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From Margot with love

It is always so lovely when someone reads something you’ve written and likes it enough to send you a note to tell you. The more writers I chat to in my day job, the more I appreciate just how cheering it is to receive a kind review or message about their work and I know just how it feels. Writing is such a solitary pastime and often it’s as if I am sending words off into the ether which only Jerry, my long suffering proofreader and I will ever read. So today’s post is a rather special edition for Jerry’s Gramps who has been one of my most loyal Margot fans and for that there aren’t enough hugs and kisses I can bestow in gratitude. Rather in need of a good chuckle at the moment, I hope that my latest countryside capers will provide just that opportunity. So Gramps, this is a little Margot missive just for you because after all, writers would be nothing without loyal readers.

Now where to start, dear Reader? The year seems to be racing on quicker than ever. The frothy cow parsley which littered the hedgerows and our paddock has gone and before I know it, I’ll be knee deep in lavender with the summer on its way out. The farmyard is as entertaining as ever. Geese, ducks, chickens, sheep – we now even have bees! 6 new hives in the lavender field and the promise of our own homegrown honey later in the year. That’s if the girls and I can manage to persuade Jerry that they are worth keeping. He’s already been stung twice and the bees have only been here a month. Apparently, they take great offence to certain types of shampoo. Well, it’s either that or they really just don’t like Jerry.

Following Christmas, our three tenors were down to one as our remaining gander took up his role as king of the pond. Every king needs a queen to keep him on the straight and narrow and so Placido found a mate. We tried renaming him to Gilbert but the girls felt this was a goose rebrand too far and so, Placido is now mostly Placbert and rules the pond with his lovely wife, Gloria. Sadly there have been no goslings this year so fingers crossed, next spring Placbert and Gloria will welcome a family of their own. That’s if Gloria is really a goose and not just a small gander. It’s bloody difficult to tell, dear Reader! The ducks remain ambivalent about the bossy white pair who have taken charge and continue to wreak havoc as normal. To be honest, I’m grateful we aren’t raising any geese for the table this year. We were still finding feathers in the kitchen in February.

Spring saw the arrival of a new boy on the block too. Enter Roger the cockerel and his harem. It seems I’m the girl you have on speed dial when you have an animal that needs rehoming and Roger’s story is a good one. Let’s put it this way, he left a life of rocking for a quiet country retreat. Although quiet is perhaps not the word you might use with Roger roaming the farmyard. I think that everyone in a 5 mile radius is awake at first light these days. Lucky for us, we have lovely neighbours and Roger has turned out to be the sweetest chap. I never tire of him greeting us by the front door when we return home from the school run. A true gent – we are all very fond of him.

With all feathered fowl on form, all eyes are firmly locked on the sheep as we await the arrival of Myrtle’s lambs. It turns out that patience is not something I was blessed with much of and as each day from her due date passes, I find myself wishing she would hurry up! Not least because nightly checks of the lambing shed involve rather a lot of wet weather gear over my pyjamas. Stumbling out to the shed every 4 hours day and night is beginning to take its toll as I juggle the day job as well as my role as ovine midwife. I take my hat off to proper farmers who do this for weeks on end with hundreds of sheep. It’s only been a week and I’m already living on a coffee drip and trying not to face plant the desk and wake up with dribble all over my notebook, dear Reader. I know, I know….you can’t hurry nature but I jolly well wish you could! The prospect of more days with broken sleep is enough to make me camp out in the lambing shed permanently and save myself the bother of setting regular alarms and pulling on waterproof trousers. I have at least managed a new record for dressing and undressing by the front door, pulling on wellies, coat and head torch as well as remembering to take a key to let myself back into the house. It’s like the party game where you have to throw a 6 and don hat, gloves and scarf at break neck speed before attempting to cut a large bar of Dairy Milk with a knife and fork. Except there’s no chocolate. Or a die. In fact, it’s nothing like that game at all but it made me feel better writing it as otherwise I’m just playing a ridiculous farmer dressing up game on my own. Balancing on one leg as I try to stuff waterproofs into neoprene wellies at 3am seems like the drunken antics of my youth. Could account for the fact that I seem to be well practised at it. Still as soon as we hear the patter of tiny hooves, all sleeplessness will become a distant memory. Well that’s the theory at least.

