buzzoole code

Hasn’t the weather been awful this week? I know that’s a very British thing to moan on about but it makes keeping a toddler entertained a bit of a nightmare and while the roads to work kept flooding, which made me late for work (not actually that bad a thing) I park next to a river which made me a bit concerned that I’d come back to my car floating through Chelmsford.

So the weather being not to insanely awful this morning, me, The Husband and The Small Thing managed to make it out and as we had time to kill decided to pop along to the Farmers Market in Rochford.

I’m always slightly sceptical of going to farmers markets. I love the idea of it, ‘oh yes, just nipping along to the farmers market to get some bits’. But in this imaginary lifestyle I also drive a shiny Range Rover, wear lots of Boden and think Waitrose is reasonably priced. Obviously none of this is actually true. Farmers Markets are a bit like craft markets, vintage fairs, art fairs and all the rest of those bits in that once you’ve crossed the threshold you’re pretty much committed to buying something that you wouldn’t normally buy. You’ve committed yourself to that dream lifestyle and once you’ve had a chat with a cople of stall holders, well, you feel kinda bad if you don’t buy anything as they all seem so nice and you like to support small businesses and actually you don’t really agree with with Tesco’s anyway, it’s just that they’re rather more conviently located.

Behold! The honey….

So todays purchase was honey but by god it does look like rather special honey. The very nice bee keeper I spoke to (Ann) keeps beehives locally in Leigh on Sea, Hadleigh, Canewdon and Hawkwell. She also has one next to the prison at Bullwood Hall but that doesn’t really fit in with my Boden wearing fantasy.

What I’d never thought about before was that the honey would be totally different depending on where the beehive was. So the bee’s in Hadleigh that fly over towards the castle get a dark strong tasting honey, while the ones in Leigh that fly over and feast in Two Tree Island get a pale light honey. There’s the difference they don’t give you in Tesco’s.

I’d love to do bee keeping, its a proper craft isn’t it? I’d wear my Boden (are you noticing a theme here?) and listen to folk music and chat to my bees in my embarrassingly large garden. But the reality is that I’d worry about the bee’s stinging the Small Thing, my garden is pretty small and quite frankly if I try to fit one more job into the already crowded mum/work/housework/cooking/cleaning/drinking juggle then I’ll probably explode. So we bought the honey instead. The light one is what you have on your porridge or for honey and lemon. The dark is for the proper honey eaters. We went for the dark one. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but I know I’ll enjoy thinking about my fabulous life as a beekeeper when I do have a go.


My friend Rachel Marek makes a brilliant tea loaf, and as she always seems like one of those mums who Knows What They’re Doing, I presumed it would be somewhat difficult to make. Hmm! So earlier this year Rachel went off skiing and I lent her my Out and About buggy for the trip, because quite frankly that thing could survive a nuclear war so baggage handlers and a couple of foot of snow would be no issue at all. Anyway I asked in return for her tea loaf recipe and it turns out its about as difficult to make as a ready meal. Personally, I’m currently making this about once a fortnight, and if I didn’t have to turn up at the office as often I’d probably make it every other day. Its perfect for those among us who like to bake, but for whom life tends to get in the way. View Post

So my plan was to not write another personal blog for a bit, stick to the crafty bits and all that, and in a way this is a crafty one, but its also an ‘Oh heck I was awake at 5.45 thinking about this’ one. I better explain, eh?

The main reason I started this blog was to give me something to do other than look after J and hold down paid employment. Obviously those two things alone should be enough, but the mind does rather go on strike when given only Iggle Piggle for conversational company. So I thought I would blog about making things, and that would mean that I made stuff and that would be good. And it is. So last night I started a silversmithing course in the belief that it would both interesting and I would Learn Something New and I could blog about it. And it was interesting and I did Learn Something New (who else knows what a pickle is?!)but mainly my thought was how the bloomin heck am I going to afford this?! I guessed I’d have to pay for the metals myself but the tools too? Ouch! What if I’m rubbish? What if I hate it? I was the only person there with no previous experience and while I’m sure the learning curve will be great do I really have time to fit something else like this in my life? I mean, its 8 o’clock, dinners not on and I’ve already spent an hour battling with feedburner – how many new skills do I want?!

