How to Hobby

Throughout the years I have taken up many hobbies. That is, I have had many ideas of great hobbies, purchased the supplies for them, unpacked the supplies and lined them up on the dining table, aka the hobby space, ready to be used for the fabulous projects I have planned.

A few years back we had an exchange student from Germany. Maya, the Enthusiastic Kid, is a lovely girl, had much of the same interests as we do and she could quite frankly have been our’s. I got the idea that we ought to have matching pyjamas to wear around the house. Long Suffering Husband and Enthusiastic Kid were both thrilled with the idea. We were imagining how lovely we would all look sitting around the Christmas tree in our matching pyjamas, how we’d be the ideal family having healthy breakfasts, cuddle up together on the couch watching It’s a wonderful life… You get the picture.

Off I went to the haberdashery together with EK, bought a sewing machine, fabric, patterns and all the stuff you need to sew clothes. Having dragged all this home we subsequently unpacked all the bags and admired our purchases. There all of the stuff sat on the dining room table in all its glory and continued doing so until two days before Christmas when we realised we had to scurryfunge it all since we were expecting eight guests for dinner on Christmas day.

Two years later I had still not made any pyjamas, nor used the sewing machine, so I gave it all to Mother.

Since then I have planned and shopped for several other hobbies. I own embroidery kits, crocheting supplies, wreath making stuff, things to take up card-making and scrap-booking, oil paint and canvases and various other hobby stuff. All of which are boxed up in storage 500 km from here.

I have realised that I do, in fact, have a hobby though it may not be the most respectable. My hobby is shopping for hobby supplies!

Three fat ladies

Nigella and I were clearly separated at birth, not only from each other but also from our spiritual mother. However, I have finally found her! Just look at her! I could be her in 15 years time. She was fat, a cook, a country woman and rather mental – as am I! I´m, of course, talking about Clarissa Dickson Wright

You see, in the eight years that have passed since I last worked on this blog I have gone from atypical suburban wife in the northern parts of Stockholm to living in the deep woods outside of a tiny village in the north of Sweden. When I say tiny, I really mean tiny. Less than 300 people live here, a third of which are – shall we say – characters. It´s OK for me to say that, cause I am definitely one of them. We´re also a remarkably international bunch. Down our end of the lane there are more English spoken than Swedish. Three of the only four permanent households here are English speaking (and one is made up by a half-irish chap with his Swedish girlfriend), and three of the five holiday homes are too.

At the centre of village life is the shop. It´s one of those little village shops where you can get pretty much anything – what they haven´t got, they will get for you within a day or two. They also deliver. 

- Want bread, eggs and milk? Great! We´ll be with you in an hour.
- Want crocodile steak? It´ll take a bit longer. Say day after tomorrow?

Should you have your way around our neck of the woods (literally), do nip in, have a natter and buy something locally produced!

The shop is owned by Tommy, who knows everyone. He´s the equivalence of the landlord in a country pub – knows the business of everyone and can point you in the direction of whatever you may need. Sometimes the shop staff knows what you need before you do yourself – which is handy.

It´s easy to feel close to nature and a bit “prepperish” here. Every year we buy 20 kg of moose meat from a local hunter, we buy beef from a farmer in the next village and veg from another. At least I can pretend to be self sufficient.

We originally bought the house to use as a holiday home, but we fell in love with the area and the house so after just a year we upped sticks and moved here. In the garden we currently have red currants, rhubarb and damsons, but true to myself I am obviously planning a massive kitchen garden where we become self sufficient in fruit and veg. Last year we bought an apple tree and we´re already reaping the rewards of our caretaker´s efforts. One (1) apple is the ample crop this year.

Cleaning frenzy in Daemonia

Long Suffering Husband and I decided a couple of weeks back to swap the bedroom and study around but have found it hard to actually get around to doing it. Each day we vowed to do it "tomorrow" and each tomorrow came with yet more interesting things to do instead. Yesterday morning, however, I woke up terrifyingly early thanks to one of the Furry Terrorists demanding to be let out for his morning "number one" so decided to get started.

It took me three hours to clear the study of all junk and clean the walls and floors. Another hour, or so, to fit the furniture in and connect up the telly and after LSH took over and sorted out what used to be the bedroom, and is now the study. It looks really nice.

Only one problem...

The bedroom now needs new curtains. I have the material, but need to get on with the project of making them. Only the bedroom is so lovely I don't feel like moving out of bed to set up the sewing machine.

I wonder if I could teach LSH to sew? He's managed to perfect cooking, cleaning and washing. Just baking to go on the housekeeping front. Turning him into a dressmaker would complete the transformation perfectly!

Caught red handed

Awake at the crack of dawn – quite literally – this beautiful Saturday morning I am already planning today’s great adventures. Since I fell asleep before 10 pm last night I was up at 5 am and, as I have promised the Long Suffering Husband to do the cooking today, I am starting to prepare one of the few dishes I actually have mastered – a classic Russian Borscht.