I shouldn’t complain the waiting and getting up in the middle of the night is proving a whole lot easier than trying to vaccinate them all which was the order of the day a few weeks ago. Chasing round the field with a bucket in a bid to catch four flighty sheep proved only to provide another opportunity to be a local laughing stock. Eventually, with some serious bribery, I managed to vaccinate 3 out of 4 with some help from one of our lovely neighbours. Of course my nemesis, bloody ‘Panda face’ has she has now been renamed, decided that she just wasn’t going to cooperate. After forty minutes of trying and failing to get her into the shed and run round fast enough to shut the gate before she spooked, I decided that I didn’t give two hoots about vaccinating her at all. Once I’d calmed down and stopped cursing her, I ended up having to creep back under the cover of darkness to finish the job. Head torch and game face on, I morphed into a sheep-rustling ninja and thankfully succeeded to out fox the wiliest of our woolly four. How I ever managed to inject the damn ewe and not myself in the dark (she’s black – making it even more impossible to see skin under her fleece) I will never know. I can only imagine the jokes if I’d had to go to A&E after immunising myself with the contents of a sheep pharmacy. That’s what you get when you call a sheep Meryl. Comedy name, comedy nature, dear Reader. Thank God, shearing was straightforward. Mostly because I was there to watch and learn rather than take part. I’ve only just got over the tale our neighbouring shepherd told of the time he ended up missing the sheep and shearing his arm. Put it this way, shearing is best left to the professionals. I fear that Jerry and I would only end up losing a limb if we had a go on our own. I’m lethal enough with the foot trimmers.

Keen not to be outdone in the drama stakes, the spaniels were the last in a line of comedy smallholding calamities. What started as a lovely walk by the river with a friend and her dog turned out not to be the idyllic Wind in the Willows morning we had planned when Dora got out of her depth and we nearly lost her to a strong current. Turns out wild swimming is best undertaken when not fully clothed. The walk back to the car was rather a squelchy one and I may or may not have looked like I’d had an accident from the waist down. Difficult to tell who was more in shock – me or the dog. I think Dora and I might be avoiding paddling in the river again for a while.

With my glittering role as comedy smallholder proving to be a casting hit, I think it would be safe to say that all is going swimmingly well at the farmhouse, dear Reader. Over and out.

Cocktail Hour

You’ll have to forgive me, dear Reader.  I have been somewhat off the boil in blog terms of late. The last month and a bit has had many ups and downs, mostly house related and I have been burying my head in a good bit of writing to try and create a more pleasing chapter for the four of us.  Enter cocktail hour.  At just the right time.

If you follow me on Instagram you will know, dear Reader, that cocktails have featured rather heavily since Christmas.  It’s all strictly medicinal, I can assure you.  One of the most wonderful presents I have ever received was from Jerry’s grandparents who gifted me a little vintage Gordon’s Gin cocktail book from circa 1950s.  Not only does it list my favourites – old fashioned Gimlets, a recipe for ‘Gin Fizz’ but it also has the hilariously named Television Special with orange squash (slightly yuck) and White Lady which embraces that back of the booze cupboard lurker, Cointreau.  The ultimate for me though has to be the glorious ‘Gin and it’ which with one sip, I am transported to the drawing room at Home Place (from Elizabeth Jane Howard’s brilliant Cazalet Chronicles – I am totally obsessed with the books, dear Reader) where Edward or Hugh is preparing me a sharpener to sip in beaded evening dress, before dinner.  Best of all are the handwritten recipes in the back written by one of Jerry’s great-grandparents.  Truly the loveliest of gifts and I send G and G a huge kiss for thinking to pass it on to me, as I know they will be reading this.

