How do you spend a day in the presence of baking royalty? You eat, thats what you do.
Not a lot, you don’t eat a lot, but you eat enough to know that what has been put in front of you is worthy of winners.
Monsieur Eric Landlard is an award winning baker, artist, and generally fabulous Frenchman.
He told us the story of when he first appeared on GFL. New to telly and the pressure of time limits, he didn’t have the confidence to tell us that the fridge door had opened between his legs. He did the whole segment whilst standing astride a cool box, although he never, ever lost his cool.
Today he had the confidence that only ‘The Cakeman’ can have.
Eric gave us Chocolate and Orange Christmas cake, Bouche de Noel and Souffle.
Jeni Barnett
Matt, Christian and Sarah.
Wednesday morning arrived, and I climbed into the awaiting taxi. I declined breakfast knowing I was about to eat a full on roast and an American style Christmas courtesy of Matt Tebbutt and Christian Stephenson.
I decided, because of my hotel hopping, to rearrange my travel bags. I would leave my suitcase in the dressing room and just take me wash bag.
The dressing room was a small room with a fan, dressing rail, dressing table with lights round the mirror, shelves of ‘Accessorize’ earrings, empty carrier bags and mounds of pink tissue paper.
I carefully repacked my case put my washing stuff in one of the paper carrier bags and took myself off to makeup, turning off the light and closing the door. The room was hot, I was hot, the only cool place – both metaphorically and literally – was the studio.
Plonked myself in front of Kathy who had painted me to go with black velvet and gold trimmings, lime green, slinky black with see through bits and now Royal blue, which was later ruined by my pigging out on goose-fatty-roast-potatoes that were so unctious I was stuffing them in my gob when nobody was looking.
‘Step away from the spuds’ shouted Mel the patient floor-manager…
‘We need them for the pack shot’
I snaffled a secret ton of crispy Desiree’s, but left just enough for the cameramen to shoot.
printer problems
so the printer died. I bought a new one. It has totally screwed my computer settings and the geezer who sold it to me has still not arrived to set it up. After a night in A&E with nosebleeds, that’s the IT consultant not the computer, my new printer depends on his recovery. I hope … Read more
Bank Holiday drizzle
There are those days when rain wraps you in a shawl of languor. Time stops. The only movement the dipping, dripping leaves. The silence is heavy with clock ticks and rain drops. King Solomon is licking his fur and the bell round his neck is tinkling ever so slightly. Emmy is asleep in the piano … Read more
Berries in the hedgerow
I went to yoga.
7 in the class. A tattooed woman who should know better, a Polish woman with a long plait that is going to be teaching next term, two women who are of my age but without the flabby thighs that I present when wearing shorts. And a couple who look like they have come from a religious sect in Pennsylvania.
My balance leaves a lot to be desired. But I can now get my head on my feet whilst sitting with the soles of said feet together. I know one shouldn’t be competitive in yoga but Godammit I am. With myself at least.
I came out without my phone or wallet so I went straight home. Driving slowly in case I got nicked again by the yellow van that sits snidely in the lay-by just after the pub.
Little Solly is missing Jim. Keeps running round looking for him. And twice I’ve fallen asleep and called for the old git only to realise that he’s four hundred miles away having the time of his life in his birth city.
I whipped off my hot yoga outfit, washed it, hung it over the bath like a student in a bedsit and set off for my vigorous constitutional.
Juicing in the rain.
Yoga at 9.30 this morning. I was stiff and tentative haven’t bent over double for a week. Walked for an hour to post two birthday cards. My music is on random – I think they call it, so I was skipping, trotting, marching to everything from Steely Dan to Rachmaninov. The rain stayed off. I … Read more
Moon Gazing
Three and a half weeks of madness.
From Radio Sussex to house guests from filming promos to voice overs.
I have been staying in the moment so much I can’t remember what has happened before or after.
The ‘oosbind is setting off in a week to go and give of his best in Leeds. In a West Yorkshire Playhouse production of ‘The Crucible’. I’m doing that counting down the days daftness.
I’m dreading him leaving but it only takes a few days and then I’m into the silence of the ‘hams’.
As I write Solly is sniffing round the attic. Trying to get into a closed cupboard. The bed has been made up by the dawter in preparation for the Jew Do next Saturday.
Sole food
I have red ones, blue ones, green ones and beige.
Black ones, brown ones, patent ones and suede .
I have leather ones, canvas ones, strappy ones and flip-flops,
Wedges, sling backs, sandals, pumps, stilettos, boots and clip-clops.
I have ankle boots, deck shoes, espadrilles and sneakers.
Flat ones, high ones, platform ones and peep toes .
But I wasn’t always that well heeled.
Shoes lasted until they didn’t. You got what you were given. And you were grateful for it.
As we waited for the tube train, I would tightly grasp my mothers fingers as I stared at the advert on the wall of Aldgate East Station. Two children holding hands as they set off, in their Start Rite shoes, with nothing but each other and a road disappearing into the distance, winding its way to their future. How lonely life looked.
Start Rite shoes, with it’s Royal seal of approval walking their way to happiness since 1792.
Shoes, played a big part in my childhood. From the ballet shoes I yearned for and never got, to the Gum boots, black rubber, which kept the rain out and the cold in.
Now as I walk the lanes I wear a pair of purple ‘Nike Free Three’ trainers. They are falling apart but are oh so comfortable. They have a rip in the back but my feet can feel the ground. For my 65th birthday the dawter bought me a pair of luminous orange replacements. They are slightly wider so my old feet can spread and spread. I wear them for best.
I have black and white trainers, pink and grey trainers and flip flops. My father would have had something to say about that.
Cow shy
The rain, as predicted came down big. I donned socks and thick trainers, a hoodie and leggings, yoga top and sweatshirt, over which I put a lightweight mac. Zipped up and went clockwise out of the drive.
‘Go with the flow.’ said Cherry Jarrett ‘Go with the flow.’
So I went with the flow. The rain dripping off the leaves, puddles and collar doves. Shrilly singing blackbirds, and lots of rabbits hopping and disappearing into their burrows.
I walked steadily, heard foot steps behind me and it was the next door neighbour..
‘Hello stranger.’ He said.
‘Run – don’t wreck your rhythm.’ I said. And he jogged on.
He disappeared as I walked past the newly dug ditch, past the wood yard that smelt of sweet newly sawn Beech. Up the hill and the rained stopped.
Going clockwise meant down hill was where it was up and up is where it was down. Clockwise is a harder walk.
There are three distinct phases. Through ‘France’ with long low houses and fields, down the avenue, through the rocks, up past the farms. down to frogspawn bend, up to the wood yard where it gets dark. The road winds up hill, it’s shaded by tall, old trees, and the road narrows. One wind turbine to the left a bluebell patch to the right. Then a bright uphill stretch to the pub.
This morning I was reminded of my mother.
Mouse ears, what mouse ears?
If you lie on your side you will see that these are NOT mouse ears, although I thought they were. Their common name is ‘thunder flower’ on account of the historical belief that if you picked them you would promote thunder and lightning! I have spent three hours, cleaned the fridge and wept trying to … Read more