The Summer Party

On the 3rd July we had our annual Summer Party. I know, I know, how were you meant to turn up on time if I only told you a week and a half too late? Well if you’d been watching my Twitter feed, the food production I was tweeting would have been a clue. Tarts, cupcakes, pork noodle balls, sausage rolls (some of which accidentally fell into my open mouth) were made and Mum had the day off work the day before the party for us both to get really stuck in on making as much as possible in advance, meaning we didn’t have too much to do when the guests started arriving.

Here Helen demonstrates what not to do with the electric fly swat. It’s a small racquet with a button on the side, which when pressed allows, I don’t know, a million volts to flow through the wires, zapping whatever flying, buzzing thing you manage to hit with it (others hire magicians and chocolate fountains for their celebrations, we demonstrate the fly swat). Five-year-old Darcie was immensely drawn to this device in Uncle John’s hands and took a lot of persuading that no, she really didn’t want to touch it. If grownups have enough trouble resisting touching the wires when they’re live (and, oh, we do), there wasn’t much hope for her.

After all the talk of how much food we made – and we did, we made a lot – this is the only photo I took of anything edible. These are the famous cinnamon rolls from The Pioneer Woman and they really are as good as she says. They also win big brownie points by being freezable. Fifteen minutes in the oven from frozen and bam! you can present your guests with a delicious, intricate dessert warm from the oven that you apparently just that moment whipped up when they were distracted by the fly swat.

We had a beautiful day for the party – the sun shone and everyone sat out in the garden to talk and enjoy the food. Nigel had also brought along a few bottles of Farmer’s Ales for people to try, products of his own brewery in Essex. Appreciative noises all round from those who tried them. And from all who devoured the food too. See you all next year!

7 Days: Day 2 – Hot and not so hot

Resting my muzzy head in the sunshine in John and Sam’s garden. We spent a very enjoyable day at their place, where we were fed yummy food and everyone pitched in to finish the crossword.

CDWM: Helen’s dessert

This was Helen’s beautiful dessert: mango tiramisu, served in pretty individual dishes.

The Eurovision Song Contest was still going strong and we were judging the entries ourselves. Later we were also able to judge the country representatives – one-shouldered dresses were popular this year. Especially among the women. Graham Norton was doing an entertaining job of presenting the show for the UK audience and made me laugh when, taken aback by one scorer’s lack of sartorial effort, exclaimed, “a zippy top, that’s it?”

When all the scores were in I amazingly got a point for placing Bosnia and Herzegovina correctly at 17th. A nice way to make up to them, seeing as I hadn’t even listed them as a participant in the first quiz. We didn’t agree with the ultimate winner, but, very patriotically, I’m sure you’ll agree, were totally in favour of the UK being placed last. The rest of the participating countries take the competition very seriously, but the UK doesn’t and doesn’t offer much in the way of a talented contender. So we deride the contender and then the competition and round we go again.

Lauren’s own photos of the evening can be found on her Flickr photostream

And here, our final judgement and review of the evening:

Kristina from Duvemåla in London

On Wednesday evening Mum and I went to the Royal Albert Hall to see a concert production of “Kristina“. The musical “Kristina från Duvemåla” was written by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus of ABBA and enjoyed great success in Sweden in the mid-90s. The term “musical” does it somewhat of a disservice though – it’s so much grander than that, leaning more towards the tragic and operatic. It is based on a series of books by Vilhelm Moberg that tell the story of Swedish emigrants who leave their hard lives in Sweden and travel to the New World to start again in America. In no way is it “Mamma Mia!”.

I have the CD set of the Swedish production, which is full of fantastic music and singing. Now having played an English language concert production at Carnegie Hall in New York, “Kristina” came to London for a night and – thanks to seeing some Facebook chat about it – I found out in time to get tickets. We were up in the Circle with a good view of the stage and I’d taken my little binoculars along for when I wanted a better look at the faces of the performers. They were also useful for spotting ABBA fans I know from a mailing list to which I used to subscribe down in the front rows.

