Author: Snoo

First time in 19 years I am home alone. Completely alone. Big cat died this morning – he had used up all of his nine lives. I scooped him up from his favourite place to lie right next to the aga, and held him as he went to sleep. He was such a love cat. He gave love out in bucket loads and was enormously loved. I am bereft.

We buried him in the garden, wrapped in a warm blanket with his birth certificate and a jar of double cream to help him on his way. These small things we do at times of grief become very important. We were meant to put his brother’s ashes in with him (which have been on the sideboard since 2016) but we forgot and it felt a bit weird to dig up the soil again and put them in. So he is staying put on the sideboard for now.

How do you say goodbye to a cat? He was one of my best friends. He would seek me out if I was feeling poorly and in bed. He would come running to meet me when I opened the door, and when he was younger would jump up, paws outstretched wanting a big hug. At times, he felt human. That sounds weird but feels right.

The aga looks bare without him stretched out, tummy pressed against it, come rain or shine, hottest day of the year or coldest day of the year. At times he would even appear to want to step inside the warming oven. There are no cat bowls with variable amounts of food, no glass of water, no litter tray. Just silence.

Thank you, Big Cat, for all the love, joy and friendship. For the laughs and now for the tears. You were so loved.

Interesting conversation about my new glasses. So, I think there is no need for me to choose frames nor do I think I am very good at choosing frames. My job is to look out through the glasses. As long as I can see well, all is good. It really doesn’t matter if they are green, blue, pink, sparkly, rimless, half rimless, plutonium, diamante, pearlescent, neon, brown with yellow spots. I mostly rely on my personal shopper/style guide aka Husbant. He always picks well and often asks me what I think of his choices. I have no idea what they look like because I am short-sighted and the mirrors in the opticians are too far away for me to see what I look like. Apparently I have a face that I pull specifically when I am trying on frames (I think it’s also known as squinting) but Husbant points it out every time. It’s a bit like getting my haircut. My gorgeous hairdresser visits every few months and sorts out my hair. No staring at myself in a big mirror while he makes his way around my head. And no showing me the back of my head when he has finished. Who wants to know what the back of their head looks like? Am sure if it was a terrible mess, someone would say something. But then again, maybe not.

So I have some new glasses. I picked them up at lunchtime today and I can see clearly through them. Husbant chose the frames. We met in town shortly after I had picked them up and he didn’t say a word about them. I waited for some recognition that my face was now framed in blue with extra blue corners (bit Dame Edna I thought). But nada. Zilch. Not a word. I asked him how his feet were (he had been to have them seen to by someone who is very brave to touch his feet) and he said they were great. They were safely tucked inside his shoes so I couldn’t wax lyrical about how amazing they looked. His magic German cream from Belgium was the best thing for his feet and the professional foot man was very complimentary. I smiled broadly and looked him in the face. Nada.

Halfway home in the car, I asked him if he noticed anything different. Given the eye-watering amount I had just spent on my new glasses (he always picks up the most expensive frames without even looking), I wanted outpourings of “wow they look amazing” type comments. I wanted him to wax lyrical. There was a pregnant enough pause for me to notice it, and then he realised and the outpourings began.

Phew. Am glad they look ok. I would have preferred two weeks in Spain at those prices but at least I can see clearly now.

Every year it’s the same date. Bit like a birthday. But it’s not like a birthday. As husbant and I were doing the shopping last night, he disappeared to get me a card and I wandered off to buy him 360g of Cadbury’s chocolate. How romantic was that? Even better, I paid for the shopping, including said card. But I still love that little moment of scurrying. And I had planned to put his card and chocolate on his desk so he would get it when he stumbled into the home/office at silly o’clock, but I haven’t; so now I have to work out how to surreptitiously leave it somewhere for him to find. Maybe on his drum kit! He asked me last week if I could work from home today – my brain didn’t make the connection straightaway – but once I had, there was a frisson of excitement as to what may unfold. I love that. With a little prodding, and given my need to know what surprises are in advance (ie, no surprises, please), he told me we were going out for dinner down the road but swore me not to check out the menu. I haven’t. But am sorely tempted.

