Off to Paris – 24th March 2015

Up at 4.45 a.m. to finish packing and get ready for the journey to Paris.  Another short night:(

After an efficient hour or so working through the things that needed to be done, by 6.35 a.m. I was on track for a sit down and some breakfast: and of course I could not find my battery charger for the camera.  Husband and I spent a fruitless half hour searching everywhere and finally just assumed that it was a) either packed or b) had somehow been swept up in a pile of clothes or plastic bags or similar and he would later check through anything that left the house.

A kind neighbour arrived at 7.10 a.m. to take us to the tram and we got one at 7.30 a.m. arriving at the station at 8.05 a.m. just in time to grab a snack from M&S, a drink from the station cafe and a newspaper.  The train came in early so I was happily ensconced in a very comfortable and cheap first class seat (it pays to book ahead) when we left Sheffield at 8.30 a.m. Husband went home in the bright sunshine of a Spring morning to let out the geese and the horses and, I expect, to breathe a huge sigh of relief at having the house quiet and to himself for a few days .

The journey was quick, quiet and relaxing, arriving at St. Pancras International Station at 10.45 a.m. I had to check into Eurostar at 11.35 a.m. so had time to buy some iron rations for my first two meals in Paris, so that I could just collapse on arrival.  I also bought a book, The Miniaturist, to read on the train, having discovered that my kindle needed charging.

A trouble free pass through Security, despite a very gung-ho Sikh who was joshing that the African ticket collector was very new to the job and therefore not checking my ticket correctly  (there was clearly some long-standing joke going on that was obscure to me), a helpful Chinese woman on the Security desk who allowed me to repack then and there instead of rushing one through, and then a charming woman from Eastern Europe who was serving at the coffee stand.  Verily London is cosmopolitan nowadays, and I like it:)

We boarded and again people offered to help me with my luggage, and left London at 12.35 p.m.  A smooth journey in which I dozed for quite a long time despite having trouble with finding room for my legs because I was sitting opposite a hugely fat young woman: she was devastatingly pretty and her husband clearly adored her, but I fear for her health long term.. The man beside me needed to get up to go the loo at one point, and everyone at our table was a little mesmerised at the site of him going off limping because he had forgotten one shoe.  Travel is a great leveller.

Paris hove into view at 4.0 p.m. local time, and then there was the usual scramble for taxis: I was stopped and offered a minicab, fixed price, which turned out to be 65 Euros: horrified I turned the smiling Frenchman down abruptly (who did he think I was?) and joined the main queue.  Rain was absolutely pouring down, the pavements were awash, and cars and suitcases on wheels were splashing water everywhere.  I had to wait for about half an hour but then a very friendly, and it turned out, chatty, Frenchman took my cases and off we went.  He talked the whole time about the air crash that day in the Alps which was throwing me in the deep end as I had not heard any French for a few years.  I was pleased to understand him but found I was halting and hesitant in reply.  But he got the gist of my replies, and so a constant flow of exchanges ensued for the next 30 minutes.  Just when all I wanted to do was go to sleep!!

He charged me 17 Euros for the ride, a bit more realistic I thought.  As we got out of the cab, Karim, the letting Agent stepped forward to get my suitcase, and we went straight into the apartment building.

This quite a doorknocker: should wake the dead.

The courtyard: the apartment is on the first floor.

He was from Algeria, had lived in Sweden, Germany, London and now Paris, and we had a very interesting conversation about languages, their similarities and differences, and I was particularly interested in what he had to say about the Arabic languages.  He is a Berber and says his language is ugly, but said that Arabic as spoke in Iran and the Lebanon is lovely:  Pharsee which our son’s partner speaks, is beautiful, very smooth and lilting.  He does not like the Arabic spoken in Saudi Arabia, and spoke scathingly of the desert tribal languages of the middle east.

Again all I wanted to do was collapse but he went on talking for at least 45 minutes and in the end I had to cut him off.  I felt very rude but just had to end the day.  A shame really as it was a very interesting conversation.

