Soup story.......

Having covered winter drinking it's time to do winter eating. Personally, I like soup ..... making it and eating it ....... smooth, creamy, chunky or broth, it's all good as far as I'm concerned. Currently, I'm enjoying Persian Chicken Power Soup by Sabrina Ghayour, by way of Gizzi Erskine out of her, Skinny Weeks and Weekend Feasts.

So easy, so delicious and highly nutritious. Flavoured with turmeric and lemon it is the perfect winter warmer. What's not to enjoy?

Top tip: for puffy eyes and dark circles, slap on a slice of Granny Smith for 15 minutes and let the tannic acid go to work.

Make mine a double.......

"See you later, oh and I'm not drinking this month."

How many times have you heard that since January 1st? What is it with the rush to abstain the moment the new year starts? Yes, we may all have started drinking earlier than the norm on Christmas Day (I like to start any birthday celebration at breakfast ......) and some of us even had one over the eight on December 31st, but honestly, going dry in January?

It's is not a great month and February is worse, surely if ever there was a time to crack open the Malbec or shake up a Martini it's now. It's winter, it's wet, it's dull, cold and getting colder. Isn't that what vodka is for, to get us through the dark months?

Surely spingtime is when we should cast aside the cocktail and cork the wine for a few weeks, clear up and clean out. Until then, as Withnail might say, I plan to enjoy the finest wines available to humanity.

Cheers...happy new year!!

Top tip: soup, the other tipple to get you through winter. Nigel Slater's dal and pumpkin (I used butternut squash.....) is utterly delicious.

Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb......

As I have reported previously on these pages, I am not a natural gardener. But having had a modicum of success with tomatoes and rocket and basil and coriander last year, I thought, hoped, that fruit and veg maybe where my green fingered talents lay. So, my gardening friend gave some plants to plant. The ruby chard started well and then sort of died. The brussel sprout has done anything but, the kale started well but has stopped and the cauliflower is all cauli and no flower. But the rhubarb has thrived. I was told the two types, the names of which I now forget, needed to winter before they could be picked and crumbled, roasted, fooled, whatever..... and low, through the dank soil they continue to poke and bloom.....

Grow my pretties......

Doctor, doctor I I've got rhubarb

Don't' worry you can get cream for that.....

Rain lashed London shone in the bright morning sunlight. Stick trees poked the high blue sky through thin chilled air. On the bus I saw a baby cocooned in his buggy, nothing but his round, hairless head poking out. He had the look of a man of 80 rather than his 18 months, I domed forehead, knowing blue-grey eyes, a down-turned mouth slow to smile a toothless grin. He peered about him with a world weary gaze. The bus stopped to let a funeral procession pass: 4 large long black cars following a hearse containing a giant, wicker eco-coffin, a coffin-shaped, man-sized, moses basket with a lid with toggles to keep it fastened....from the cradle to the grave......

Top tip: Go see The Artist........I'm not sure it's quite 'the greatest movie ever' but it's delightfully charming and very beautiful.....

Tune In, Drop Out

It's official, I'm addicted to Treatment and when it finishes I'll need treatment to get over it. I speak of course about the brilliant new TV series on Sky Arts 1, In Treatment, with the delicious Gabriel Byrne dolling out a daily helping of therapy finishing up on Fridays with himself on the couch, while the divine Dianne Wiest, who incidentally seems to have taken the road less travelled where nips and tucks are concerned and looks all the better for it, nods, smiles and raises the odd eyebrow with ease, in a face devoid of botox, as she tries to help Paul deal with the unwanted love of a patient. There was certainly a bit of erotic transference going on, on my sofa, have you seen Gabriel Byrne recently? He just gets better with age. Which is great, who needs to go out when you can snuggle up on the couch with Byrne as your virtual boyfriend? Because despite the yoga and the green tea and the goji berries, with age comes exhaustion. It seems like only yesturday that the daylight hours where just a prelude to going out time, but not anymore, it takes a real effort and to be quite honest going out on a cold, wet night holds little allure especially when the weekends are dominated by the 24-hour party people hell-bent on hell-raising. It's as if there's a forty-something curfew round my way, the old folk over 39 are rounded up and herded off the streets to make way for the fun. 