Am a bit of a romantic. And I tell my gorgeous husbant that I love him almost every day because I do. He is so kind. He makes me laugh. He is my best friend.

But even better, he brings me a cup of tea and empties the dishwasher every morning. Now that really is love.

Birmingham. Growing up in the 1970s, Birmingham was just somewhere with a complicated road system called Spaghetti Junction, and Fort Dunlop where I thought they made green plimsols and tyres. I think we only ever drove past Birmingham once when I was a kid on the way to Wales. Driving holidays were a big part of my childhood and my mum was famously the worst navigator, and a very nervous passenger. So nervous that she pulled the handle off the door of the Wolseley as we drove over the Pyrenees, on one of our trips to Spain.

When my daughter said she was considering Birmingham university, I was so aghast that I said I wouldn’t visit her. On a par with when I told her she couldn’t do German A level. Takes a long time to understand good parenting, and I am still learning.

Am a convert. Birmingham is a great city. Although I am currently sitting on a train heading north to Stafford in order to go back south via Milton Keynes to London Euston, with a trainful of people who are equally confused on where they are going (some people thought they were going to Rugby and Coventry but a landslide somewhere has created mayhem, and the announcer has welcomed us to Crewe when clearly the sign on the platform says Stafford), I have had a great 24 hours in the UK’s second largest city.

After checking in to our hotel (The Grand – very comfy and free madeleines in the room, Penhaligon’s bathroom stuff and a lovely cocktail bar), we wandered around soaking up the local sights and smells. We headed to Digbeth, which is an arty area, housing some great studios, including Eastside Projects, but sadly nothing was open. The street art was fab and despite a lot of roadworks for HS2, we saw some beautiful buildings along the Grand Union canal which have so far withstood the test of time.

We then walked back towards the main shopping area, past a very funky library (clad in lots of ironwork) with a comfort stop at the Conference centre which had gorgeous art deco doors. The IKON gallery had just reopened after a big refit and I would recommend it. And definitely try the lift. It will make you laugh. Both up and down. The cafe served great tea and cakes, too. Win win.

Cocktails at 7pm in the Madeline bar and then a taxi to the Balti triangle. It has to be done. Couldn’t go to Birmingham and not eat the local dish. Wow. We went to Shababs – definitely go. They don’t have a license so you have to take you own booze – big thanks to Jo for stocking up on beer and wine. The food was incredible. Delicious. Generous portions. We ordered a table naan. And yes, I can safely attest that it is the size of a table. And cooked to perfection as Marcus or Greg would say. I loved it. I want to buy a balti and cook everything in it.

Next morning, after a good night’s sleep, we headed to Medicine, a lovely bakery and restaurant in a beautiful Victorian building on the main street, New Street, and was home to the Royal Society of Birmingham Artists. Although still full from the balti bonanza, the display of cinnamon rolls and pastries was enough to make us feel hungry. I ordered chilli scrambled eggs (keeping the theme of hot food) which came with kale and sourdough toast. And proper Oatly cappucino.

Everyone ordered something different and it was delicious. Definitely go!

So, we will be back. Already planning a summer trip to take advantage of the canal bars and cafes (didn’t realise Birmingham had more canals than Venice).

Back home in windy, miserable Surrey but still holding onto that sun-kissed week. Husbant delivered the best birthday ever and it was a well-kept surprise. I had convinced myself he had arranged for us to go on the Jolly Roger and even got quite miserable about it. Big discussions about accepting the excitement of not knowing – but I have had previous “surprises” which turned out to be not so good. So I do get a bit anxious. And my argument is that the excitement of a surprise can also be shared even though it diminishes the surprise. Like in COVID times – it wasn’t until you were on the plane, and in some cases had landed at your destination and received a negative COVID test, that you could start being excited about the holiday. I missed all that anticipation.

