CAKE!!

Teach Me Sugarcraft Cupcake Course

Cake, isn't it a wonderful word?  Just the mention of it sparks excitement and, for a moment, I shelve the notion of abstaining - "Ooh, well if you went to the trouble of baking...".  There's a thin girl crying inside me but she's usually silenced with a cupcake or two. 

I must begin my story with a short prologue.  Now I can bake, don't get me wrong, I can bake a pretty good cake.  It's the decoration that I fail on, massively.  Last time I baked cupcakes I brought them to the office and declared that I had been assisted by blind children in my community.  I understand this was dishonest, getting brownie (pardon the pun) points for doing some imaginary selfless volunteer work.  That's bad, I know.  But, in my defense, I couldn't lose face as someone who had spend 12 years studying and working in the creative industry who can't decorate a bleedin' cupcake.  Don't you understand?!!  Anyway, I attended a cupcake decorating class in an effort to become a little more adept at the old icing and piping.       

The class was run by Teach Me Sugarcraft's Sue. When I arrived, late as usual, I was directed to a room filled with large circular tables populated by ladies, ladies and more ladies...not going to meet my future husband today then.  Sue and her colleagues taught us how to pipe, ice and make quirky designs using icing and some jiggery pokery.  My first attempt at piping ended up looking like it was done in the middle of an earthquake.  

But I carried on practising and, low and behold, I got better.  My latter attempts were pretty darn good, 'twas a shame to eat them, but not impossible!  It's amazing what you can do with a flower shaped icing cutter and some green piped buttercream, hey presto, the Chelsea Flower Show on a cupcake!  My favourites were the 'Cookie Monster' piped in blue icing, some shaped eyes and a mini cookie shoved in his gob and the 'Bumble Bee' using a special piping nozzle to give a grassy effect and some moulded icing to make the bee.  This felt more like a pre-school plastecine session.  How could I have had trouble with this?!  Well, it's all about the tools.  A good cupcake decorator needs a decent set of tools.  What an array you can get, from cutters in all shapes and sizes to special piping nozzles.  Oh, how exciting!  I was getting really stuck into it and had to sedate the urge to buy the lot.

I boxed up my little creations, including the runt of the litter that came first.  (This was my trial run which I 'tested' with a cup of tea and an episode of Family Guy.)  Then came the fear.  Oh bloody eck, I've got a truckload of cupcakes and a diet to consider (yes, there it is again).  So I took the selfless route and donated them to the blind children in my community...

www.teachmesugarcraft.co.uk
Images: Sinéad Millea

Where there’s a Will…

Wills Memorial Building Tour 

I walk past this majestic tower every day and guilty, as we all are, of never looking up in my daily meander I never really SEE it.  So when I spotted a sign advertising a tour I thought, “today’s the day!”

I booked for a Saturday afternoon and begged the sungod to smile on me having heard that on a clear day you can see all the way to Wales (or maybe it was Wells, I’m still finding my way through the strongest of Bristol accents).  Sure enough the sun shone brightly and the view was splendid.  But first there’s a challenge, you don’t just get fantastic panoramic views handed to you on a silver platter you know.  No, you have to climb for them 215 feet above street level.  But fear not, for modern man has invented a magical soaring machine which transcends you to the 5^th floor where a mere 205 steps await you.  Easy peasy.

But first we’ll begin on the ground.  On arriving at the tower, where the students gather to plot their Jägerbomb foraging excursions, I was met with a chap called Dave who runs the tours.  Standing on the original stone slabs and looking up at a spectacular sight of gothic architecture, he summarised the history of the tower in an interesting monologue taking us from it’s commissioning in 1912, through it’s opening in 1925, it’s survival of two world wars and right up to it’s present day status as the third highest structure in Bristol. 

