A painting day.

I went off on a day's painting course today. It was part of the excellent local Truro College Adult Education scheme.

The tutor was the very talented Judi Trevorrow, who is a professional artist and lecturer. I have long wanted to go to one of her courses, and this was made easy for me by my dear daughter in law offering to take my husband off to lunch. (In fact they had a super day out visiting Godolphin Manor, a NT property)

By Judi Trevorrow

There were only six of us on the course, and the subject was Flowers in Watercolour. Judi had prepared a lesson on painting Clematis, which was fascinating. She demonstrated her own techniques and then let us have free rein, with lots of helpful support.

I have painted for years, but done very little recently, and it astonished me how she was able to drag me out of my comfort zone into a more adventurous style of painting. Soon, very soon, I may even show you a photo of my Clematis, but I want to do a bit more work on it.

It sounds a bit 'me-ish', but it was a treat to be doing something just for me!

Thank you!

Thanks for all the helpful information on biscuits, especially the recipe from Terri, and the other links.

Terri's recipe was similar to my scone recipe but with a lot more raising agent, so I could imagine them being fluffier.

These are what we British know as scones, and in Cornwall they are eaten with jam and cream for a Cornish Cream tea. Sometimes we make them with sultanas, when they then become fruit scones.

(Angela, I guess we all say it differently! We say' scon'.)

Next question....

What are 'grits'?

Biscuits?

We had a visit last week from our niece, who was holidaying with a friend in St Ives. They came for tea, so naturally had to be given a proper Cornish Cream tea.

Her friend was American, so I asked her to define something for me.

What is a biscuit (in American)? I dont know why, but it has always intrigued me, as I realise it isnt what we in Britain call a biscuit.

This is a biscuit. A plain one.

These also are biscuits, chocolate and jam.

She explained that in America a biscuit is more like a scone, and I wondered if it is the same thing that we might use on top of a stew.

We would call it a Beef Cobbler, but it could also be Apple or any fruit with the scone ring topping.

 Tell me more?

Back, with pictures!

WELL!!

Can you believe it?

All of a sudden, without my changing anything, the icons have appeared on my New post screen. I'm back in business!

This week my library order came through. On Marigold Jam's recommendation I had reserved a copy of The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey (who I have to admit I assumed to be a man for some reason). She is a writer living in Alaska, where the story is set.

It is a gripping story, magically written, and took me back to the many Winters we have spent in Northern British Columbia where my daughter lives. Her little town lies off the Alaska Highway, and we have experienced some of the snowy chill, the wildness of a country that has temperatures of minus 39 degrees.

The book is inspired by a Russian fairy tale, and tells the story of Jack and Mabel who start a new life in Alaska, following the death of their only baby. Almost giving up hope of scratching a living in this hostile territory they make a figure out of snow, a little girl. In the morning the figure is gone, but slipping through the trees is a little girl.

It's a tale of sadness, and of hope, and to tell you too much would spoil it.

I loved reading it.

I think the answer to my problem lies with my computer. My system isnt in tune with blogger's new set up. Thank you all, especially Connie at 'Living Beautifully' and Penny at 'Violet white' for your helpful suggestions.

I checked out my blog on my husband's Ipad , a Mac device, and all the icons show up, whereas on my laptop they have disappeared and there is only a series of dots where they should be.
So I will just have to post without pictures. Boring.

I'm still having problems.

I think I must be the doziest girl in the class. All the other blogs are obviously sailing on , but me....I sit moaning gently over my screen. I've found the dashboard now but despite help from dear Penny and others, I cannot find a way of putting a photo with a new post.
It used to be simple. I clicked the picture logo, downloaded my photo from my store and that was it. I dont use any of the things like Photobucket etc, so that doesnt help. There doesnt seem to be any logo to click on to then download the picture.
If anyone can advise me, without sending me in the corner wearing a dunce's hat, I'd be grateful!

I found it.

Is it just me that is having a hard time with the new look blogger? It seemed to me that it was perfectly all right as it was.
I found the dashboard but it seems it is only available on signing in. Correct me if I'm wrong.
Now I can't find how to edit posts.
Deeeeeep sigh.

The new look.

Where is my Dashboard???

Goodbye Anaglypta

Back in the 70s a wallpaper called Anaglypta was very popular.

It has clearly defined patterns, heavily embossed on the paper, and can be painted over.

We have acres. Every room except the bathroom has anaglypta, which has been painted over and over, fortunately reasonable colours, but still.......sigh.

The first attack was on the hallway, and over the course of a week our decorator scraped and scrooged until every dreaded bit was off.

Now we have calming vintage Laura Ashley paper.

Being a hoarder I have carried around six rolls of wallpaper for the last ten years, knowing they would 'come in useful one day'. The day finally arrived, and the hall now looks clean and welcoming, and somehow much bigger.

Sadly, not yet having bought another camera I can't show you the final result. The paper is LA Marquee stripe, and is in pale green and white.

Super!

Morning walk

I often do a quick walk down through the close in the early morning, to pick up the newspaper from the local shop.