But, for the first time ever, the sun rose into a blue sky, and I went for an early morning swim in a warm ocean before breakfast on my birthday. This has to become a regular gig. We were whisked off (well, whisked might not really be accurate as we hit the rush hour in Barbados and it took us an hour to get about 10 miles) to the harbour and stepped aboard a fully crewed catamaran and given a welcome pina colada. I didn’t know I liked pina coladas until this week. Next stop was snorkelling with turtles and a few wrecks. And then a lovely sail, delicious lunch and more pina coladas. My chocolate birthday cake was delivered to by a speedboat, James Bond style. the bar has been set high for Husbant’s next birthday.

The rest of the week went far too fast but we continued to pig out every night. A trip to Bathsheba (the first episode of Series 4 of Succession was filmed at Bathsheba so I was summoning my inner Shiv) and a visit to Kemi’s restaurant was fab – best ever fish cakes for me. On the final day we went north to Animal Flower Cave. Interesting name. Just one flower in the cave and it is more of a sea worm with a fan. But you do get to swim in a cave which was pretty awesome.

So, same time, same place next year. Who’s coming?

So the crop circle book had a muted response, as expected, but a few people agreed it was beautifully written. The next book, well, don’t judge as they say.

Am sitting on the beach in Barbados listening to the waves crashing and watching some old folk bobbing up and down. Yesterday, there was a big group of old folk celebrating a 90th birthday – I think if I spent the winter in Barbados I might make it to 90 and would celebrate with some rum cake on the beach. Who wouldn’t? Husbant says these old folks are called ‘snowbirds’ as they flee the minuses in Canada and warm their bodies and souls in the Caribbean sunshine.

Quick note on the flight. There were celebrities of the driving type and acting type. The obligatory unknown salad which I never eat, and more eye-pleasing pudding which I always eat… prizes in the post for anyone who can identify the salad.

Watched a great new series called The Architect – Danish drama about, err, an architect. Try and watch it if you can. Worth a look.

Goddamn some surfers have turned up as the waves are lovely. That puts paid to my swimming. There are proper surf beaches here so not sure why they have turned up. Mind you, we were all body-boarding yesterday so maybe that annoyed some people. But, we only had one body board and so the only real disturbance was us laughing when someone got wiped out by an unexpected wave.

So to the food. I love the food here. I think the diet for most people who live here all the time isn’t so healthy. So. Much. Sugar. Husbant’s favourite drink is an extremely disgusting concoction called Plus. It’s hard to explain what it tastes like – comes in a bottle that looks like Sprite, not sure what colour it actually is as it is drunk straight from the bottle but definitely looks like it would turn your pee orange or green or blue.

Back to the food. The first night we wandered up the road and found a great restaurant called Sharkeys. Cold Banks beer and a plate of coconut shrimp and I was in heaven. I have tried not to order the shrimp each time we go out as I absolutely love it but I encourage the others to order it just so I can try it.

Bell had flying fish and mashed potato which reminded me of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was monumental.

We also ate at Cafe Luna which is in a lovely hotel called Little Arches near Miami beach. The food was so good and I was too eager to photo it – but I had a delicious crab crepe followed by a Bajan fish stew which was just the perfect level of spicy.

Spending the day at Miami beach, we opted for the local fried fishcakes which are just fantastic. Obviously unhealthy – more like a fish doughnut, but just perfect for a white sandy beach with turquoise sea on a blue Monday back home.

Last night, I decided to restrict myself to just one course as I wasn’t really feeling like Ursula Andress on the beach. So it was fish tacos. But I keep forgetting the portion sizes. They were delicious. I love eating food that makes you messy. And falls apart. Husbant eats everything with a knife and fork and sixteen napkins. That’s why we are a perfect couple. The second photo shows Connor eating his first barracuda and chips. Joy is everywhere.

