Thursday 18th September 2025
It isn’t officially autumn yet, but we’re kind of heading that way, and already I feel like the season of mellow fruitfulness is taking the absolute piss. It started with plums. Eileen has a tree in her garden and for some reason this year it produced a bumper crop. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good juicy plum. God knows I’ve fondled more than my fair share of them over the years, but let’s not go there, not now there’s a risk of being shut down under one of the new laws that seem to be taking over the UK these days. We’ll can the innuendo and stick with the actual fruit.
To be honest, if I never see another plum, I’ll be happy. Like I said, Eileen has a tree in her garden, bumper crop, etc, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem, because Eileen is a dab hand in the kitchen, and there isn’t much she can’t bake, bottle, pickle or turn into jam and chutney. Normally I’ll lend a hand, picking them, maybe take some home to eat and to make crumble from, leaving Eileen with the bulk to work her magic on.
Only this year, just as the plums came into their own, Eileen was sailing around the med with a couple of her gal pals, leaving me in complete charge of Horace, her moggy, and her garden, and the plums. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I picked them and basically did what she herself would do. I made plum chutney, plum and walnut chutney, plum jam, plum cake, plum crumbles, and even just ate some. I filled her store cupboards and her freezer with plum related produce, and some found its way over to the quasi mansion. It was a relief when the bloody tree was bare of fruit, and I could get back to cooking something that didn’t feature plums.
And then the apples started, followed by pears and brambles. It wasn’t all from Eileen’s garden. Some was from ours. Leo, ZZ, and random strangers also turned up with baskets of surplus because they know I hate waste and would feel obliged to make use of it. It cost a fucking fortune buying mason and kilner jars to bung it all in. I’ve got enough stuff to keep local garden fêtes and festive fairs stocked for years.
Weather wise, it’s turned out to be a gorgeous day here in my portion of Blighty, full on sunny, if a bit breezy, which is perfect for drying towels. There’s a chill on a morning and again in the evening that tells you the year has started to wind down. To be honest, it was proper chilly this morning, and I considered putting the heating on, until I caught Shane’s eye, and I thought, nah, bruh, don’t do it, mate. He reckons heating shouldn’t even be considered before the middle, or preferably the end of October.
Like I said last time, it’s been kind of a tough year, but I’m beginning to feel more present and more ‘me’ again, if that makes sense? I’m trying to steer clear of stuff that triggers me, because like the men folk say, there’s fuck all I can do to make the world sway to a sweeter beat. All any of us can do is try and find pleasures in our daily life, even if it involves plums.
Ciao for now, peeps.
It isn’t officially autumn yet, but we’re kind of heading that way, and already I feel like the season of mellow fruitfulness is taking the absolute piss. It started with plums. Eileen has a tree in her garden and for some reason this year it produced a bumper crop. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good juicy plum. God knows I’ve fondled more than my fair share of them over the years, but let’s not go there, not now there’s a risk of being shut down under one of the new laws that seem to be taking over the UK these days. We’ll can the innuendo and stick with the actual fruit.
To be honest, if I never see another plum, I’ll be happy. Like I said, Eileen has a tree in her garden, bumper crop, etc, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem, because Eileen is a dab hand in the kitchen, and there isn’t much she can’t bake, bottle, pickle or turn into jam and chutney. Normally I’ll lend a hand, picking them, maybe take some home to eat and to make crumble from, leaving Eileen with the bulk to work her magic on.
Only this year, just as the plums came into their own, Eileen was sailing around the med with a couple of her gal pals, leaving me in complete charge of Horace, her moggy, and her garden, and the plums. I couldn’t let them go to waste, so I picked them and basically did what she herself would do. I made plum chutney, plum and walnut chutney, plum jam, plum cake, plum crumbles, and even just ate some. I filled her store cupboards and her freezer with plum related produce, and some found its way over to the quasi mansion. It was a relief when the bloody tree was bare of fruit, and I could get back to cooking something that didn’t feature plums.
And then the apples started, followed by pears and brambles. It wasn’t all from Eileen’s garden. Some was from ours. Leo, ZZ, and random strangers also turned up with baskets of surplus because they know I hate waste and would feel obliged to make use of it. It cost a fucking fortune buying mason and kilner jars to bung it all in. I’ve got enough stuff to keep local garden fêtes and festive fairs stocked for years.
Weather wise, it’s turned out to be a gorgeous day here in my portion of Blighty, full on sunny, if a bit breezy, which is perfect for drying towels. There’s a chill on a morning and again in the evening that tells you the year has started to wind down. To be honest, it was proper chilly this morning, and I considered putting the heating on, until I caught Shane’s eye, and I thought, nah, bruh, don’t do it, mate. He reckons heating shouldn’t even be considered before the middle, or preferably the end of October.
Like I said last time, it’s been kind of a tough year, but I’m beginning to feel more present and more ‘me’ again, if that makes sense? I’m trying to steer clear of stuff that triggers me, because like the men folk say, there’s fuck all I can do to make the world sway to a sweeter beat. All any of us can do is try and find pleasures in our daily life, even if it involves plums.
Ciao for now, peeps.