let me spin you a yarn about grass

I had this friend a few years ago. She was a trained gardener, very generous and extremely fragile, something she tried to conceal with a cheery exterior. Our babies were born on the same day in the same hospital. While I was out one day, she popped by and left a wee plant on my doorstep, dug out of her garden. We had just moved into our house and she knew the garden was an empty wasteland. I was incredibly chuffed and planted it in one of the new beds I had created in the front. It was kind of grassy and stripy, and grew that first year into a pretty swishy clump of gauzy loveliness. That was six years ago.

Since then, she emigrated to Australia and unfriended me on Facebook. Which is OK. I'm not quite sure of the reasons for the latter, but I'm certainly not going to try and read anything into it. Like I said, she's quite sensitive and I almost certainly offended at some point. It wouldn't be the first time. And it's not like I haven't unfriended people on Facebook before (or more commonly, ignored their friend requests for, like, years.)

Anyway, six years later, and I have just spent the best part of four glorious sunny May holiday days trying to eradicate the mystery grass from our front garden. It had spread across an area of about two square metres, forming a dense mat of roots so strong I've broken several garden implements, and done something moderately worrying to my back. It's killed every plant that used to live in its orbit. My fifty beautiful pink tulips, which used to grow a foot high and stopped passers-by in the street, have been reduced to eleven slightly stunted specimens.

I've ripped up border edging, shovelled gravel, cursed, sweated, gone a bit swirly behind the eyes and had to have wee sit down, and dissected some of my more precious plants to tease out the roots of this thug. It had spread under, over, through and between everything. A quick Google search and I think I've found the name of it; variegated ribbon grass. Or bastard freaking variegated effing ribbon grass (if you happened to be within earshot).

Now I'm not sure what the moral of this story is; beware gardeners bearing gifts maybe. Especially if they flee the country and sever all ties. So listen here people, do as I say and not as I do: never ever, ever plant something called variegated ribbon grass. Don't even think about it. If it's grassy and stripy, WALK AWAY.

I know I haven't got rid of it all, it'll be back. And one of the websites I read said it could live for up to twenty years. So while she may have forgotten me, I suspect our connascent babies will have long left home before I forget her.

So that's what it's all been about round here. Beautiful sunny days and gardening. But in the evenings, as I prop my naggingly niggling lumbar discs against a pile of cushions and wait for two ibuprofen and one cold Tiger beer to work their magic, I've been knitting and reading. And like all the best knitting and reading, they're colour coordinated, natch.

Every Spring I try to read The Jewel Garden by Monty and Sarah Don. It's beautiful and inspiring and makes me excited for Summer. (As an aside, it also briefly includes the most accurate description of depression I have ever read.) On my kindle I'm also reading Flight Behaviour by Barbara Kingsolver for our book group. I'm not even going to be half way finished it by the time we meet, but it's good so far. Not a keeper, but maybe it's yet to peak.

The Varjo for my MIL's friend is really taking shape - it's beautiful. That woman is a genius designer. Did you know she has a new pattern out? I want to make it more than anything I've ever made. But the trouble is I want to make it in EXACTLY her colours. I think that pink she used is Madelinetosh Tosh Merino Light in "Pop Rocks". I searched for anywhere online that has it in stock, and eventually found one place in the States. The total bill to make this garment was going to come to $120 by the time the wool was shipped to the UK. So I guess Happy Street will have to wait!

bucket chemistry :: rhubarb

There's a point in the year when there are only two edible plants in the garden: rhubarb and chives. We are at that point. Too bad I've misplaced all my many rhubarb + chive based recipes.

We eat a LOT of rhubarb at this time of year (fewer chives). Add the fact that I only ever make one kind of dessert on a week night (and then only if they're very lucky) and what do you get?

You get rhubarb, honey and nuts over yoghurt.

I heard once that the most inherited feature of any British house (ghosts, rising damp, vermin and poor insulation aside presumably) is a rhubarb patch. So if you have a neglected crown or two, please do this. It takes moments to prepare and tastes just as delicious as crumble without any of the hassle.