Have to go as Husbant claims he has seen an osprey which has been blown over from Scotland and is eating all the fish in the sea in front of us. And I need a dip in the sea.

Be back soon!

You left me in a COVID delirium but with the magic of Cordyceps tea, which I brought back from Bhutan last year, some of Brother Graham’s homemade chicken soup and his handmade ginger shots, I am fully COVID free and happy to walk amongst the good people of Godalming. Check out Cordyceps if you haven’t already – it seems to be a miracle cure. I did have a cup of the tea when I got home from my travels and it tasted disgusting and I reckoned I would only ever drink it if I was Really Ill and all other options were off the table. With no tastebuds, when I got COVID, I thought I might as well given it another go. Tasted fine. As in, couldn’t taste it.

This particular tea is made from Ophiocordyceps sinesis, a caterpillar fungus that grows out of the larvae of ghost moths which fly only in the Himalayas above 3,500m. It grows out of the caterpillar’s brain – so caterpillars are a lot cleverer than you think.

Definitely go to Bhutan if you can. It’s an amazing country to visit and I fancy going back to trek further east where the mountains are more rugged. Just landing at the airport is thrilling. And remember to bring back some tea.

Have just finished the first batch of marmalade for 2024. I seem to collect jamjars all year round and then when I actually need them they are nowhere to be found. So I have an enormous kilner jar of marmalade and one normal size jar. If anyone wants some marmalade, just send me a jar and I will fill it up for you. It’s always such a hit and miss process which I sort of like because you never know exactly when it’s boiled enough to be at setting point. I get bored easily. And I put the saucer in the freezer for about a minute so that wrinkle test never really works. I do a lot of plate licking and then when I have had enough of standing around watching the bubbling cauldron, I let it cool for a bit and decant. I have been known to tip all the marmalade back into the pot the next day and boil it up again. Mad.

This year, aged 91, my mum has decided not to make her marmalade. Her’s was a true labour of love and involved muslin bags tied to cupboard handles dripping liquid gold into vessels which ended up being no rind marmalade. So more like a marmalade jelly. Delicious.

I have a great friend who said he loved kumquat marmalade. So I found some kumquats (was a few years ago and they were hard to find). Some needs clarification – I found about 300g of kumquats. At the end of the process, I made one jar of marmalade. But, he did say it was very tasty. He recently married and his wife is an amazing jam maker so my trifle this Christmas was made with her gorgeous loganberry jam. I got the balance of sherry/trifle sponge right this year (drink more than you put in), and it was a great trifle, even if I say so myself.

It’s snowing here and I need to finish my book club book. My choice this time. Not my finest at all. I thought I would find a story about people who make crop circles quite interesting. Am questioning that thought process. Am sure the rest of the book club will wish they had spent the hours more fruitfully, if they have managed to read it.

Will let you know.

In bed with COVID so not sure it’s such a happy new year. I am the last person to fall ill this Christmas/New year in the family but I have cared for all those feeling poorly with special homemade broth, hot toddies, lemon and honey, pills and TLC. Isn’t it weird how that doesn’t mean I can retire to my bed and get fed freshly made chicken broth, lemon and honey, and copious amounts of TLC when I get sick. I don’t mind really – am no good at asking and very good at saying no it’s ok when help is offered. So maybe a new year’s resolution should be made here and now. My husbant started to fall ill in that weird time between Christmas and new year when you are still stuffing your face with unnecessary chocolates. But when I did my COVID test today, and it was positive, I encouraged him to go and buy some fresh ones and for him to test. We had a large batch of tests which were too old and had no liquid left in the vials. He returned triumphant with a box of five. I removed all the equipment and explained he had to put the swab up both nostrils and twirl it around a bit. Oh the noises! It was like a wildebeest was being castrated. He then presented me with his swab and had used the wrong end. How is that ever a thing? I love him to bits but really, what? I explained the concept of the soft absorbent end and, as usual, he says he wasn’t allowed to do physics at school…

Turns out he is positive too. Explains a lot of the grumpiness on both sides this Christmas/New Year.

