Painting of Late

For years, I've been stuck in a watercolour rut. BUT NOT NOW. (Oh nay!)

A few weeks ago, my mam bought a load of Flaxseed Oil and some oil paints, and yesterday I had a riot with them and a big ol' piece a' paper.

Not only does Flaxseed oil 'support the maintenance of normal blood cholesterol concentrations,' but it also means one can swoosh an array of colours around and blend until your (healthy) heart's content.

If you fancy giving this a go, I've been informed that you need to cover the paper in a layer of white paint and oil so you can blend later on. I decided to experiment and whack a silhouette of cut out tree on there.

Lonely tree

...looking like an Ikea catalogue

Interrupted by an eager beaver

Bruised skies and a tree in the sea

It's not Van Gogh is it, eh? But heck, it's fun.

I used my hands mostly to blend. And here lies a problem. Found out it doesn't very easily come off your hands (or your hair). Luckily though, my Granddad had some super-power mystery wipes in his garage which removed all the oil. Alternatively, I googled it and apparently it all comes off with olive oil and hot water. Someone else suggested using mayonnaise, but don't blame me if your hands smell like a tuna salad.

And yes, and it's also not advisable to use your Grandma's best dinner plates as a palette - it takes some scrubbin' to get off. 

Soz Granny!

Recent Craftin'

Like the average nineteen/nine year old, I spent a few yummy hours on Arran trawling the beaches for pretty shells an' that. What I returned with were handfuls of leftover snail-houses, which I proceeded to forget about by leaving them on their lonesome in my caguole pocket.

Finding them was a bittersweet surprise. My pockets held the faint odour of rotting fish, but HEY - I have some pretty shells, and decided to get down and creative with them.

So, I stuck 'em on jar.

I took my jar and I took my shells, mashed up some poly-filler from the garage, and stuck it all together. It's not a masterpiece, but it was messy and fun to do. Big sis and I used to do this when we were little'uns, and it was nice to have another go.

Found some fragments of pottery along the way. It's funny that someone's old dinner plate has ended up on my desk. SO THANKS, RANDOM DINNER PLATE PERSON, it looks pretty bonny. 

Also, I probably should thank them snails. Hope they don't want their houses back.

From Scenes Like These

HOME.

Back from a hazy seven days on the beautiful Isle of Arran and oh Aunt Barbara's spatula, that was one relaxing week. I've become so chilled out by the island's pace of life that an afternoon nap seems like a necessity (...scheduled one in two hours). Similarly, I am now accustomed to letting my hair being dried out by the gentle sea breeze rather than a hefty hair dryer of doom. Walking bare foot has also become a preference.

So basically, we've all come back off holiday looking like scrag-ends (albeit scrag-ends with slightly peachy tans).

The little cottage we stayed in was in the middle of nowhere and hosted a multitude of wild-flowers. Or perhaps weeds. But they looked splendid whatever they were.

Mini library - HUZZARH!

New old dress

We spent many a happy hour gallivanting around the garden and cooking up curries in the kitchen. But for a lot of the week we ended up gallivanting across the whole of Arran instead.

And I'm ever so glad we did.

Stumbled across possible dream house!

We also visited the cave where ol' Robert the Bruce saw that little spider that wouldn't give up. All we saw in there were carvings saying 'Baz was ere'. Maybe Baz was Robert's nickname. 

A view fit for a king

We also bumped into a whole bunch of stones. But they were really interesting stones. They were doing interesting things like standing up in frankly, impossible-looking positions. 

Sorry, how?

Smoochin'

So, the walks were lovely, but I mainly went along for the baked goods which we took with us. There is a bakery on Arran called Wooleys (I KNOW, I also had a fleeting thought that it was Woolworths reincarnated), and they do the best selection of baked goods known to man (and woman, 'cause I ate them all).

The strawberry tarts were my favourite.

We also had many coffee shop outings (naturally) and we became regulars at The Coffee Pot. Smokin' scones and splendid scenery.

Arran is a right babe of an island. So if you get the chance, shimmy on down there.

Out of all of us though, I think Pippa got it right - she mainly sat in the sun drinking in those splendid views.

(Whilst making those kayakers feel nervous.)

To Bonnie Scotland

The time has come for the Arran Expedition of Joy.