It's probably too late to start forcing your rhubarb under a bucket now, but there's another reason this is called Bucket Chemistry Rhubarb; the quantities, temperatures and timings aren't exact or important. Just chuck it in the oven and hope for the best, it's not really possible to get it wrong.

But if you can't be bothered to cook up rhubarb, that's okay. Try the other (incredibly varied) desserts in my week night repertoire: yoghurt + passion fruit/berries/mango +/- honey +/- nuts.

I know, bor-ING huh? No, I promise it really hits the sweet spot.

And when your children are in bed, never ever replace the honey with golden syrup. No, I said don't. Stop it, it'll taste frightful.

Not that I'd know, you understand...

why don't you get things started?

The iTunes window tells me that we've listened to the Muppet Movie soundtrack 25 times during chicken-pock recovery week. So it comes as no surprise that, with the sun shining and the tulips blooming, I've got a Miss Piggy earworm.

"...it's time to get things started, why don't you get things started..."

At last Spring seems to have arrived (though we'll almost certainly be in for a snow flurry or two yet, and some hard frosts) and I am determined not to watch the Chelsea Flower Show coverage this year in a state of despair.

Obviously I don't anticipate having an award-winning garden by the end of May, but I want to watch the Chelsea programmes and feel genuinely inspired to enjoy the great things about our garden. I refuse to drool over the on-screen gorgeousness with the curtains guiltily drawn to blot out our own weedy, overgrown wasteland.

And so, over the next five weeks, I mean business. It's time to get things started.

I'll stick to this schedule and plant rotation for about the next week, possibly. Then I'll wing it.

Set to work as soon as the sun comes out.

Child labour.

It's not pretty and it's not subtle, but I'd like to see the effing weeds try this year.
Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough. (There will be gravel soon.)

A benefit of not having a dog = being able to use cocoa shell.
An amazing mulch that smells of chocolate (but is poisonous to mutts).

colour lovers

Some people have just got it. The colours of their lives are tasteful, elegant, conscious decisions. I do not have it. As a family we either leave the house looking like a wet weekend or a pride of Liberace's peacocks. (Did he have peacocks? I imagine so.)

All this graphic design studying I am doing only confirms my utterly hopeless lack of colour sense. When faced with a set of electronic colour swatches (or worse, a whole spectrum wheel with sliders... run for the hills with tongue lolling and arms flapping) I get completely paralysed by choice. And then proceed to make exactly the wrong choice almost every time. Ditto in a wool shop faced with a wall of rainbow yarn.

So you can imagine what a pleasure it is to have that choice removed. I have been bought some wool to make a shawl; to be a gift from one lady to another. I guess you could call it a commission! I've never been indulgent enough to treat myself to this lovely kind of wool, and certainly wouldn't have had the good taste to choose these colours. So, without further ado; Madelinetosh I'd like to introduce you to Varjo.

Making these colour swatches of photos is quick, easy and hopefully a good way to work on my sense of colour.

A few other projects I have just finished got the colour treatment as well. Oh, and the first luridly fluorescent forced rhubarb of the season from my garden. It was crumble 30 minutes after this shot was taken (and after 45 minutes, it was history).

Where reading is concerned, I realised that as well as being a colour cretin, I am also a font fool, so I'm geeking up on this Type book. Which I adore.

If anyone has advice on choosing colours for their projects I'd certainly love to hear it. Some of you just get it right every time (looking at you Greer, Lori and Ginny!)

reject the expert :: embrace the geek

So 2012 didn't turn out too shabby. During one short year I created a whole small person from a single cell. Perhaps I ought to say "we" created, but we all know who did the lion's share. And by the time the bells rang 2013 in, that single cell from one year before could giggle when he trumped like a carthorse. An important milestone I'm sure you'll agree.

So, despite not achieving any of my goals last year (largely - though not entirely - because of the small person) I do have a few for the next 12 months.

First up, I'm not going to live the way anyone else tells me (unless I actually know them, and then I might consider it). Because if you add all the advice up, all the layers of rules and checklists and intentions and schedules, you will spontaneously implode.

Fact.

