Task 11: Learn how to use the satnav

This may seem a doddle to most of you, but so far it’s always been Peter who uses the satnav and does the vast bulk of the driving.  I felt it was high time I got to grips with both, especially now that we have a car with a built-in satnav.  Previously it’s been a source of some friction, as our old Garmin packed up years ago and Peter was very reluctant to replace it.  After numerous failed attempts to use an app on his phone to get us from a to b, I researched options for alternatives to Garmin – which he’d never been happy with – and found that none of them had particularly good reviews.  We were still floundering with his phone and arriving late for lunches, dinners etc when the replacement of our car solved the problem.  Now all I had to do was learn how to use the new satnav.

I started by reading the instruction manual, which seemed reasonably clear.  Then it was time to settle down in the car and try entering destinations, flagging up favourites and deciding which features I was likely to want to use.  The weather was bitterly cold so I had to leave the engine running for a while to provide some warmth.  I didn’t expect to be there all that long but thought I should explain to our neighbour, Jane, that she needn’t worry if she saw me apparently slumped over the wheel.  She very kindly offered the loan of her teenage son, who would be able to sort it out for me within minutes.  Tempting, but I wanted to learn how to do it myself.  Besides, how difficult could it be?

Half an hour later, I was still trying to work out how to switch off the radio while leaving the satnav live and audible.  Eventually I was able to progress onto programming our home address, which was easy.  The next step was to add various addresses of friends who live some distance away, in Sussex and East Anglia. 

According to the instructions, it was essential to rename each of the destination addresses I wished to save, otherwise they would automatically be overridden as I entered new ones.  Fine – if I could find the elusive “rename” tab.  I never did, though the option of flagging them as favourites would apparently do the trick and that proved easier.  Should I also save the preferred route?  With my sense of direction I hadn’t the faintest idea whether the route I’d selected was for Sussex, East Anglia or somewhere completely different, so I decided I’d simply choose my route each time and not bother about pre-setting it.

After an hour muttering and cursing, I finally had all the destinations entered and saved.  As I was planning to drive to Cambridge the next day – one of my Facing the Fear tasks – it seemed sensible to check that the satnav was definitely working, as neither Peter nor I had used it yet.  I reversed out of the drive, into the road, and waiting for the voice to start issuing guidance.  Absolutely nothing.  Maybe I hadn’t gone far enough, so I drove down the road towards the Common.  Silence.  OK, time to upset it a bit and see if that worked, so I returned to the drive and set off in the wrong direction – a limited option, as we live in a cul de sac.  Happily as I neared the dead end, a voice kicked into action and urged me to take a U-turn when passable (I’ve since discovered it can’t pronounce “possible” or “Peterborough” correctly).  Bingo, job done and I could go back indoors to the bliss of central heating.

Since then, I’ve discovered it has a number of other useful features, such as showing the speed limit on the map and providing a snapshot of key information on a little display beside the speedometer.  Interestingly its assessment of the fastest route doesn’t take account of obstacles such as the level crossing in North Sheen, which can be shut for 10 minutes at a time, nor the awful roundabout with fast-moving traffic and limited visibility a little further on – definitely a route to be avoided.  Nonetheless I found it a huge help negotiating the North Circular and am so glad I can now use it.

Task 29: Make chutney

After the failure of the carrot cake – “just about edible”, said an honest friend – I decided it was time to venture into the kitchen again and see if I could do better.  Chutney sounded appealing and could be useful with any leftover turkey or sausages.  Armed with a WI recipe supplied by my friend Pauline, I immediately hit a problem.  The cooking apples had to be cored and chopped, but should they be peeled as well?  It didn’t say (possibly the WI regard it as too obvious to mention, though I think they should consider culinary numpties like me before going to print).  Happily Google supplied the answer, which was an unsurprising yes.