With cocktail recipes well and truly tested at home, it was time to have a go at shaking up something new.  So it should come as no surprise to you, dear Reader, that I hotfooted my way to Winchester to enjoy an evening of cocktails as part of the fabulous Winchester Cocktail Week organised by the brilliant Cabinet Rooms.  A huge thanks to Gary and Marcus for the invitation – how could I refuse?!!  Also a special mention to my trusted chauffeur for the evening, my father in law, who drove across Hampshire to make sure that I didn’t have a Cinderella moment.

It has to be said that, a cocktail is really only as good as its ingredients.  So where best to start? Well, the ingredients of course and one of my favourite foragers, cooks and foodie wonders, Naked Jam.

Jen Williams is an artisan producer of award winning jams and conserves – her syrups, cordials and jams contain seasonal, local fruits or foraged ingredients with no artificial colours, flavourings, setting agents or preservatives.  Bottled beautiful bounty.  Jen is a fount of knowledge when it comes to the foraged flavours and it’s not for nothing that she’s been snapped up by Chewton Glen to run a unique course for The Kitchen, Chewton Glen’s new cookery school.

That evening, her gorgeous syrups and recipes included a cocktail with the autumnal mellowness of medlar syrup, a surprisingly drinkable chilli and balsamic number with vodka and the salty swirl of seaweed which produced a syrup that had depth, earthiness and just the right hint of the sea to add to the glass.  This was not cocktail making, dear Reader, this was sheer alcoholic alchemy. Jen knows just what will work and her lightness of touch in combining flavours needs to be tasted to be believed.  Inspired by her enthusiasm, I came away with some of her delicious velvety medlar syrup to recreate a little something at home.

It was a treat to meet the lovely Gin Monocle Company (an artisan mobile gin bar – gin on the move, what’s not to love?) who served up this rather unusual number – a Gin Fizzless – gin and ale together, rather a revelation that slipped down nicely and altogether too quickly.

The canapes created by Fiona Hill (Twitter – @realfoodnf) were to die for too.

My advice, dear Reader?  If you haven’t sampled the delights of Winchester Cocktail Week then you really ought to get it in the diary for next year.  With different venues all over the city, a veritable fountain of cocktails to be sipped and savoured, it’s a great week to explore Winchester’s emerging drinks’ scene.  Well done to the marvellous Cabinet Rooms‘ chaps!  Keep your eyes peeled for more events and insights into the city’s food and drink scene as they have also taken over the Art Café on Jewry Street in Winchester.  I can’t wait to see what they concoct next!

As for me, it’s Friday, dear Reader and very nearly time to get the cocktail shaker out……..  After all, it MUST be gin o’clock somewhere in the world.  I’ll draw the curtains and get the fire going, you pour the gin.  It would be rude not to join them, wouldn’t it dear Reader?!

Brief disclaimer – This does not constitute as encouragement of daytime drinking and Margot is in no way suggesting the reader has a few gins in the dark by his or herself before doing the school run.  Have them after you’ve picked up the children.

 

 

 

 

Hats off

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It’s not often that  I get completely obsessed by all things crafty as I am usually utterly hopeless at making anything look more than haphazardly homemade.  However, a couple of weeks ago, I delved into the art of millinery with the most spectacular lady, Rachel Drewer.  I can tell you, dear  Reader, I am already hooked on hat making.

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Secreted away amidst Hampshire farmland, Rachel has a wonderful little studio with oodles and oodles of fabrics, mannequins wearing glamourous creations and enough feathers to fashion her own aviary of birds!  Heaven.  A veritable sweetie shop for all you crafting folk.  With Rachel’s work featuring in British Vogue and Country Life no less, her creations are regular features on the racing circuit.  So it is not surprising that ladies are queuing up the farm track and beyond to have one of her bespoke designs and couture numbers.  Leaving behind a career in the city, Rachel studied millinery with some of the world’s finest designers, including those who have worked for Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel and the Duchess of Cambridge.

