2nd Childhood

I must admit; at times traveling with a six year old and your mother seems beyond madness. For six is a funny age, it seems to be the point where little people start becoming real people. Speech has become fluent, they don't fall down as much and you start to feel that they may have enough sense not to run in front of cars or throw tantrums over the colour pink. However they are still small enough to be scooped up in your arms and cuddled in public without squirming away from 'embarrassment'.

However my notes on this age are nothing compared with the great writer A.A.Milne. In fact his understanding of the age of six is demonstrated in his masterpiece entitled 'Now We Are Six'.
When I was young the title of the book confused me, a little. Now 'we' are six? Why wasn't the book written only for me, for I am six, yes me, not you, me. At the ripe old age of 20 something I have finally gained enough wisdom to see why 'we' are six. For when you are in the company of a six year old there is no other age to be. That is why it felt so right to get up at 6am this morning when Alex started chattering away in whispers of "Are you awake, sis? Pst, hey are you awake?"
"Well yes dear Alex, I am now." How can you be mad though? When you know today will involve throwing sticks off a bridge and seeing the circus.

Now if you have had the joy of reading any works by A.A.Milne you will know that there is a 100 Acre Wood and in this wood lives a bear called Pooh and all his other unlikely English forest friends. This forest is known formally as Ashdown Forest. We kept our eyes peeled for kangaroos, a donkey, a tiger, a piglet or even an owl but they didn't seem to be in season. What we did manage to find though was 'Pooh Bridge' and from this bridge you may play a game called 'Pooh sticks'. I know it all sounds rather vulgar but you are six and these things do not occur to you yet. Before you take the short 10 minute woodland stroll to the bridge you should collect some sticks because you won't find any around the bridge. My winning tip is to get a wand length stick and prune it so that it has one leaf at the top for speed and easy recognition. Once at the bridge you stand on the left side and drop your sticks at the count of three. Then you dash madly to the other side and wait for the gentle current to grant you victory. This is then repeated, many times until you run out of sticks or patience at repetitive tasks.



In the evening it was time for Gifford's Circus, their final performance for the Summer. I was a little doubtful that the plot of War and Peace could be depicted through acrobatics, I mean it did take me two years to read the entire book. How the Dickens do they expect to cram it into two or so hours with an interval? Well somehow they managed it. Of course the plot was cut down to some very basic themes - there was only one death instead of many, there was juggling and fire throwing, horse riding and peasants singing. In fact there was lots of signing and dancing which really kept the whole show together especially when backed up by a live band to keep everyone's spirits soaring along. This is as far as I will critique the show because it was really the whole atmosphere created that was most pleasurable. There was a big tent, horses tethered outside and people of all ages enjoying the show and feeling part of the circus family for just one special night. It was simply brilliant and the best thing was you didn't have to be six to have a magical time.

Hever Castle

Well mummy and Alex arrived in London not in the best shape I must say, apparently migraine sprays do nothing at high altitudes. Has any one else experienced this and if so did they manage to find a fix it? I fear poor mumsie is already dreading the return 22 hour flight back to Melbourne. Thankfully once grounded the spray did it's thing and we were ready to pick up our hire car and get touring.

On arrival at the Avis car rental desk the lovely gentleman behind the desk needed only a second to take in Alex skipping around our pile of luggage before saying "Madam are you aware that the car you've booked is a sports car with - some infathomable amount of - horsepower and start speed?"
Mum replied that all she had wanted was a Citroen because last time she toured Europe with daddy they had a Citroen and she was very happy with it, bless her. The gentleman made some minor adjustments to the booking and we left the depot in a zippy 4 door Ford Fiesta with the soothing voice of the GPS lady guiding us onto the M25.

There had been many plans for this first day but with mother feeling a bit delicate we decided to scrap them and achieve one visit; Hever Castle the childhood home of Anne Boleyn. The journey to Kent from Heathrow was surprisingly quick even though mummy refuses to do anything but 10 miles under the speed limit. We arrived at the castle and decided that elevenses were the first item on the agenda. The middle of the cafe had more cakes than you could poke a fork at resting on it. Including a delightful homemade Victoria Sponge cut into even more delightfully unequal pieces. Off course we hand picked the biggest slices onto our plates and Alex decided to have her first scone of the holiday. I think the greatest appeal for Alex is that the jam comes in mini-pots (must keep in mind that this fascination with the minute could be disastrous if she discovers the mini-bar at the next hotel we stay in). After 3 cups of tea each we felt ready for anything.





Hever Castle was picture book perfect. The castle is not massive but the rooms are decorated to perfection and the carved wood paneling is something special. Apparently we have William Waldorf Astor, to thank for this and the wonderful gardens. The gardens have some great features for keeping children entertained, the adventure playground was so good that I couldn't resist running around with Alex. I resisted the pull of the water maze for the sake of my attire while Alex felt no qualms with walking into a shower.