However, last week, despite a plethora of top telly, I made a lot of effort and went out quite a bit on the more age-appropriate nights. So, on forty-something friendly Tuesday, I went to the book launch of a friend of a friend I didn't know. An ideal opportunity, I thought, to down a couple of free glasses of wine and mix and mingle with total strangers, you never know who you might meet. Unfortunately, I met a woman I hadn't seen for years, and with good reason. She is not what you'd call 'a girl's girl', talking to her is not conversation, it's the divulging of information, she fixes you with her beady blue eyes and extracts facts that may be taken down and used against you at a later date. I didn't want to talk to her so pretended I hadn't seen her but it was too late. She came through the crowd like an Exocet, despite being 10 years older than me age cannot whither her, whippet thin she moved at speed. With nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide, there was nothing for it but to throw back my head and whoop in surprise, fling my arms around her and exclaim 'wow!' Where upon she took off her coat and announced she'd be staying longer in order to interrogate me about my life and loves and the state of everyone else we had in common. And she wouldn't let me go which meant I had to stop making eyes at a wine stained dandy I'd quite fancied, a sort of cross between Hugh Grant and Boris Johnson called Willy, which, with hindsight, probably wasn't a very good idea. So perhaps I should be grateful that I didn't succumb to a third glass of wine where upon I would undoubtedly become a social embarrassment.

 

But, despite my abundance of nightlife, I missed none of my favourite TV shows because of the joy of Sky Plus, where with the aid of one button even I can ensure entire series are gaily recorded without fear. However, with new technology comes new problems, and I've now developed Sky Plus anxiety, an excessive amount of pre-recoreded programs I'm unlikely to ever get through, causing panic and stress and resulting in the need for therapy.  Thankfully I'm already in Treatment with Gabriel Byrne. 

Top tip: Body brushing, it takes a few minutes a day and the results are amazing, banish bing-wings forever!!

Zen and the Art of body Maintenance

My body is not working quite the way it used to, subtle changes have been occurring over the last decade..... or two. Age creeps up on one slowly and not just from behind, unfortunately, there are things that have gone south for the winter that are never coming back. Plus, there's the softening of the jaw-line, a sagging of the elbow, the creeks and groans that accompany most movement and which make one sound like a Spanish galleon about to set sail every time one tries to leave the sofa. So, with the on set of winter and the long, drawn out evenings with nowhere to go but the kitchen for a fatal forage in the fridge, I have become increasingly concerned about health and safety on the body front. It's all about maintenance now. Like an old car, you need to tinker constantly with what you've got because if something falls off you're in big trouble, they don't make body parts like these anymore. And so, I've gone back to yoga. This summer I packed the sarong and headed to Ibiza, not to dance in the foam, but to do the downward dog with a back-drop of Benares beach and the rock of good vibes, under the instruction of the whippet-thin 53 year old, Kahti, which was quite brilliant and inspired me to want to do more.

 

Then, when I got back to the smoke, full of bliss, I bumped into a delightful woman of 68 who I used to see at a class I went to 20 odd years ago (note: the universe will provide....) We talked of tans and yoga and she said about half a dozen from the old class were still standing on their heads, at the teachers house, and I should come along. So I did. Our teacher, The Zen mother, is now 70 and looks amazing, the others range from 53 to 86 and so I am, as they like to call me, still the 'baby of the class', which suits me absolutely fine.........I thought it would be fairly low key with quite a lot of relaxation, but no, it's really hard and right now my bum may look smaller in this, but it hurts. They're hilarious and inspiring in equal measures and have been doing their weekly class together for over 30 years, swapping funny stories and tales of their children and grand-children between postures. They really are quite brilliant, and bendy, and I want some of that.

So, a feeling of well being is hovering about me which, on a day as dull as today, is just what you need. I really can't see myself sitting out my dotage on this damp island, not when there is much better weather to be had elsewhere. My son's father is currently residing in Barcelona where apparently, it's really hot. Living somewhere 'really hot' seems like a jolly good idea right now and if it wasn't for the fact that The Son, who has finally returned to higher education (hurrah!) is living with me, then I might go somewhere really hot too. But for now, Pranayama anybody?? 

Top tip: Waitrose Baby Bottom Butter makes a brilliant night cream when used a couple of times a week.