Task 1: Abseil down a high building

As I stood looking up a 30 metre tower in East Grinstead on Saturday, I recalled that this task had been my own idea, so I had only myself to blame:

Being scared of heights, it was a natural choice for the Facing the Fear section.  It just didn't seem such a good idea now it was time to tackle it. Donning the harness, my hands were shaking so much I was struggling to do up the straps:

As I climbed the three flights of steps, I felt literally sick with nerves. The instructor spotted I'd forgotten to double-wrap the two leg straps, while I was at the top of the tower and about to lean over the edge, so that was put right before it did any damage. Luckily, too, a pack of young Brownies arrived at that point, which reinforced my flagging resolve as I thought I really couldn't bail out in front of a little Brownie.

Levi, the instructor, did a great job of explaining exactly what I needed to do and reassuring me. Curiously - and unlike some of the others, who were mostly there because they actually wanted to do it - I wasn't at all bothered by having to stand with my back to the drop, with my heels hanging over the edge:

What I was much less keen on was having to lean right out and down, until I was in an L-shape with my heels flat on the vertical surface of the tower:

There was nothing for it but to start "walking" down, trying to maintain that shape:

It wasn't going too badly until about a third of the way from the ground, when I slipped and lost my footing:

From then on, it was decidedly inelegant but I made it down safely and tottered to the bench, knowing I'd have to do it at least once more:

Gradually, as the other ten or so in the group either did their first descent or abseiled down for the second time, I relaxed and savoured the thought that whatever happened, I had already accomplished this challenge.  By the time it was my go, I ascended the steps almost looking forward to it. Levi was very surprised when he saw me striding cheerfully towards him. It then nearly all went pear-shaped, as I walked briskly to the side of the tower and stood with my heels hanging over the edge - completely forgetting that I wasn't yet attached to any of the ropes. One more step and I've have plunged to the ground, with nothing to break my fall. Fortunately Levi stopped me in time and I descended safely and with a lot more confidence than before. Peter captured the descent on video, though not the huge smile as I rejoined the bench:

https://youtu.be/n-13uwUANds

I was almost disappointed when Levi announced we'd now run out of time and none of us would have the chance to go down a third time. Maybe that was just as well, as I think I'd have been tempted to take up the option of doing it blindfold. Or maybe not....  

Task 37: Attend a tai chi class

According to the Mayo Clinic's website, "Originally developed for self-defense, tai chi has evolved into a graceful form of exercise that's now used for stress reduction and a variety of other health conditions. Often described as meditation in motion, tai chi promotes serenity through gentle, flowing movements".  I'd come across it when I worked at VSO and we were offered - as an enlightened form of staff development - the opportunity to have a taster session of this or a number of other activities.  I can't now remember why I plumped for tai chi, but I do recall enjoying it and also being impressed by the physical and mental poise of the young female instructor. It was more physically demanding that it appeared at first sight and required a substantial degree of focus to get all the movements in the correct order. The sight of literally thousands of Chinese men and women practising it at sunrise in the parks in Beijing - and wherever Peter and I went in China - was unforgettable.

This memory floated to the surface when I was looking at the health-related activities available locally. Yoga was an option but I really dislike downward dog, salute to the sun and the warrior pose - all of which seem to crop up at some stage, whichever class you attend. Tai chi had the advantage of not requiring any equipment and of stretching one's mental abilities as well as improving general flexibility. In principle I could do it anywhere, any time. Going to a class and learning how to do it properly - and continuing to practise it into my dotage - seemed a good idea, and definitely worth including in my list of challenges.

Finding a local class for beginners which didn't involve signing up to a long course took a while, but one of the Nordic walking tutors mentioned the Bradbury centre in Kingston. When I googled it, I found it slightly depressing that it was described as "Kingston's only dedicated centre for active seniors", as that isn't how I see myself. Yet. Still, it had a beginner's tai chi class on Friday afternoons - as well as a more advanced class - and when I rang to ask about taking part, there was a spare space.