In the afternoon we drove down tiny little tree lined streets and through umpteen little villages with funny names. To sum up our delight in England I will use mother's quote of the day "I just want to hug everything!"

In defence of granny panties

This morning I was flipping through the very serious news headlines of Ninemsn when one caught my eye. It was about Taylor Swift's 'wardrobe malfunction' during a concert which exposed her apparent lack of 'underwear fashion sense'. Admittedly I am not a Taylor Swift fan, I think she looks and sings like vanilla, but I respect her far more after witnessing her underwear choice.

For seriously, what is so wrong with granny panties?

They're flattering, comfortable, come in 3 neutral colours and if you get the more modern styles they even prevent VPL's. The only conclusion I can come to for their bad press is because the patriarchal structures in society insist women can only be attractive if they are made to submit to being uncomfortable. This must be the only reason, because for the life of me I can not remember seeing any woman in a g-string without feeling quite repulsed. According to society's ideals women should walk around with the equivalent of dental floss between their bottoms or wear itchy synthetic materials of the most awkward cuts so they can be a potential breeding ground for thrush. This is not sexy. It's demeaning and impractical. Women should be able to walk out the door each morning feeling confident and ready for anything, they should not be taking the last minute to adjust their knickers before it becomes impossible to do so in the public glare.

Many may argue that granny undies lack sex appeal but in my opinion a woman confident and relaxed is sexy. If men are intimidated by confidence they are relying on the desperation of women to get out of their uncomfortable situation as a possibility to score. This is a sign of major character flaws, most notably communication skills and charm. It also brings them down to the mentality of rapists who get off from making women vulnerable in a subjective position. This may seem a little extreme but I'm not saying that women can't wear g-strings or other impractical underwear if they choose to, but it must be their choice not a patriarchal pressure. Also if I want to wear granny undies to get about my work I don't want some asshole writing that I'm unfashionable and lacking sex appeal. As Bridgette Jone's proved granny panties are not a chastity belt.



So I can't believe I'm saying this but bravo Taylor Swift. I still don't like your music but maybe you are more of a feminist than I thought. Now get back to work and write some better songs.

Ugly Vegetables

I think the first notable change I made to my host family in England was suggesting the wonders of a weekly organic vegetable box delivered to your door. My hint was to my utter surprise enacted upon instantly and since then I have had the pleasure of getting to plan my weeknight meals around seasonal produce and have been saved the depression that comes from visiting the 'plastic' veggies (sometimes even pre-cut!) at Tesco. The delight of wondering what will be awaiting me at the front door Thursday morning is thanks to the wonderful people at Riverford. Most of the vegetables are your familiar faces broccoli, carrots, onions and always a bag of potatoes. However I'm getting acquainted with a few new faces who I can only describe as 'deliciously ugly'.

The two ugly vegetables I have had the pleasure of meeting recently are Celeriac and Swede. The trick to getting along with these characters is to remove their tough skins and reveal their softer insides. Once this is done you will have the beginnings of a really good meal, read below if you dare associate with the deliciously ugly ones.


Celeriac and Pear soup

1 onion, chopped
clove of garlic, finely diced
1 celeriac, peeled and chopped
4 pears, peeled and chopped
500ml of good quality vegetable stock

Get out a medium saucepan and pour a generous amount of olive oil into it. Then add the onion and garlic, allow it to frizzle but not burn. Once the aroma of onion is invading your kitchen it's time to add everything else including the vegetable stock. Allow the celeriac and pears to soften in the simmering stock for about 20 minutes. Then turn off the heat and allow it all to cool for 5 minutes. Put the mix in batches through a food processor. Then serve it hot in some nice bowls on a cold day.




Potato and Swede Bake

1/2 swede, peeled and finely sliced
2 large potatoes, peeled and finely sliced
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and finely chopped
125ml vegetable stock
125ml milk
nutmeg, salt and pepper
parmesan cheese, grated

Get a medium sized baking dish and grease the inside with butter. Line the base of the dish with 1/2 the swede slices and the 1/2 the potato slices on top. Sprinkle all the garlic over it and hen get out your nutmeg and grate lots of it on top as well as a good shake of salt and pepper. If you want a creamy bake you could spread some creme fraiche on as well. Then it's time to arrange the other 1/2 of your swede slices on top and then the potoato slices on top again. Get the stock and milk you have kept on hand and cascade over your assembled mountain. Then get out your parmesan cheese and grate as much as you want on top of the bake. Put into a medium oven for about 60 minutes but if your oven has a habit of burning things as mine does do check on it at 40 minutes because it may be brown, crisp and very edible.

