Erk! Terminator Rises Again...

It seems that the 2005 moratorium on producing and selling crops that will have sterile seeds when harvested is likely to be overturned. That is a scary and fearsome prospect for small and subsistence farmers the world over, but particularly in poorer, third world countries. Read all about it on GAFF, Grassroots Action on Food and Farming.

Why is it relevant to us? Well, there is the sheer greed and disgusting moral bankruptcy that starving small farmers out of existence for increased multi-national profits, but there's a much darker aspect. It seems that the multinationals who produce GM seed are arguing that the new sterile seed will stop the spread of genetically modified crops.

This clever new answer comes from the very people who modified the crop genes, and it's being sold to us as a solution. They will adulterate the earth with genetically modified crops and them make sure plants can't germinate to stop something we don't want from spreading. It's funny that the simpler solution of not using GM crops didn't occur to them really, but I suppose that would remove GM production profits and additional profits from selling us a corrupt and dangerous "solution" to the problem they have created.

I wonder if anyone had set up a petition on the 10 Downing Street website yet...?

Sunshine and Good Company

It sounds like the title of a song, doesn't it? This weekend my friends The Green Witch (TGW for short) and her husband, who we shall abbreviate to MGW, for Mr Green Witch, came to stay with Kim and I. Often, when people are coming to stay for the weekend, I get all stressed and want to run around (even though running is not something I can do these days), polish the house into sparkling wonderfulness and out-cook the world's best chefs. This weekend was such a lovely exception.

When the new sitting room wasn't finished in time for the visit, it somehow didn't seem to matter too much; the place was reasonably respectable, but I didn't have the time or energy to vacuum the carpets into eternal submission and though I had all the ingredients for a reasonable dinner and industrial breakfast on Sunday, I was too exhausted from getting the little house finished on Friday to pre-prep anything. Did it matter? Not a jot. These are friends who visit to talk, enjoy our company and have fun.

After they arrived on Saturday we had a relaxing walk along the village while I went and did the spot of work I was supposed to do over the weekend, and they had a chance to look about and come down after a long and taxing week. We retreated back to the house and spent time around the kitchen table, drinking tea, making a tiramisu and preparing the beef wellington. TGW, in inimitable and energetic style grabbed the garden fork and weeded a patch of my flower bed, for which I was so incredibly grateful - I only wish I had a picture of her with a garden fork in one hand, champagne in the other and a big grin on her face. Meanwhile, MGW and Kim were in the kitchen talking geek to each other and looking suitably hungry in anticipation of dinner.

Just before dinner, our neighbour knocked to let us know she was lighting her chiminea, and she told TGW and MGW all about the properties for sale in the village, as we had been trying to encourage them to move to our balmy, green corner of Somerset. Out came the laptop and Rightmove.co.uk was duly scoured for the postcode and positive mumblings were heard for the Green Witch clan!

Though not my best beef welly, dinner was decent enough and TGW has done a wonderful dish with courgettes and cheese, which we had with steamed rainbow chard, carrots and roasties. I had been a bit worried that the beef fillet was a shade on the small side when Kim brought it back from the butcher and there wasn't anything left over at all, so I hope they got enough to eat! Next was the tiramisu, which TGW had assembled with consummate skill and it certainly flew off the plates. The thing I loved most was the gentle pace of conversation, where a lull was comfortable and the topics entertaining and amusing - this is my idea of wonderful company.

After several bottles of wine, the urge to have a go at belly dancing swept TGW and I, and out came the hip scarves and on went the music - oh what a giggle! Suitably numbed by wine, I managed to shimmy and wiggle about like I haven't for ages - the anaesthetic properties of alcohol never cease to amaze me! Some time later, and thoroughly exhausted, we collapsed into our respective rooms for a night's sleep. Silly old me forgot that more than one glass of wine will totally overheat the body and I spent the night up and down, trying to get cool enough to get back to sleep, as well as trying to drink enough water to rehydrate the banging headache that threatened to keep me awake all night - I am such a lightweight when it comes to a few glasses of wine!

Sunday dawned hot and sunny, despite dire predictions of rain and cloud and, true to form, our old cat had made the kitchen a most unpleasant place to go, by being sick everywhere - not a great thing to have to deal with when feeling a tad bilious! That sorted, out came the bacon, sausages, local bread (I had tried making some the night before and my Kenwood died on me, oh woe!), home made butter and buckets of tea and espresso coffee, along with the chocolate croissants that TGW had kindly got from our local shop.