A quick example; here's how an (edited) two-hour segment of Christmas day might have looked had I paid heed to Nigella Lawson's turkey dinner schedule and Gina Ford's Contented Little Baby regime. Let's call it the expert mash-up of doom-laiden stress.

10am

- Peel and cut potatoes, then leave in cold water. Take bacon-wrapped chipolatas out of the fridge.
- Baby must be fully awake regardless of how long he has slept. Encourage him to have a good kick under his playgym or take him on an outing. (Who wrapped the chipolatas? Do we have chipolatas? Bugger it. Take the baby for an outing - I don't CARE if you're still in your pyjamas, IT'S WHAT THE BOOK SAYS.)

10.30am

- Take turkey out of brine, sit it on a rack in the sink and leave to drip, drain and come to room temperature. Preheat 1st oven to 200*C. Trim Brussels sprouts and leave in colander. Take prepared stuffing out of the fridge. (On the day everyone's most scared of food poisoning, I can't wash my hands because there's a turkey in the sink. Hmm.)

10.40am

- Put chipolatas in oven, Infuse milk for bread sauce. Measure out ingredients for chocolate pudding and set aside. (Bread sauce? Chocolate pudding? I think not.)

11am

- He should be given a full breast-feed or full bottle-feed.
- Put prepared potatoes in pan on heat to parboil. (Hang on, I'm breastfeeding.)

11.10am

- Take chipolatas out of oven and leave wrapped in foil (still breastfeeding...)

11.20am

- Melt basting liquid for turkey (yup, still breastfeeding...)

11.30am

- Baste turkey with half the liquid and put in first oven. Potatoes should be parboiling so keep an eye on them, then drain, dredge and leave in pan. (Sod the tatties, I've fed him now so I'm allowed a glass of something dry and fizzy aren't I? Geez.)

11.50am

- Change his nappy, close curtains and settle drowsy baby, half swaddled in the dark with the door shut no later than 12 noon. (Chance would be a fine thing. Put him in a pram and pass me the cooking sherry.)

You see? I suggest paying scant attention to them, for that way madness lies. Even if you have two ovens and pre-prepared stuffing.

So, good on you Cami Walker you generous soul, glad you're teaching the world to grin Gretchen Rubin, and Kim John Payne I agree with all your parenting ideas. But this year I'm going to shuffle through under my own steam if it's all the same to you. Advice is good. But you can have too much of a good thing, and "shuffling through" worked for me on Christmas day.

There's another change afoot in 2013: I'm gently embracing my inner geek. I've realised that no simple or wholesome creative activity is complete without an app or a preparatory session in front of the computer screen.

Not that I'm complaining, it's totally brilliant. I've planned the veg patch for this year, proven that I'm making progress with the post-baby weight loss, lost hours to Ravelry, and completed the first week of an Illustrator course (which I hope will lead to my being able to design things pretty enough to sell...).

Happy New Year one and all. Here's to a geeky one.

growVeg is a very cool tool to draw and plan your veg garden.
you tell it your location and it tells you when to do what
based on your frost dates.

my random recipe for January, chosen by random number generator,
was totally delicious. update coming soon.

pregnancy: plotted.
the NHS BMI Tracker app is so simple, and thoroughly motivational.
I'm getting there... gradually.

the fabulous Nicole's Classes (they of the dotty freebie pattern
you see in my background!) are going to keep me very
busy the first half of 2013, kicking off with a month of
Adobe Illustrator. Here's my first week's homework.

a new blanket idea is hatching - maybe I could use Illustrator to design a
gorgeous pattern sheet to sell on Ravelry? That's my resolution...

garden journal :: musing while we walk

Walk with me for a wee bit while it isn't raining. In fact, let's update the garden journal for this month, I'll fill you in on my top 10 random musings while we walk.

one ::
I really hate weeds. Wow, they are everywhere. How my neighbours keep on top of the weed situation is a mystery to me. Oh look, there's Bill, down on his hands and eighty-year-old knees. Huh, fancy that, he's pulling out weeds while they're small, before they explode like bombs all over the place. Jeez, I hate weeds. I wish I could afford a gardener. D'you think Bill would... no, that's just WRONG.