Now to finish I will talk of someone beautiful who I haven't had the pleasure of meeting. Alys Fowler is a divine Kitchen Garden Goddess who is responsible for a television show that is actually worth watching, The Edible Garden. Up until recently you could download episodes from the BBC itvplayer but unfortunately this no longer seems possible. If you can get you eyes on an episode do. She is my idol and therefore I think she deserves your worship. Also unlike my vegetable friends she is very easy on the eye. Happy cooking and looking.

Love London

Today is Saturday and I am doing loads of washing and ironing so I can pack my bag for our family trip to Devon tomorrow. The only good thing about today is that it's raining outside so I'm not really missing out on anything. While I undertake these domestic tasks I have been reminiscing about my previous weekend which was spent with Maddy in London and culminated in a delightful Valentines picnic on the Monday back in Kent. So instead of giving a long chronology of what happened in the past I decided to give love a list of my loves from the weekend.

1) Vintage Laura Ashley Dresses
Our Saturday morning was spent wandering down Portobello Road. We had a delightful time perusing antique stalls, then food stalls and finally clothes stalls. At one of the later stalls we managed to find a collection of Laura Ashley dresses that had been handily hemmed to more modern and practical lengths. I bought a long sleeved dress in Autumnal plum and green while Maddy bought a bright short sleeved summer dress that is sure to be worn at an Italian Villa in a few months.



2) Lulu Capes
At another stall in Portobello I spied the most magnificent cape. It was a blue check fabric 100% wool, handmade and lined. The lady behind these wonderful creations gave me her card and I still really want that check cape but I must be practical and 2 capes would really be too much for one backpacker. If you are not as concerned about excess luggage as I am you can order a cape online from
www.lululondon.com (I couldn't access the site from my computer but I put it anyway in hope that your computer will)

3) Red Velvet Cake
To finish off an exhilarating yet energy depleting shopping session we stopped at the Humming Bird Bakery. We shared a piece of the famous Red Velvet Cake and managed to demolish it on the side walk while watching the crowd of late comers (tourists) stream down the road. We vowed then and there to recreate the cup cake version of the cake for Valentines and the result is depicted below. They tasted as good as they look!





4) Picnics in Parks
On Valentines Day we sat down on a huge tree stump in Knole Park and filled grainy rolls with butter lettuce, goats cheese, beetroot and walnuts. We didn't share any of our lunch with the herds of deer because the signs told us not too and if truth be told I didn't even think of leaving a crumb for them. However we did manage to admire the deer from a respectable distance as we walked through the woodlands and reluctantly said goodbye to such noble animals. What we got in exchange 30 minutes later was a feral pack of school children who invaded the car, damn Mondays.

Hello England

So I know it has been ages since I last wrote a post but a friend suggested that this would be a good way of sharing my cultural experiences (yeah right) as an Au Pair to 4 children in Kent. Let's call them Caroline (pre-teen), William (preparing for 11+ with 4 tutors!), Harry (middle child) and Bobby (youngest at 6). As you can guess, all the children are very close in age and therefore constantly competing with each other. By the way, when I say competing I mean fighting.

So today I escaped the 18th Century stone house and went off to view my first ever hunt. I didn't really know what to expect, I was just given instructions to drive to the pub in a village 10 minutes away. As I drove up the hill I spotted 3 red coats, 2 blue coats and a pack of hounds waiting around outside the town pub. It seemed like all the unemployed locals were also out to view this unusual spectacle, appropriately attired in tweed coat, caps and wellies. I sauntered up and tried to act natural in my Hunter wellies but I think my constant picture taking was a dead giveaway. I thought that perhaps the hunt was only made up of 5 riders because it was a week day but half an hour later the rest of the field showed up. The master gathered everyone together and outlined his battle strategy for the day and then the horn was blown, rather feebly I must say, and the horses walked off down the road.

I headed back to my car perfectly happy with the sight I had just witnessed and decided to head home rather than trying to work out where on earth the hunt was actually going. I drove out of the town and got to the top of another hill close by where there seemed an easy pull over area that others had already taken advantage of. I stepped out of the car next to a small wooded area which two old men in green were watching intently. I didn't really know why they kept staring at an unmoving thicket of trees but I'm glad I decided to follow their lead because in a mater of minutes I saw the fox scampering out of the bushes. I'm not sure if it was a he fox or a she fox but it was much bigger than I expected and not red but fawn coloured. There was no mistaking it for a dog though because it wore a foxy grin and seemed to be working out how to avoid the dogs yapping in the distance. So I saw the fox but where were the hounds? We waited another good 10 minutes before the scarlet coats came trotting down the road while the dogs bounded along the woodland path that fox had already deserted. We informed them of our sighting and a lady in blue got out her mobile phone to update the rest of the field, obviously technology is catching up with tradition. I then walked further down the road to a clearing over looking the fields below. My final view of the day was the hunters going for a good gallop up another hill to try and get the fox which was suspected to have gone through the village. I called it a day after this because I am not vaguely familiar with these country villages and felt like I had got my share of luck for the day. View halloo!