We went for a drive about, looking at various villages, visiting the cider mill at Dowlish Wake and enjoying the lovely countryside before they had to head off, back to pick up their little boy and get ready for the forthcoming week. I'm sitting here, rather the worse for the punishment I inflicted on my liver and kidneys, but feeling very contented for having spent time with such delightful, lovely people. I think we shall have to do this (perhaps without the wine for me) again very soon!

Being A Hedge Witch

I regularly read Moonroot's blog and after perusing a lovely artilce on creative crafts, I followed a link to this great definition of Hedgewitchery on Donald's Walking In beauty blog.

Though Donald is happy for people to repeat his work, with credit, it's worth visiting the site anyway, as there are some other fascinating items to read. I like the definition of being a Hedge Witch though, it resonated with me, though I did find No. 18 a bit much first thing on a Monday morning!

Magnetic Witch

Well, I felt like a turkey on Thanksgiving Day, all trussed up and shoved into the big microwave cooker this afternoon. I went for my second MRI scan and was squished into the tube. Luckily, this time I knew what to expect, so didn't have the panic attack of the first time. I concentrated on my breathing and started to do visualisations.

I wandered through a rose-laden gate and found Mousie, the cuddly old Norwegian Forest cat who I wrote about a while back in Norwegian Swimming Cats and we sat on the patio, Mousie in my arms and purring like an engine. It was a good visualisation, as I could feel and smell her and the sense of calm was amazing. Then, being warm, I walked through the gate into the pool area and peeled off my clothing and climbed, skyclad, into the pool and started swimming lengths. I could feel the coolness of the water, the tang of chlorine in the air and the sun warming the top of my head.

Clearly, this wasn't a good visualisation to do. I thought I had been stock still and was as calm as anything, but it appears that perhaps I had been doing rather too well with my visualisation, as my butt had been jiggling about enough that the MRI images weren't usable. Hmmm, so, being stuffed longer than absolutely necessary in the doughnut of misery, I decided to visualise laying around the edge of the pool sunbathing, which was easy because my back and bum were hot enough to fry and egg on after that long being bombarded with magnetic rays. Oddly, the radiographer told me the next set of images were as crisp as anything!

I wonder if I could get fit laying around in bed thinking about swimming....? Now, there's a thought.

In the meantime, I'm a bit worried that if I go near the fridge, I'll stick to it and not be able to peel myself off...!

On Church and Government

I caught an interesting snippet on Radio 4 the other day while driving: an interview with Aziz Tamimi and Hazel Blears about the proposed expert board of Muslims that the Government are trying to set up. The board, albeit allegedly independent and set up with the assistance of Oxford and Cambridge Universities, is to interpret matters and then disseminate their findings to help 'guide' Muslims in this country to stop "Islamic beliefs being misused by those seeking to promote extremism or reinforce certain cultural practices".

Why am I writing about Islam when I'm a Witch? The thing that struck me is the sheer arrogance and manipulation of the Government in this matter - and it has parallels for The Craft. While arguing that the board can help interpret such things as wearing the veil, the major thrust is to persuade youngsters away from radicalism. This small, disenfranchised group are supposed to take note of the guidance and then change tack. Aziz Tamimi made an interesting point that even by instigating the set-up of the board, it would make the very people it was intended to influence suspicious of the advice and all that goes with it - which made sense to me.

It seems that the Government have a huge difficulty with Islam because there is no "church", i.e.the centralised hierarchy that more familiar religions offer. Islam doesn't have an Archbishop of Canterbury or a Jonathan Sacks, and the Government can't cope. So, rather than deal with the real problems and take away the root causes and problems that radicalise youngsters, our wise leaders have decided to try to mould Islam into something more familiar and recognisable.

My understanding of Islam is that each Imam is independent; he teaches within the faith and uses the Quaran, but will work with the people for whom he has pastoral responsibility as adviser and interpreter. If an Imam should appear to the Government as too uncomfortably radical or not towing the line they want, at the moment there's nothing they can do, because there isn't an Islamic Big Cheese who can deal with the 'dodgy' Imam. I do believe that current moves are the thin end of the wedge in attempts to reshape the form of Islam in this country. And if I think that, I'd guess that the very people this board is meant to reach may be thinking similar things.

So what's it got to do with me? Well, there have been extensive discussions on The Green Witch here and here and on Star of Seshat, as well as Magicfortherealworld about making The Craft more organised and structured.