There was a standing ovation before the show had even begun, as Benny and Björn took their seats in the auditorium. It was the first time I’d even been this close to any members of ABBA, the group who were my first musical love, whose music is always in my playlist.

The performers were Russel Watson as Karl Oskar, Louise Pitre as Ulrika and Kevin Odekirk as Robert. The title role of Kristina was taken by Swedish singer Helen Sjöholm, who was the original Kristina in Sweden and has an incredible voice. I was excited to see her perform live, but was still surprised by the tears that came rolling down my cheeks as she came on stage and started singing to the melody I know so well.

This is a Swedish performance in Minnesota, with English subtitles, of that first song. Kristina waits for her love, Karl Oskar, to come to her from his home.

The real showstopper of “Kristina” is “Du måste finnas” (“You Have To Be There”), which I have written about before. For the first time in her life Kristina doubts her faith, she has lost a child and for the sake of her health must have no more. She questions the existence of her God.
This is the English performance from London:

The applause for Helen went on and on. I do so hope that the plans of the two talented men below to bring “Kristina” to the stage as a full-scale musical come to fruition.

Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus at the curtain call.

The great escape

Last Christmas the English department at Mum’s school gave her a red amaryllis, which she brought home. There was no suitable setting for it in her library and one of her assistants tasked Dad with taking care of it. Mum’s not the one to whom you should entrust your pot plants while you go on holiday. Unless you like them brown.

“Store in a cool place until planting”, said the instructions. It’s winter and that’s anywhere. Done. Maybe this plant stood half a chance after all?

The box was put on a shelf in the conservatory, with the bulb in a ceramic pot inside, waiting to be brought to life. But soon the box became part of the furniture; the box you see every day, but never stop for a moment to wonder: hey, should we do something with this?

Except this evening, when I caught sight of the box and was suddenly given cause to wonder: hey, shouldn’t we have done something with this?

Tired of waiting for someone to realise that while the instructions don’t actually tell you to remove the pot from the box, it is in fact assumed by many to be a given and so the amaryllis had taken matters into its own hands and started to make its own way out.

We opened the box and discovered another stem trying to make its way out. Cutting away the carboard collar through which the stems had grown, we lifted the pot out of the box and welcomed it to the wide world.

And mumbled an apology about having kept it shut in a box for two months.

Snow from Hampshire to Kent

I didn’t get much snow yesterday, so it helps to have a cameraman and video editor for a brother, who can so beautifully share what he has with me across the internet.

Hoping for some more snow of my own tonight though. All that Christmas shopping I have yet to do can wait, right?

Powerless

Rain is pouring down outside and then, despite the lack of any thunder or lightning, my computer screen goes dark. My phone squeaks its hideous squeak as the power blips back on and then goes out again. Around the house we are faced with the blank faces of our digital friends. But for the odd battery-powered clock here and there, time has stopped.

At least we have our laptops … though the router has no power. Well, at least I have my iPod … wait, I bought an iPod touch, not an iPhone. We are alone in the world. What to do? Read? I try it, sitting for once on the new sofa in the sitting room. So this is what comfort feels like. My backside no longer square from hours and hours on the crappy computer chair that creaks loudly every time I move.

11am approaches. Coffee time. We like our routines. 11am is coffee time. We have a gas cooker. Thank goodness for that, our electric kettle is welcome to stand on the counter as useless as can be, it matters not to us. Though the gas cooker has mains ignition. No problem. Dad lights a match and sets a pan of water to boil, while I giggle in the sitting room. We’re pioneers.

From high up on the kitchen wall the clock ticks loudly and incessantly into the office and I’m aware of how much ambient noise and hum with which I must live each day. The computer, the laptop, the hard drives, the fridge, the freezer, all breathing in and out. But for now they hold their breath.

The bright green of a Southern Electric van driving past in the falling rain breaks up the grey dullness of the outside world. Is there hope for the return of our so dearly-loved flow of electrons? It’s been nearly two hours now.

There the van goes again and suddenly my office comes back to life. The phone yelps and behind me the hard drives are breathing once more. It feels like such a din.