When he left I explored my friend’s apartment (she was coming two days later), chose a bedroom, unpacked, ate one of the M&S meals and fell into bed.  I slept well despite a new place, a new mattress, feeling a little strange etc.

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Christmas Day with Harry Potter accompaniments

Just before Christmas I, husband and one grand-daughter went down to Warner Bros. at Watford to visit the studios where the Harry Potter films were made.

In fact, the visit was to redeem tickets which were last year’s Christmas presents.

We had a wonderful time, and I hope to post about it shortly, but we also bought a few souvenirs in the shop at the end.  Amongst which a chocolate wand, which mysteriously ended up in my stocking, a chocolate frog, which equally strangely ended up in husband’s stocking and a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, which I decided to take along  as a fun ending to Christmas Dinner.

The day began well with everyone in festive spirit:

although rather sleep deprived

with six of us sitting down to a traditionally groaning board

 

followed by Christmas Pudding, Brandy Butter, Chocolate Log and cream, musical crackers, and then, the BBEFBs.

These were available, in the first film, on the express train to Hogwart’s, for sale from the refreshment trolly which came round.

Ron Weasley says to Harry,”You want to be careful with those.  When they say ‘Every Flavour’ they mean every flavour!”

The choices apparently on offer were: Banana, Black Pepper, Blueberry, Bogey, Candyfloss, Cherry, Cinnamon, Dirt, Earthworm,  Earwax, Grass, Green (Sour) Apple, Lemon,  Marshmallow,  Rotten Egg, Sausage, Soap, Tutti Frutti, Watermelon, and lastly, Vomit.

 Now, being a dyed-in-the-wool cynic, I expected the manufacturers and salespeople to have ‘sanitised’ these flavours to make them acceptable to a wide audience.

I was wrong.

 

 We appeared to have got very few of the nice ones and nearly all the horrible flavours, and they were, really, really, horrid.

But, oh, such FUN!!!

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Busy, busy, busy.

I have to admit that since my second friend died this year, I have been rather manically rushing about trying to do things I really want to do.

Which, although I enjoy it, does not include blogging because my thinking goes like this: if I am struck down with a nasty disease hopefully I will at least be able to sit in bed and blog from my laptop, for a while at least.  But while I can get about physically, rather than virtually, I need to accomplish things.

So what have I been doing since I was last here, both writing and reading your blogs.

I went to Newton’s House, he of the apple and gravity, saw The Tree, and had a wonderful day.

I went to Scarborough for a few days, wonderful days of sun, sea and fresh air.

I went to the best preserved Workhouse in the UK to learn more about our social history.  Very good, but not heart warming!

I have been to Orkney to visit the ongoing archeological dig there and had some wonderful trips with rangers and warden, quite extraordinary and mind-blowing.

I have had countless days out with various members of the family and arranged two more today: my ex-daughter in law has a birthday this week, so we are going to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park on her birthday so see an exhibition of wildlife inspired work by Tom Frost and then at the weekend when more of the family will be around we are going over to Cheshire to visit Quarry Bank Mill, which has been the location for a recent TV series here in the UK.

(Later:

Unfortunately I did not manage to go on these last two visits as I was struck down with Shingles: my doctor thinks as a result of the exhaustion of looking after my friend this winter and spring.)

Then the other notable happening this summer was as follows:
In the middle of June one of our female geese went broody.  She had hidden two eggs while I was away for a few days and husband had not noticed.  Since we did not know how long she had been sitting we felt we could not throw away possible maturing embryos.  A week later her sister became broody as well.  We tried in vain to ‘break’ this second goose’s condition by taking her off the nest she had built and making her go back outside with the rest of the little flock. However, she just prowled round the house and garden, shouting with anger and grief and pecking at whatever windows she could get at. After 45 minutes we gave in as we could not bear to cause her such distress and let her return to her nest beside her sister. So we had semi-detached brooding going on.