We scaled one of the two grand staircases leading to the first floor, which holds the Great Hall with it’s intricately carved panelled walls, arched gothic ceiling and coloured lighting used to set the mood for the formal events that take place there including graduation ceremonies and exams.  I don’t think I’d have passed a single test sitting there, far too much to gaze at.  Dave handed us over to his son, Jim, who brought a quirky fun aspect to the tour, certainly the best tour guide I've ever encountered.  Never before have I been told if I fell on the stairs I was going over the top, that’s a successful health and safety warning if ever I heard one.  Needless to say, the visitors were too afraid to break that rule.

The next stop was a visit to Great George, the 9.5 tonne bell housed in the tower.  Georgy boy was so excited to see some visitors that he chimed for us.  I’m glad he didn’t ring however, apparently he can be quite loud.  He can be heard as far away as twelve miles I believe, ouch.  In the absence of modern construction equipment during the homing of George, horses were used to hoist him up into the tower in a pulley system that took up all of Park Street - the horses pulled ropes tied to the bell and basically went up and down the hill until the bell was in place.  On the arrival of George to his new home, a spelling mistake in his inscription was pointed out by an observant professor and George had to be lowered slightly to amend it, poor horses.  I’ll let you find out where it is for yourselves!

   
We said goodbye to George and ascended the winding staircase further to the very top of the tower, where a dizzying view opened up before us and, I’m relieved to say, the sungod answered my plea.  A stunning sunny 360 degree view of Bristol certainly brought the wow factor to my Saturday afternoon and made the ascension of the tower so worth it. 

 

The tour costs just £4 per person (£3 for seniors and students, free to children aged 8 – 11) and part of the fee goes towards funding Wallace & Gromit’s Grand Appeal.  A bit of exercise, a history lesson and funding a good cause – that's a Saturday avo well spent!

http://www.bris.ac.uk/university/visit/tower-tours/

http://www.grandappeal.org.uk/

Images: Sinead Millea & http://www.flickr.com/photos/17251154@N00/

A cheeky ‘Klein’ or a robust ‘Taratino’?

Introduction to Wine 

So I’ve been on a break for a while, but I assure you I hadn’t forgotten about you.  I’ve been busily racking up new and wonderful experiences to tell you about.  Go and get the kettle on and I’ll fill you in.  

Where better to start than at a wine tasting, yes another one but this one’s different, honest!  I received a notification on the book of faces to an ‘Introduction to Wine’ run by Tristan Darby of the Bristol Wine School.  They’re not your average school, no exams or detention, just good times and great wine.  I arrived on an average British Saturday, you know the type – schizophrenic weather.  One minute I’m racing against time (running late as usual) in the blazing sunshine, the next I’m looking out through a swirl of grey clouds at a sky that’s threatening to ruin my walk home, bleedin’ weather.  Anyway, to cheer me up there were twelve wines awaiting me…I know, right?!  Sod the weather!

We started off with a little introduction from Tristan, a man in the know but not too eager to shove it in your face.  There’s no pompous gesturing or silly air sucking on these tastings, just practical tips on how to enjoy your wine, the keyword here is ‘enjoy’.  All the wines are tasted ‘blind’ and although my knowledge of wines is as basic as my knowledge of the Inner Hebrides (honestly, I only recently found out they existed) I enjoyed the mystery surrounding the identification of the wines.  Might I point out that, again, I was surprised at what a snob I am.  I mostly enjoyed the new world wines, I really must desist being such a wine snob, no offence Australia!

The morning lent itself to white wines, leading nicely into a glass of fizz, no doubt to celebrate lunch (who doesn’t?) which was included in the cost of the day.  The afternoon brought with it a ray of sunshine and six varying reds, my favourite (yes, all of them)!  We covered so much in the afternoon that the course ran over and Tristan adopted a sped up method of speech, it was like watching ted.com on fast forward and through hazy specs, I guess we can blame the twelve tipples for that.

As I swayed home I pondered if the number of wines had been reduced might we have had the time to cover more interesting facts about each one?  But then again, would I have received such a billy bargain for my bag of silver?  Probably, yes.

http://bristolwineschool.co.uk

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/smaku/

Canoe believe it?!