Then I had to find some jars, which had to be cleaned, sterilised and vinegar-proof.  I’d forgotten that my suitable ones were already full of prunes in Armagnac, marinating ready for the New Year’s Eve dinner party with neighbours, and since we’ve switched from toast and marmalade to porridge for breakfast, we get through very few jars in a year.  The exception is the relatively tall, thin type that holds olives for our martinis, but even then I could find only one.  Time to root through the fridge and cupboards to see what was past its use-by date.  The result was rather embarrassing, including a half-empty jar of sun-dried tomatoes that were turning fluffy and black.  Yuk. 

Anyway, I eventually found enough and made sure they were thoroughly soaked, scrubbed and sterilised in the oven.  The preserving pan was wedged in the back of a cupboard, never having been used in over 30 years.  It originally belonged to my husband Peter’s first mother-in-law, who could probably have made chutney in her sleep.  I had kept it as I had long entertained a vision of bustling creativity in the kitchen, conserving, preserving and generally steering just clear of the earth mother image.  Now was my chance.

The recipe looked straightforward, although the initial appearance of the assembled ingredients wasn’t encouraging:

I’m not sure what those speckly bits are, but they look worse in the other photo I took.  The chunks of apple also seemed rather large.  Should I have chopped them more finely?  Again, the WI hadn’t offered any guidance on this.

After an hour and a half of simmering, stirring and anxiously peering into the pan, the work in progress was looking frankly unappetising:

That greyish scum, top right, was especially disturbing. 

Having got so far, I was determined to finish the task and there was always the possibility it was actually meant to look like that.  At least the apple wasn’t now so prominent and the speckles had disappeared into the general bubbling mass.

Finally, after two hours it was time to pour the chutney into the hot jars.  A funnel would have been useful.  In the end Peter held the pan at an angle while I laboriously used a small spoon to guide the contents into the jars.  So as not to waste any and also to make sure there was no excess air left inside, I slightly overfilled each one.  Putting the lids on was a messy business, with sticky chutney sliding down the side.  The end result did look quite promising, though:

Looking at the storage instructions, I noted that chutney has to be left for 2-3 months before it’s ready to eat.  So much for my plans to have it with the Christmas leftovers.  It will be Easter before I know whether it’s been a success or not – always assuming it doesn’t explode in the dark cupboard in the garage where it’s now maturing.  My father’s mother once destroyed an entire stone larder when the ginger beer she was brewing became a little too lively.  Maybe my lack of skill in the kitchen is genetic?

I’ll report back after Easter on the outcome – or earlier in the event of detonation.

Task 26: Eat 5 foods I’ve never tried before - 2nd post

Unlike my first post about this task, vegetarians should have no objection to this one.  Originally it seemed there were no vegetables readily available that I hadn’t already eaten at some point, but recently I was in Earls Court and came across a Thai greengrocer’s with an interesting display outside.  A number of the items looked unfamiliar and a woman who was browsing inside the shop very kindly came out and explained what each one was.  I bought three, thinking that this task was coming along nicely, but in the end rejected the bitter gourd as too uninviting.

Please meet the taro root and the moringa pod:

When I googled the taro root and how to cook it, the results were as unpromising as its appearance.  Gloves should be worn when handling it, as the surface is a skin irritant and the raw flesh is mildly toxic, and slimy when boiled. If you fail to boil it for long enough, it releases needle-like crystals which make the mouth and throat burn and itch, and cause the tongue to swell. Apparently it has been used on humans to make them unable to speak because of the extent of this swelling, hence the name “dumbcane”.  Lovely.  Clearly a good choice.

The moringa pod didn’t sound much better.  The taste is said to be unpleasant, when eaten for the first time it can induce a gag reflex, and eating only tiny quantities is advisable as it can cause severe vomiting and diarrhoea. The smaller, springier pods can be eaten rather like asparagus but mine appeared to be in the older, woodier category which was altogether less appetising.  However it could be cut open and the seeds extracted.  The slimy mush surrounding them should be peeled away and the seeds inside cooked like peas.  They are rich in vitamins and minerals but for novices no more than one seed a day is recommended, unless you are happy to write your day off and spend it in the bathroom.  Super.