As usual I got lost finding my way there (I really must tackle task 13, Mastering the google map app). When I found the centre, I was pleasantly surprised by its relaxed and sunny atmosphere, and by the other activities it has on offer. Everyone was very friendly and I recognised one of the other participants - Pat (second from the left in the photo below) - from an exercise class we both attended last year. I had the opportunity to watch the advanced class for ten minutes or so and was impressed to find out afterwards that they practise a sequence of 64 movements, compared to the 8 that the beginners aim to memorise and master.

The Chinese music was soothing and the doors were open to the garden area, where the flowers were in full bloom and the sun was shining. As Jean led us through the various movements, gently correcting any mistakes to ensure that we were all in balance and in harmony with one another, it felt like a wonderful way to spend a Friday afternoon.

Jean, and everyone in the class, very kindly agreed to let me take a photo of them for this blog - including one member who wouldn't usually allow herself to be photographed, but was willing to on this occasion given the two charities (Beating Bowel Cancer and Arthritis Research UK) that will be benefiting from my year of challenges:

Jean in the centre of the group

I very much enjoyed the class and plan to carry on attending. It's early days, but on the basis of the session today I would recommend it as a way of exercising the grey cells as well as the body.

Task 27: Make jam

When Peter and I married and had to merge two homes into one, we needed to take a critical look at our possessions and jettison some of them. I was interested to see that he had a preserving pan, which had belonged to his first mother-in-law. With visions of foraging for berries and producing an array of traditional jams - a kind of Mrs Tiggywinkle on speed - I insisted we keep it. For 28 years it has sat unused and, never having made jam in my life, I decided this task should go on my list.

As summer arrived, it occurred to me that I'd better get a move on. Unless we're on holiday and enjoying croissants for breakfast, we never eat jam so I had no particular views on what type I wanted to make. My only preferences were that it should be a pretty colour and as easy as possible to produce. My friend Edith mentioned that she'd promised to make some for the WI stall at the Ham Fair, which takes place on the second Saturday in June every year. I asked if I could come over and make it for her, under her instruction, and she kindly agreed - although she knew it would be quicker simply to do it herself.

If you've been following this blog, you may remember Edith and her sorrel and plum compote from the postscript to Task 26 (Eat 5 foods I've never tried before). Before she married, she lived in a farming village in Germany, next to the Danish border. There was no electricity, food was very limited and money was tight, especially as her father had been killed in the early months of the war. Like many girls and women then, both in Germany and the UK, she used to bottle, preserve and pickle fruit to provide a supply throughout the winter. Almost nothing that was edible escaped their foraging, particularly if it contained vitamin C or iron. As a result, Edith is very knowledgeable about anything growing wild and how it can be used. She is also an excellent cook and very patient, so she was an ideal jam making tutor.

I arrived last Thursday afternoon, complete with apron, pen and notebook, and after a cup of tea and a chat we got started. Edith had been to her allotment to gather the rhubarb (600g) and to Kingston to buy the strawberries (400g), and as she already had 1kg of jam sugar and a lemon, the ingredients were all to hand. She had also washed and sterilised her recycled jam jars, and explained that they needed to be left to drain on a clean tea towel. When I asked if that meant they should be turned upside down, she looked at me thoughtfully.... 

My first task was to hull the strawberries and top and tail the rhubarb, and then chop it into very small pieces. The smell was wonderful - fresh and crisp. One of the many things I like about Edith is that she says what she thinks, so you always know where you stand. As she dealt with yet another daft question, she commented "It comes in handy when you've worked at a nursery".  For the record, here is a photo showing exactly what size the cut rhubarb should be:

Once all the rhubarb has been chopped, you add half to a very large pan and cover it with about a third of the jam sugar, shaking the pan until the fruit is coated:

You then add the rest of the rhubarb and another third of the sugar, and shake the pan again. Now you quarter the strawberries and add them to the pan, followed by the rest of the sugar and the juice of 1 lemon:

You put the pan on a low/medium heat until the sugar has all dissolved, stirring occasionally. This takes about 30-45 minutes (I can't remember exactly how long, as we took the opportunity to have a cup of coffee and a natter). Once the sugar has fully dissolved, you turn the heat up to maximum and do a rapid boil for about 5 minutes, stirring as necessary to stop the mixture sticking to the pan, especially on the base:

