It's been a while since I last wrote... it's not for lack of trying there are a heaps of 'drafts' within CasaHaggis that just weren't up to snuff.

I wonder if it's the weather that makes blogging possible for me. The lack of longing grey puts a much clearer spin on the muddle in my head... plus things have been busy.

The weather broke Easter weekend, an official four-day holiday with Friday and Monday "bank holidays" for all, I've learned, except those in care professions... like me. So I worked on Friday which was fine for me because I have things to do and a holiday will only get in the way. The rest of the weekend turned out to be quite delightful with our first snow of ... winter. Yes whilst everyone else is thawing out we got a good weekend of white stuff, enough for children to scatter large snowpeople throughout the city.


Meanwhile, Alastair and I indulged in a good American-style brunch hosted by a Brit with a Malaysian story. The menu was influenced by recent travels to Seattle and included good huevos rancheros, homemade granola, British hot cross buns, lots of tea and coffee, followed by several newspapers to read. And, yes, people! British people actually rose out of their beds for the occasion and brought their smiles, well, mostly. So, a great weekend, and the social connections, led on to some baking and an impromptu dinner with lost friends.

In between snow storms, Alastair and I snuck out to peak at our rhubarb plants which have been glistening with potential for some weeks now, like rubies against the darkness of their cloches. We managed to harvest sixteen ounces of rosy-ness, and thanks to Epicurious, we turned it into the best compote we've ever tasted. This paired with a polenta cake traveled with us to dinner where it was welcomed with open arms and mouths. I think Alastair's even planning more rhubarb plants for our future so we don't loose any sunny, ruby goodness.

It's good to be back. Hope you missed me!

Wary of Wellies...

Since I first arrived in the UK, I've fought the Wellies movement with the hope it would .... well, move on. The cascade of polka dots, flowers and stripes have been a little too much to bear... as evidenced at last year's folk festival when a little rain brought out everyone's short shorts and rubber.

There is another personality that ascribes to the Wellington boot, i.e., the country walker. Usually in our village that means the dog walker, but occasionally we see others sporting them. Alastair and I do own pairs of wanna-be wellies, but they are stashed in the attic since I found them a bit complicated when worn around mud and very hard on the knees. I just couldn't get the hang of them around the riverbottom mud that assumes the surface position after a good rain here. It's like cake icing.

A couple of weekends ago, Alastair and I joined friends for a walk in Essex. It had rained the day before but was clear Saturday. After an interesting lunch at The Cricketeers in Clavering, which some of you would appreciate knowing is where the Naked Chef got his start, we wandered about the fields, enjoying the clear skies and a small hill. Up a hill means down a hill, right ... which is where we came upon a little ravine with the announcement, "It's a little slippery down here." That was a classic British euphemism for a 100 yard bobsledding track. With much holding of breath, children and our trousers, we finally got skidded down it. As you can tell from the photo, I finally gave in and walked right through it. Further afield, we passed a dogwalker, well dressed with a clean dog. He took one look at me and shook his head... he was wearing wellies.

I can't say how I would have managed in wellies on that walk. I was grateful for the waterproof quality of my Blundstones ... but perhaps a little rubber would have made the clean-up easier.

Best Laid Plans of ...

Camping, Fowlmere

Well, our vacation plans were foiled by trains, illness and weather. After postponing our vacation because Squeak was sick, Alastair brought home a cold from Belgium... ooh, how exotic!... gave it to me ...I would have preferred chocolates!... and it showed itself on what would have been the first day of our trip. The colds shouldn't have posed a problem except that our vacation was meant to be a 100-mile cycling journey along the Norfolk coast which commenced and ended with train rides from and to Cambridge (100 miles each way) but neither train was running that week and bicycles were not allowed on the alternate bus option, on top of that Autumn/Winter reared its head offering a week-long weather forecast of wind from the North (brrrrr) and rain. Not keen to tour 300 miles in five days under those circumstances and call it a 'holiday', we scrubbed our original plans, saving the mid-week reservation we had at Morston Hall, more on that in a later post.

Above are photos (if you click on the photo, it will open up a small photo album) from our mini-camping/cycling adventure. Since everything was packed and loaded AND Alastair and I have never camped together ever. On principal, we mounted our bicycles for an overnight in a village not far from home. We cycled a mild and pleasant 10 miles to Fowlmere where I experienced my British camping site. Camping in England is a bit like staying at a KOA. Our tent was nestled between two caravans (trailers) on an old apple orchard. There was hot water to wash dishes and showers for a 50 pence piece. Alastair called it our Shakedown Tour. We almagamated our camping equipment, discovered that we're still cold even in our three-season equipment. But the important things worked: tea and coffee. Dinner and breakfast were enjoyable although arrangements will be necessary in order to eat off the wet grass and outside the tent... there wasn't a rock to spare.

Trailer: Spring... coming soon.

We all know that when we wash our cars or have our windows cleaned, it will rain the next day. Well, apparently, we should know that when one installs a clothes line, it will undoubtedly storm.

Fifteen minutes after I put out the inaugural load of towels, our warm weather headed south literally, as winds from Greenland swept down bringing hail and snow. I haven't used the clothes line since; Alastair has, but I think it was under protest. Our glimpse of Spring is gone, instead Winter is back. Yesterday, I spent my time at the gym staring out at blizzard conditions, white out and horizontal snow. In an hour we had a good blanket of the stuff. It didn't last, never seems to here. The sun shines through the storms pretty regularly. This morning, there's a crust of frost on everything. Hopefully, all that green showing last week got the message and hunkered down before it's too late.



So, here I am left with little evidence outside of the 70s I relished last week. Instead, I'm finding comfort and color in a few branches of cherry blossoms I brought inside. These should carry me through until the time changes Sunday and it warms up again.

Alas, Spring!

All seems right in the world today with the exception that I haven't been able to post photos on the blog lately. I'm not sure why and am frankly not bothered at the mo'. Today is a day to be OUTSIDE in the lovely 70 degree weather. BBC Weather claims that Cambridge is a mere 55 degrees Fahrenheit with poor visibility, I think they must be in shock and won't accept that we're having a spring day that gives Barcelona a run for its money.

What do you see?

Those are Alastair's bicycle tracks on his way to work last week.

Yes, it snowed. I feel like I'm back in the club again, since we haven't seen snow in... well, forever. It didn't last until noon, with only traces of evidence left the next morning. It was nice though.

We all did different things to adapt to this strange weather. Squeak decided sleeping on the down duvet just wasn't enough, and pinched my fleece too. We helped her nestle in ... just a bit.

I took a moment to wander the back garden, wondering when I would see these sights again. Remember this is very rare for me these days. It can be pretty darn cold here, the kind that forces me to wear a fleece vest under a fleece jacket and it still goes right through me. Mind you, I still smirk at my wee brother who always seems to be in negative 10 with a wind chill that would freeze polar bears. (Both of us need to learn not to leave our gym bags in the car overnight.)

Winter in Cambridge

Last night, the weather forecast included fog and freezing temperatures, a welcome change from the news that this is one of the warmest years on record. I am happy to report that the meteorologists were right and this morning was a wonderland of hoarfrost. This is a treat for not just me but for the garden which just hasn't received the necessary clues that it should stop blossoming and hunker down for a rest.

For those of you who shoveled snow this morning or tiptoed around icy patches, you'll bear with me as I celebrate the closest I've come to snow this winter.

Edye