About an hour later, once the taro root had had its skin sliced off – it’s too tough to peel – and the flesh cut into cubes about an inch square, and then cooked in boiling water until I was optimistic that no needle crystals could be left, it was ready to be mashed with a little butter.  The result was a dense greyish lump.  Meanwhile I sliced open the moringa pod, extracted the seed pods, removed the slime and boiled the rather pretty light green seeds for about 6 minutes. 

Then, with the addition of a cheese omelette, it was time for dinner:

The taro was surprisingly tasty, with a slightly nutty flavour.  Having limited myself to only one seed, it was difficult to say what the moringa was like, but I felt fine afterwards.

So, that’s three food items tackled and only two more to go! 

Task 6: Do the Glass Floor Challenge at Tower Bridge

This was kindly suggested by my friend Pauline, who doesn’t share my fear of heights.  Feeling a bit punch drunk after going down the giant Orbit slide, I thought I might as well make a day of it and tackle this challenge as well.  Looking up at Tower Bridge, what struck me was not so much the size but how much more attractive it is than the ArcelorMittal Orbit, as well as being functional.  I like a lot of modern architecture but the Orbit doesn’t do it for me.

There are actually two Glass Floor Challenges, although they are virtually identical.  You can see the glass panels if you look at the middle of the enclosed walkways in the photo on the right.  Ideally you’d want to walk across them when the bridge is raised – always a special sight - so that you are looking straight down into water rather than a combination of the river to one side and the road to the other.  However in the winter it doesn’t open all that often and when it does, it’s frequently in the evening when the Challenge is closed.

For anyone with vertigo, looking down onto flowing water is particularly difficult as it seems to upset your sense of balance almost instantly.  There were a few young people who were clearly struggling, while their friends – in a group of about 100 French schoolchildren – were cheerfully jumping up and down on the glass, to add to their discomfort.  It was crowded and noisy but they very politely cleared a path when they realised this ancient woman was approaching the edge and planning to walk across.  While I gingerly walked onto the glass and stared at the Thames below, and then lay down so that I could admire the view of the river in the mirror above, I realised one of the children was attempting a handstand behind me.  It really wasn’t possible to feel scared in those conditions, which was fine by me.

I reckon I got off pretty lightly with this particular task and am happy to be able to cross it off the list.  Incidentally if you wonder why I’m lying on the glass floor with my legs in the air (while Peter is beside me, taking a photo), it’s because one of the guides said it makes the effect more striking.  I’m not sure it does, but it was good exercise for my muscles as Peter’s camera had a hissy fit and I had to hold the pose for ages.  By the time I was vertical again, the French lad had given up on the handstand and was rubbing his head ruefully.

Task 7: Whizz down the Orbit giant slide

This was definitely one of those Tigger experiences, like going paragliding. My immediate thought was that I’d really enjoy it, even though I don’t like heights.  Then, having included it in my list of 60 tasks so it was too late to change my mind, I began to realise this was unlikely.  Hurtling down a narrow corkscrew tube, given I can’t even turn my head without feeling dizzy, seemed daft.  Seeing the ArcelorMittal Orbit up close wasn’t reassuring, as it's a long way up:

We went up in the lift to the top floor to admire the view and bizarrely found a photoshoot of a host of Santas and occasional elves taking place.  This was too good an opportunity to miss, so I started sidling up close enough to get in the shot (I’m the shadowy figure on the left):

A little cluster obligingly made space for me and then moved me centre-stage.  I’ve no idea why they were there or what the photos were for:

After that, I couldn’t delay any longer and joined the very small queue for the descent, while Peter got the lift back down to the ground floor, ready to photograph my exit from the tube.  As I was waiting, I noticed a sign which said that no-one with vertigo should go down the slide.  I don’t recall seeing any such advice on the website when I made the booking but I was determined to go ahead with it, even though by that stage I was heartily regretting the whole idea.  Hearing the screams of those hurtling downwards didn’t help.

