty as the full fat version. Filling, fragrant and low fat. Perfect, however Ade has picked up a new car today and for some bizarre reason the salesman gave him a MASSIVE box of chocs “for the wife…” So I guess it would be rude not to sample one.

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I would love to try it again, and it would be easy to do so (I’m 5 minutes walk away from a Tesco Metro, two Sainsbury’s and an all night petrol station) but I think it is probably best left as a perfect childhood memory. I will throw hotdog sausages (no, not outdoor, rare breed sausages from the organic butcher but the proper, synthetic, tinned in brine variety) eaten on a plate with jacket spuds and Stork SB, Primula flavoured cheese triangles (me and my brother once nearly came to blows over the prawn flavoured one…), grapefruit “Rise n Shine” fruit drink and digestive biscuits liberally smeared with chunky peanut butter (I’m not certain that should legally be classed as a food stuff) into that basket and store in the great, white pantry of my memory.

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Yesterday went to Cayton Bay so Ade could surf. I sat in the car for seven hours, reading. Although the weather was quite nice – well it was bright and slightly less bleak than usual, except when it started to drizzle – I didn’t even go for a walk along the cliffs or down the beach, which normally I love doing. We ate the last of the banana bread that I baked last Sunday and it was still dense, moist and delicious. Ade said it was just what he needed after three hours battling the waves in the North Sea. So, what’s my excuse…..?

Today, Ade has put together my new, much dreamed of bike, which is a Dawes Duchess and looks like the sort of sit up and beg boneshaker that sinister spinsters of a certain age ride in Midsummer Murders. I cycled up and down the street, twice and have abandoned it outside the kitchen window after stubbing my toe when I forgot that I should use the brakes to stop. Ade has also planted six types of sweet pea, cress, spring onions, purple sprouting broccoli, chillies, sweet peppers and four types of heritage tomato, which is the beginning of the gardening year for us. I use the word “us” very loosely, as I spent the afternoon sitting reading in a deckchair in a patch of sunlight in the green house. It’s a good job I have had a pile of good books to plough through.

Haven’t even had my phone switched on all weekend as I haven’t wanted to speak to anyone. Maybe I am just recharging my internal batteries before spring kicks off in earnest.

We did eat the first meal outdoor meal of the year at lunchtime which should be celebratory. Maybe I should have opened a bottle of champagne? Cooked Croque Monsieur and salad for Ade. I had the Slimming World version of this French café favourite – a slice of ham and a mini babybel light melted onto a slice of toast. Yum?

Not sure if we will get to eat dinner outside, but I am counting the days until we can. There is definitely something in the air that my taste buds are responding to and I want zingier flavours and lighter textures. I am doing something with prawns, a pink grapefruit, mint leaves and a bag of watercress that I recently saw in a magazine tonight, which seems to fit the bill. Maybe the vitamins in that will give me a new lease of life. That or a couple of months in the South of France might help.

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I know that if I cooked all day, every day for the rest of my life I couldn’t produce food that looks like that. I comfort myself with the thought that when I cooked fish pie for my friend Catherine, she said it was the best fish pie outside of Whitby. High praise indeed…

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Found a recipe in “Olive” magazine that I could tinker with to make Slimming World friendly. Dry-fried 11 slices (yes, 11 slices – between 2 of us) of organic, dry cured bacon with a crushed, dried chilli. Added lots of blanched broccoli. Spritzed with a massive squirt of lemon, topped with poached eggs which make a warm, oozy dressing. Sharp, smoky and full of green goodness. Mopped up the juices with a hunk of sunflower bread.

Ade has just made a cup of coffee, black and steaming, accompanied by a handmade rose cream. Was going to give up chocolate for Lent, but I knew that I still had half a box left over from Valentines Day. Feel as if I am doing a good deed by eating them up.

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