While Islam had functioned rather well over past decades as a loose community of believers and their immediate spiritual leaders, there are moves afoot to try to turn Witchcraft into another clone of western religious structure. And here's the danger: if the Government can control the Big Cheese at the top of any system, or bring to bear the sorts of pressures that only governments can, they will not only do so, but in the act blur the clear line between secular and spiritual.

Many people I know have argued that The Craft should not go the same way structurally as, for instance, Christianity, for the simple question of who regulates the person at the top? There has to be a system of checks and balances and in creating a pyramid structure, the apex is vulnerable both to pressure and to corruption. It may be that many Muslims would feel uncomfortable with the thought of having their religion compared to Witchcraft, but in terms of a loose, flat structure and the ability to remain an amorphous, fluid mass that is flexible, able to balance itself out and adapt, there are parallels.

There is an insidious danger in allowing government to interfere with religious life - in this case, they are fudging the issue of extremism, even with the experience of Northern Ireland and hundreds of years of history, and by setting up the Islamic board, they can effectively wash their hands of the problem in the future and roundly shift the blame. The only way to stop people becoming radicalised is to deal with the desperation and feeling of disempowerment and disenfranchsiement that allows it to happen in the first place.

In the meantime, we see the beginnings of an old religion being shoe-horned into a more malleable format and that does not bode well for Witchcraft.

An Efficient NHS?

Goodness, it's only just over a week since I went to see the Consultant about my back and today an appointment letter arrived for my MRI scan and it's on Sunday. That's less than two weeks after I saw the Consultant and I am, quite frankly, staggered.

It's a relief, as I have been suffering rather badly over the last five days, to the point where I'd shout "Yes, please!" if they offered to chop my body off at the neck. I don't know how long it will take after the scan to get anything else done, but this gives me great hope.

Hats off to the NHS and Musgrove Hospital for getting their act together!

The relief as palpable here in Shepton, as I'm looking after a gang of ten cats, all of whom seem to have some dietary foible or the other and it's a bit like doing an assault course! I love the furries to bits and they are all such affectionate and lovely creatures but it does take it out of my back! Still, they keep me moving.

Frustrating Day

Today has been an incredibly frustrating day and I can't find a way to let go of the irritations and annoyance that are pent up inside me, so, I turn to my blog to write the things out of my system. Writing has always been a therapy for me, and blogging fills that need incredibly well; it's better than my website with a forum, as I have to be the impartial adjudicator and even hand there, whereas here, I can just be whingey old me and have a good grumble when the inclination takes me.

It's not just one thing that's getting me down, it's a whole long list. The decorating of the new sitting room, which could have started as long ago as 4th February is still not done. In all that time, the only progress is the varnishing of the floor and sticking up of dado rail to restore the look of the room to its original state. The walls are still bare lime plaster, the ceiling is still half papered and half not. The room is perfect for summer as it gets lots of light and opens in to the conservatory and looks over the little bit of garden we have; I doubt we'll be in it before winter.

I had booked friends to visit at the end of July and others to visit in August and at this rate, I shall have to cancel the whole thing. I'm not entertaining when the house is still a tip and the dining table is on it's side in the sitting room. It was the 13th June 2007 when the room got wrecked, and I'm sick to bloody death of it still being a great big empty space that we can't use. That's the first grumble.

The next grumble is about people and manners. I hate bad manners and I cannot find it in my heart to cut any slack to people who should know better. Over eight years ago I made a decision to cut out of my life any people who were toxic, who thought it was ok to use me or take advantage and/or who were just plain bad mannered. Over the past eight years, I have enjoyed the company of some amazing and wonderful people and very few of the sort I describe have managed to find their way to me. Sadly, I think I must have let me defences down without realising it.

It's someone I have known for a while - they were an acquaintance first and then, when I had a particularly rough time, they helped out and I moved them into my 'friend' category. Trouble is, for well over two years, any contact we have had has always involved them wanting something, whether it's a free website, a teach-me-everything-you-know situation irrespective of my schedule, free marketing advice, free IT support, which they inevitably ignore and then come back asking the same questions because the problems keep coming back (cos they won't listen to the free advice!) and so on. Now, that probably sounds really mean and harsh; they were very helpful to me for the two months when things were bad for me and I have been deeply conscious of that and tried to reciprocate their thoughtfulness and generosity, but I'm at my wit's end. I know that each time the phone rings, it'll be another shopping list agenda. I suppose I wouldn't have minded, but they didn't even say "thank you" for their birthday present; it wasn't huge or massively expensive, but a quick email or phone call wouldn't have cost much time or effort.