This morning I walked down with Gordon, the sweetest miniature Schnauzer who is so like a little canine friend living in France. Gordon can only do a short walk now as he has had a slight stroke.

I chatted to a girl wearing a M & S shirt (Marks and Spencer) as she left for work in one of my favourite shops.

I was called over by an elderly lady, upset because her front door wouldn't close. She'd been waiting for someone to come along to help her. It only took a moment to see that a curtain rail had come off its hook and was stopping the door from closing. Good deed for the day done.

Finally I continued to the shop , picked up the paper.....and, yes , two croissants.
Back in France?

Back to school.

Yesterday I went back to school, the village school where I taught for many years. It's also the school to which my children went in their early years. This is how it used to be when I was there. The big window was in my little study area, where I worked as Special Needs Coordinator.

Now the school is very changed, and there are new buildings, new classrooms, a beautiful wooden pergola for children to shelter under in the playground, and attractive landscaping. The old part is still there, used mainly for IT studies. With its many steps and narrow corridors, it isnt considered suitable for Health and Safety rules.

The reason for my return was involvement (somehow I find it hard to say no!). Our church are presenting fortnightly assemblies, using a series called 'Open the Book', based on this lovely childrens Story Bible.
We are a team of six, including our enthusiastic Curate, full of Bright Ideas.
My part was to be the Narrator of the story, pausing every now and then at the words..'and God said..' to allow the curate to be God, as it were. The children of one class were involved, slightly at the last minute but it worked.
How did I feel going back? Delighted, loving the interaction with children again, feeling part of a whole, doing what I'm good at. (she said, modestly).
Lovely to see the three staff who are still there from my days. Lovely to be told that I hadnt changed a bit. They're very kind!
And of course, as I left there was a murmur of ....any time you want to come in , we could do with some help with readers....

Word verification

I know I am not the first, or will be the last, to moan about the dreaded word verification system that Blogger is now using.

Tonight I left a comment...no, that should read 'tried to leave a comment', on a blog. I tried three times, finding each change of letters harder to read than the one before. None worked .

I gave up.

Sometimes you find that the number that is included has been photgraphed from such an odd angle that it is impossible to read.

I can't help wondering how many lovely blogs are missing out on comments because people just give up when they see this 'prove you arent a robot (?)' announcement.

I have never bothered with word verification, and so far have had no troubles.

The Kiss........

Today I forgot that I was not in France.

I bumped into some friends from church in town and greeted them in the way that I have got used to over the years of living in France. In other words, a kiss on the cheek.

As I did it, I could see the air of slight surprise in their eyes, and had to launch into a long explanation.

Everybody that you know kisses, maybe with the exception of the workmen (though I was once approached by a polite electrician.). Your neighbours kiss you, the district nurse kisses you, the Dr sometimes greets you with a light kiss, your friends and aquaintances kiss you.

However, there is a protocol to this. The kiss is always, as below, cheek to cheek only.

What one is never quite sure of is how many. And that depends on the area you are in. In Brittany it was two, one on each cheek. In other area it can be three or even four. You can imagine how long it takes to greet a large party of people. And it is expected that arriving at a fete or a lunch, you will go round every person, children included and greet them with the Kiss.

Normally, right cheek first, but there have been occasions when the other person thinks it's left first and embarassing bumps ensue.

What you must never do is to leave anyone out. The cheek will be proffered, and sometimes it is less pleasant than others...but, it's what you must do for the sake of 'la politesse'.

Carla Bruni looks as though she does it with total chic.

Growing our own.

Despite only having been here for four months, despite inheriting a garden that is mostly shrubs in gravel, my husband has already made two raised beds and planted them with potatoes, runner beans and salads.

(since my camera has died I have used a photo from 'The modern gardener',but the raised beds are exactly like his.)

Tody we ate our very first harvest of runner beans. It's so satisying to produce our own vegetables again, not to the great extent that we did in our French garden, but still, enough for us two.
( photo from The Telegraph.)
I think the next project is to have a small greenhouse for tomatoes.
And maybe a new camera.

And for lunch.......

...we had the traditional Cornish pasties today. A friend dropped in around lunch time and suggested we popped up to the local shop where they have deliveries of freshly cooked pasties every day.

There is a bit of a history belonging to the pasty. It was , in the 18th century, the food eaten by the poorer families, sometimes containing only potato, swede and onion. Children working in the mines took a pasty for their break, a portable and basic lunch for them. The crimping around the edge made a good handle to hold it by.

Of course the true Cornish pasty is made only with beef, potato, onion and swede.....never never with carrots or additional vegetables. (Dare I say that I have had a very appetising cheese and onion pasty?)

The pasty is now protected by PGI (protected geographical indication), and only pasties made in Cornwall can claim this identity. The crimping should only be on the side, never on the top. Sadly I must be out of tune with the rules, as my homemade ones always have crimping on top as it's easier to do!

I've tasted good , bad and indifferent pasties. If we buy them we are careful to buy only from well known small local bakeries.
Apparently, and you really need to know this, the Devil dare not cross the River Tamar on the border of Cornwall, for fear of ending up as a pasty filling!