Why?

There have been several incidences in my life that seemed like a fantastic idea at the time but turned out to be a nightmare of epic proportions (like the two 'Shirley Temple' perms I had in succession during 1987).

Spending four days recreating the periodic table in cupcake form is getting added to that list.

A step closer to zombie-free living

I’ve started reading Simon Pegg’s excellent autobiography Nerd Do Well and was struck by an anecdote which very closely mirrors one of my all-time favourite topics of conversation - what to do in the event of a zombie* apocalypse.

I’ve spent oodles of time considering how well RCC would fare against a marauding zombie invasion. The house was deemed reasonably secure with plenty of opportunities to batten down the floors one-by-one before ending up in the loft conversion and if needs be, escaping out of the skylight before fleeing to safety over the rooftops of Addiscombe (with the cats in our backpacks - I’m assuming the hens would have been finished off by this point). The Achilles heel in my master plan was the garden fence. None of it was more than four foot high and it was so knackered that even the most inept of our respiratory challenged foes would consider breaching it a breeze. This significant landscaping oversight has weighed heavy on my mind for some time now.

Ha! Well, think on zombie scum because I’d like to see you get through RCC’s lovely new fence in all its six foot glory. (At this point i was intending to insert a photo of said fence, but my  iPhone’s having one of its 'special moments' and refusing to email or text images - i feel another Steve Jobs rant coming on. Trust me; as fences go it’s pretty awesome).

Guess now all that’s left is to source a generator, weapons and emergency rations (some green and red herbs?) and we’re all sorted. Perhaps as autumn is upon us I should turn my attention towards what to do in the event of a killer fog? There’s quite a gap under the front door....

* I don’t mean those sprinting, manic ‘infected’ things from 28 days later, more the bumbling, gentler paced flesh-eaters from the George A. Romero school of the undead.

The case for autumn

Around now most people start having a right old moan about how rubbish it is now the days are getting shorter, etc, but not me. Autumn is by far and away my favourite season and to silence those naysayers I’ve put together a compelling case for support in the form of my favourite medium, the list:

Why autumn is awesome

1. Everything (even Croydon) looks prettier with a scattering of burnt orange and burgundy leaves around the place

2. The telly gets better

3. Following on from point 2, River Cottage is back on (although not sure what Hugh’s playing at starting with an episode on meat, followed swiftly by another on fish)

4. Spending an entire Sunday lying on the sofa watching The Good Life seems almost compulsory rather than a guilty pleasure

5. I get to make a Christmas cake then stuff it full of brandy for 10 weeks

5.  No need to religiously shave your legs

6. Jumpers hide a multide of sins

Hmm – reading that back it’s less of a compelling case than anticipated, more a revealing insight into my televisual and personal grooming habits.

Nerveless, autumn is upon us. I suggest you embrace all its glory and count your blessings it’s not winter yet.

Crimbo cake

On Friday i received an email warning it was a mere THREE MONTHS UNTIL CHRISTMAS. Bloody hell, down-tools everyone and start decking those halls! I’m not going to descend into some 'Christmas starts earlier every year’ rhetoric and although a twelve week warning may on the surface seem a tad melodramatic, some of us do need to start thinking about Christmas sooner rather than later.

Why, i hear you quite reasonably ask? Quite simply anyone keen on home-made, booze–laden crimbo delights (essentially everyone brought up on a heavy diet of Delia Xmas specials) needs a decent stretch of time to get the required volume of brandy into the Christmas cake.

I’m ashamed to admit this year is my first foray into Christmas cake baking. For years I was forced like some child slave labourer to bake and ice the family Yule log, having stupidly made a decent stab at one in Domestic Science at the tender age of 12 (note to pre-teens: never make a good job of anything, you’ll immediately be assigned that task until you’re old enough to flee the County, divorce your parents, or both). I believe it's the lasting memories of this endeavour that's put me off Christmas baking until now. It probably also explains my deep rooted fear of plastic robins and holly leaves.

Note- this is not one of my actual creations, but it's a fair representation of the sort of crap i used to churn out (apologies if by some strange blogging coincidence this is a photo of your Yule log.  It's lovely).