We only have a few geese – three females and one gander – just for their eggs and as pets (they also make great ‘guarddogs’), but we really do not want or need any more.  We immediately removed the couple of eggs this second goose had secreted and instead we raided the fridge and took out the oldest egg which was four weeks old, right from the coldest part of the fridge, at the very bottom, and gave this to this second broody goose to sit on. No way could this egg be viable in our opinion, so she could sit and we could be sure of NO MORE GEESE from her, at least.
A goose usually sits for about 28-34 days before the eggs hatch, depending on species. This old, cold, egg was from a Chinese goose and their eggs tend to need the longest incubation period, so we were expecting 35 days give or take one or two.
By day 40 both geese were still sitting tight but we were sure the eggs must have gone ‘off’ and it was time to throw them out and make the geese give up their vigils: I picked up the eggs, gently as I did not want an old, toxic egg exploding all over me, ready to take them out to the rubbish. The two eggs from under the first goose felt very light, and I gave them a tiny shake to see if the contents were liquid, which is what I would expect of a bad egg. And, sure enough, I heard the symptomatic swishing sound indicating that they had ‘gone off’.

Then I picked up the egg from under the second broody goose.  It felt heavier than I expected and when I shook it I felt and heard nothing at all. I hovered and havered and finally thought, “Oh well, give it a couple more days just to be on the safe side” and I replaced it under its ‘mother’.  So we had one broody sitting on an egg and one broody sitting on nothing.

Several times I opened the goose run to see both broody sisters sitting side by side, incubating the remaining egg.  Neither would give up and go outside.
On day 45 I opened the goose run to let them out and what did I see? This tiny little head peeping out from under the second broody goose who had regained sole ownership of ‘her’ egg.

My first thoughts were, “Oh, how sweet. How thrilling. A baby around the place.”
My second made my blood run cold, “What if I had thrown the egg out, and a perfectly viable baby goose had died slowly in its egg, or had hatched in the warm weather to find no-one to look after it or feed it.”
But our story has a happy ending. A lovely, healthy young gosling did appear, 45 days after the mother began sitting. This must be some kind of record.

Both geese sat with the gosling that day but  the new, inexperienced mother goose did not notice that her baby had fallen outside her nest during the early evening and could not climb back to sit underneath her. It became chilled during the evening and early night, and when I discovered the fact at 11.00 pm it was shivering and chilled. I put it in an incubator for the night expecting the worst, but it was lonely and cried. So I did what I have done before for very young or fragile baby chicks and ducks, put into practice what an old hand at poultry rearing told me many years ago: I slept with it sitting on my shoulder just where my neck meets the shoulder. The carotid artery runs up the neck here and makes for both a comforting pulse sound and also gives out heat. At this age no poult produces ‘poop’ so it is very clean.
Apart from making sure I did not squash it, which means one only sleeps very lightly, and answering its occasional questioning cheeps, we had an uneventful night. But I did notice that it sneezed frequently and every breath it took produced a crackling noise. Also one eye was half shut.

I feared that a cold was already developing which, at such a tender age, can kill a young bird extremely fast. So next morning I rang the vet very early and we went straight over first thing to have it checked out and given some antibiotic.  S/he was 22 hours old when we came in for a consultation!  All the veterinary nurses crowded round to cluck over the little thing, and with the female vet as well, there were four women being broody.

So for the first few weeks of its life the bird spent the night in an incubator  by our bed under a lamp where it could see us and hear us, and it spent the days with its mother,with a lamp shining into the run to keep it warm, as now that it was hatched, the mother did not want it back under her wings for some reason.  Its aunt insisted on staying right beside them, so in effect it had several mums.

The newest member of the flock (with me standing guard against buzzard attack).

So, I have been rather preoccupied recently.

This was six weeks ago, and we have had several ups and downs since, which I will post about, but you may be pleased to know that it is doing well:)

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A very happy day

Yesterday eldest grand-daughter graduated with a Law Degree from Durham University.