Then, on top of that, there's the whitewicca website. After owning and running it for so long, I'm quite used to people telling me how to run it better than I currently am, that they know how it should be done, what should be on it, who should be allowed to post or not post and so on. The site has always been a balancing act between people who are serious minded and some who are a bit kooky. I try to make it a place where it's not too frivolous but not so high-minded it scares the pants off the less experienced, but it isn't always that easy.

The other night I received an email from someone who occasionally moderates, when they are around, which isn't always. They were finding it annoying that many of the threads got hijacked and turned into "a laughing stock"; now, in all honesty, there are times when I wish that the silliness was contained within the Humour forum or just one or two threads, but it does run amok at times. I have already tried to tackle it but I think the conversation I had with the person has evaporated from their mind. I took the emailed comments on board and having made some light-hearted comments myself, ended with a remark that there had been a complaint and that we should think about keeping things 'on topic'. It seemed like a gentle way to nudge people.

What I hadn't figured on was getting a private message from the emailer, dripping with sarcasm, because of my comments. It seems I'm damned if I don't deal with a situation and I'm damned if I do. They have decided that the currently low number of posts aren't down to it being summer when everyone is out and about, but because of the silliness they complained of; it seems that the high number of registered users Vs. the number of regulars in the forums isn't anything to do with people who sign up and suck the content rather than take part - nope, it seems that I'm mismanaging the website. I'm so glad they shared the benefit of their wisdom with me. I do wish they'd just go and set up a site of their own if they can do it so much better, but I suppose it's easier to criticise me.

Last, but not least, I have started a long-cherished project and it all seems to have stalled. I've done some work and was hoping for feedback, but my fellow projectees have been busy and I don't know whether to press on assuming things are ok, or hold off and wait for suggested changes. It's frustrating as this is the sort of ham-stringing that has always driven me to work on my own, yet without the people I am working with, I doubt I would have got started, so I really value their thoughts - I just don't know what to do.

Do I feel any better for getting all that off my chest? No, not really. I'm utterly rubbish at doing passive-aggressive and what I'd really like to do is slap a few people around the head and have deep and meaningful conversations with others; that would make me feel better! In the meantime, I think I shall go and take it out on the remaining weeds in my flower bed - a bit of gardening always makes me feel better.

Grumpy...Moi?!!

Home Made Bread

Our local bakery Royal, in Martock, does really good bread, but there's nothing like making your own. After the battle of the bread-makers, this is the result of the latest Kenwood made dough and I'm not fussed that the Breville isn't working any longer, as it's pretty decent.



I made the dough to my own recipe after finding the last lot I made a bit heavy. The new pan performed wonderfully, the bread slid out and was light gold all over, so I'm pretty chuffed. The crust is really crispy and the inside is light and tasty. Yes, I was weak and couldn't wait - I had to try a slice with home made butter and it is ...hmmm, I think I need another slice to be able to properly describe it to you! ;-)



That's the old Kenwood beastie in the background - a definite winner.

The Battle of the Breadmakers

What a morning! On Friday I made a loaf using the old Kenwood mixer that my mum gave me after she retired it and I know it's over 25 years old. I have become increasingly dissatisfied with my little Breville bread-maker as the mixing paddle kept getting gummed on to the spindle and had to be prised off, often with the loss of a finger nail.

I decided to give it a couple of goes with the Kenwood before I recycled the Breville and the first loaf was lots better than expected. This morning I set the Kenwood off again making dough while I stood at the sink scrubbing the grill rack. I hadn't been at the sink for more than two minutes before there was the most awful Crash! Tinkle! Clatter! And I nearly jumped out of my skin. The cat managed to leap from his kitchen chair out into the back garden, and sanctuary, without touching the ground, the noise was so horrendous.

The Kenwood had been happily churning the dough around, but in doing so, had been wobbling all over the kitchen work-surface and had tipped off the edge, taking the Breville breadmaker with it and a few other bits and bobs. The Kenwood was totally undamaged, had landed almost upright and wasn't even scratched, though it is a hefty lump of kitchen engineering in steel. Sadly, the Breville didn't fare so well. Even though it landed after the Kenwood and didn't have the big metal beast land on top of it, the lid shattered, rendering it useless unless for parts.

Luckily, I had already decided that making bread in the Kenwood, a bit more manually than before, was much the better option, so it's not a total tragedy, though it is a shame I can't pass the Breville on to anyone, as I know bread-makers are hugely popular on freecycle.

