A need to forage for something to cook with on Saturday took us to Norham this morning. The butcher’s window was festooned with fairy lights and festive papier maché pigs were standing guard over jolly painted cakes. Inside there was much chat of spousal gifting talents (Wendy’s Iain is clearly head and shoulders above the rest. When I mentioned last year’s spade she gave me a rather pitying look and raised an immaculate eyebrow. I don’t fancy Keith’s chances of escaping advice when he next goes to buy the bacon).
The river was deceptive. The surface had that mirror bright, distorted smoothness of Georgian window glass, the type that speaks of rain on even the finest days. Underneath the power and speed gifted by frothing hill streams that were, a month ago, just dry sheep tracks, were propelling startled ducks towards Berwick in reverse gear. We slurped along hoping for a glimpse of the deer we saw last time but all was still. Even the cormorant tree seemed empty, save for a few crows silhouetted against the low sun, figures of absence, black fissures in the here and now.
Everything changed when we turned at the bridge. With the sun behind us, suddenly creatures seemed to appear. Three small cormorants, late chicks? paddled out from the shelter of the bank to go fishing, diving like salmon only to rise and flash their wings in jubilation. A still white shape further along had mum and I playing the age old game of “bird or stranded carrier bag?” until it tutted its head at us in Geraldine McEwan fashion and gave itself away as an egret. Right by the bank a fair sized salmon jumped a foot in the air. The spell of silence was thoroughly broken and as we jumped the puddles in Pedwell way a half fluffed robin chipped in to give us a seasonal telling off.
Back home I decided that my mental health was not up to further attempts at delayed train compensation (tomorrow’s job) and I took myself off to the garret thinking I might dig out a pattern for a fleecy gilet (having bulk bought polar fleece last year and not got around to doing anything with it). This could substitute for the missing Christmas jumpers I thought. Alas, when I unfolded the pattern it transpired that it had been purchased before the menfolk took to diet and exercise and I now need a much smaller one. Putting that to one side, I decided to freestyle a padded mug carrier requested by a friend. Armed with top and bottom diameter and height measurements, some thermal curtain lining, a bit of waxed table covering and the leg of an old pair of jeans I set to work. Am quite chuffed with the result. The solitary Christmas jumper inches (literally) forward. A decision point nears (raglan or set in). I’ll decide tomorrow. I should be in bed so you’ll just have to live with any typos..
Day 5 advent quiz question: What two spices do you typically find in Swedish spiced buns?
Yesterday’s answer: Wasp larvae , the apple like growth is the tree’s fight back to a wasp laying eggs in the tree
Lovin this blog Mrs F. It’s my morning read in bed, with a cuppa. Welcome distraction from 80’s Christmas songs on a loop on the radio 🎄