The plan is to prepare all the veggies and the bacon and stock in the fabulous old Invicta pot I got from Mother, pop it all in the oven and let it slow cook whilst we go up the woods in search of some delightful mushrooms. It all sounds like the perfect weekend treat for a perfect suburban family. What could possibly go wrong? Perhaps tomorrow we'll put a roast in the oven before walking to the village church for Sunday service as well! Anyway, today a trip up the woods together with friends are in the cards.

I'm actually quite the mushroom picker! Usually I stick to Boletes, as there are no poisonous ones in this neck of the woods (pun intended). Destroying Angel I am also very proficient in finding, but those we are saving for an extra special treat.

In the afternoon I will harvest the Elderberry bush and make some lovely jam.

There is only one draw back with today's plans – the grating of beetroot for the soup stains your hands something silly! Makes you look like you've been through a blood bath for days. I have yet to come up with a solution for this. I tried making LSH grate the beetroot, but the sight of his stained hands are just as sickening as seeing my own. Grating wearing Marigolds isn't really an option since I definitely prefer not to get little pieces of latex in my soup, and the food processor broke a long time ago.

The perils of a Suburban Wife are many!

A daemon named Demeter

It's been a few days since I wrote last. During the weekend I was busy being Harvest Goddess in the woods, picking mushrooms, and then I've been in bed with a bit of a cold.

The Long Suffering Husband has been at his most heroic, running and fetching hankies, and extra blankies and pillows for me. In our family there is no such thing as ”man flu”. It is usually I who feel so terribly sorry for myself when I get ill that he'll pick up all the slack and take care of everything. He's very nurturing, LSH.

So, since Sunday I have been in bed, squealing like a birdling, demanding hot drinks and cuddles. I'm worse than the cats when I'm ill! LSH has done what he always does when I'm poorly, he's looked after me with the dedication of a Florence Nightingale.

The only thing that will solace me when I have a cold is blackcurrant tea and crumpets. Can't get crumpets here, so toast will have to do.

Autumn is my favourite time of year – the time when the urge to become a Domestic Goddess is at it's strongest. I emerge myself in mushroom picking, jam making and baking. The fact that we don't eat cakes or jam is neither here, nor there. It isn't the eating, it's the making and baking which empowers me.

Given half a chance I'd move out in the country and have my own herb garden. I'd have to win the lottery first, cause I'd need a gardener – I absolutely detest gardening! It's worse than ironing, and that is not to say little.

The age of Insanity

It's happened, what I have dreaded for some time now. He's finally snapped! My beloved Long Suffering Husband woke up this morning with the oddest look on his face.

Having always been of a more philosophical than practical nature, The Long Suffering Husband often bring me little food for thought. This morning he brought me one that lead me to believe he's gone from being possessed to down right insane.

- How do smurfs reproduce? He asked me.

What the fuck? Where did that one come from? Apparently he had the Smurf Song in his head and that had lead him to ponder the reproductive means of the blue little fellas living in the woods...

Now, being the dutiful wife I am – no smirking! Even I, who am half deaf, heard that! - I immediately got on to Google to try to find out. It seems to be a commonly debated question amongst net loonies.

They, unlike Donald Duck and the likes, actually wear trousers so clearly they have something to cover up down there. Providing the garment isn't just a fashion statement, that is.

Smurfette wears a dress and high heels – gender stereotyping if I ever saw it! What woman in her right mind would bother when she's in the very enviable position of being the only female in a whole bloody village full of men? It's like deciding you're on a strictly vegan diet at the same moment you arrive at the all-meat-you-can-eat-for-a-fiver buffet!

May the force of Persil be with you!

Who would have thought?

I am not a neat freak, not by far, but even I was starting to get frustrated by the state of the kitchen. Reasonably tidy it was, the floor was reasonably clean but the wall and ceiling by the cooker was in a shocking state. I could see any left over cash we would have for the next year going into redecorating the kitchen. To top that our cabinet doors are painted with a white, matte finish. Anything that spills down – and when does it not in a kitchen – stains the blasted doors.

As many of you know I am no stranger to cleaning equipment and practically every detergent that has hit the market since I was born. Every time something new is on the TV commercials I buy it, try it and discard it. So far I have tried pretty much everything bar blow torch on the cabinet doors, loads of elbow grease and still been disappointed. It may have looked cleaner, but not pristine.

Then, the other day, when I was sticking to my usual afternoon TV routine the cleaning ladies came on and scrubbed something in someone's house with ordinary laundry detergent dissolved in water. Can't hurt to try, I thought, boiled some water and donned the gloves.

One swipe over the cabinet door and the dirt just came off, I kid you not! No scrubbing, no rubbing, no effort at all! I was gob smacked. Had to shout for The Long Suffering Husband and tell him to watch. I was so chuffed I wouldn't even let him have a go, I did all of them myself.

Well, worked on the doors, I thought. Wouldn't do the ceiling and the wall behind the cooker though, of that I was convinced. But I decided to have a go. To my even greater surprise even that worked!

Now I refuse to leave the kitchen, I guard it like an Rottweiler would a juicy bone. There will be no more cooking to sully my pristine kitchen. At least not until the old stomach start growling at The Long Suffering Husband to don the pinny and get me some grub.