Tonight i will be baking RCC’s first ever Christmas cake with help from my Mother. I’m extremely grateful for her assistance; proving once again that no amount of recipe book reading can beat four decades of home baking experience. Yesterday she kindly pointed out at least a dozen things wrong with my Victoria sponge technique. Quite an achievement given there’s less than twelve steps required to make one.

Anyway, i digress – back to the Crimbo bake. We've carefully considered the many available recipes and have opted for Nigella’s ‘How to be a Domestic Goddess’ version, mainly because we could source all the ingredients from the shop at the end of my street.

In preparation, over a kilo of dried fruit is currently marinating in a vat of brandy on the kitchen counter. Max and Eli look a bit worse for wear from breathing in the resulting fumes and I’ve had to open the back door to prevent the entire household passing out in a drunken stupor.

If we manage to keep awake long enough to get the resulting mixture in the oven it will be a miracle. I’ll keep you posted..

Chicken sitting for the old women

It occurred to me while i was  just in the middle of making  plum jam (in the microwave of all things) that i promised you a post this weekend.

I feel slightly fraudulent offering you the ramblings below as it's something i wrote on return from my epic week in Shropshire which has languished on my desktop for nearly two months. Still, reading it again did make me chuckle, especially as it starts with my usual grovelling over the length of time between posts. Perhaps i should rename the blog 'Apoligies from River Cottage Croydon’. Anyway, enjoy.

Howdy. Apologies for the delay in posts, blah, blah (can’t even be bothered to summons a decent excuse).

Oh, hang on – I’ve got one. Apologies for the lack of recent posts but I’ve been in the absolute middle of nowhere house/garden/chicken sitting for my mother. Yes, I’ve survived my week living in the grounds of Hodnet Hall, returning to the bosom of River Cottage Croydon to report on my expedition.

There are very few people, for whom I’d sacrifice a week of my holiday to get up every day at 6am to tend to a ragtaggle bunch of chickens, but my mother is one of them. A week living in the grounds of a bona-fide stately home (isn't it beautiful?) has certainly been good for my stress levels and my education in all things outdoorsy. Here’s a summary of my main learnings from a stint in the Countryside.

Hens can kill mice. Really, they can - I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Kill them stone dead with a single blow to the head. Left alone with the murine corpse for any length of time they will peck its little body into an unrecognisable pulp. Extrapolating the carcass from said hen is not for the feint hearted. Also, best not done in the dark.

Toads like living in the shoes you keep by the back door. ALWAYS check before sliding your feet in.

Mum's garden is so vast you can listen to the album  'Contra' by Vampire Weekend twice over whilst watering it. 

It is a fallacy that mommy birds reject baby birds touched by human hand (thanks RSPB website). However, it is a truism that any fool trying to return a baby bird to its nest using a decrepit stepladder on uneven ground is in for a big surprise.

One sunburnt ear is never a good look.

Not dead yet

Just in case you thought I’d deserted you, fear not! Huge apologies for the lack of posts over the last couple of months. There's been so much going on i don’t even know where to begin. I'll pen a proper update for you over the weekend but (in no particular order) here's some potential blog titles heading your way:

• Shambles O’clock sewing club
• Eli and the gigantic grass seed in eye debacle
• Chicken sitting for the old women
• The two grand fence fiasco
• Massive veg fail

See you in a few days. L

Back from Chelsea – quick match report

What a wonderful day. I’ll report back in full later but thought you should know how i got on following my own advice from earlier this week.


1. Get there early A+, gold star, etc. Was at the entrance at 7.55am, programme in hand.

2. Play BBC presenter Bingo. Not bad. Managed to spot the holy trinity – Alan, Joe and Carol. No bonus points for parallel sightings.

3. Pack your own lunch. I packed my own breakfast, does this count?

4. Splash out on a glass of Pimms. Failed – had a few glasses of prosecco last night and didn’t fancy hair of the dog.

5. Control your impulse to buy multiple bits of gardening tat. Fail, fail, fail, fail and fail again.

Purchases in no particular order:

• Wicker grow bag fencing
• Two bone china mugs
• Tin for holding string (with string)
• Two metal life-sized cockerel garden ornaments (One for Mum)
• Two robin garden decorations on sticks (both Mum’s – brought to order)
• Dibber for planting seeds
• Garden utility belt (like Batman's, only better)
• Two keyrings – for ‘shed’ and ‘back door’
• Three leaf bags (turn leaves into mulch over time) – annual Chelsea purchase
• Seeds from Heritage seed company

I’m sure I’ve missed about half a dozen items off. Mr Swift is going to have a coronary when he gets home.