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When Rachel is not designing and creating the most stunning headpieces and hats, she also teaches millinery workshops.  So when she invited me to come and have a lesson, I made sure I was there with bells on, dear Reader!  Not only was there tea and cake, fabulous chat from the delightful Rachel (she is one of the most twinkly smiley people I have interviewed) but she also indulged my love of all things green and feathery.  A blissful morning spent in the company of a true artist.

Together (well I say together, I mostly scoffed cake), we created a headband with some feathers I had acquired.  Those of you who have seen my homemade roadkill pheasant fascinator, I promise I didn’t come by these green ones by running over anything exotic…..

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From creating a good shape to offset the feathers, sticking them in place…

IMG_2122to finally sewing the feathered piece on to a bespoke hairband and finishing with netting.

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The results were staggeringly good and with Rachel’s wonderful patience and teaching skills, I was thoroughly surprised at my efforts.  In fact, my new fascinator will be having its first outing for a family wedding in June.

Rachel runs a whole host of millinery workshops which teach feather techniques, millinery upcycling, introductions to hat making with sinamay, parasisal and silk flowers as well as specific focus on particular hat designs.  For those looking for their own personal workshop session, Rachel offers bespoke tuition which includes a one-to-one day with Rachel in her studio, tailored worksheet on methods, materials, and design tips, follow-up support and more.  I rather liked the sound of her millinery parties – the perfect hen weekend idea alongside a glass of fizz or two.

I am truly delighted with my beautiful bespoke headpiece, dear Reader and entirely indebted to Rachel and her guiding hand.  I am already chomping at the bit to pop back for more tea and cake as well as a chance to play with all the various hats in the studio – the stuff of dressing up dreams, dear Reader.  Not only is Rachel such a talent but I feel I have made a rather lovely and supremely talented new friend right on my doorstep too!  I can’t thank her enough for such a lovely morning, especially as she even let me dress her dear Frank in one of her stunning couture numbers.  Hats off all round, dear Reader!

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Peeking into the Secret Garden

Rock & Roam Launch Dinner (76 of 280)

Image courtesy of Rock & Roam

Indulge me for a moment, dear Reader.  Picture a beautiful sunset falling into the water at the end of the jetty, wild ponies grazing in the distance, a winding pathway lit with candles and lanterns.  We are met by a lady who hands us a small key.  A key that will lead us into the Secret Garden.

Jerry and I have had some wonderful invitations to events in the past but when Emma Forsyth of Rock & Roam, a new style social club for New Forest residents and weekenders, invited us to her launch party at Gins Barn, near Beaulieu (one of New Forest Escapes’ luxury lets) I jumped at the chance to attend.

A Secret Garden supper crafted by Emma’s team and the fair hands of critically acclaimed London chefs and designers, Edible Stories – just the sound of it was enough to take me back to reading Frances Hodgson Burnett’s children’s classic for the first time as a little girl.

Image courtesy of Rock & Roam

Image courtesy of Rock & Roam

What a garden it was too, dear Reader.  With such a stunning venue styled with flowers tumbling from the rafters, branches and leaves strewn across tables, candlelight, superb theatre created with sumptuous course after course and even a singing canary in the corner too, the story of little Mary Lennox and the magic of the Secret Garden unfolded.

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From Mary’s days of the Raj with a taste of India served in tiffins, followed by a Bitter Mary to depict orphan Mary, sour and rude, leaving her home to come to England….

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to the loneliness Mary experiences at Lord Craven’s Misselthwaite Manor where she meets a robin, as she explores the grounds, who will lead her to an overgrown doorway

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to reveal the untouched beauty of the deserted garden behind the walls as Mary turns the key

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and the final joy of making the garden bloom with her own hands, bringing her uncle and cousin together again.

