Boo! The cold weather is back. We were so nearly through February too.
I hate February. It’s the month when new year’s resolutions crumble and fall, and yet spring still feels so far away. A cold, grey month with a backdrop of misery.
Boo! The cold weather is back. We were so nearly through February too.
I hate February. It’s the month when new year’s resolutions crumble and fall, and yet spring still feels so far away. A cold, grey month with a backdrop of misery.
How would you like to see a book that someone – probably a monk – wrote by hand in a cold scriptorium a little while back?
Say, a thousand years ago?
Then get yourself over to the British Library, where they have some incredible treasures on display at their astonishing Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms exhibition.
Brr! It’s getting cold now, even in the city. And the rain this past month has been welcome for the water table, but not so much when I’m out and about. (Rain, stop driving in my face please, that’s just rude.)
(Also I lost my coat. Or maybe left it at the dry cleaner’s. Can’t remember tbh and I didn’t like it much anyway. Stop nagging me, Christy, I’ll get a new one at some point.)
A couple of weeks ago, I fancied a hearty lentil soup for supper. Ted got all excited, thinking I meant a dal soup. I didn’t, but compromised, and as so often with compromise we ended up with something better than either. (Hmm, maybe there’s a lesson here for all of us, are you listening world?)
Things I love about this soup:
It also only takes about half an hour to get to the point where you can put it in the slow cooker and forget about it for a few hours. I love that – the flavours mingle together in this magical way, scenting the kitchen with the promise of tastiness to come.
(Anyone else watching the Sabrina reboot? It’s all gone a bit weird, hasn’t it …)
So it’s one I put on at lunchtime and then leave to bubble away until supper. But you can totally simmer it on the hob for about 40 minutes (or until the lentils are soft).
So your average idea of sexy librarian goes something like this:
Well, the latest exhibition at the British Museum certainly takes that up a notch.
Take a look:
Ted, Esther and I went along yesterday to find out more.
I’m delighted to introduce Ted’s first appearance in the blog! He went to the farmers market today and found the first asparagus of the year – cause for celebration indeed. He teamed it with the most lovely homemade lovage pesto – his own delicious invention – and made us the most gloriously green spring lunch. I begged him to write up the recipe and he did. Here you go.
What to do with lovage, the world and Joe want to know. It’s a vigorous herb which produces lots of big green fronds that look suspiciously like flat-leaf parsley. Unlike parsley, however, lovage is not mildly-flavoured. Its taste is not unpleasant – like a very strong celery leaf – but I’ve always struggled to know what to do with it as it always seemed like it would overpower most other flavours. So I’ve been left with a herb that grows unchecked and unharvested until it kicks out its flower spike in mid-summer and finally dies back.
Then, while gardening one weekend and looking again at the rapidly expanding lovage, I had a brainwave – what about making all those leaves into pesto? It turns out that other people have had the same idea and there are several recipes already on the web. See here and here.
So last night, as part of the Bloomsbury Festival, we stepped out on Store Street.
Back last night from Malta, which was so summery – and I’m feeling excited/delighted that autumn has arrived here in London.
(Yes, it’s a cliché, but the thing with clichés is that they’re true.)
We welcome summer with joy, our arms open, embracing the warmth (so longed for after the cold winter), the feel of grass on our feet, our faces lifted up to bask in the light, cold drinks in our hands, long evenings spent chatting outside with friends and family.
But by September, the heat has turned my limbs lethargic, the dryness has left summer’s freshness a little dusty, my wardrobe’s looking a bit wilted and my toes are dying to ditch the flipflops for Proper Shoes.
There’s something about that first crisp autumn evening, the golden light, the smell of leather handbags and the sense of Things to be Done that’s as exciting as the start of a new year – but without the pressure and diet advertisements.
And the bounteous vegetables.
The Mothership descended for a visit yesterday and I’d been meaning to try this recipe from Epicurious for ages.
It’s that blissful time of year when everyone in London moves Outside in search of Fresh Air, albeit the kind that has the worst pollution in Europe.
So Ted, the LondonBFF and I decided to picnic on Clapham Common to celebrate Friday and summer and sunshine etc.
… so you don’t have to.
© 2025 … and roses too.