6. Take change for seed catalogues in the Pavilion. Pass

7. Take lots of photos and ask lots of questions. Pass and pass (sorry to the man on the South African exhibition in the Pavilion. I bet you didn’t think one person could have so many questions about Aloe)

8. Finally, get a cab back to your main transport hub Another massive fail. Walked with my multitude of purchases to Victoria. Officially the longest mile of my life.

Chelsea

My favourite week in the gardening calandar has arrived!

For those of you heading to Chelsea, perhaps for the first time, i have compiled a survival guide to making the most of your day.

1. Get there early. In fact, get there when it opens. Not only will you be able to get round the show gardens whilst most people are still having their breakfast you’ll also have the chance to see the BBC filming their coverage. This brings me nicely onto point two...

2. Play BBC presenter Bingo. Main targets are Alan Titchmarsh, Joe Swift (normally wearing a Panama), Jekka McVicar (normally manning her stand in the Pavilion) and Carol Klein. Bonus points for spotting two of them together. Marvel at how much make-up Alan is wearing.

3. Pack your own lunch. This may seem tight but the Chelsea showground is a parallel universe where everything is quadruple the price of anywhere else.

4. Ignoring point three for a second - splash out on a glass of Pimms. It’s Chelsea, you deserve it!

5. Control your impulse to buy multiple bits of gardening tat. You don’t need a decorative string holder however much you think you do. Same goes for lace-up wellies, pink watering cans and plastic garden clogs with a ‘wacky’ tomato design. I’m speaking from bitter experience here.

6. Take change for seed catalogues in the Pavilion. The exhibitors will look at you with the contempt you deserve when you offer up a tenner for a 20p brochure.

7. Take lots of photos and ask lots of questions.

8. Finally, get a cab back to your main transport hub (Victoria in my case). There’s no point in being a martyr trying to carry home all those impulse buys on the tube.

Behold......

.....the fruits of my labour at Oh Sew Brixton’s ‘Make a skirt’ workshop last Monday.

The tutor described my seams as ‘perfectly straight and neat’; I almost cried with joy.

Just need the weather to improve so it can get its first outing. For the meantime I will stick to trying it on once a day and marvelling at how un-handmade it looks.

Where's my cat?

From time to time you hear tales of how attempts to rescue an animal in distress, normally a dog in the sea, can lead to the death of several people. We experienced something a little similar at RCC over the weekend (thankfully without the deaths).


I won’t go into too many details out of respect for my lovely neighbours but needless to say an incident last Saturday with a missing kitten lead to an injured leg and a visit from the paramedics, fire brigade and six police officers.

So, the moral of this story is - cats are a pain in the arse.

No excuses

I’m not going to bother apologising for the shockingly long time that has elapse between posts. My only excuse is I’ve been busy doing things in order to write about them. Swings and roundabouts, people. Swings and roundabouts.

First up is my new found love of sewing. You’re all aware of my inability to knit so it stands to reason that there must be one craft on the planet that i can take to, even on an elementary level. Having been inspired by the quilting exhibition at the V&A I am now the proud (?) owner of an Argos value sewing machine – a snip at £60. It’s hardly the most sophisticated piece of kit (I’ve already discovered it won’t do a decent satin stitch) but given my tendency to start crafts only to discover I’m rubbish at them a nanosecond later it seemed like a sensible level of expenditure.

Having played around for a week on my own it was blatantly obvious it was time to call in the professionals, so i enrolled on a beginners course at Oh Sew Brixton run by a lovely lady called Fiona. The result of her beginners course was the lovely bag below – i am so proud of myself (and Fiona for having the patience to push me to the finish).

In other news, i helped out Omlet (the Eglu makers) at the Ideal Home Exhibition. It was great to spend a day talking chickens. The level of interest from the general public was incredible; we were swamped with enquiries all day and i chatted to interested novices and experienced urban hen keepers alike. I managed to sell a couple of Eglus so, clearly impressed with my sales patter, Omlet have invited me to work for them at the Grand Designs Live exhibition. I’ll be there on 8th and 9th May - if you’re going please come along and say hi.

