Knowing smile
The Diclofenac seems to have done the trick yesterday, as I have no pain in my arm, although I did wake during the night with pins and needles in the other hand, and later in the night I got an extreme muscle cramp in my calf. This poor old abused body.
I spotted a 'Pick Your Own' in Leeds last weekend which I quite fancy. When I was little the farmer used to suggest to my mother that they weigh me in and weigh me out and charge for the difference, which unfailingly gave me the giggles.
When I was a kid my mum was a dab hand at uncovering my fibs. She used to pierce me with an unblinking gaze and ask 'Did you do that?' If I denied it she would simply continue looking at me with a knowing smile. If I was fibbing it didn't take long before I could no longer keep a straight face, a grin would erupt and I'd get the giggles. It got so that I would get the giggles even when I was telling the truth if she gave me that look.
After a visit to a PYO with mum all those years ago we would come away with at least 4 big baskets of strawberries, the bulk of which usually ended up in my mum's biggest pan being turned to jam.
When mum did something major in the kitchen department it was always seemed to be a massive undertaking. The kitchen had to be totally scrubbed and cleaned beforehand, everything had to be gotten out in readiness, much studying of the recipe was done, with each used item being washed up as soon as it was finished with.
With jamming I remember the lengthy process of sterilizing the jars, the endless stirring of the jam, and a dozens of tests to see if it was going to set. I don't particularly remember the resulting jam itself.
I've never tried to make jam, but I have recreated some of mum's specialities. I'm usually disconcerted to find it doesn't take long at all. With her cooked cheesecake recipe I was sure I must have gone terribly wrong - I recall it taking hours of painstaking preparation when mum made it, yet I had it ready to go in the oven within half an hour.
I have to admit mine wasn't a patch on my mum's, but I think I would have felt sad if it was. I've never had cheesecake as good as hers.
I spotted a 'Pick Your Own' in Leeds last weekend which I quite fancy. When I was little the farmer used to suggest to my mother that they weigh me in and weigh me out and charge for the difference, which unfailingly gave me the giggles.
When I was a kid my mum was a dab hand at uncovering my fibs. She used to pierce me with an unblinking gaze and ask 'Did you do that?' If I denied it she would simply continue looking at me with a knowing smile. If I was fibbing it didn't take long before I could no longer keep a straight face, a grin would erupt and I'd get the giggles. It got so that I would get the giggles even when I was telling the truth if she gave me that look.
After a visit to a PYO with mum all those years ago we would come away with at least 4 big baskets of strawberries, the bulk of which usually ended up in my mum's biggest pan being turned to jam.
When mum did something major in the kitchen department it was always seemed to be a massive undertaking. The kitchen had to be totally scrubbed and cleaned beforehand, everything had to be gotten out in readiness, much studying of the recipe was done, with each used item being washed up as soon as it was finished with.
With jamming I remember the lengthy process of sterilizing the jars, the endless stirring of the jam, and a dozens of tests to see if it was going to set. I don't particularly remember the resulting jam itself.
I've never tried to make jam, but I have recreated some of mum's specialities. I'm usually disconcerted to find it doesn't take long at all. With her cooked cheesecake recipe I was sure I must have gone terribly wrong - I recall it taking hours of painstaking preparation when mum made it, yet I had it ready to go in the oven within half an hour.
I have to admit mine wasn't a patch on my mum's, but I think I would have felt sad if it was. I've never had cheesecake as good as hers.
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