I completed the course in 61 minutes and nine seconds. Not an especially impressive time — the winner finished in 30 minutes and five seconds: those pesky seconds! — but it was impressive for me because this time last year I hadn’t run anywhere for over twenty years, and I didn’t even own a pair of trainers.

But last August, inspired by both the Olympics and my husband’s distinctly chipper post-run demeanour, I decided to give running a go. I also realised that standing in the park watching the dog run around was not really keeping me fit. Better, I thought, to go and run around with the dog.

My first run took all of three minutes and I hated it. My second run, a day later, was about a minute longer. The only reason I managed a second run was because for a good few hours after the pain of the first one, I felt completely high: a strange sense of elation mixed with a feeling of increased energy. Within two weeks I found that I no longer hated the running, and I began extending my run as soon as I could complete a particular route without stopping. In mid-september I started the couch to 5K regime with my friend and fellow dog walker, Nicki, and I ditched the daily run in favour of three thirty minute sessions a week.

I’d really recommend this approach to anyone who wants to take up running. It’s a brilliant combination of walking and running and you work steadily towards being able to run three miles in around thirty minutes. I’d also really, really recommend finding a running partner: last winter was unbelievably cold at times, but because we didn’t want to let each other down, Nicki and I kept to our routine. We ran through rain, lots and lots of rain; we ran in high winds where we could hardly catch our breath; we ran in snow, which was fantastic even though our toes froze. We ran when it was so cold that our legs felt like lead, our noses were pinched and we couldn’t feel our fingers. In fact only icy pavements and illness kept us from running.

Now, nearly nine months on, I run two to three times a week. The first mile is never much fun. But after that something strange happens. My brain detaches from my body, and even if my legs feel cold or tired, I’m able to keep going. My mind is free to think. Or, if I am running with a friend, which is often the case, we chat (though we’ve learned that at least one section of the run has to render us incapable of saying anything other than “bloody hell!”). We also freestyle our routes, allowing ourselves to be drawn down interesting-looking roads or along beautiful tree-lined avenues. Sometimes we strike out over the Suspension bridge, or drive to the woods where the paths are soft and springy under foot. Sometimes our runs last about 40 minutes, others are about an hour and a half. I am addicted. But oddly enough, as I pull on my running gear, I never, ever feel like running. That only happens once I’m doing it. And sometimes it only feels good when it’s over, which sounds perverse, I know. The post-run sense of well-being, however, kicks in without fail and lasts for the rest of the day.

And as for the post-race* high, well that seems to last even longer. Which is why I want to do it all again. Only this time I want to go a little further, and perhaps slightly faster. I’ve got my sights set on the Bristol Half Marathon.

* race — I use the term in its broadest sense because, of course, although this sort of event is a race, only those wearing white bibs are in it to win it. For the rest of us it’s simply a race against yourself in that you want to improve on your PB (personal best). The back half of the pack I was running with were still crossing the start line as the winner arrived at the finish.

PS This is the LINK to my Just Giving page for COCO, if anyone feels in the mood to donate!

Every day the garden looks a little different. Sometimes the changes are startling — the geraniums have grown by how much!? — and sometimes so slight that I am the only one who notices them. Yesterday morning’s visit revealed the latter sort of change. And try as I might, I found it impossible to take a photograph that captured the thrill I felt on spotting the gently rumpled appearance of the patch where I sowed my chard seeds.

The disturbance on the soil’s surface can mean only one thing: the tiny seeds are waking up and delicious stalks of the aptly named ‘Bright Lights’ are on their way. But really, from any distance further than a nose-length, the hessian sack in which they are growing still looks like nothing more than a patch of empty soil.

So the following photos, taken yesterday morning, May Day, will have to do instead.

I’m very excited about these seedlings with their straight, stout stems. They are  Velvet Queen, one of two varieties of sunflower that I’m experimenting with. I’ll thin them out and put them into individual pots until I know exactly where they are to grow. Not sure how they will take the disturbance, but I’ve been caught out by the weather, lack of pots and the fact that work needs to be done around the boundaries of the garden.

I’ll resist picking them until they’ve done a week or two in their pots. They will provide interest whilst the sweet peas make their slow start up the wigwam, and the rest of the garden gets into its stride. Malaika is one of my favourite tulips — so elegant as it emerges and then puts on a spectacular show as it dies. I will buy more next year.

Things are finally happening in the garden: the Amelanchier is now in bloom, the first of the tulips is up — a hanger-on from last year, and the only one in the pot to put in a repeat performance (I thought it worth leaving them by way of an experiment).

The little clump of violets — which were a freebie, left in a bag attached to a neighbour’s railings — has bulked up and is twice the size it was last year. I am hoping that it will form a mat around the base of the rose, William Lobb, with which it shares bed.

And in the pop-up green house the rocket and sweet pea seedlings are racing away, with runner beans, climbing courgettes (more of which in a later post), cobea scandens (alba and purple varieties), and coriander not far behind.