Rock & Roam Launch Dinner (47 of 280)

Image courtesy of Rock & Roam

I’m still hoping that every supper I go to is as beautiful as this was.  Judging by the oohs and aahs in the room coming from Emma’s other guests, I imagine that I am not the only one!  Truly a magical evening – a feast for all the senses.  Wonder if the team from Edible Stories would like to set up camp in my kitchen, dear Reader?

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Rock & Roam’s aim is to host pop up events, tastings and experiences that are imaginative, informative, fun and unique so that members and their guests can enjoy the best of New Forest with like-minded locals.  From beekeeping to field photography, gin masterclasses or wild sea swimming, Emma works with a varied team of specialists to put together a calendar full of workshops throughout the year too.  To be honest, dear Reader, if Rock & Roam’s Secret Garden launch supper is anything to go by, then the club’s members are in for a real treat.  This is one for the black book list of Margot loves.

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Mothers

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The definition of ‘mother’  – a female or thing that creates, nurtures, protects, etc

You’ll have to forgive me, dear Reader.  I’m not usually one for writing these sorts of posts but I felt compelled to scribble something down for Mother’s Day in the face of spending time with some truly wonderful women this week.  For me, being a mother sees me wearing many guises, day after day, week to week, year on year.  I can mostly be found shouting ‘Bugger’ loudly at the most inappropriate moment, accidentally giving Poppy a lesson from Mummy’s very own phonics programme (‘t’ is for tonic water according to nursery – I’m lucky she hasn’t shared the other sounds), making Primrose cringe with embarrassment whenever or wherever I am with her, never remembering the permission slip or which day the kit needs to be in school and so on and so on.  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that as a mother I would have to turn my hand to plate spinning whilst doing a handstand, trying to work full time, making the tea, helping with homework, making sure there is food in the fridge, washing, ironing, inventing stories on the hop and all whilst listening to Primrose’s piano practice.  Somehow it all seems to happen though.  Well, apart from the handstand – I am RUBBISH at anything sport related…..oh and the plate spinning….no one can really do that, can they?  Anyway, the point is that I’m not superwoman, far from it.  I wish I was but somehow I seem to get through it one disaster at a time.  Motherhood is constantly testing me.  I shout too often, don’t listen enough, struggle to remain patient and would sometimes rather be face down in a large gin and tonic/book/cup of tea/bottle of wine/slice of cake (you can see where my priorities lie, dear  Reader…) than answering to the whims of the tiara-wearing terrorists gorgeous girls I have miraculously managed to produce.  Those are the very same girls who have taught ME a great deal.  They make me want to live up to that definition of a mother, as despite all my faults, they love me and for that I will be eternally thankful.

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Anyhow, back to the reason for this rather unusual post from me.  This week I witnessed that very definition of motherhood in action and spent time with some truly remarkable ladies – ladies who take the word ‘mother’ and smash it, no matter what is thrown at them.  Ladies for whom I have the utmost admiration, love and respect.  They are the people worthy of flowers, champagne and chocolate on a day of honouring mothers and I want to remind myself of them and many more besides who otherwise might not feel like celebrating Mother’s Day today.

To the mothers out there who have held tiny hands and lost them, the mothers who endure illness and manage to keep smiling for their children, those who care for others without complaint, daughters who’ve lost their mothers, those whose roles are reversed with their parents, those who remain strong when faced with phenomenal personal difficulty, mothers who have sacrificed so much in the name of love, those who are both mother and father, those who would give up everything to have one more day with the ones they have loved and lost, the mothers who shield their loved ones from the truth, who nurse a sick child tirelessly and always have a smile or kind word for others even when their day/week/month has been shit, those who become mothers to another’s children, those longing to hold their own bundle, friends who pick each other up from the floor.  For all those wonderful women and so many more because as that definition proves, motherhood is not just about having children but being able to nurture and think of others whatever the relationship……today is for you.  Your patience, strength and courage moves mountains, makes the impossible seem possible and shows us all the true meaning of love.  You are the people I would like to honour on Mother’s Day and say thank you to as I don’t tell you often enough how amazing you are.  Without you, that definition would be nothing.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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