Goodness, it certainly woke me up! I think the poor old cat is still having palpitations, so I shall probably go and calm him with a bit of tuna or some home made butter. Tom, my cat, has become my biggest butter fan; every morning he sits up as soon as breakfast is on the table and today turned his nose up at a chunk of best back bacon in favour of licking a lump of butter off my finger. I can live with the praise and I do love my old cat for being such a discerning beastie!

Ah well, as my dough survived the collision, I had better go and knock it out before putting in the super-duper new loaf tin that arrived this morning as a gift from Kim. He treated me to a 2lb. heavy duty loaf tin by Kaiser and again, it's industrial quality kitchenware. What a lovely present and it's just what I wanted!

Pesky Jetstream

It's Sunday morning, it's high summer and I'm very cold. Last night the weather forecasters on TV said that rural areas would see between 3 and 6 degrees Celsius once the cloud had cleared and that the morning would feel cold. They weren't kidding. I don't know how low the temperatures fell, but even if they only dipped to 6 Celsius, that's pretty cold for July.

While shivering away in front of my Mac, I happened upon a lovely page that seemed very relevant to our mad weather, the fearfulness that is creeping over people about fuel prices and keeping warm this coming winter and the general stupidity with which we treat this planet. Written in 1855, it shows a wisdom that we have lost or become estranged from, and maybe we should make a start on undoing some of the wrongs and damage we have inflicted on the earth.

This is the Address of Chief Seattle (1786 - 1866) of the Suquamish Tribe in 1855.

The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky , the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the presence of the air and the sparkle of the water , how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle. Every sandy shore. Every mist in the dark woods. Every meadow. Every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people. We know the sap that courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins.

We are a part of the earth and it is part of us. Perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear , the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadow, the body heat of the pony , and man, all belonging to the same family.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land you must remember that it is sacred. Each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give to the rivers the kindness you would give any brother. If we sell you our land , remember that the air is precious to us. That the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life.

So if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers. Will you teach your children what we have taught our children , that the earth is our mother ? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth. This we know. The earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth.

All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web he does to himself.

One thing we know our God is also your God. The earth is precious to Him. And to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered ? The wild horses tamed ? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted by talking wires ? Where will the thicket be ? Gone. Where will the eagle be? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt , the end of living and the beginning of survival?

When the last red man has vanished with his wilderness and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie , will these shores and forests still be here ? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left ?

We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother's heartbeat. So , if we sell you our land , love it as we have loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children , and love it as God loves us all. As we are part of the land , you too are part of the land.
This earth is precious to us, it is also precious to you. One thing we know, there is only one God. No man, be he red man or white , can be apart. We are brothers , after all.

We may not be able to do anything about the pesky jetstream, but we can recycle, use fuel wisely, stop wasting resources that just won't be there once we have used them up and most of all, think about the consequences of our actions on our environment.

We sold out a long time ago, but it doesn't mean that we're beyond setting some of those things right. Bleating on that your small contribution won't make a difference isn't good enough - if everyone makes a small contribution, it will add up to a huge change. Do you want to look back, if you have the luxury of doing so, and kick yourself for dragging your feet? Better to make changes, conserve and preserve and at least we can look back, whether we are in an ice age or a desert, knowing that we tried our best.

Chalice - At Last!

I bought this wonderful item from eBay just after New year and it was sad and scuffed, worn with age and looking very tatty; it was also amazingly inexpensive.

I took it to a trophy shop in Taunton and they arranged for it to be re-plated and here's the final result:



It was a bowl from a coffee house, can't remember the name, and it makes the perfect chalice! I'm feeling rather chuffed at rescuing an battered, scruffy old thing that was not much better than scrap and giving it a second lease of life. Ho hum.

Orthopaedic Contultant Is OK

If anyone ready my rather cross last post about visiting the orthopaedic consultant today, you'll have realised that he wasn't at the top of my Yule card list! This stemmed from my first visit to the back pain clinic, where he was so lacking in couch-side manner that I left the place in tears.

This visit, provoked by having to chase the hospital up because they had never bothered to let me know the results of my MRI scan, I resolved that it wouldn't be the same. I talked to Kim and he promised that he would come and bail me out of Police cells if need be and I went to the hospital today with the certainty that if the Consultant was as rude and unpleasant as he was last time, I would give him a piece of my mind and possibly follow it up with a pop on the nose, just for good measure (I have a rather splendid right hook).

