Taking the long view

Changed days - normal service has been resumed, and the weather this morning meant that of the sunrise there was no sign and nothing to tempt me from my flowery bed. (Of course it isn't flowery. Think of it as artistic licence.) But at least it was rather less chilly. I wasn't too late getting up, getting on.

This of course meant the (expletive) marmalade. I should know better, really. If I tell you that the combination of a preserving pan whose base is bigger than the larger rings on the cooker and the fact that said rings, being encased in black glass (or whatever) never get hot enough to cause the marmalade to rise alarmingly in the pan - surely a necessary precursor to success - then equally surely you may realise that it was doomed from the start. Last year, I tipped the whole batch of 8 jars back into the pan days later and reboiled it all till success came; this year I shall do the same but actually have another batch to start afresh. I intend using two smaller pans.

I was rescued from domestic gloom and incompetence by my friend Di, whom I met at Benmore Gardens in the gloom of the afternoon to have a walk and a blether. The first adventure came the moment I got out of my car and realised that, although there was no sign of snow or frost, I was standing on black ice. The rain had fallen onto frozen ground and ... And I edged my way to safety clutching the car door handles. I nearly measured my length on the top of the hill on another patch, but a shove from Di kept me upright. Phew. 

We talked - about feeling old, about the lost three winters when nothing went quite right - she had pneumonia at the same time as we all began to worry about Covid; Christmas was cancelled the next time; last year we had Christmas with a side-order of guilt and a sprinkle of fear - and our aborted holiday together. Wasted winters, during which we merely became more decrepit. It was a therapeutic conversation despite our shared gloom. Then I followed her home to pick up some more jam jars and a sugar thermometer and popped into the Co-op for more sugar and more pectin. (I had to, before resolve failed me.)

And that was that, really. Some Italian, a couple of phone chats with my boys, texts from my granddaughter, try to get to bed before midnight (I won't - I've just checked). 

The photo was taken from a new stretch of path they've made in the Gardens; they've been clearing away a lot of trees and other stuff while the Gardens are (officially) shut, opening up the view across the glen of the Eachaig to the hills beyond. It'll be nice when the ground greens over. 

I shall report on success or failure tomorrow.