Sunday, 9 March 2014
Woke up to another beautiful spring day - what a difference the weather can make...we had breakfast with the window open and the sun streaming in then went out into the garden for a bit of a tidy up. I made some dough and then we scuttled off to Gordon Rigg and bought tulips, crocuses (croci?) bluebells and primula...I also had my eye on the hellebores but held off. From here we took a short trip up to Lumbutts to see the new lambs and I grabbed a shot of Stoodley Pike, on from there to Heptonstall and we had a walk down Northgate to have a nosey at a house for sale and take in the breathtaking view over the valley. Then home to finish the bread, make cake and cook off the sourdough. We had the end of last night's cottage pie and played trains and made a jigsaw with George, watched Top Gear in Burma and tidied up toys, then it was bath time and time for a family snuggle. George nodded off when his energy seemed to have hit it's peak in that funny way toddlers do and here I am, writing this. Lovely Sunday, thank you family, thank you spring.
Wooden sign on the wall in Northgate near the White Lion
Daddy and George in Northgate
View across Heptonstall Road
cake, two standard white loaves and my sourdough
Sourdough (second loaf using Alfred the starter)
Mother/son huggle on the sofa/pouffe
Saturday, 8 March 2014
Our friend Sean sent me this today and I hope if he ever stumbles across the blog that he doesn't mind my having included it. I just thought it was the loveliest picture of him with his little girl in the window seat of The Gloucester - basically this place was his favourite pub and home from home for many years, he even met his groomsmen here for pre-wedding drinks on the morning of the big day. I didn't realise until he said, that it had been closed for a year and only opened again this weekend, just goes to show how much changes when you have a family. I hadn't even noticed that he hadn't been going because I just took it as read.
Anyway, here's to Sean and Beth, good craic like.
Friday, 7 March 2014
Our little ball of crazy, Bertie aka Bertram aka Berts.
Due to his rescue status (thrown out on the streets by an anonymous owner with a brother also thrown out some days later) we cannot be 100% sure of his age, but believe he was born in August. He came to us in November aged approximately 12 weeks and despite trying to eat the rubber sealant from all the windows, climb everything in sight from shelves to curtains and having almost completely destroyed the bannisters, we love him. He is sweet and affectionate and likes to be stroked and cuddled but more than that, he is ridiculously relaxed with George, at times when he is jumping around or shouting and when any normal cat (especially Boo) would take to the hills at top speed, he sits still and watches. Waiting for storm to pass and then comes over and rubs his head against him. George, who hasn't quite got the cat-name thing, alternates between calling him Boo Boo (Boo is a cat, the first cat he ever knew, therefore all cats must be called Boo) and Ha-bertay - this is an amalgam of Bertie and Happy Birthday that happened quite by accident when I introduced him as ''not A Boo but A Bertie'' whilst reading a book called Hic and Hullabaloo which has a double page spread of the farm animal's birthday party (it's a complicated life being 2).
Happy Half Birthday Bertie!