While I still had an ounce of energy, I started undressing the tree. There were more needles on the floor than on the tree – watering the tree is way down the list of things to do at Christmas. By the time I had removed the last decoration, it was just a stick. But I love all our decorations – each one has a story. I started to struggle with the effort of removing the tinsel the towards the end while husbant sat watching the cricket. I remembered a couple of years ago a friend had fallen and broken her leg trying to put her Christmas tree decorations in her loft. I realised it was a common problem.

Have left the rest of the deforestation in the living room to the boys – I can hear a dustpan and brush being used and with all my fingers crossed, I hope to hear the hoover soon… but I guess they might wait til the cricket is over – it’s an exciting match, apparently.

Not promising daily updates, but it’s good to talk. Will rest now and listen to the fantastic ‘This thing of darkness’ on R4.

Today is Christmas Day. Am normally already up and scurrying around sorting out the turkey and beginning to prep all the vegetables. This year is different.

My big brother died of COVID in March, 17 days after his 63rd birthday. In a cruel twist, his COVID was confirmed on his birthday. So this is our first Christmas without him. And it will be tough.

Usually, I cook Christmas dinner for family and friends. I love doing it and I love the house being full of parents, uncles, cousins, kids, ex husband or three…

Nick would arrive with a box of mince pies, some cheese and some chai tea. We would give each other a big hug and he would say “Thanks for doing this, Snoo. You are an angel.”

Pandemonium would reign for most of the morning until lunch was ready to be served. I would have one small meltdown as the lunch was coming to its final readiness (i think my kids might not agree with my use of the word small). But once everyone had a plate of food, we pulled crackers and then ate. Last year, we were 13.

It’s good to bring up memories of past Christmases. The year he brought round Bob Dylan’s Christmas CD and my mum saying “Who is this dreary fellow?”; the year when there was a particularly heated discussion about religion; the year when my oven broke and we had to decamp to Nick and Jo’s house for lunch. Many memories.

This year, it has all gone pear-shaped. I miss Nick’s counselling as the wranglings about who goes where when and how. He would look at the nonsense and find the best solution. He was my peacemaker. In his absence, my parents are alone on Christmas Day. It will be a Christmas like no other.

I miss him so much.

I bet soft-close toilets were designed by a man. Who needs a soft-closing lid? If you need to go, you generally need to go now. Not wait for the soft close. Who benefits from the soft close? Does anyone wait and watch it? Women don’t need to lift the seat up (unless it’s very splashed and the thigh muscles are feeling strong). Why bot a soft lift? That would re-balance the equation. Man busting, runs in, has to wait for the soft lift. Please, someone make a soft lift.

Second observation: in a meeting today. Everyone (but me) was wearing an Apple iphone watch (not sure I have the wording right – maybe just Apple watch). Given my watch has been sent away to its maker (weirdly, I thought the local jeweller in Godalming would be able to fix it but Husbant had grander plans – read expensive), I find it hard to gauge how interminable a meeting is. No clocks in meeting rooms. Some people left at some point…so I guessed it was over-running. Note to self: check how much longer my watch will be in another country and how much will I have to pay to get it back (it better not be more than the watch is worth, or more than the cost of an Apple watch).

Final moan. I get on and sit in a two-seater on the train next to a man who immediately grows chicken wings. Visibly expands his elbow to protrude into my space. What is wrong with these people. Why can’t I confront him with a witty remark. I immediately move over to sit on a three-seater across the aisle. Another person comes to sit down and I watch for the elbow flick. It happens but the new occupant ignores as she is busy on her phone. There is no-one in the middle of my three-seater and the train’s left. Who’s laughing now?