Isn't it always the way that when you don't care, when your loins are girded for a fight, the thing never happens? The same consultant saw me, was polite, apologised profusely that they had let me 'fall through the net' and then spent ages showing me my MRI results, even though they were outdated. Either I had a very cross, beady look on my face, or the man had made changes - let's hope the latter.

I now have to go back for another MRI scan, which is about as appealing as drilling your own teeth with a Black & Decker - I didn't have claustrophobia until I went through the doughnut last year and I'm not eager to repeat the experience. It seems that I have a stenosis of the lower spinal column, so they may end up having to operate, but at least it left me feeling less like the sad old hypochondriac that I normally do. It's sad, but it was almost a relief to hear that there as something wrong with me. After living with chronic pain for this long, it starts to make you wonder if you're imagining things, if you're just a wimp or if you're just one of those sad buggers who is sick all the time because they don't have anything better to think of. With any luck, the next MRI should be within about five weeks, so I can get my next trip to London out of the way and then get my stupid back sorted out, one way or another.

So, I suppose I had better apologise for calling the Consultant a rude little snot in my last post - he was actually ok this time.

Falling On Your Behind Aint So Bad!

Just a quick snippet before I head off to do battle with the arrogant, rude little snot that is my back pain consultant...

Kim sent me THIS LINK all about the ability to learn and create and it's well worth a read. It certainly made me feel a whole lot better about some of my failures!

English Cream Tea

Well, not tea actually, but elevenses. After learning how to make butter, courtesy of the lovely Leanne, I was left with lots of buttermilk, so this morning I loaded up the breadmaker with ingredients to make a buttermilk loaf and that's still churning away.

I made up a batch of scones, the first scones I have ever made in my life - how's that for an admission?!! and they came out of the oven about half an hour ago.



I forgot to gloss the tops with buttermilk, which was a bit silly, but they still looked rather respectable:



Kim had gone out and got some clotted cream, which we had meant to take to the village hall party, though it was still in our fridge. The scones smelled wonderful as they cooled and we wandered down for rather extravagant elevenses of scones, with home made apricot and blackcurrant jam and a blob of clotted cream.



Kim had apricot and I had blackcurrant, and it was like eating a slice of sunshine:



Goodness, I shall never become a svelte little stick insect eating like this, but I have to say that I'm as pleased as punch with the results. The scones were really light and the texture was delicate - probably thanks to the buttermilk content - and not a preservative or nasty chemical anywhere! Can't be bad. Goodness Leanne, you are an inspiration.

Chilly!

No, not pots of hot, steaming spiced mince and kidney beans, it's bloomin' freezing here! Honestly, I'm sitting in a jumper and my hands and feet feel like little blocks of ice.

I had meant to cut the grass at the end of last week, but after it rained I thought I'd leave it till it cheered up, not realising that it wasn't going to stop any time soon. My poor little patch of garden is such a mess - the height of the grass isn't far off the width of the lawn, the beech hedge has turned into a mad triffid and it all looks so dreadful. The one good thing to come of it is that I don't need to water the pots and my new strawberry trough - if anything, they're in danger of drowning.

This sort of weather does dampen my spirits - I feel really glum and down and I'm not sure if the weather is reflecting me or I am reflecting the weather. Either way, I feel totally drab, grey and good for nothing. All the things that I know will cheer me up, like attacking the weeds in the garden or just pottering about outside aren't really an option at the moment, well, not unless I suddenly turn into a duck. I can't even face heading into the kitchen as I've had a row with Kim and I'm not feeling calm or pleasant enough to be in the same space as him - which means staying locked away in my study.

We were going to head off to Lyme Regis last Sunday, my birthday, for a nice meal in the Thai restaurant there, one of our favourites. As Kim had to dash off to Switzerland that evening, there wasn't time to go and the afternoon and evening were spent huddled in front of the tv; we had talked about going today instead, but being broke and the bad weather put paid to that. All in all, it's been a miserable week.

"Summer" Fete

I love the people in our village. Once they decide they're going to have an event, they go for it, whatever the weather.

Last year, the village fete and St. Petroc's day celebrations (he must be our village saint of something) were rolled into one and held on the same day. It used to be that the St. Petroc festival was held over three days, with one day set aside for the trading of sheep and livestock (the word Shepton derives from scep-ton = sheep enclosure), the second day was for other produce, veggies and so on and the third day was a bit of a knee's up for the villagers, when they partied and celebrated.

