Monday, 23 August 2010

Plums

We had an hour to spare this morning so Nigel and I went to the Pitstop Cafe for one of their excellent coffees (me: cappucino with an extra shot; him: latte).  A display of lovely felt brooches ("Hand Made by Stroma" caught my eye and I immediately thought of my sister Laura who would love them.

There were also some beautiful pieces made by jewellery artist Eve Smith who has a great eye for colour (see her Etsy storefront here).

Looking at gorgeous craftwork reinforces my commitment to only buying handcrafted or vintage items this Christmas (I won't mention the 'C' word again until there's only 100 days to go - only 23 days to go then).

And on the handmade front, I made jam in my breadmaker for the first time.  I used the mirabelle plums and a cooking apple and the jam was really nice.  And, it was so quick and easy!  No more endless stirring and testing for me.

This evening I watched Who Do You Think You Are Are but didn't find Alexander Armstrong's genealogy particularly compelling viewing.  Call me an inverted snob but posh folk are never quite as interesting as the hoi polloi.

Or maybe, like Alan Partridge, I'm just a bit intimidated by toffs:
You are a big posh sod with plums in your mouth, and the plums have mutated and they have got beaks. You make pigs smoke. You feed beef burgers to swans. You have big sheds, but nobody's allowed in. And in these sheds you have 20ft high chickens, and these chickens are scared because the don't know why they're so big, and they're going, "Oh why am I so massive?" and they're looking down at all the little chickens and they think they're in an aeroplane because all the other chickens are so small. Do you deny that? No, I think his silence speaks volumes.

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