Now comes the time to test whether the jam is ready to set. You take a saucer from the fridge - or if you've forgotten to put one there, you can use the ice tray from the freezer, tipping out one of the cubes to create a space - and place about half a teaspoonful of jam onto it. Once it forms a skin, it's ready. (Repeat this test as necessary.)  When you're satisfied that a skin has formed, turn the heat off and let the liquid calm down. Using a spoon, remove the foam from the surface of the jam. Fill the jars immediately, to the absolute brim, and put the lids on. As a vacuum is created inside, you should hear and/or see the lids dip down slightly in the centre. Wipe the outside of the jars clean and, once they've cooled down, add labels:

There was enough left over to fill a tiny pot for me to take home:

I was under strict instructions from Edith not to taste it for at least 4 days, to allow some of the acidity to diminish. Ideally I was supposed to leave it for up to 3 weeks, but I couldn't wait that long and Peter and I had some on toast on Sunday evening. It was a very pretty deep rose pink colour and had a lovely flavour - neither too sweet nor too sharp. The texture was fine too. I was surprised at how easy it had been to make and how much I'd enjoyed the process, particularly doing it with a friend. It won't help my waistline if I start eating jam, but maybe I can make some for friends as little gifts. I just need to find some who aren't on a no-sugar diet....

Task 31: Hold a fundraising dinner (entirely unaided and home-cooked) for 8 people

This task was suggested simultaneously by two friends and neighbours, Kathy and Patricia, with the condition that the dinner had to be entirely unaided and home-cooked being smugly added by Peter, who normally does all the cooking at home. Having been on a cookery course (task 23) given a month ago by another neighbour, Margaret, who is a professionally trained chef, I was supposed to do a full practice run about 2 weeks ago. In the event I decided to rely instead on beginner's luck, although I did take the precaution of re-reading the notes I'd made during the course.

I began to get seriously concerned when I saw the mountain of ingredients required for this one meal:

Like the coriander, I was beginning to wilt. Too late, I realised that I really should have done that dry run. That feeling became stronger as I came across various entries in the recipes which, on reflection, weren't entirely clear. For example, what type of cream should it be - single, double or whipping?  What constitutes a "gentle heat" for an enormous casserole? Does "whipping" involve using a whisk, a fork or a spoon (wooden or metal)? And how do you cook 4 dishes simultaneously, with only two ovens, when each one requires a different temperature? 

Fortunately I couldn't afford to waste time pondering, as my schedule was tight. I decided to spread the pain over three days, to ease the pressure, and settled down on the Thursday to make the chocolate brownies and the marinade for the chicken and apricot tagine. That should have been pretty straightforward, but the brownies didn't set properly and I couldn't risk popping them back in the oven later as the tops were quite crisp in places - verging on burnt, really. At least they tasted OK and I hoped that after a couple of days in the fridge, they'd firm up a bit. The marinade was fairly simple and it was fun using lots of spices.

The weather on Friday was lovely and I looked ruefully out of the kitchen, where I remained for the entire day. The first mishap came early on, when I started making the chicken and apricot tagine. I'd been advised to make double the quantity in the recipe, but in fact that would have been enough for about 16 people rather than just 8. The problem was that by the time I'd added 6 onions, 8 cloves of garlic, 120g of sultanas, 4 tablespoons of honey, 2 preserved lemons, and 400g of dried apricots, my largest saucepan was overflowing - and I still had 1.5 litres of chicken stock and 4 cans of chopped tomatoes to go. In the end I transferred it all to a jumbo mixing bowl, added the remaining ingredients and wondered what to do next:

Obviously what I should have done was divided the mixture into my 2 largest casserole dishes before adding the tomatoes and stock, as it would then have been relatively easy to stir it and make sure it was thoroughly blended. As it was, I now had an overflowing bowl with the ingredients sitting in separate layers. My only option was to ladle out successive layers, in roughly pro rata amounts (the casserole dishes were clearly different sizes but I didn't know the capacity of either of them), and give them a good stir. This wasn't a promising start, but at least I'd finished that section and the 2 casseroles were in the top and main ovens, cooking at my best guess of what a "gentle heat" was meant to be.