All I've been told is that we're going to cottage by the sea. Not sure what else to expect. I've heard there's a whiskey distillery and a nice place that sells jumpers. So, here's to a week of being sozzled in nice knitwear...or something.

Probs just gonna read with a cuppa.

Baking Adventure

I don't normally bake. I made a rice-pudding back in '06 which was alright. But after a incident around the same time (which included putting green food colouring in scones), I'm now normally just roped into baking excursions for my weighing and measuring capabilities. I am also very efficient at putting things back in the fridge.

However, over the last two weeks, I've been working as a personal assistant for a lovely friend and this has included a wee bit of cooking.

AND I'M INSPIRED.

A new era has dawned. It has finally happened. I'm cooking.

It begun last night. If you like chocolate, pears and cake, then this recipe is for you, by my reckoning.

Chocolate and Pear Cake

The first time I encountered this rather dishy baked good was when I visited me sis when she was living in France. Normally, they come out a bit flatter but for some reason, the one I made last night is a corker.

Monster Cake

The recipe is from a French website, so if you can read French (or navigate Google translate) you can find it here: http://cuisine.journaldesfemmes.com/recette/229768-gateau-poire-chocolat

But basically it's 200g of dark chocolate melted with 150g of butter mixed with 120g of sugar 3 eggs 130g of self-raising flour a tin of chopped up pears (and a tablespoon of baking powder for luck if you want the monster version) in a greased baking tin in pre-heated oven at 180c.

Got that?

It is also the first harvest time for blackberries in our little fruit and veg patch. So, we (meaning my mam) gently stewed some on the hob and made some fudge induced flapjack to go on the top.

Yum-fest

We also had it with Mackie's Ice-cream (the one made in Scotland, not a McFlurry).

The fudge-flapjack recipe:

-Fudge
-Flapjack

(Mam's secret recipe.)

But I bet she just stole from the BBC Good Food website.

A Wheelie Good Time

Mam recently saved the day (and everyone's hair) with her quick, Mam-like thinking, when were caught in one of Norfolk's finest monsoons.

There were no waterproofs to be seen. Normally we come prepared with waders and waterproof trousers, but on a wild and rainy beach, we hadn't even a cag-in-a-bag.

Therefore, we got the wheelie bin liners out. And MAN, they ain't half snuggy. (And fantastically fashionable.)

A soggy Gran and cuz

Splendid.

Overjoyed with placcy bags

The beach we wuz skedaddlin' across is the beach of my childhood and all-round dream-fest - a tiny village tucked on the North-Norfolk coast, called Overstrand.

19 summers of happy memories

Overriding childhood memories of this place: scabby knees, car boot sales, waterbombs, our old black labrador, Twisters (as in ice-cream rather than natural disasters), dancing down the Cromer pier for 50p, bright yellow tablecloths, catching crabs, secret breakfasts at the Cliff Top Caf, and being an all-round happy chappy.

Mingling with Olympians

Saltburn-by-the-Sea, what a beautiful place to be.

On one of our seaside meanderings, we were a-wandering down Saltburn's 'Pier of the Year 2009' (oh, hello!) and stumbled across some sports people.

Synchronised Swimmers with bobble hats

Ice-skaters looking fancy

The Incredible Hulk doing gymnastics

A sculler: serene

Apparently, the 60 Olympians mysteriously appeared overnight and are attributed to the anonymous 'Saltburn Yarn-bomber.' Poor sausage musta' been knitting a while.

I like the elusive Yarn-bomber. They've got class. Maybe it's secretly Banksy having a moment with the knitting needles. (Stranger things have happened.)

The Yarn-bomber is kind of like a type croqueting Superhero. All other knitters tremble in their wake. In my head, the bomber wears an ensemble entirely made of mohair and wields yarn cannons which sporadically fire wool and enables them to swing from building to building, kind of like a OAP version of Spiderman.

But hey, it's not just Grannies knitting any more - nay! - the whole nation is involved, and even I'm knitting dodgy scarves. The UK Hand Knitting association states that,

'448,000 men in the UK have an interest in knitting/sewing, 143,000 of these are very interested.'

Well, there you have it.

Buy anyhoo, I'm reckoning that if knitting was an Olympic sport, the Saltburn Yarnbomber would win gold, easy.

That must take some endurance.