two ::
Oof, this baby is huge. I need a wee sit down.

three ::
I just can't figure out the 3 x 3 rounded corner Photoshop thungummy-jiggy that Project Alicia was giving away the other day. I wish Photoshop didn't make me feel so inadequate. I used to publish magazines in my sleep forchrissakes. But, oh yes, I had a lovely designery type do the Photoshop stuff for me. No, I'm not going to be a drip, I'm gonna email that Alicia girl and see what the heck I'm missing.

four ::
Gosh, aren't there a lot of purple flowers in this garden? Seems I like purple.

five ::
What's the best thing about the Olympics so far? I reckon it's getting a re-run of Wimbledon, with our boy Murray still winning matches. (Either that or Mayor BoJo getting stuck on a zip slide over Vicky Park. What a total plum.)

six ::
I've never been to Russia. Never given the place much thought (I like matryoskas a lot mind you). But the volume of blatant spambotting Russian gitsites that are skewing the stats on my blog are really getting me baity. You get them too huh? What is to be done? Have you heard any good ways to make them go away? It's enough to put you right off your blinis.

seven ::
Better keep walking (excuse the groan while I get up), seeing as how I've now officially reached the maximum weight gain for my height during this pregnancy, and I still have six weeks to go. Ach, I know, I can lose it all again later if I try, but it is not going to be easy.

eight ::
So the veg patch is actually producing things at last. Not enough for actual meals (don't let's get ahead of ourselves) but enough to snack on while we walk. A handful of rasps here, a blankety bed-full of tender broad beans there. Do you think shallots are ready when they look like a cat has sat on them? Or do you think a cat has actually sat on them? Better pull them up anyway because they're bound to rot in all this wet weather if I don't.

nine ::
I wonder if that song that's always on the radio at the moment, Small Bump (who's it by again... Ed something, Ed Sheeran, that's the one, thank you) I wonder if it makes my husband feel any paucity of emotion towards the dragon baby? It certainly does me. I haven't so much as packed a hospital bag or planned a place for this poor little scrap to sleep, let alone penned a multi-squillion selling love song to it. There just hasn't been time. Note to self: must make time to bond with bump. I did try the other day, but I fell asleep.

ten ::
Jeez, I hate weeds.

As you can see, wonderful Alicia showed me how, and I eventually approximated a vague attempt at using her 3 x 3 template. Isn't it pretty? Happy days - thank you Alicia!

summertime, and the garden is...

...well it's not exactly doing what it oughta.

After introducing you to my garden a month ago, and telling anyone who stood still long enough to stop being feeble mimsies about the rotten weather, I have to confess, it's getting me down. In the North East of Scotland this June we have been living in a cloud. And I don't mean it has been like living in a cloud, in the manner of some exaggerated metaphor, we have actually been living in a cloud. We get this stuff called haar, sort of sea mist that means that you can't see as far as the hand on the end of your arm. A colleague had to sleep on our floor a few weeks ago because the airport closed due to poor visibility... in June for kerissakes, the height of midsummer. He missed his wife's 40th birthday in London and I think she might hate us for ever, simply by association. Mind you she's never met us, so there's an off-chance she'd have hated us anyway.

But yesterday, for a few glorious hours, the sun made an appearance so I could catalogue progress in the garden. I've grumbled all month about how nothing's getting enough sunshine to grow, weeds excepted of course (you know when you've said something negative so many times to so many people that, even as you're saying it, you realise how much of a bore you're being? As if anyone gives a flying duck that your sweetcorn has succumbed to snails - seriously - put the kettle on and shut up woman). And then when I get a chance to go out and take some pictures, compare them to the pictures in last month's post, I realise that I've been talking crap all along. The garden's gone berserk, just not with anything terribly useful.