Everything at RCC is in full spring mode, but shamefully I am lagging behind the in garden. One of the reasons for this is the hens have eaten everything I’ve planted so far. They’ve launched a full scale attack on the strawberry plants, reducing them to stalks, and trampled the rocket and lettuce into submission. There was no other alternative but to curtail their free-ranging to the bottom third of the garden with some chicken fencing. This, as expected, went down like a lead balloon - cue angry clucking and much giving of the evil, beady chicken-eye.

To sweeten the blow I scrounged an old tyre off our local mechanic to give the girls something new to play with. Nice idea in principle; but how on Earth was I supposed to get a car tyre and my vast collection of shopping bags back to RCC on foot? Never one to be overcome by logistical barriers i came up with the genius idea of rolling it alongside me – big mistake. All was going well until the path dipped rapidly downhill and the tyre shot off at breakneck speed towards an unsuspecting pensioner. Only the last minute intervention of the park gates prevented said man from becoming a geriatric skittle. Despite my frantic apology he was distinctly unimpressed with my blatant disregard for health and safety. I carried it the remainder of the way home, head hung in shame....

Toto, i don't think we're in Croydon anymore

This weekend, in a departure from the norm, Mr Swift and i manage to venture further than the Spar at the end of our road (shock, horror). While Mr S went to Stanford Bride to see Villa get their arse kicked 7-1, I had a thoroughly entertaining day out at a couple of new exhibitions in London-town.

The first was the Ministry of Food exhibition at the Imperial War Museum to commemorate the 70th anniversary of rationing. Now, this was always going to be a winner with me; digging for victory, make do and mend – right up my street!

One of the most entertaining aspects of the exhibit are the ‘Food Flashes’; brief instructional films intended to help the public in rationing food and goods during the Second World War. Some were very tongue in cheek; others had become unintentionally hilarious with the passing of time. I recommend you go for them alone.

In an unexpected twist, the museum’s cafe is serving up dishes based on Ministry of Food recipes. I treated myself to Mrs Harwood’s cheese and lentil pie, which was so delicious i would happily eat it every day for the rest of the year, and chocolate syrup cake, of which i cannot say the same.

I then ventured over to the V&A to the Quilts: 1700 – 2010 exhibition. I’ve already documented my aptitude for other crafts such as knitting, but there’s always been a part of me that’s wanted to give quilting a go. I remember my Mother making a patchwork quilt for my Grandfather, gathering material from clothes given to her from various extended family members. My Grandfather died 13 years ago but the quilt remains in the family as a snapshot of social history of the time, and more importantly as a hideous reminder of some of the terrible fashions in the 80s.

The exhibition was full of incredibly intricate quilts that were breathtaking in their execution. However, i found myself most moved by possibly the least showy quilt in the place - The Changri quilt, created in secrecy by a troup of Girl Guides who were Japanese prisoners of war. There’s a link to their story here.

Finally, if that wasn’t enough i topped the weekend off my making my first ever Easter cupcakes. I hope the hardworking staff of Post Magazine appreciate them tomorrow. Never fear Research and Policy, if no-one dies over at Incisive Media I’ll be making another dozen on Wednesday evening.

RCC's first three egg day

Well done M,T and B! I couldn't be more proud if i'd laid them myself.

Viva Spring

Yesterday was the vernal equinox, the official start of Spring. Yippie!

Eggs traditionally play a big part in celebrating the vernal equinox. They were often eaten, painted or given as presents. As I’m in the process of recovering from gastroenteritis (happy days) I gave the eating part a miss, but I was very thankful firstly for the arrival of a busy season for the garden and also for the two eggs the girls laid.

On the subject of eggs i'm still none the wiser as to the second layers secret identity. I've formulated a new theory that these eggs could be the result of not one, but two girls efforts. Why? Well, we’ve had a mystery egg for eight straight days now. Chickens take 25.5 hours to make an egg, meaning if it was a single girl she should have had a day off by now (Margot's record is six consecutive days). The plot thickens...

Finally, we appear to have a truce in the hen/cat war as today’s picture demonstrates. Eli’s doing his best to pull off a nonchalant stance, I’m sure he’s secretly terrified. Long may the casual indifference continue.

Right, off to take advantage of the weather and plant some seeds.