The 2007 day dawned rather bright, but by the time the road through the village was closed and the band assembling, it had started drizzling. Undeterred, the villagers headed home to grab gazebos and walked them down the main road to park over their tables, laden with picnics and drinks. The bands played on and the party went on into the night. A bit of soggy weather was never going to deter this lot.

Uploaded with plasq's Skitch!

This year, the day of the village fete and St. Petroc's dawned grey and drizzling and rapidly turned into a gale with lashing rain. I'm must look up Petroc, as I'll bet he had something to do with bad weather! The village had planned a Caribbean party, with picnic, blow-up palm trees, exotic cocktails and a prize for the brightest shirt, magnum stylee. Dennis' field was mown and the bunting put up; sadly, the front of the field and the village hall look like images from a tropical storm, but colder and gloomier; topping at 13 Celsius today, you'd never believe it's July and the supposed height of summer.

I feel so sorry for all the people who have put so much time and effort into the planning of the party - they are good-hearted people who do it all for charity and improving things in this village. The good thing, though, is that all the villagers were out, in wellies, waterproofs and the balloon race was just released in a howling wind! It seems that nothing will stop this lot - once they decide they're going to have a party, they'll make it happen, come what may. It's that wonderful spirit that got us through the blitz and just about every other disaster that has befallen since - roll up your sleeves, pull on your wellies and make the best of it.

I love living in Shepton Beauchamp and I love the people here for being so amazing!

Thank You Leanne!

Last week I read the Somerset Seasons blog all about making butter. I was intrigued. We always buy the local farm butter, which is delicious, but I had never even thought about what goes into the making of this delicious stuff.

Cream. Pure and simple. Reading Leanne's blog inspired me and she was kind enough to send me instructions. It looked pretty straightforward, though there was a part of me that doubted it would be easy. I suppose I have become so removed from the making of things that at some level, you suppose it requires you to stand on one leg, sing incantations and wave your wand. That probably sounds silly, but if you've never thought about how to make butter, it's all a bit mysterious.

For two days, I quested for cream. The local Co-op had sold out, the village shop had sold out; in the end, it was Leanne to the rescue, when she let me know that there's a special offer on at Tesco - a pint of double cream for £1 - how could I go wrong?

I took her advice and headed off to Tesco, where sure enough there was double cream on special offer. I loaded up, took it home and chucked it into the old Kenwood food mixer that my mum had given me years ago.

Leanne had instructed me to cover the mixer with a tea towel or cloth, as it gets a bit splashy. Foolishly, I should have followed her advice to the letter, but thought I'd try wrapping some foil around the top instead of a tea towel. Big mistake. Foil just deflects the splashes, which then ricoched around the kitchen! Not to worry, I peeked and saw that the cream was going beyond the thickly whipped stage, so took off the foil and let the Kenwood blast on. This is not a good thing to do. What I hadn't realised is that the separation of the butter and buttermilk is very sudden and when it happens, the buttermilk goes splashing around like a water cannon.

A quick cup of tea and a change of clothing later, I squished the butter, washed it and I now have absolutely lashings of gorgeous, golden butter. All I have to do is add a bit of salt, as we'll use this on toast, and pack it into it's wrapping.

I'd never have believed how simple it is to make butter, and it's wonderfully satisfying - it made me feel like a child with a load of putty - it's an incredibly grounding experience and all the more wonderful after the bad night I had last night with my son.

I'd like to say a huge thank you to Leanne for inspiring me to try something new and for her generous advice and recipe. You have made a convert of me and it won't be the last time I make butter, though it will be the last time I get all smart-arsey and don't follow instructions!

Bad Night

I was talking to Kim yesterday evening about what seems to be a very Pagan attitude to general interactions that they have with the public, and events in particular. This was hot on the heels of the Ludlow Esoteric Conference and Bookfair, numerous conversations I had during the day about a forthcoming event and a look at what else was on the calendar for the coming months.

The attitude in question appears to be that, because it's a Pagan event, it's acceptable to be sloppy, late and or/ home-spun and even disorganised. There seems to be a very 'mañana' attitude towards timekeeping, with late starts the norm. Ticketing and paperwork are often scruffy and poorly presented. Websites, if they exist are amateurish, clunky and often difficult to navigate and infrequently offer ticket purchase online. Why is this so?

There are notable exceptions; the Mercian Gathering had their tickets for September 2008 out before Yule 2007 with clear instructions about the event. The gathering itself, though on the surface a relaxed affair, has the organisational excellence that allows it to look 'easy' when all the while there's a lot of planning coming to fruition and hard work behind the scenes.