We were lucky enough to be given tickets to attend the Congregation (The Degree Ceremony) which was held in the Cathedral.  The Cathedral is opposite the Castle and the whole environ is a Unesco World Heritage Site.  Durham University is a Collegiate University and the College she attended was St. Chad’s which is in an old Georgian Building, right beside the Cathedral!!  Lucky, lucky girl.  Actually, not only lucky, she worked extremely hard to get there.

The sun was shining, the College put on a splendid buffet and all was well with our little world for the day.

Here are a few snaps from the day for those who may be interested:

Taken from the train just before we arrived at Durham, showing some of the countryside:

 

Walking up to the Cathedral and Castle, crossing one of the bridges.  Lots of boats lined up waiting.

Graduate- in- waiting and her proud mother in the garden behind her College Building

Buffet lunch in St Chad’s Dining Room: lots of meat, prawns and salads, in elegant surroundings.  I waited until most people had left before taking the photo, it was packed just a few minutes ago, with proud relatives and College Dignitaries in all their regalia!

Waiting to go into the Cathedral.

A huge marquee set up on Palace Green, just beside the Cathedral.  (For more pix and stories about Durham go to my blog posts in July 2010).

Still waiting, but what a day to be outside.

The Castle opposite the Cathedral and the marquee in the middle of the Green.

I had to grab a shot of the Music Department for old times sake!

A nice touch:)

After the Congregations, the relieved Graduate.

Leaving Durham with the evening sun catching the hilltop.

 

 

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Home again

And to face what can only be described as chaos.  Out of doors at least.

The hot weather has seen a growth spurt that would rival the tropics and when a passer-by asked my husband if anyone lived here I decided that I must tackle the ‘garden’ before anything else.  I am too ashamed to show you the scene but things are improving albeit with a rather drastic slash and burn type of gardening!   More accurately I should say, ‘a pull out and compost’ type of gardening, but you get the idea.  No way could I burn all this lovely greenery which anyway is simply packed with wildlife.  I pull out handfuls and then leave them on the path for an hour for the beasties to crawl to safety and then get husband to carry all to the overflowing compost bin.

Now we can walk along the back path without being stung by triffids and where the hayfield stood a kind of lawn is visible under the fruit trees.  But that is just the tip of the iceberg.

I have been home for five days: day one involved taking grandson out to the cinema and catching up with ex-daughter in law, day two was washing and ironing, day three was a lovely barbeque with family. Day four was getting new tyres for the car and taking dog and gecko to the vet, collecting grandson, overseeing tutoring, making supper and then family chat with quick catch up with grand-daughter. Each day I have tried to weed part of a flower bed but day five has been gardening, gardening, gardening.  Shortly I am going out to meet a friend to see Manon Lescaut on live screening from the Royal Opera House.  So I’m afraid that blogging has been bottom of the list.

But I had a fabulous trip!  I am totally in love with Poland:)  The photos are downloaded but I need to weed them a bit before putting them up here.  I cannot remember a time when I was just so happy all day long for two whole weeks, except for the Auschwitz/Birkenau day.  And neither can I remember when I last laughed so much.  Several people on our trip said that they could see P and me as schoolgirls and what trouble we must have been.  And the irony is that that we weren’t!

However, I think that I will first post the rest of my pictures of my trip to the Netherlands from last Autumn because the rest of the Villa was so astonishing, even though events have superseded the story.  I will try to get on with that in dribs and drabs over the next few days.

Oh, and I forgot to say, I came home to a very broody young goose.  She is sitting very determinedly on two eggs.  I tried to dissuade her but she has obviously been allowed to sit while I was away and is now firmly in brooding mode and there is no breaking it without causing great distress both to her and us.  We could not stand the noise of her cries as she frantically dashed round and round the house trying to get back in to her eggs.  After 40 minutes I gave in before she died of exhaustion and upset.