P.S – you may have noticed that in today’s Observer there’s is a guide to pets in which some women promoting her soon-to be-published book on chicken-keeping reiterates the nonsense that hens are as easy to keep as goldfish. For the last time people, NO THEY ARE NOT.

“Who laid an egg like this? David, it's over to you.”

Imagine mine and Mr Swift’s excitement on returning home on Thursday evening to find not one but two eggs in the nest box! I’ll give you a hand conjuring up the mental image – picture a man and a women in their late 30s, jumping up and down in the pitch dark, asking a couple of chickens “Which one of you clever girls laid this?”

One egg was definitely Margot’s finest; 65g, mid-brown with slight speckling. Next to it was a small but perfectly formed 50g egg which must have been from one of the new girls (unless they’d shoplifted it from the Spar). Immediately photographed it for posterity then texted everyone with the good news. Dear God, just typing that makes me realise how tragic that was.

Only one problem with this tale of happiness – which girl had laid the egg?

I love a good mystery, so in true Nancy Drew fashion I set about hatching (ha!) a plan to identify the girl responsible. I figured the most obvious route would be to catch the hen in the act – Plan A. This was cruelly thwarted from the offset as only Margot laid on Saturday. Hmm, time for Plan B; analyse the new girls’ appearance and behaviour for any tell-tale signs. Both Barbara and Tomasina are exhibiting different, but equally compelling signs of being in lay. So that was Plan B buggered. Figured I’d start again with Plan A on Sunday.

This morning i let them out at 7am – no egg. Popped back to bed for a couple of hours only to check back to find another perfectly formed 50g egg. Marvellous - I find myself outwitted yet again by a bird with the brain capacity of a cheap digital watch.

Time for Plan C - the webcam.

Give a warm welcome to....

Barbara (top) and Tomasina, my two beautiful new hens. They have been at RCC for three weeks and have settled in nicely. We only had 24 hours of bickering before a new pecking order was established. Naturally, Margot is top hen. Equally unsurprising news; Eli is bottom of the order. He’s so uniformly hated by all three hens that they manage to corner him in the greenhouse and chase him up the tree every time the four of them appear in the garden together.

Max doesn’t fare any better. This afternoon Tomasina gave him a sharp peck (in her defence, he was asking for it), forcing him to retreat to the safety of the command centre (shed roof) to dream up a cruel and unusual act of revenge he’ll never manage to execute.

Gerry, our recently departed hen, may be gone but certainly not forgotten. Mr Swift and I have decided to grow a tree in her honour, so I am currently trying to source a dwarf cherry tree that we can christen Gerry the Cherry. Think she would have appreciated the comedy value.

A sad day at RCC

I am heartbroken to report that Jerry the hen was put to sleep this afternoon. She became ill on Friday with peritonitis and despite mine and Kate the vets best efforts we were unable to save her.

She spent the weekend living in the house, sitting on my lap watching TV. I don't think she cared much for the Joe/Gail storyline in Corrie but seemed to really enjoy Glee.

I now have to put my sadness to one side and start looking for some new companions for poor Margot who is having a thoroughly miserable time as a flock of one.

I'll keep you posted.

The Cove

I'm not one for crying at films; Mr Swift is the sensitive creature in our house. He sobbed for the last 15 minutes of Monsters Inc. - I could have died with shame.

However, yesterday I cried my eyes out for most of the Oscar-nominated documentary The Cove (now out on DVD). I won't spoil it for you but it surrounds the Herculean efforts of a group of filmmakers and activists to expose a horrific dolphin culling practice in a Japanese coastal town. If it doesn’t win the Oscar I will be mightily outraged.

Go watch it now, but remember to have your hankie to hand

Psycho chicken

It’s a milestone birthday for my Mother this year (clue - she’s past 50 and not yet in her 60s....). so in order for her to go away on holiday, safe in the knowledge that all’s well at home, I have agreed to spend the week in Shropshire looking after her six hens – Rose, Petal, Hyacinth, Esmée, Violet and Gertrude.

One small problem – it would appear that Hyacinth has anger management issues. Since coming into lay she will attack anyone who disturbs her during this delicate time. My poor Mother had to fend her off with a bucket as she tried to climb her arm and peck her face off.

Imagine me, alone in this house for a week. How long do you think it would be before anyone found me; lying at the foot of the coop, a veritable chicken buffet?