As the ovens were going to be occupied for the next two hours, I moved on to the starters. First was the beetroot dip, which had a surprising number of ingredients: beetroot, carrot, garlic, coriander, cinnamon, orange juice, fresh chilli, salt and pepper, fresh dill, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and lemon juice. It seemed to be proceeding smoothly and was certainly an attractive colour:

It was meant to bubble quietly until the carrot was softish, but some considerable time later the carrot was still definitely crunchy. Eventually I gave up and moved on to the next stage, transferring it all to the food processor and pulsing it "until you have the texture you like". After blitzing it for ages, it hadn't reached that point. Not even close - unless you like little lumps of hard carrot. I noticed that the mixture was increasingly coating the sides of the food processor and I reckoned it wasn't close enough to the blades for them to have much impact. I couldn't face starting again - and anyway I was out of beetroot - so I added a splash of orange juice, a bit more olive oil and some balsamic vinegar, and tried pulsing it again. It was a definite improvement so I kept adding more liquid until the carrots had been reduced to teensy lumps, which seemed as much as I could hope for.

Hummus next. Surely I couldn't go wrong with that? Happily not and I enjoyed using tahini for the first time ever.  

Then it was time for the tzatziki. It was interesting watching the cucumber liquid slowly drip out of the sieve, once I'd added the salt, and the smell was wonderfully refreshing, especially when I added some finely chopped mint.

While the cucumber was draining, I got cracking with the root vegetable tagine. Like most of Ottolenghi's recipes, it had an impressive list of ingredients: carrots, parsnips, banana shallots (I'd never heard of them before), cinnamon sticks, star anise (wonderfully fragrant and pretty, too), bay leaves, olive oil, salt, ground ginger, ground turmeric, paprika, chilli flakes, butternut squash, dried apricots, chickpeas, harissa (a first for me) and preserved lemon. Margaret had recommended a particular make of potato peeler - a Zyliss - and it made a huge difference. She replaces hers every two years, so the blade is always sharp. Compared to my old peeler, it made remarkably quick work of the parsnips. I'd strongly recommend it, especially if you have arthritic hands.

The recipe said that the carrots should be cut into 2cm chunks and to anyone with the slightest knowledge of cooking, that's probably crystal clear. In my case I was a bit stumped. Did it mean the equivalent of 2cm squared for each piece, or slices that were roughly 2cm thick? I decided to hedge my bets and do some of each. After they'd been roasting for 15 minutes, I was meant to add the butternut squash - at which point I remembered it was still in the freezer. To my shame - but not to his surprise - I had to ask Peter how the microwave worked, as I couldn't get the timer started. Once the squash had more or less defrosted, I added it to the roasting tin and carried on for another 35 minutes.

I was then supposed to add the apricots, chickpeas and chickpea liquid, but I noticed that the larger pieces of carrot were extremely hard, so I hastily cut them into smaller chunks (as per the recipe, duh) and gave the whole lot another 10 minutes in the oven. It all emerged looking quite appetising, which was encouraging.

By now the sun was well and truly over the yard arm, but I still had to make the little filo lemon pastries. I'd never used filo pastry before, other than on the cookery course, and it's quite fiddly to cut without risking it drying out. First, though, I had to make the lemon cream filling. I couldn't remember exactly what zesting a lemon meant, so had to break off to google it - and then rummage around to find my zester at the back of the drawer. 

When I tried whipping the cream "to ribbon stage", using a fork - maybe a spoon would have been better? - nothing happened. Dead as a dodo. Might it be because it was single rather than double cream?  I added some Greek yoghurt in the hope of thickening it, but the only change was that it now smelled rather sour. Peter nobly whizzed over to Sainsbury's for me and bought some double cream, and I tried again. Still not a trace of any ribbons, and by now the whisked egg and sugar had gone flat. I tried injecting some life by whisking it again and then gave up and moved on to the next stage, slowly adding the cream and the lemon to the egg mixture. I now know what curdling looks like. I decided it was worth whisking it again and that did seem to improve it, though it was still no more than a slightly frothy liquid and definitely not a cream.

