Pink Grapefruit Marmalade

Today I made some scrummy marmalade

Recipe

4 Pink Grapefruits

2kg Granulated Sugar

juice of 4 Lemons

Boil four grapefruit for 2 hours, in enough water to cover them, until they’re soft.

 Then drain and slice thinly, and chop a bit (removing any large pips), before returning to the pan, along with 2kg preserving sugar, and the juice of 4 lemons.

After boiling for 35 minutes or so, test for setting point. The easy way to do this is to have a plate in the fridge. Place a teaspoon of the mixture on the plate, and leave for a minute. If the surface of the mixture creases when you push it, the marmalade is ready.

Pour into sterilised jars and seal. 

Job done.... !

Keep Chickens!!

Today I sat outside one of my chicken-coops on the floor and peered through at my Silkie hen and her three adopted chicks, I must have sat there for about half an hour, I kept thinking, 'I'll just watch for a bit longer, oh just a bit more' but I was totally captivated by the adorable way they kept a close eye on their mum, and how they chased her frantically when they had realised that she had moved from the last spot they had noted, whilst they were being distracted by how much fun it was to scratch around ,as foraging is something that comes naturally, and what makes baby chickens more independent than most other birds, as they have a natural ability to feed for themselves almost straight after they hatch, which makes them rather special..

Keeping chickens for me started as a curiosity, I had bought my husband 4 hens as a Christmas present, we had talked about it and the idea appealed, but it was one of those things we had loved the concept of but didn't really know much about, and I didn't know anyone who had chickens, to ask, to get advice from, but actually the best place I found for all of this advice were forums like 'Down the Lane' and the 'Omlet' site which are very  informative, also they are very friendly, and everyone who owns chickens that I have ever come across are always delighted to be called upon to help anyone who may be thinking of getting some.

Now I have roughly 40, I say roughly, because I have chicks, I have a hen sitting on eggs due to hatch in a weeks time, and I have an incubator with 10 eggs doing very nicely, I sit with my cup of tea most mornings in all weathers and watch my girls peck around and scratch, their clucks and squawks are punctuated by the joyous sounds of my two cockerels, who are on the look out for predators and safe guarding their harem, and they really do lift my mood.

I would say to anyone thinking of keeping chickens that they should go ahead and get 3 to start with,which is a manageable flock, and you will get a few eggs a day which is ample.

And for ease and convenience get a walk in pen, because those coops that you have to crawl into are a total bloody pain, unless you are 3 feet tall, I suggest you make or buy , 3 x 6ft tall panels joined to make an enclosure measuring about 12ft, with panels over the top as a lid to keep off foxes, this set up will make a great start. and you will need a chicken house inside, perhaps you could make one, or else buy one on ebay, they don't have to cost the earth, I bought a cheap one and painted it bright pink and it's lovely.. also the good thing about having a paneled structure is that you can add to it, which believe me you will !.

I have a love for a specific rare type of chicken and they are called 'Transylvanian Naked Necks' I have a second pen in the garden and have set up a programme to breed them, which I have started this year.

I also do 'Chicken Keeping for Beginners' afternoons which you can find here, http://www.omlet.co.uk/courses/

If you would like any advice at all and would like some help with anything chickeny you could contact me by emailing  shvuntz@gmail.com 

…

I am not an animal! I am a human being! I...am...an agoraphobic!

Sometimes when I go out I start to feel disorientated, and detached ,and people are talking to me and I am looking at them through what seems like a fish eye lens, I am  not really hearing them..  I am being attacked by colours and things moving too fast around me, like a tornedo of abuse from the surroundings I am in, and I panic, because I am far away from safety, I cannot hideaway, and everyone can see me like a scared animal, I feel nauseated and my legs feel as if they have sponges for feet, I sweat, and require assistance but would never ask,  people are staring at me or so it seems , and I pray for composure..

I AM AN AGORAPHOBIC……

Last year I couldn’t get to the newsagents at the end of the road, without thinking I would never return unaided, I would fight my way up there with what felt like a gale force wind pushing against me, then when I got there I would wobble my way around the shop, and leave to face the cyclone on the way back, stopping to cling onto walls to make sure I was still conscious, my battle with this has been for a good 23 years, it has presented itself in varying degrees over this time, and I have been so stressed, that I have had to visit the lav a million times, before, and during my visits out, thus creating in me a mistrust of my own body to get me through a day, less alone the rest of my life.. I was trapped in a vessel, that had a mind of it’s own and it was travelling with me in it, to places I really didn’t want to visit, and I knew each time that I would become travel sick…

Out of desperation, and what I would say in hindsight, real bravery, I decided to get some help, and went to see a psychiatrist at ‘The Priory Hospital’. There he was in his three piece chequered wool suit and red bow tie, with a smile that said ‘I smoke too many cigarettes’ and an office that was far too untidy for any conclusion to be made reliably on anyone’s behalf.  He was a total eccentric, the way I like them, he leaned back in his chair in a very patronising way with his hands clasped across his chest, and spoke to me whilst glancing around the room as if he was watching a fly like a frog and was planning to eat it.. I spoke of my fears and my expectations, and hoped he would take some notes, which he did, as I really didn’t think that he would remember what I had said, as his concentration span was worse than mine, and I was putting my valueable self in his hands which were thankfully now being put to task to create the Cheryl file which I’m sure will come back to haunt me someday..

This file was then handed to my care-worker, a nifty little woman, with dangly beady earrings and earlobes to match , I did actually like her, but she had a chaotic and clumsy nature and always forgot to print out enough fact or work sheets for us all in her group therapy classes, and never remembered to ‘bring them next time’ either. I found out subsequently that she herself was once a patient, suffering from severe depression, and had found enthusiasm to help other people which I thought was really nice. She left halfway through my treatment to go and work in the NHS, I bought her a copy of 'One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest' because I had joked with her that I felt like Randle Patrick McMurphy but at that point I was deadly serious.