So here we go. Update at the start of July 2012. Let's start with something pretty.

the most beautiful thing - I'm so proud of these babies

can't remember the name of these, but aren't they purty

alchemilla and oriental poppies rescued from the rain, brought into the house for an stunningly beautiful hour,
provoked three days of craptastic hayfever in everybody, and were relegated back to the garden again

Generally the perennial stuff (is that the right word? veggies that come back every year?) is doing amazingly - raspberries, rhubarb, chives, mint, cardoons, apples. But anything planted from seed is seriously failing to thrive. The peas are only inches high. The sweetcorn is, as previously mentioned, a total failure. And the most idiot proof of vegetables in my experience, the courgettes, are in a serious sulk. They're all still there, or there-ish, it's just hard to believe that there is enough summer left for the bucolic abundance of previous years.

anyone ever eaten cardoon? I believe you can, but I'm nervous...

the raspberry and cardoon "wall" obscuring much of the rest of the plot

bumble bee central (though they're camera shy and I don't have a close up lens)

wild strawberries, discovered by chance, doing better than almost anything else

broad beans do at least have flowers on, some progress

sulky sweetcorn, spring onions and courgettes

peas at last starting to do their thing, but still only just

the scene behind the raspberry/cardoon wall - definitely more lush (though no more productive) than last month

So, midsummer has been and gone, and so far the edible tally from the veg plot this year is rather disappointing:
rhubarb
chives
mint
parsley
sage
wild strawberries
carrot

Yes, that last one was intentionally in the singular: carrot.

Me and The Boss couldn't wait, we had to have a wee peek at the carrots. One nibble each of this tiny critter. It kind of sums up that lack of progress this month. But who knows, maybe we're in for some warmth in July - fingers crossed!

Click here to see how people are battling the weather in other parts of the world.

mary, mary quite contrary

Girly gardeners. Yeuch, you know the type; clean gloves of the highest quality, daintily deadheading a miniature rose while perching on a soft knee cushion upholstered in delicately-sprigged oilcloth... which she made by hand. Everything in her garden is weed-, bug- and snail-free, her manicure remains intact under those pastel leather gauntlets, and she's wearing white. In fact, let's face it, she's on Wisteria Lane and her name is Bree. Real life: thank crap it's not actually like that.

But imagine the horrors when I realise that somehow I've ended up with pink Hunter wellies and pink gardening gloves. How did that happen? And I'm directing operations to a man hired to cut my hedges! (As with most everything, I blame all my current failings on being pregnant, and being not very good at it... the hedges or the pregnant.) Heaven forbid I turn into a girly gardener.

We only moved to this house five years ago, and for two of those five we had to leave it to the mercies of tenants (of, ahem, mixed quality). So the garden certainly hasn't reached full potential. But in 2009, during the Summer before we abandoned it for Singapore, I kept a photo diary on the first day of every month, to chart progress. And it was incredibly rewarding - especially for a veg-patch numpty who has no idea what's supposed to happen when.

As luck would have it, Ginny, the amazing blogger and all-round renaissance woman, has been linking up like-minded people for a weekly garden journal, and I'm really interested to see what people grow, especially to eat, in other parts of the world. Click on her name there if you want to do the same.

So here's where we are in the North of Scotland at the beginning of June 2012 (and as you can see from the weeds, I've clearly got some way to go before I reach Bree-like status on the girly gardening front!). It's averaging about 10-12 degrees C at the moment, and it's been quite dry and sunny, so everything's suddenly starting to flourish. I hope the coming month will bring significant progress, June usually does.

the largest part of the plot

rhubarb, or Barbara to her friends (she's out of control), and some huge pots sown with mint seeds that never came up, what a waste

the sunflower patch, will we beat the 2008 personal best of 3 metres?

broad beans doing nicely, and space at the back for a couple of courgettes that are ready to go in

shallots, peas and chives - I like the flowers too much to snip them off!

a rampant cardoon and the raspberry canes (which I may live to regret as they're trying to colonise the whole garden)

wild strawberries sown by a generously incontinent bird

it's year four for these young trees, but could these be my first ever apples? I hope so!!!

And I have one photo printed out and stuck into my actual, paper garden journal. A reminder for when I feel like I'm losing the battle against time, slugs, wet grass and bad weather. In Spring 2007, the veg patch looked like this...

dismal huh?