Yesterday we ate Strawberry and Verjuice Custard Tart from Elizabeth Hodder's
A Book of Old Tarts which has been hilariously delicious reading this week. As you can see we are indeed trying to move up a gear here in the Land of the (sometimes tearful) Strawberries and we ate it on Portstewart Strand.
You will deduce from the emptiness of the Strand that middle-aged women were as alone as any other age-group in the water last night... This is where we come to celebrate summer, but especially to bid it farewell. Bloggisme makes me realise this year how cyclical is life. At exactly this time last year I wrote
this melancholy poemette, but am much more positive this time round! What we strawberries will be in the new school year has yet to be revealed,...
... but I do however feel that if we (and our bath) were to move up a gear we would be careering down the stairs like the bath in
Jo's book, storytelling to the world!
Yesterday we ate Strawberry and Verjuice Custard Tart from Elizabeth Hodder's A Book of Old Tarts which has been hilariously delicious reading this week. As you can see we are indeed trying to move up a gear here in the Land of the (sometimes tearful) Strawberries and we ate it on Portstewart Strand.
You will deduce from the emptiness of the Strand that middle-aged women were as alone as any other age-group in the water last night... This is where we come to celebrate summer, but especially to bid it farewell. Bloggisme makes me realise this year how cyclical is life. At exactly this time last year I wrote this melancholy poemette, but am much more positive this time round! What we strawberries will be in the new school year has yet to be revealed,...
... but I do however feel that if we (and our bath) were to move up a gear we would be careering down the stairs like the bath in Jo's book, storytelling to the world!
5 comments:
Bloggisme: what a word! I may have to borrow it. It injects blogging with a soupcon of gazing into the middle distance, a hinted oblique importance. Well done for moving up a gear. May we hitch along?
I hope you didn't get sand in that.
I love your poem. I can almost feel the cool kiss of the seaside air. Each year is an adventure with children and they DO all mush together. Each and every sweet (and sometimes challenging) moment deserves a poem. Why didn't you invite me over for a slice of that delicious tart? YOU are the best, Mags!
Mise, I shall expect full credit for fraise lachrymose coinage; CL, yes, there was a crunchiness that didn't taste like sugar; and Pom, mush is how we live! Door always open for tarte in strawberry land! (Careful phrasing required there...)
The beach looks so bare, as if all the summertime goers are finished with it.
I liked your poem too.
Jody
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