Fortunately the filo pastries looked delicate and attractively shaped - thanks to Margaret's tip of using two separate layers of pastry, bound together with some dabs of melted butter, and placed diagonally across one another - and the lemon liquid fluffed up a little during the baking.  Only a few broke as I was lifting them out of the special baking tray, and as that left me with 21, I wasn't bothered. It also gave me a chance to taste a broken one and it was reassuringly crisp and citrussy.

I should have carried on and made the couscous, but I'd had enough for the day and collapsed onto the settee with a restorative martini.

It was as well I'd done virtually all the cooking in advance, as there was plenty to do on the Saturday before the guests arrived for dinner. The couscous, which I'd never used before, proved easy and - while Peter vacuumed and I cleared away accumulated books, papers, correspondence etc - we worked out a seating plan. I laid the table, retrieved our best china (my mother's old Royal Worcester) from a cupboard in the garage and washed it. I also made a list of the final steps required for each of the dishes and at the last minute remembered to prepare two plates of vegetable crudites. We were all set:

The guests duly assembled, two of them (completely independently of one another) having already explained that they'd set Sunday aside in case of food poisoning. I'd warned them they might arrive to find me lying on the floor, in denial and clutching a bottle of gin, but by then I was looking forward to it. Their generosity - I'd asked them if they would make a donation to Beating Bowel Cancer or Arthritis Research UK, rather than bringing wine or flowers - meant that whatever happened, the evening would achieve the objective of helping others; and they are such a lively, friendly group of friends and neighbours, we were sure to have a laugh.

To my relief the three starters - tzatziki, hummus and beetroot dip, with vegetable crudites and grissini - went down well and not a scrap was left. The chicken and apricot tagine, the root vegetable tagine (a vegan dish) and the heated plates were ready on time, the couscous - decorated with black olives, pomegranate seeds, toasted flaked almonds, and freshly chopped mint and coriander - looked attractive, and we were all happy:

Finally there were the puddings - chocolate brownies and little lemon cream filo pastries, dusted with icing sugar and with a raspberry on each one. I'd put the pastries back in the oven for a few minutes as they'd gone a little soggy, and they still weren't as crisp as I'd have liked, but they tasted good and disappeared swiftly:

My duty done, Peter made the coffee and we all shared a box of chocolates, to round off the meal. It had been a demanding challenge with a fair share of hiccups along the way, but to my surprise I'd enjoyed the cooking and loved using unusual ingredients. Most of all it was a real pleasure sharing this special dinner with friends - and I'd definitely do it again.

Task 23: Go on a cookery course

[I wrote this post in late May but delayed publishing it until now, as I didn't want the guests at my fundraising dinner (task 31) to find out what I was planning to give them!]

Many people might consider going on a cookery course a treat. For me, it comes close to being in the Face the Fear section. I spend as little time as possible in the kitchen and left to my own devices, would probably exist on a diet of bread, cheese, nuts and fruit (and a smidge or three of red wine). It's not that I don't enjoy food. I do, very much, but I just can't be bothered to cook it. Not surprisingly the general view seems to be that I should get a grip, and that going on a cookery course had to be included in my list of challenges.

Luckily one of my neighbours, Margaret, trained classically as a chef and a patissiere in 3*** Michelin restaurants, and runs cookery courses from her home. Michel Roux is godfather to her daughter. She is also a restaurant critic, food and wine writer and has her own cooking school and catering company - Mashed and Smashed. Who better to teach me how to prepare a fundraising dinner for eight (my task 31), with some excellent advice along the way, such as how to cut an onion without crying and how to prepare garlic for someone who normally finds it difficult to digest:

Margaret removing the sprouty green inner section of garlic

We met first to discuss my skills and experience and then, moving swiftly on, the sort of dinner I had in mind. I ruled out fish as a main dish, as I dislike fiddling about with bones, and baba ganoush as I'm not keen on heavily smoked flavours. Margaret suggested focusing on chicken and vegetarian food with a Moroccan bias and lots of colour, with dishes that could all be made in advance, which sounded just what I was after. We agreed a date, allowing a month before the fundraising dinner so that I could fit in a dry run, and all was set.