When it was my turn I had to don a protective bonnet – not a fetching look – and forearm guards, and then clamber into a sort of sack with the front top half cut away, resting on a rubber mat on the metal slide.  I was instructed to hold a cord attached to the foot of the sack with my right hand, while pulling myself forwards with the other, until I reached a certain point, when I should grasp the cord with both hands.  Throughout the descent I should keep my shoulders relaxed and sit half upright.  With a helpful shove from the instructor, I was off.

Just relax, I told myself.  Suddenly everything went black, which I wasn’t expecting, and I started being thrown from side to side, while picking up speed and going round in circles.  After a brief section which had some daylight, it went black again and I was going so fast it felt out of control and really scary.  Then – whoomph – I plummeted down into space and nausea became the overriding sensation.  Thankfully only a few seconds later I emerged into fresh air. 

Peter was ready with the camera but wasn’t sure at first that it was me.  Everyone else had appeared with their head and shoulders raised, whereas all he could see of me was a pair of white hands clutching the cord:

It was a couple of minutes before I could face getting vertical again and displaying my bonnet:

The smile is misleading – it’s sheer relief.  To be fair, I was at least 35 years older than anyone else doing it and unlike them, I wasn’t exactly having a ball.  Still, I was really glad to have achieved it, and even happier knowing I’d never have to do it again.  Tiggers definitely prefer extract of malt.

Task 28: Bake a carrot cake

Many of you would not regard this as a challenge at all.  For me, though, the entire kitchen is pretty much outside my comfort zone.  About ten years ago I did buy the ingredients to make a carrot cake, which is Peter’s favourite, but never got around to doing anything with them.  Two friends – Pauline and Libby - rallied round and supplied me with infallible recipes, from Mary Berry and Mongolia respectively.  They were fairly similar but as I was assured that you simply can’t go wrong with Mary Berry, I opted for that. 

Initially it was fairly promising, although the carrot seemed past its best and somewhat outnumbered by the bananas:

It didn’t take too long to prepare the cake mix and although the end result looked a bit overdone, it was just the right side of burnt and the skewer duly came out clean when I plunged it through the middle.  The mascarpone and walnut icing seemed to go relatively smoothly too:

This afternoon we decided to have a slice with a cup of tea and I was quietly confident that all would be well.  The icing had benefited from the cake having spent the night in the fridge and looked firm but not rock-hard.  This cooking malarkey seemed far more straightforward than I’d expected.  On the other hand, when I cut through the cake, the knife did feel as though it was encountering some firm resistance - and not in a good way.

I tried a forkful and it wasn’t pleasant. The texture was stodgy and the taste was a mixture of banana and flour, in a sort of clammy consistency.  You couldn’t taste any carrot at all and even the walnuts seemed to have vanished.  Possibly, though, my judgement was being affected by my dislike of bananas.  Either way, it was time Peter tried it – especially as it had been made specifically with him in mind.  He’s a kind man and has also learnt over the years that brutal honesty doesn’t often go down well.  His verdict?  “Hmm, not great.” 

So even Mary Berry has met her match – and Peter has the rest of the cake to wade through.

Task 9: Take part in a singing workshop

The reason this is in the Facing the Fear section is that I dread singing in public.  It dates back to when I was at primary school and had some doubts about whether I was singing in tune.  I asked the girl standing next to me if I was, she said no, and that was that.  Henceforth I mimed, although I did make a special effort for our wedding.  A couple of weeks before the event I was walking home from the station, humming the tune of one of the hymns, and I happened to be on crutches at the time.  A young man suddenly materialised beside me, flung his arms in the air and asked if I’d been saved in my time of trouble.  Well, not exactly.

When two friends, Patricia and Kathy – both of whom have excellent voices and used to sing in famous choirs – were looking through my list of 60 (then only about 35) proposed tasks, they commented that there was very little connected with music.  Naturally they suggested singing in public.  When I said that for me, that would be really scary, they smiled happily.  For some weeks I couldn’t face adding it to the list and then I mentioned it to another friend, Libby, who told me about the singing workshops held in Ham by Delia Rosenboom.  She had been to one with her elder daughter, who at the time found it challenging to hold a tune, and they had both thoroughly enjoyed it – and her daughter now had no problem with singing.

