Guest Spot: Wood by Jane Greppi
If you look in our garden, you will see wood. Lots of it. When we had an open fire, nobody ever thought about giving us wood. Then we replaced it with a wood-burning stove. Something about that name seemed to prompt everyone we met. “You’ve got a wood-burning stove?” they’d enthuse. “Do you want some wood?” People everywhere seemed to be felling trees, and, it seemed, felling them with the sole intention of supplying fuel for our stove. We were given three former trees in as many months. When we were offered...
read moreThe Rat Room
This is a three bedroom cottage. The smallest one is only accessible through our bedroom. It is not the standard Pink or Blue Room found in so many country houses. The name alone sets ours miles apart from any other bedroom. We tend to forget this when we casually refer to this room. I’ve spotted the nervous glances. Perhaps our visitors imagine that they’ll be sleeping in a room lined with cages and a thousand bright eyes sparkling though the gloom. My sister lived here for a few months, between houses and this was her bedroom....
read moreNew fridge magnets for the cottage
I’ve just bought some more magnetic letters for the fridge to replace the ones that Inca guzzled last week. We play with these a lot, leaving jokey messages for each other. The alphabet letters are also a major means of communication between Danny and My Mother, who has been know to dash into Newmarket and buy another pack just to finish a sentence. I had what can only be described as a mottled education. I enjoyed primary school and the set up was perfect for me. I loved the signs that were papered across every inanimate item in my...
read moreGreat Aunt Daisy Beatyl
When my mother is on holiday or ill in bed, Daisy Beatyl comes to stay. Last year she lived here for nearly six months, enjoying the freedom of the garden through winter, spring and into the summer. As my mother’s house has an ordered routine, it’s quite a sea change coming here. You can see from her portrait that she has to put up with the complex soap opera lives of three busy Min Pins and endless late nights. The Contessa gives her a hard time. She studiously ignores this, however assiduous the attack. As Contessa shrieks and...
read moreAll Hallows Eve
I’m still working down in Saffron Walden at the Murphy’s house. When I arrived today, Clare was planning the Halloween supper for the children. Green spaghetti with an orangey tomato sauce. She came back empty handed from her pumpkin search, Waitrose and Tesco had sold out. Even the veg man in the market wasn’t there today. She had found a set of plastic fangs for their youngest daughter, ‘They’re really soft plastic, so they won’t rub,’ she explained. How lovely to have a Mother that cares enough to...
read moreLuxury weekend beside Lake Como, courtesy of Galbani Mozzarella Cheese
We love Italy. We love this gregarious nation with their beautiful language and stylish elegance. The Italians have just got it, with their food, fashion and art. When we can afford a trip abroad we are drawn to Italy. We love to explore the old quarters, the parks and find romantic villas surrounded by secret walled gardens and guarded by heavy gates. I love the narrow streets with tiny balconies bursting with flowers, tiny formal gardens glimpsed through half opened doors. I love sitting in a café in a generous piazza, drinking coffee and...
read moreMoving to the country (part one)
Gazing out of the back door this morning into the garden and the pouring rain, I remembered the first autumn that I spent in this part of the world. Twenty three years ago I threw up my fast paced life in London, sold my flat and moved to the country. My small house had been converted from some loose boxes and overlooked a working livery stable. I thought that the outlook would be perfect as there would always be something going on. But tiny figures trotting past my window soon lost their charm when summer came and the smell of muck wafted...
read moreClove Chutney. Beware!
Due to electricity power cuts our large vat of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s Glutney Chutney simmered on and off for about eight hours. When the marathon chutney stirring bonanza finished Danny reached for a spoon and tasted the brew. “This is great. I don’t think that we have to keep this in the larder to mature. Let’s give it away, advise people to keep it for a couple of months and see what happens.” Within a week or so people were coming back for more. “If we make chutney again,” Danny said as he...
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