I’m sorry posts have been rather thin on the ground. I’ve been tied up with the project I mentioned in an earlier post, and on top of that the Bristol 10K is looming. I have become a slave to running and the 5th of May feels very, very close. The time I had in mind for the race (there is no escaping the fact that it is a race, it seems) is, I fear, woefully optimistic. As with the climbing courgettes, more on running anon.

According to Jenny Baker, who cites The Art of British Cooking, by Theodora Fitzgibbon, as her source, Simnel cake derives its name from the Roman siminellus which was a special bread eaten during spring fertility rites. Later, the name attached itself to a fruit cake enriched with marzipan which girls in service were allowed to take home to their mothers on Mothering Sunday. Perhaps the Roman bread was transformed over the years, and it became the enriched cake. Who knows? Either way, the cake has become associated with Easter and, like its Christmas cousin, it is a cake that keeps well. So although Easter Sunday has been and gone, for most families the school holiday has only just begun, which means that there is plenty of time to bake and consume this cake.

So here is the recipe I use, from Jenny Baker’s Kettle Broth to Gooseberry Fool,  though I imagine that there are many other versions out there online.

This one calls for an 18cm (7inch) tin with tall sides, and I think the dimensions are important as the cake doesn’t rise much — there is no raising agent.

Ingredients:

350g marzipan (the recipe in the last post will give you more than enough, I roll the scraps into balls and dip them in melted chocolate as you can see here if you scroll to the end of the post); 100g butter or margarine; 100g soft brown sugar; 3 large eggs, beaten; 150g plain flour, sifted; 1/2 tsp mixed spice; 350g mixed dried fruit; 50g chopped mixed peel;1 lemon, grated rind and juice; Apricot jam;1 egg white for the glaze.

Heat oven gas mark 3/325/160. Grease and line tin.

Take one third of the marzipan and knead it and roll into a disc the same size as the cake tin. Set to one side

Cream butte and sugar together and once it is light and fluffy add the eggs, one at a time. Fold in the sifted flour, mixed spice , dried fruit, mixed peel, lemon juice and zest.

Pour HALF the mixture into the tin, level it and then place the marzipan disc on top. Pour the rest of the mixture on top, smoothing it over.

Bake for 1 hour at gas mark 3 / 325/160 and then lower the temperature to gas mark 2/ 300/150, and bake for another hour.

Allow cake to cool and turn it onto a rack after about ten minutes. Once totally cold, brush the top with apricot jam, roll another third of the marzipan into a disc and place this on top. With the remaining marzipan make eleven balls (to represent the eleven faithful apostles). Brush with egg white and then return to the oven for ten minutes until the top is lightly browned – gas mark 4/350/190.

I don’t think I came across Simnel cake again until I started making it myself, nine years ago, shortly after Martha was born. I’m not sure what prompted me to make the cake — possibly the discovery of this simple recipe for marzipan — but I have made one every year for the last eight years. Tomorrow I will make my ninth, but today I made the cake’s key ingredient: marzipan.

This recipe is so easy, so satisfying, and frankly, so delicious, that I’ve never bothered with shop-bought packets since. Be warned though, the flavour is far more subtle than the gritty, bright yellow blocks available in the supermarket: gently lemony and not especially sweet and the texture is softly grainy. I’ve blogged about the ease of making marzipan before, but here is the recipe again, this time with step-by-step pictures to prove that it really is a cinch to make. First gather your ingredients …

350g ground almonds; 225g icing sugar (sifted); 3 egg yolks; juice of one lemon.

Next, mix the almonds with sugar and beat the egg yolks with lemon juice. Then combine the two mixes, and knead together into a ball with your hands, rather like making pastry.

And voila! Marzipan. It’s quite a sticky mixture, so if you find your hands are still coated with mix, dip them in a little icing sugar, rub together and let the ‘crumbs’ fall onto the ball of marzipan and then dab them in.

The recipe comes from Jenny Baker’s marvellous book Kettle Broth to Gooseberry Fool.

Now I’m off the make the Simnel cake itself.

I’m making do with tulips from the supermarket and local florist whilst keeping anxious watch over flower beds and pots. I am beginning to wonder whether those back-breaking bulb planting sessions last autumn were nothing but a bad dream.

I could probably bore for England about the weather (so cold, so grey; so fed up with wearing scarves and fingerless gloves indoors), but compared to people on Arran, I have no real cause for complaint: my heating works and I can get out and about to indulge myself with fresh flowers whilst picking up the everyday essentials we take for granted.

Mind you, having just written that, I have noticed that it’s started to snow..

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Unlike most children in the country, today is the last day of term for the girls. Our Easter holiday starts tomorrow. And although it feels as though the last holiday was only yesterday, I’m surprised to find that I am really looking forward to having the girls at home — even though we have absolutely nothing planned.