I’m thinking of investing in a taser.

Operation run improvement – stage one

Never let it be said that i don’t deliver as promised. Here are a few pics of the extended run with its new flooring. Unfortunately not all went to plan due to situations way beyond my control . The ground was far too wet to lay paving slabs underneath the pond liner base so this has been shelved until Spring. The corrugated roofing has yet to materialise so I’ve been keeping the bedding (aubiose – wonderful stuff) dry with an IKEA shower curtain and the Eglu winter shade. Not the most ascetically pleasing set-up but as Pluto said, necessity is the mother of invention.

The girls seem to be enjoying the extra space and have really taken to the perches i've built for them using terracotta window boxes and old brances from our apple tree.

Just in case you were wondering quite how bad the run had got i took this photo just before we got started on the new set-up.  Bearing in mind my chickens get a thorough clean-out every Saturday morning this is still what i ended up with after a few weeks of snow and sub-zero temperatures - a woodchip/mud/newspaper sludge.

Thankfully, with the new system in place the run will be lovely whatever the weather - hurrah!     

 

Goldfish vs chicken

Happy New Year from RCC! Thank goodness that snow's buggered off.  Right, back to blogging business. Let's start the New Year with a bit of sarcasm.

I am always highly amused by the following statement on the Omlet (Eglu makers) website:

If you are looking for a low-maintenance easy-going pet then your search is over - chickens are seriously chilled out! No need to take for walks, chickens quite happily look after themselves and unlike a rabbit or goldfish, Omlet chickens come with a lifetime supply of eggs.

So, ‘seriously chilled out’ chickens are quite happy to look after themselves....hmmmmmm.....now that’s utter nonsense. I know what the wonderful team at Omlet are getting at here; Chickens do happily get on with their lives during the day whilst you’re at work. But they’re far from low maintenance and my ‘lifetime supply of eggs’ has, as expected, dried up for the winter.

As regular readers will know i have both chickens and  a goldfish - the much maligned, enigmatic Ron. Here are a few examples of where Ron wins hands down in the maintenance stakes:

1. I have never had to apply Vaseline to any of Ron’s extremities. I have, however, had to commando crawl through a muddy, poo-ridden run at 6.30am in sub-zero temperatures to apply Vaseline to Margot’s comb to protect her from frostbite (Of course, when I say ‘I’ here, I do in fact mean ‘Mr Swift’)

2. Ron has utter respect for hangovers. M and J have to be let out of their run at 7am every day, without fail

3. Ron has never performed a ‘brassica massacre’. M and J stripped my raised beds of every last cabbage and broccoli plant in under ten minutes thanks to Mr Swift’s half-arsed ‘supervised’ free-range session

4. Ron has never caught lice off the filthy local feral bird population resulting in thrice-weekly spraying sessions with Johnson’s anti-mite spray. Mr Swift and i have inhaled so much of that stuff that if we ever had children they'd have three heads and five arms each

5. Ron has never tried to tunnel out of his tank. M and J are digging holes to rival ‘Tom’, ‘Dick’ and ‘Harry’ in The Great Escape.

6. Ron has never wandered into the kitchen and laid an egg on the floor, much to the horror of the onlookng resident cat

Seriously, I love my hens and my Eglu to pieces but any would-be chicken owner should go into this endeavour with their eyes (and their wallets) wide open.

Speaking of the girls’ wellbeing, they have been less than impressed with the snow/ice conditions. My woes have started since the big thaw begun. Thanks to several weeks of frozen conditions rendering cleaning out their run utterly impossible what was once was a lovely, tidy space with plenty of wood chippings is now a muddy, stinking hellhole.

I can’t possibly let my girls live like this so next weekend ‘operation run improvement’ begins (really couldn’t think of anything snappier). This involves myself as chief engineer/site supervisor; Mr Swift (builders mate/chaiwalla); industrial paving slabs; one Eglu classic run extension; corrugated roofing panels; sand; bungee cord; plastic lawn edging; horse bedding; half fence posts; Ikea shower curtain and a pond liner*. Before and after photos to follow.... my DIY-obsessed father will be so proud.

*A prize for the person who produces a detailed expanation of how each of these components will be utilised, the use of diagrams will secure you extra marks.