I feel as if I have been away for months: I expected to hear the news that the government had fallen, a general election had been called, and that world peace and the abolition of hunger had finally been achieved.  And of course people back home felt as if time had flown, all except grandson who said it had felt like weeks, bless him.  Einstein was definitely on to something where time and space are concerned.

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A treasure – part V

I headed off down two flights of stairs to the basement,

noticing on my way that all the household woodwork, windows and glass panes were the originals, very sturdy and handsome,

where to access the Conservatory, and breakfast, my path lay through my proprieters’ sitting room,

which was truly a homage to the collector’s art.  This was no mere jumble of possessions but everything was carefully positioned and placed.

There were at least two pianos and two more organs amongst all the other fine artefacts.

And so, through to the Conservatory.  Well, where to begin?  Perhaps with the breakfast!

I had a pretty table in the window laid up for me with a dish of very fresh, home-made fruit salad in it.  All looked divine.  On another table were five different kinds of crispbreads and rusky-type things; four different yoghourts – one soya, one goat, some plain, some flavoured; the same kind of variety of muesli and milk; different spreads of butter or vegetable oils; honeys, jams, marmalades; and then my hostess asked whether I would prefer coffee or tea, and if the latter, what kind; also would I like fresh rolls or buns or muffins and what would I fancy in the way of a cooked breakfast.

Gosh.  I settled for the fruit salad with plain, live yoghourt followed by scrambled eggs, ham and cheese.  After that I could eat nothing else, much to her worry and perhaps disappointment.  She did say how much she enjoyed giving her guests a really good breakfast.  During our chats each day it emerged that she used to be a nurse, and whilst her husband does not enjoy the company of strangers, she does enjoy meeting people.  They have been collectors all their lives and she has clearly always enjoyed spending time dusting, cleaning and tending for their objects.  Later on I did notice piles of Collector Magazines in the house so, if I had been in any doubt, they were serious about it.

We managed a little chat about the weather, life at my home, and then what to visit.  After that she left me to relax and enjoy my food, which I did, whilst chilling out in the most enchanting surroundings.  But more of those next time!!

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A treasure Part IV

The next morning I woke after a reasonable night’s sleep: you know what it is like, the first night in a strange place.  Although I slept really well I woke frequently.  But I had had the most comfortable night ever: I did not think such a mattress existed in the world – pure bliss.

And the heating was so good; everything was as warm as toast.  What comfort, what luxury:)  (At home our central heating boiler had broken down and until we knew whether or not our dog needed an operation we could not afford to replace it, so home was just a little cool!)

I got up to make a cup of tea to take back to bed, and on the way opened the curtains to see what kind of day it was.  As light flooded the suite I was amazed.

My bedroom had double floor-length windows, doors really, giving onto a balcony at the front of the Villa.

The view looked over at other houses and trees, some of which still had a few leaves.

As I went through the flat opening curtains I realized just how light an apartment this was despite being a rainy day.

And, joy of joys, my dining room was in a tower!!!!!!!  A tower room all to myself.  Like something out of a little girl’s dream.  “Rapunzel, Rapunzel,  let down your hair”.  Only I am not blond, neither is my hair long enough, nor am I young enough.  Still, one can fantasize.

During the days to come, I would sit in the tower room having several of my ‘moments’, surrounded by cosy radiators, reading, doing the crossword, looking at maps, planning excursions, writing my diary and smiling at the occasional pedestrian who happened to look up.

The front of the Villa showing my set of rooms on the first floor: bedroom over the hotel entrance, sitting room in the middle and my tower room on the left hand side!

From one side I could look up and down the road, from another I could look over the lovely garden, into which the conservatory projected.

.

I was so happy.  In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined having such a place to stay, and especially at this price.  As I had my tea and then got ready for the day ahead, I felt the luckiest person in the world:)

Time to head downstairs to the basement for breakfast in the conservatory

I have copied this photo from the Villa Imhof website at http://www.hotelimhof.nl/index.php?lang=en.   It is their photograph, their copyright and not mine.

