Denniblog

I would blog from the Square Festival in Borth, but it will take several hours to upload my photos and, well, I’d rather go to the Festival.

Xandros Linux on the EeePC sucks hard

Elderberries are good against the flu and colds. Recently, the centuries-old lore has been backed up by clinical studies of Sambucal, of which I now own two bottles. However, they didn’t come cheap at nearly ten quid each for what amounts to a 3-day-course.

Thankfully it would seem that the elderberries’ curative properties are at least partially preserved after heat treatment, and it is not necessary to concentrate them overmuch, so I am looking up recipes for wines and cordials to help us through the winter. But it will be many months before the berries are ripe for the picking.

Prompted by a (harmless but annoying) summer cold, I’m casting around for alternatives. According to Wikipedia they produce a type of brandy in Hungary (bodza pálinka) which is made with 50kg of elderberries per litre. The online price (£ 1.85/40ml) would reflect that. But I’m reasoning that the stuff’s cheaper in Budapest.

However, according to a Google image search, the spirit is clear. Part of the beneficial activity of elderberries is due to the pigments (anthocyanidins, comprising 0.2-1% of the berries and a whopping 0.5% in Sambucal). There are darker incarnations, which I suppose aren’t distilled from quite as much fruit (more like wines), and these may be just what I’m looking for. One more reason to conduct some field research

I reckon there should be a EU-wide initiative looking into the benefits of elderberry drinks, which would boost the economies of several eastern/central European countries.

Last week we were on a writers’ retreat in Assynt, deep in the Scottish highlands, and —true to form—I didn’t get anything much written, nor blogged.

But it was glorious, so here are a few photos:

‘Mount Improbable’, as seen from Glencanisp lodge. It didn’t take long for the members of the writers’ group to come up with the name, but sadly it wasn’t me. I kept thinking ‘Zuckerhut’. Having another German there does it…

The Assynt Foundation is based in Lochinver, which looked unfeasibly idyllic during (one day!) of sunshine. Sadly I didn’t get a better shot because I was to lazy to walk up the pier. Then it started to rain…

A curious thing about the H ighlands are the miniature forests that grow on islands in the freshwater lochs. This is particularly striking in the Assynt area which has very little forest because the glaciers have scoured the mountain sides down to the bedrock (elsewhere in the highlands, deforestation is to blame). Again, I could have obtained a better shot. This was taken from the car window. (Well, it was half a mile to the lodge…)

Even in the middle of the tourist season, the Assynt coastal route is remote…

…not counting visitors, there are more sheep than people!

We’re just back from a nice long weekend in Borth and I’ve had to catch up with some domestic stuff.

More about Japan tomorrow. Meanwhile check out DILO (Day in the Life of) Sept. 23rd on Flickr. My set is here.

…and that’s the big-ass melons you get ’round the ‘hoods in summertime:

Those things are enough for a big family, and if you really want to get the party going, they can be infused with vodka. Since these buggers come in at up to 20kg, that will be a hell of a party!

Fortunately, they’re sold in wedges of perfect, deep-red sweetness. I bought ¼, and it was enough for five people.

Back when I met my husband, I used to smoke a pipe.

It was a habit I started—hooked on the sweet scent of my then ex-boyfriend’s pipe tobacco—shortly before setting off to Africa, and it has stood me in good stead around many campfires and in many a cosy bar on cold winter evenings.

For our first date, my hubby-to-be took me on a Sunday outing with the Oxford University Motorcycle Club. I rode pillion on his Yamaha RS100 along winding lanes to a quaint old pub in the Cotswold village of Great Tew. The pub is called the Falkland Arms, not with reference to the then recent war, but because the Falklands were named after the local lord of the manor, who no doubt frequented it.

Following an honoured tradition, the pub serves real Ale and cider and a selection of local wines and mead (I remember sampling the birch wine—not bad). They also sold clay pipes and a selection of fruit tobaccos to be enjoyed by the open fire.

Alas, no more. Two weeks ago, we celebrated our wedding anniversary with our last ever pipe smoked on the premises, at least inside. (Well OK, on the premises, taking the British weather into account.) And yesterday, my husband, some mates and I puffed our last in our local around the corner.
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Busy with other projects.

We spent a magical weekend in the countryside, but more of that later.

…as they made us all shout from the central stage during yesterday’s Chinese New Year festivities in Trafalgar Square. Hopefully, this will be a prosperous year indeed, as this is the golden year of the pig.

London’s Trafalgar Square and Soho were inundated yesterday as the Chinese Association and Mayor Ken Livingstone laid on the biggest Chinese New Year celebration London has yet seen. The city was lavishly decorated with red lanterns and cultural performances on stage alternated with raucious lion-and dragon dancers parading through the streets. The crowds in Soho—normally quiet away from the tourist magnets around the square—were so dense that police had to be grafted in to keep people moving. I hope that more will return to sample Chinatown’s many delights in the future, but on this day, getting into a shop or restaurant, or even to the stalls lining the street, was near impossible.

The weather put a bit of a dampener on the event: it was so dark that taking photos was near impossible, but at least we were spared a drenching. Still, I long to move away from dim Britain, and celebrating Chinese New Year brought back the travel bug. That evening, one of our mate’s colleagues regaled us with stories of 3 months spent backpacking through China. I can feel my feet beginning to itch, yet again.

But until that time, I’ll have to make do with occasional dinner at the Wong Kei.

Jack frost was still around when we arrived in Borth for our Christmas break. The sky was clear, so I decided to go for a morning stroll. None of the others joined in. Soon I would know why.

The seaweed along the tide line was coated with frost. Borth is always full of surprises, and this time it was the many goose barnacle remains that were washed up (centre of photograph).

Poking around in the floatsam, I soon felt my fingers grow stiff. Although some hardened anglers lined the shore, it was way too cold to stay out for long. With the frost still paving the seawall, I decided to return to the warmth of the open fire back in the house to join the others for tea.

We spent the afternoon in Aberystwyth, doing some last-minute shopping. On the way back, we contemplated going for another walk to look for the submerged forest, but the tide was in. Moreover, stormclouds had begun to gather. But then, suddenly, the sun broke through, as if a celestial spotlight had been turned on

“Oh, that often happens here,” my sister said. “A hole appears in the sky and the sun shines through. Just over Borth, nowhere else.”

Winter descended suddenly, but stealthily. Yesterday morning, the perpetual fog had crystallised out of the air and dusted every tree and every branch with a thick layer of icing sugar.

I had to go for a walk to take some pictures. Ninety minutes later, my memory card was full and my battery empty.
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