But on the other hand, isn’t it nice to do something new? And isn’t it good to feel obliged to blog something, to make that commitment to changing your life, blog by blog, tweet by tweet and late dinner by late dinner. So I guess that’s it and if I’ve committed to doing a blog then I have to follow it through, bravely hold out the credit card and leap in with both feet. I’m still not 100% sure if its a good thing or not, but at least I don’t moan about being bored anymore.

So a little while ago my step mum asked me if I’d like her slow cooker. It was brand new in the box as she had a spare and it would apparently save me loads of time and effort cooking. “Yes please!” says I, and promptly popped it into my garage where it lived for the next six months.

Reader, I was an idiot.

The slow cooker is as essential to any kitchen as a bottle of wine and a packet of chocolate hobnobs. View Post

What do you mean you don’t want to make your own blood bag?! Nice bit of crochet anyone?? Tsk…. people today….ok, so here’s the story of why I’m supporting The Blood Bag Project and then hopefully you’ll all want to join in with a little craft project of your own.

When I was pregnant with Jacob I had one of those gloriously uneventful pregnancys. Yes, I had morning sickness, was knackered and just generally felt bleugh, but my midwife appointments were always done in super quick time and there were no issues. I was happy, and who wouldn’t be?

The issue was in actually giving birth. I joked for years that we wouldn’t have kids as there was no way a child was coming out of ‘down there’ and typically the joke backfired. Due date came and went and still I was sat on my sofa eating cheese on toast and watching Top Gear on Dave. Eventually the induction was booked and 13 days overdue husband and I braved the snow storms and toddled along to the hospital.

13 days overdue – Prostaglandin. No sign of labour but ‘Help, I’m a Celebrity’ is hotting up.

14 days overdue – morning – Get doctor to break my waters. Surely the baby will arrive now? Having had 5 weeks at home with only mumsnet and Jeremy Clarkson for company (possibly not a common mixture) I have scoured the advice and figured that if I’m not getting my lovely water hippy birth then I want industrial amounts of drugs please. Refuse Syntocinon until I get an epidural, thus pleasantly avoiding any of that rather nasty sounding contraction stuff. Erstwhile doctor still decides though that he cba with a tourniquet and uses a rubber glove, squirting my blood all over the room. Nice.

14 days overdue – lunchtime – Contractions apparently quite hard. Read interesting article in Grazia.

14 days overdue – dinnertime –  Midwives crank drip right up. Not much on tele is there…

14 days overdue – evening – body refusing to comply, not dilating, fed up, nothing on tele, read all magazines, agree to c-section

15 days overdue – in for the c-section, doctors open me up, pull out baby, and then, umm, I’m not quite sure. Because at this point I start to do what I think is fall asleep due to my rather long day reading magazines, but which I’m reliably informed is more likely to be due to me blacking out due to blood loss.

I lost five pints. My husband got told that they ‘wouldn’t like to promise’ that they could save me. I (when I was occasionally with it) got told that everything ‘should’ be ok, but there was a fair chance of losing my womb. I spent three hours on the operating table, which isn’t much fun when you also consider that the poor quality design means you can actually see whats going on reflected on the ceiling.

Anyway, I lived. Which is a good thing. It was a bit dicey for the first couple of days, and it was a while before I had the strength to look after my son, but Jacob was healthy which I am always grateful for, and if its a choice between me going through that and him then I choose me every time.

Jacob in the hospital, awwww!

I did feel a bit funny though about the whole blood thing. Not enough to really justify talking about generally, and besides ‘I might have died but I didn’t’ seemed an unreasonable moan. But enough to occasionally stare out at the sea and just think that actually, if it hadn’t been for people who I don’t know and who I’ll never meet, my husband wouldn’t have a wife and my son would never get to see his mum.

So I’m thankful, but in a way that I can’t really put in words.

So this is why I’m supporting The Blood Bag Project. Because I can’t thank the people who helped me, but I can help someone else who needs help. If you would be so kind as to look at their website, read Chloe’s story and help to raise a bit of awareness, it would be much appreciated. And if you want to crochet your own blood bag, then that would be grand too.