It's coming!

It is advised to check your travel arrangements during this time

Like mother like daughter.

Lexie was ever so peaky the other day and I wondered if he was suffering from the same chocolate drought that I had been recently. He was listless, he refused walks, he spent at least five minutes walking round in circles.. What

could be wrong? He was drinking lots of water, so Mum thought diabetes, but I thought the reverse. More chocolate was needed!

And as if to prove my point, when he managed to sneak a dropped Easter egg crumb he perked up no end. Even got enough strength back to try fighting me for some!

Testing our nettle

I usually get annoyed with foragers. Especially those ones from Angel Islington, say, who then blog about it. Don't they know there's a perfectly good Waitrose around the corner?

But, stuck in the countryside last weekend I really did have to turn to Mother Nature's larder for lunch. And to feed six. What would Mrs Tiggy Winkle do?

So I went out to the field (you really do have to own one for this sort of cooking), and picked some celery and leeks off the trees, then dug up an onion and some garlic, harvested two large tablespoons of rice, and with a strong pair of gloves, picked the top few leaves off every baby nettle I could see. I'm afraid I had to buy in the stock cube. Nature fell short on that one.

My sous chef (Ro) sweated the celery, leek, onion, garlic, then added the rice and stock. After simmering that for ten minutes she added the nettles and wilted them. Then under Mother's firm non spilling instruction she pureed it. I added a dollop of creme fraiche I'd been busy

squeezing from a cow whilst the cooking was going on.

Egg on my face

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself yesterday. Forty minutes early for work on a sunny day, with my actual packed lunch relegated to the boot, I stopped at McDonalds Newham for some frites et sprites.

I parked and looked down at myself to undo my seatbelt. Oh. That's quite a lot of chocolate particles smushed into my jeans. Dark chocolate. Ice white jeans. Should definitely not have started eating Ro's Thornton's egg on the way to work.

Just incase, I donned my trench coat to slink into the toilets to check for more. Right. It appeared I'd sat on a large amount too. Spilt it on the car seat. Then had a good sit. Dark chocolate. Ice white jeans.

Keeping the long queue of gangs waiting I sequestered one of the only two toilets for stain removal. Probably the first time a bottle of Evian has been in Newham, let alone so liberally sloshed round a toilet cubicle. Stains removed to more of a large wet pattern, I ran out and drove to work.

Then I unhappily shimmied down in the car, legs high up on the dashboard, wet patches as close to the heater as I could.

Got it nearly dry before going in, and put the rest down to dip dye or whatever fashion kids are on these days.

Water, water everywhere

But not a drop to drink!

Lately I've been as worried as the farmers about the rich body of land I possess. Without a steady supply of chocolate fertilizer I just can't stay in tip top condition. The grave situation is this: for the last month I haven't had any chocolatey snacks. There's fruit, cheese, crumpets in abundance at Granny's, but none of what I really need to keep from drying up.

Then suddenly on Thursday I noticed drops of salvation appearing...
Two creme eggs on the side for my Aunty Mary, a bag of mini eggs in a drawer strictly to decorate a cake, a whole box of Thorntons delivered with the note 'Do not eat until Dad arrives', even Easter eggs for the patients at work!

Yet I was banned from eating them all, as hose pipes are from parched flower beds. My dry mouth could hardly unstick itself to open in protest. Not a drop for me?

Luckily "Christ's ressurection" was just around the corner, and with that the wells filled up (I got given 3 large Easter eggs, 12 little tiny ones, 2 medium ones, and a chocolate bunny). Indeed overflowed. The fields unwrinkled, the crops straightened, the buds unfurled. Praise be to Cadbury! I felt like Mary Magdalene herself was bathing my fevered brow with a flannel of melted chocolate.