Last Monday I went round to her house and received an exuberant welcome from her dog, Raggly. Margaret had already bought all the ingredients and we got cracking with five hours' solid cooking, not even stopping for lunch. I don't think I've ever spent more than 2 hours straight in a kitchen in my life, so this was definitely a first. In total, with Margaret's advice and guidance, I made tzatziki, hummus, beetroot dip (a Hassan M'Souli recipe), chicken and apricot tagine, root vegetable tagine (a Yotam Ottolenghi vegan recipe), couscous with black olives, flaked almonds and pomegranate seeds, chocolate brownies and individual lemon filo pastries. All the quantities were for 8 people except the chicken and apricot tagine, so I must remember to double the quantity of that when it comes to the dinner.

Tzatziki

Hummus

Root vegetable tagine

On the home straight - making the lemon cream

The end result!

To my surprise - amazement, really - I thoroughly enjoyed the course and the time flew by. One thing I'll have to bear in mind when it comes to the dinner is that unlike Margaret, I don't have anything like enough experience in preparing multiple dishes at the same time, so the whole process will take me a lot longer. I noticed that Margaret wasn't using a pinger at all but she said it wasn't necessary as she was always keeping an eye on how things were going in the oven. In my case I think I'll need to find several pingers with different alarm tones, to try to keep track of it all. Either that, or resign myself to having to cook each dish separately, which will take twice as long.

By the time this post appears, I will already have done the dinner.  Gulp....

Task 34: Do the 10km Shooting Star Chase Sunrise Walk

For many years I've done voluntary work for the Shooting Star Chase Children's Hospice but I've never been remotely tempted to take part in their annual Sunrise Walk. The name says it all - you have to get up well before dawn to take part and as it takes place in June, that means about 3am. I'm definitely not a morning person and I'm quite happy to sleep through the entire event. (Thinking about it, I'm not a night owl either. My peak times seem to be 11am and 3pm - perfect for cappuccino and afternoon tea.)

It therefore seemed appropriate to include this in my list of challenges, as staggering out of bed at 3am was as daunting a prospect as walking the 10km. Or so I thought, but I did something to my knee a few weeks ago and have been munching ibuprofen and sporting an unfetching elasticated bandage since then.

I could have had longer in bed if I'd gone without breakfast. That was never going to happen, though I did make do with a banana, a large handful of walnuts and a chocolate biscuit instead of my usual porridge sprinkled liberally with chopped fruit and nuts. On the point of leaving, I decided a second chocolate biscuit might be wise, given the shock to my system. Can't be too careful...

The departure point was beside Ham House, so it could hardly have been more convenient, and the route was delightful - along the towpath to Teddington Lock, across Ham beside the Common, through Petersham and up to the Star and Garter hill in Richmond, then down via Water Lane to the riverside and back along the towpath past Petersham Meadows to Ham House. There were about 400 of us taking part, of whom roughly two-thirds were doing the 20km version, and before setting off we gathered in the dark for registration, safety briefing and warm-up exercises. At 4.30am we were ready to set off:

Interestingly I noticed the difference the Nordic walking had made to my fitness level, as I kept up a decent speed and overtook a lot of younger participants. On the other hand it may have had more to do with the lure of a cappuccino back home.

We were extremely lucky with the weather as it was a beautiful morning. The rain last night had freshened the air and although it was chilly to start with, it soon warmed up. There was a pleasant surprise at the top of the Star and Garter hill, as we were invited to go to the Richmond Hill Hotel for tea, coffee and "treats". I hadn't intended to stop but the thought of a coffee was irresistible and I was curious to see what the treats were. They turned out to be muffins, packets of sweets and Mars bars. Well, I had been feeling a bit faint as I scaled the hill, so a Mars bar seemed only sensible. Yum.

Then it was back outside and a very pleasant walk through Richmond, admiring the gardens and the famous view over the Thames, and down to the towpath. I was now on the home straight, the birds were singing and all seemed right with the world, or at least that little bit of it:

Another 40 minutes or so and I'd reached the finishing line. I can see why early risers insist that this is the best time of day, as it is lovely having so few people around and enjoying the tranquillity of the river and the meadows. There's also the feeling that you've already achieved quite a lot with the day, yet it's hardly even started. I should try it more often, particularly at this time of year and when the weather is good. Maybe not quite as early as 3am, though...