In fact there was nothing we could plan, because Bristol council chose holiday dates entirely out of synch with schools elsewhere in the country — our half term was the week before everyone else’s (so various friends were unable to stay with us), and this holiday is similarly out of whack, scuppering our annual Easter break with old friends from London. Very annoying. Still, it seems that next half term, and the summer holidays are back on track, though I am dreading the strain of the two very long terms ahead of us.

All the more reason to gorge ourselves on chocolate, hot cross buns and simnel cake — none of which was available to photograph, so I leave you with a an Easter bunny instead.

Every year I spend much of January and February trying not to look at the garden. When I do, I am filled with despair: I simply can’t believe that it will ever look nice again. Back in October I dug up almost everything at the bottom of the garden to make way for new raised beds and a pond, and this section looks particularly bleak at the moment.

But Sunday’s sunshine tempted me outside. The novelty of feeling the warmth of the sun on my back and being able to wear only one jumper rather than three, meant that I spent most of Sunday afternoon pottering in the garden — my first proper session in the garden.

It looked pretty desolate, but it was good to face up to the ravages of winter and my total neglect. And after an hour or two of methodical pruning, cutting, raking and mulching, most   of the garden had sprung back into focus.

My thoughts had snapped into focus as well, and I now have a plan for those empty beds.

For now, I’ve cordoned off the area with chicken wire to protect the few remaining plants from the rampaging dog, and to be honest it looks worse than it did before. But in a week or two things should start shaping up.

In the pop-up green house, I was delighted to see that the first of my sweet peas are emerging and tiny little dots of green on black, damp soil tell me that my rocket and
cut-and-come-again lettuces are on their way too.

By five o’clock it was chilly again, so I kicked off my boots and finished these mittens (ravelled here). And despite today’s sunshine, it was cold enough to wear them.

On Thursday night I went to a lovely party at Tart, on the Gloucester Road, to celebrate the publication of A Good Egg — A Year of Recipes From an Urban Hen-Keeper. 

Genevieve Taylor is the hen-keeper of the title, and her book is a charming and inspiring diary of a year in her kitchen, her garden and her hen-house. When not tending her hens, she is also a very talented food stylist and cook (you’ve doubtless been inspired by something she has created without realising it, as her work has appeared in many magazines and ad campaigns), and the book grew from Genevieve’s blog, The Urban Kitchen, which she started when her first batch of chickens arrived and surprised them all with their dedicated laying: 3-4 eggs a day, every day, all year. That’s a lot of eggs.

But Genevieve is clear that A Good Egg is not an egg cookery bible (neither is it a how-to for prospective hen-keepers), explaining that it’s “a seasonal diary of all that I did with my eggs, and the food that I grew and gathered to eat alongside them.” In fact it is Genevieve’s passion for seasonality that is at the heart of the book, informing her writing as well as her recipes. A point she proved with a lovely reading from the 14th March which was all about wild garlic; as she read we were treated to slices of wild garlic flamiche (the wild garlic had been gathered locally, that morning), followed by mini mocha eclairs and tiny rhubarb pavlovas. Delicious.

And the recipes — nine or ten for each month — despite coming from the kitchen of a very talented cook, are by no means complicated or fussy; rather they are dishes designed for busy family life: delicious, wholesome and speedy. Of course the temptation is to say “Pah!” to seasonality and leap ahead with the help of the supermarket — which in the case of Crisp cannellini bean and Courgette Fritters is exactly what I intend to do. Other recipes to whet your appetite include a Peach and Almond cake with lavender syrup; English Nicoise of Smoked Trout, Jersey Royals and Asparagus; Courgette and Lime muffins; Broad bean, Feta and Mint Omelette… I could go on… and on!

The book is a rather beautiful object in its own right — a Tiffany-blue-green cloth cover, with an (egg yolk?) yellow ribbon for marking favourite pages — illustrated throughout with wonderful, hunger-inducing photographs, taken by Bristol-based photographer, Jason Ingram (his blog is over there to the right of the screen and well worth exploring).

This last image I include, because it sums up for me, Genevieve’s un-fussy, straightforward approach to cooking: for who hasn’t failed on the planning-ahead at some point? I am  regularly caught out by the dastardly line, hidden in many a recipe, which runs something like “… and now leave in the fridge for 12 hours, preferably 24.” No! No! No! My friends are arriving in four hours’ time, not tomorrow, goddammit! Though I must stress, this particular recipe does not offer a clever route around the protracted process of making a Christmas Pudding. It’s just that I liked her admission that tradition and rules don’t dominate her kitchen or her recipes — in this case it’s her failure to make the Christmas pud on Stir Up Sunday. Her Carbonara with cavolo nero is probably a better example, not least because she describes it as “inauthentic in the extreme,” though it sounds heavenly.

And finally, as I have already said, although A Good Egg is not a guide to keeping chickens, be warned, it will certainly tempt you to have a go. Last night, as I thumbed through my copy, I found myself considering all manner of bizarre constructions — tree house!? — in order to add a chicken or two to our household even though I know our garden is far too small.