Is it that hard work and planning are dirty words in the Pagan world? I know a lot of Hedge Witches who work incredibly hard, but I do wonder about a hard core of the black-clad I'm-too-mystical-to-dirty-my-hands-with-work brigade, the sort that mince about in black velvet, lace or matrix-like black coats and look like they never see the sunshine.Why is it that professionalism, organisation and efficiency are seen as bad things?

Given an event with 'relaxed' organisation, like Ludlow, it seems that any criticism elicits personal attack from what I can only assume are fans or those close to the organisers.

The Ugly Sisters - What a collection of vain, vacuous, deeply unattractive people (TGW, Sheshat, Shepton, Arnametia). Why bother to go to Ludlow, as you missed most. The subjects were not glamorous enough, were they? Not that you, O Brainless Ones, could understand them - your only orgasms being the Regency row. Your cheap "pagan" (you would like to think)image gives the occult a bad name. If lip-gloss & shopping was not a priority, you would have noticed the "poor woman" was speaker 2. Your collective ignorance & self-importance stopped you enjoying the essence of a lovely and informative day - but then it was over your heads and "ignorance is bliss". Get a life, get a path, before it's too late.

And all this because the first lecture had been uninspiring and we had decided to go off to move cars and then have some lunch together as we rarely have the chance to meet up! These comments, from someone who didn't have the guts or decency to identify themselves, may have been from an expert in Event Management, or perhaps a professional standard speaker and presenter, we'll never know as it's the usual hit-and-run snide attack by someone who doesn't understand the difference between Pagan and occult.

There is a regular theme in Pagan circles about how nobody takes us seriously, that we're such a put-upon minority, yada, yada, yada - yet this is a perfect example of why it isn't changing and won't change until we buck up and stop being lazy and whingeing. I was underwhelmed with a 'conference', even though that is a misnomer, and because I had the temerity to say so, I'm ignorant, vacuous and self-important. Quite possibly, the accusations levelled at me are true, it's entirely a mater or perspective and opinion, but I can say with absolute certainty that I could have organised a better event and that my manners are vastly better than the anonymous poster.

I just needed to get that of my chest. Last night was a bad night - as well as this flea bite on the arse of life, my son is having a terrible time of things and I spent a long time on the phone trying to help him and make the best of a dreadful situation. This went on until nearly 1 a.m. and it was emotionally draining. I wish there was something I could do to help or make things better, and though I know there isn't, it's upsetting knowing that I can't. He has had beter nights, and so have I.

Rooks, Strawberries and No Butter!

Today we had a rook on the feeder in the garden. This huge, glossy black bird, with pale grey beak swept on to the little table that precariously balances atop the pole that holds the seed feeders. Kim had filled it before heading off to Switzerland (lucky dog) and the usual suspects had all visited, jackdaws, blackbirds, robins, starlings, goldfinches, greenfinches and the chaffinches had marched around the bottom of the pole clearing up the crumbs from the messy starlings. I've never seen a rook land on the table before. I think he had been having a bad feather day - his head was glossy and iridescent, but the feathers on his wings were rather tatty and muddy, poor chap. The rook filled his sabre-like beak and kept an eye on me as I lurked about at the kitchen sink. He was not frightened off when I stepped into the back doorway, but as soon as I made a noise, he flew off; it was a shame really as he was a rather splendid bird.

Yesterday, I went on a quest for cream. The lovely Leanne, as Somerset Seasons had given me instructions on how to make butter and I was keen to try it out. I went into the Coop in Ilminster and they had completely sold out, I went into the local village store in Shepton, and guess what? They had sold out. Sigh. Clearly, looking for double cream on a Monday, when shops probably hadn't re-stocked and in the middle of Wimbledon probably wasn't the brightest thing to do, but hindsight is such a clever thing.

One super find today was a small crop of wild strawberries. I had gone to the house in Crewkerne and was pulling out weeds in an attempt to make the wilderness back into a garden, when I found some little plants, hidden under the weeds, full of tiny strawberries. Each fruit was only about the size of a blueberry (and not a very fat one of those either!), but boy, did they pack a punch! I don't think I have ever tasted anything as strawberry-tastic as these little berries! It was like an oral explosion and I have to admit to wolfing them all - it seemed a waste to leave them for the slugs! As some of the plants had spread into an area that will be walled, I dug up a few plants to bring home. I'm just off to pot them up now and hope that they do as well here.