We sat in a circle, so we could get a good look at each other, this unnerved me because at that point I found it almost unbearable to be in such a situation as this, and I would fidget for the whole hour until our tea break, then come back and fidget and doodle and pick at my fingernails for a whole hour after, I also liked to position myself so I could watch the clock, as I found this countdown a good distraction for the anxiety I felt, and unless someone’s story was worse than mine, I would sit there and hope that my bladder or bowels wouldn’t let me down, because I was bored, and wanted to go home to where it was safe.. 

The canteen was in a lovely bright room, and don’t forget this beautiful old mansion house was set in beautiful grounds, and you could look out and see Grovelands Park, and also the clusters of patients all huddled together trying to light up a cigarette in the wind and sometimes even the rain, it was only January and bloody cold. We sat on round tables of six, There was a long table at the end of the room which was only for the addicts, a no go area for the likes of us, everyone on that table spoke loudly, and laughed a lot, but they all looked much older than they really were, I wanted to be on that table because they all looked so animated and enthusiastic. I sat with a carefully chosen eclectic set of people , we altogether seemed to represent society as a whole as we all had different reasons for being there, I realised very quickly that these were an excellent bunch of very intelligent people which was probably why they were there in the first place, and the stigma about being there for me faded over the weeks and I felt like I had joined a very special and exclusive club, and didn’t really want to leave..

Outside as the weather got better and certainly by March, myself and my new friends would congregate on the benched tables to chat, never before had I got more sympathy, and never before had I given so much, I heard stories of simple misunderstandings to total abuse, I saw people in high powered jobs who had been crushed under the pressure, and I saw people who had the lowest self esteem  I have ever witnessed, some  got so low they actually gave up caring.. one person tried and failed to injure himself fatally, and two others succeeded in the rush hours under trains on the Piccadilly line.. and the tables we sat at were scarred with the scrawlings of desperate patients, and the grass was littered with about a million fag ends all bearing the lipstick and spittle of hundreds of people in pain..

My problems have not been solved, but I have been provided with industrial tools in which to implement my knowledge, I was told from the start to try and push my boundaries unless they will close in on me, I have managed to do that, but I still live within some restricting walls, I do not choose to do this, and I am amazed by the amount of people who think that I do, anyone who has bothered to get to know me knows this cannot be the case because I am a very sociable and bubbly person, who lives for everyone but herself.  I am not being selfish.

I AM AN AGORAPHOBIC …

Understand me. love me. help me...

Noisy Cocks..

Even in the midst of earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear disaster, gun crime, and war with Libya, I was interested to hear about those people who owned cockerels in Wales, and how they were being taken to court by their neighbours, for owning 'noisy' roosters..

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-12689800

The news says that their sounds peaked at 59 decibels which made we wonder what that amounted to in the big urban noise equation.

After a bit of Googleing I noted that our sound threshhold for pain is actually 125 decibels, and while I am not suggesting for a second that we would want to even feel uncomfortable around the eardrums, it amazed me what we are willing to put up with, from things that we just have grown to accept as 'normal' everyday sounds.

For example, did you know that a house alarm is 110-120db, your hair dryer is 90db, and a screaming child is 110db, not to mention traffic which is anything from 85-95db.

Rock concerts max out at 150db, and your average MP3 player is 115db, and those bastards, in their boom cars let out a whopping 145db, which I suggest should be banned straight away, as I cannot understand how these drivers would hear a siren, and perform as responsible drivers with good concentration, I suggest aswell that they are fined, and that they wear their fucking trousers on their waists where they are supposed to be, as we do not want to see their grubby pants or arse hair, but I digress!!!..

The roar of a jet aircraft is probably one of the loudest sounds in everyday use, and I read that if you stuck your head inside the engine, the tiny cilia in your auditory canal would fry, and you would go deaf in an instant, but that might be the least of your worries, because the force of the soundwaves would turn your bowels to liquid, and you would die in a puddle of your own diarrhoea, nice... 

Breathing is about 10db, and the rustle of leaves is around 20db , and hey, the average fart is around 50db, but in this unique instance the louder the better, as the more softer sounding 'anal accoustics', are more likely to clear a room far quicker than a badly played violin which is at about 85-90db.

A normal conversation is around 50db, unless I'm involved then it goes up to 80, especially if I hear about people complaining about the sort of sounds that we have just forgotten to listen to and accept, like cockerals, which after all is natural, and we have become far too used to much worse and invasive sounds, and not to mention behaviour from our neighbours, and society in general. 

I for one have to endure 60-90 decibels of my dearest husband snoring most of the night, and I'm sure you ladies out there will sympathise.
The three roosters at the end of my garden are welcome to come share my bed anytime!.

Tip of the Day

Before chopping or handling chillies, rub oil into your fingers and you will have a protective layer.

Then wash off afterwards and you will be safe to touch your delicate bits without pain or discomfort..

Some of my work....

Some of my work....

My Hands

These are the hands that nature built.

These are the fingers that service the hands that nature built

This is the ring that my true love bought that stays on the finger that services the hands that nature built

This is the skin that holds the ring my true love bought that stays on the finger that services the hands that nature built

These are the lines that map my fate upon the skin that holds the ring that my true love bought that stays on the finger that services the hands that nature built

This is my life told in the lines that map my fate upon the skin that holds the ring that my true love bought that stays on the fingers that service the hands that nature built

These are the hands that took the map and changed the fate and cast away my true loves ring then built a life with brand new skin and fingers drawing nature in.


By Cheryl Powing