I contacted Delia, explaining my concern about potentially wrecking the session for everyone else if I warbled aloud, and she reassured me that it would be fine.  There would be other beginners taking part and I definitely wouldn’t have to sing solo.  On that basis, I decided I was out of excuses and added it to my list of tasks.

On Saturday, I glumly contemplated the humiliation awaiting me.  It seemed extremely doubtful that any sounds I produced could be regarded as harmonious, let alone uplifting:

Advent Taize Chants by Candlelight (London)

Saturday 10th December 2016, 7 – 9 pm

St.Richard’s Church, Ashburnham Road, Ham, Richmond, TW10

Beautiful, easy-to-learn rounds and songs in uplifting four-part harmony.
Songs that nourish and open the heart, from the Taize monastery
and other sacred traditions. An evening not to be missed.
A beautiful, magical lead up to Christmas!

When I arrived at the church, it was in semi-darkness, lit mainly by a lovely ring of candles in the centre.  Libby appeared, along with one of her friends, to provide moral support – and tactfully stood some way distant, when the 40 or so of us were asked to form a circle.  Delia began by getting us to “doodle” with our voices, holding a single note – any note we liked – then sliding up and down the register at random.  I started to relax, knowing it didn’t matter what I sounded like and enjoying the experience of simply making a noise.

 

Gradually we moved towards learning a short, simple song in Latin which the Taizé monastic order uses as a form of meditative chant.  Delia has a beautiful voice, clear and pure, and the gift of using visualisation to explain the different notes and how they interlink. Having mastered that song, we were then taught three harmonic variations using the same words, and given the option of picking whichever one we felt most comfortable with.  I chose the simplest, which consisted essentially of just one note, fairly low-pitched.  As we became more confident, Delia encouraged us to move within and around the circle, so the four harmonies became entwined.  The overall sound was indeed uplifting and it was easy to imagine the monks, moving towards a state of meditation.

We followed a similar principle in learning three other songs, singing in four-part harmony, in rounds.  To my surprise I found I was loving it and even branched out into relatively high notes, which I’ve never attempted before.  Libby managed to sneak a photograph of me during the break, looking happy and relaxed:

At the end of the workshop I floated out, having had a wonderful time – and feeling confident that when it comes to singing in public again, I’m no longer going to mime.  The fear has gone and I’m even planning to sign up for another workshop!

Task 26: Eat 5 foods I've never tried before

When I came up with this idea for a task, I initially thought it wouldn't be that difficult.  After all, there must be quite a few vegetables I'd never eaten.  Unlike fruit, they don't feature highly in my list of preferences.  Despite setting foot in the kitchen as rarely as possible, I have a substantial collection of cookery books as I enjoy the idea of cooking, if not the reality.  Looking through the vegetarian section, I found a list of all the vegetables typically available in the UK and was dismayed to find I'd chomped through every one of them at some point in my life.  The list of fruit was a little more promising but basically, having consulted the books in the meat, poultry and fish sections, it looked as though I was going to have to venture into offal.  (Any vegetarians might want to stop reading now.)

Like most people I'm not keen on eating internal organs or even thinking about them. Liver I can manage, having got used to it as a child and again at university when diet was largely dictated by cost.  I'm much too squeamish to contemplate anything else in the offal department.  This was definitely going to prove a challenge, and not a welcome one.

Fortunately on my birthday, when Peter and I went to a French restaurant for lunch, the special for the day was a beef dish which included ox cheek as an accompaniment.  It sounded thoroughly unappetising but I was keen to start tackling the list of tasks as soon as possible and this was too good an opportunity to turn down.  Luckily the offending article was encased in a little pastry Wellington, so I didn't really have to look at it.  To my surprise it was delicious - tender and full of flavour.

So, one down and four more to go....