things I have achieved:
a window box. It is the smallest one ever seen, and we have lavishly and optimistically strewn the compost with beetroot, broccoli and radish, as these were labeled as July sewing. A rational man might point out that given the size of our box we will most likely reap two square beetroot, one rectangular broccoli, and six runty radish, but rationality doesn't really come into it when you sew your crop outside two weeks before trotting off on holiday and leave them in the blinding reflected sunlight of an inner courtyard. Hurrah for sustainable living!
Emmaus. I now own lots and lots of pots. For stuff, and things. And a teapot with mismatching lid. And a broken desk with fold-down lid. We also have a pot of gold paint. The possibilities are endless. May go back next Saturday, sucked in by the job lot of Claude François postcards, portraits, mugs and WATCHES I resisted this time...
Open-air cinema. Perfect. Blow-up screen (oh yes. it's inflatable, kids. A miracle of modern engineering), beautiful soft grass, surround sound, and picnic of figs and melon and cheese and all together now
I-i-i-i-i-i love Paris in the sprrriinngg time (but sing summer-time instead, like I am in my head. Better).
One broken camera, so no record of my endeavors.
Two pairs of stretched jeans, ergo no weight-loss. Sod it.
Listening to French podcasts (
2000 ans d'histoire) hour after hour after hour and in the process becoming scarily knowledgeable on obscure points of history, and satisfyingly competent at French.
things I have made:
chicken-liver pate and onion jam. Hundreds of little pots, which were liberally distributed wherever I went, to whoever was kind enough to welcome me. Some no doubt also slipped down back of sofa or the like and will be devoured in straitened times come December.
Moules. My first time. Very exciting, if a little tedious to prepare, and a little unnerving hearing the mussels muttering to themselves in the bag. Muttering brought to abrupt halt, as in fit of pique I handed preparation over to the man after a kilo's worth, and he washed the rest in hot water. It was terribly sad, death by torture almost. The rest tasted lovely, though
courgette, green bean, mozzarella salad, with toasted almonds and lemon dressing.
courgette, mint and feta fritters
sweet potato and fish cakes: born out of idiocy and laziness (10 euro minimum on card; instead of branching out into world of delicious prawns and whatnot, I panicked and asked for 1.2kilos of generic 'white fish'. Similarly, when desperately trying to use up last of the sodding coley or whatever it turned out to be in fish cakes, the exotic veg store is 100m closer than the supermarket and their more standard potato-potatoes. I am special)
watermelon, mint and feta salad. Deemed a success, personally not a fan of sheep or goat cheese with fruit. Funny vomity taste, anyone?
croutons. Millions and billions of them. It's the frugal Northern-Irish in me balking at the profligate French baguette-a-day habit and sweating over a hot stove into the small hours, hair awry, furiously churning out the oily crispy goodness, thinking all the while of my potato-less forebears.