(View from the side. The Villa is built into a hill so access to the main entrance is from the road on the right, whereas the conservatory where breakfast was taken is at the basement level:  mine is the top room in the tower.)

And if I thought what I had experienced so far was wonderful, I had no idea what lay ahead.    You ain’t seen nothing yet!

To be continued.

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A treasure part III

As the darkness and silence of the house fell around me I entered my rooms: I was tired and rather drained by the small but panicky experiences of the trip and as yet unsure of where I was and how it all looked, having arrived at Bloemendaal after sunset.

But I was indoors, at the right place and could now begin to unwind I hoped, although the intense quiet was unexpected.  Neither interior nor exterior sound penetrated this house.  Clearly, property was built solidly in 1902.

As I entered my rooms I was met by curtains closed against the night outside, warm lighting, a cheerful colour scheme and a blast of heat from the central heating.

My landlady had said that because I was the only guest, they had given me their best suite, the red suite: indeed it was.  This was a reality far better than any fiction I could have dreamt up.

The view from my little hall – across the sitting room to the dining alcove.

I shook off my wet coat and shoes, unpacked, made myself a cup of tea, fell on the chaise longue and turned on the TV.

When I was a little recovered, I unpacked and ate my salad.   I found myself surrounded by original art, textiles, glass, china and furniture.  Often eclectic but working very well together.  It was amazing.  Nothing could be further from a modern hotel room.  So then I began to take photos of my domain. I wanted a record of THIS!

The bedroom is through the archway.

Looking back from the bedroom:

Looking back from the dining area:

The kitchenette is through this archway

and contains:- a fridge, electric kettle, cupboards, sink, utensils, and on the opposite wall a large cupboard with electric ring, toaster, microwave, coffee maker plus tea, coffee, milk, sugar, drinking chocolate and  fruit filled bars.  Just perfect and so neat and compact,

The bathroom was a shower room but I prefer showers anyway: the only thing was it would have been a little tight for someone who was really large.  It was off the hallway and perfect for tidying up before going out and washing hands when coming in.

Then there were little vignettes in every corner:

My little kingdom for a week: everything I could possible want, and more, to feel quite comfortable and secure, even if a spell of bad health did hit.  I was sooooo pleased with my choice:)

An early night beckoned so I fell into bed, very happy.   The complete and utter stillness and silence were still a bit unnerving and the consciousness of floors of rooms all round me being empty made me a tiny bit uneasy but I decided that what I needed was a good night’s sleep and to take stock tomorrow in the light of day.

To be continued.

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Happy 2014!

I would like to send all viewers here a New Year’s card from the website for Jacquie Lawson cards.  But being me, although they provide a link, I have not managed it:(  

I have been into Links and also into Widgets.  I have pasted the link info. several times into various places but no luck.  Not that I knew what I was doing, I was just guessing, copying and clicking.  Goodness knows where things have ended up!

So, sorry about that. Instead, I am posting some photos of when I took the Grandchildren to the very North of Finland on 23^rd December 2003 to meet Father Christmas.

Landing at about 10.00 am.

 

Driving across a frozen lake by Skidoo, to lunch.

Lunchtime! Pitch dark already.Food and warmth.

Hot chocolate!

Rosalie and I taking in the atmosphere.

Games.

Tea in the Ice Hotel

I do not know if you can see the Reindeer and sleigh faintly in the background, 
which will take us through the woods to see Father Christmas.

Memories!

Time to go home. 

Snow beside the runway.

We boarded at about six in the evening but had to sit and wait for an hour while the airplane was de-iced.  No fuss about landing or taking off on and in snow!

On the way home we saw the Northern Lights out of the plane windows.  A magical end to a magical trip.

May 2014 be full of good memories for all.

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Raw Food

Life has been slow here, with not being able to drive or walk much, I have been housebound. Anyway, until this last week the weather has not been conducive.

One or two family events but I was not involved (could not get there as unable to travel): it has not been too bad since I am someone who is never bored but I am really beginning to suffer from cabin fever.

But one friend, J, was determined to take me out, so kind of her, and equally determined that I should sample a Raw Food Restaurant here in Sheffield, called Pure on Raw.  This cafe serves not just Raw Food but also vegetarian, vegan, gluten and dairy free.

Being ready to climb the walls here at home I was glad to accept the offer of a trip out, but not so keen on the venue.  Raw Food?  Cold, chewy, and boring.  I wanted bowls of piping hot soup, hot chips with salt and vinegar, some comfort food.  In fact I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming to Pure on Raw.  Not that I let it show of course, that would have been too ungrateful, but I really was not looking forward to it at all.

On the way we stopped off at a local food cooperative greengrocers for me to do some shopping, a real treat to choose for myself after all these weeks, and as we left we said where we were going.  “Lucky you” they said, “Have fun at Inga’s!”

Fun I thought?  Hardly.

Well.  Didn’t I have to eat (private) humble pie!  What followed was an explosion of sensory experiences, every second a treat and a moment to be treasured.  Even remembering it makes my mouth water all over again.

We arrived at lunchtime, luckily just before the rush, so we were able to have a table in the window.  The Cafe is light, bright, relaxing but invigorating at the same time. 

Inga’s sunny smile and friendly reception were so welcoming, as she explained the menu choices to us.  We agonised over the multiplicity of choices but, having ordered, sat down to read the magazines on offer.  It was warm and smelled so fresh and full of lovely finishing touches.

As the lunchhour drew on the cafe quickly filled until all the tables were full, so we were pleased we came early!

Then our food arrived: works of art hardly does them justice. I hesitated to begin eating because my plate looked so wonderful.  J. ordered soup with mini pizzas and my order was Enchiladas  –  (House made dehydrated wrap made out of organic spinach,  comes with tantalising cashew- red pepper pate & marinated veg.  Served with salad or steamed brown rice and small salad.)

I took a small mouthful of each thing singly first: my taste buds just burst with the depth and strength of the flavours.  They were exhilarating and exciting and surprising.  We both just sat, eating slowly, savouring each mouthful, with little involuntary sounds of appreciation escaping from us over and over again.

In fact I could not quite finish my food and was offered a Doggy Box to take the salad home in.  After all, we  needed to leave room for dessert!  We ordered a bowl of Blueberry and Vanilla Ice Cream to share, just for pure gluttony.  It came with some delicious oat cookie biscuits, all raw of course.

That was also a revelation: the zing of fresh blueberries  hit our mouths as if we were sitting on a sunny hillside eating them off the plants. Wow.

After all that, we sat back and digested slowly with glasses of  hot tea and tisanes.  Also on offer were a multitude of Smoothies, Juices and Cold pressed greens, which other diners came in for, either as a snack in itself, or an accompaniment to their main meal.

I had such a good time that I went back ten days later with another friend, L, who also offered me some time out: this time I had Surprise Parcels while L  had the Enchiladas, on my recommendation.  Exactly the same experience as the first time: but I knew what was coming, whereas L. did not!

She just sat there, astonished at the flavour and quality and artistry of the food. Another great meal time and she is going to try to get her husband to visit too.  We both bought some desserts to take home to share with the rest of the family:

Raw Mocha Pie – with cold brewed coffee & Raw Chocolate, Rich Blueberry Pie and Banana and Vanilla Pie.

L. could not believe how lovely the experience was, and admitted that when I suggested going to a Raw Food Cafe she was not thrilled.  I wish there was a different phrase for raw food  for those of us philistines who have/had no idea what the food is actually like.  Never, never, think of plain salads or beans when thinking of raw foods.  This is on another plane altogether and I urge you to give it a try.

www.pureonraw.co.uk

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