Canoeing at the Hollybush Inn

A few months back a friend discovered a belter of a deal on Groupon, a day's canoeing plus a night at a B&B for £20, flippin' bargain. So Sinéad Nua and her seven accomplices ventured off to the Hollybush Inn at Hay On Wye for a canoeing trip to the Twilight Zone. We arrived late (my lack of navigational skills found us on the right road, however in the wrong direction) to meet a very displeased lady called Barbara who was already in the middle of her safety briefing. She was talking as if we were going to be out there on our tod....oh wait, we were actually going to out there on our tod, oh dear, should've been listening and not planning picnic. Panic panic panic! But the mention of a mooring point near a pub perked me right up and I thought, right that's my final destination on this trip! I could taste the ale and the salt'n'vinegar crisps already.

So we got ourselves kitted out in life jackets, canoes and oars and set about getting the lot on the water, a feat in itself for 8 city lasses. I was in a boat of three, the 'steerer' in the back and the 'navigator' in front (I've made up my own terms as I wasn't paying attention). It seemed my duty was to stay the hell out of the way, having demonstrated that my lack of navigational skills didn't just apply to the road. I felt like a lady of leisure, except instead of delicately holding an afternoon tea I was clutching onto an oar for dear life, cold water and jeans doth not a good day make. Despite our naughty lack of attention to the safety briefing, we negotiated the canoe through the valley admiring the views and taking in the fresh air. Easy peasy...but we got cocky. Approaching a bit of fast moving water we hatched a plan to get us through.  But our confidence was shot down by the sensation of a shakey boat and the onslaught of water, all of which landed on my seat leaving me with a soggy rear for the remainder of the day, classy. We decided from then on to let the water take us where it may and keep the oars the hell out of the way as we ascertained that this uneducated, panicky engagement may have caused the water to become angry with us and we wanted the water on our side.  Having spent half an hour with nature I was starting to believe it had a consciousness.

Four hours later I had worked up a wicked thirst only to find the haven of The Boat Inn with it's halo of light around it and the sound of angels serenading us in. I have since heard that nobody else witnessed the halo or the angels so I'm wondering if this hallucination was thirst related... We pulled the boat out of the water with great stealth and strength (it's amazing what you can achieve when 100 yards from a pint of Otter) and made our way to the bar. Once our thirst was quenched and we had enjoyed the afternoon sunshine in the beer garden we phoned Barbara for our promised lift back to base. We arrived back, excited from the mixture of fresh air and beer, to be checked into our rooms at the Hollybush. I must add in here, we were eternally grateful to have been given actual rooms after hearing a report from another guest who, following a booking confusion, was given a teepee to sleep in. How quirky I hear you say! Not so much, the camping at the Hollybush is basic (and that's a compliment) so without a proper bed they were uncomfortable and freezing. With a stroke of luck, we were given four of their five bedrooms, all very different in style but with one common denominator - lovely comfy beds!  One even had a free standing bath tub in the middle of the room, a highly impractical novelty for the two friends sharing this room (I later found out that they took turns in bathing while the other averted her eyes!)

We gathered in the garden and shared accounts of our near misses over a few beers (my jeans had dried by this stage), served to us by the perpetually chatty Betty. Following a quick freshen up we met back in the pub where we had a table booked for dinner. We ate wonderful home cooked food and listened to the very 'eclectic' array of live music they had on. I had the mutton pudding which was made from one of the Inn's own sheep, you can't get cuisine more local than that! Barbara had chilled way down to no longer being angry at our tardiness but poor Betty was so run off her feet I thought her head was going to spin off. So busy was this pub and so understaffed the team got stuck into wherever they were needed, even the chef morphed into a waiter. 

I went to bed full and tipsy, and slept like a log in my plush bed (probably should have spared a thought for the poor buggers in the teepees). Breakfast the following morning was another new experience. Having been ignored several times, while I sat hungrily and in dire need of coffee, I resorted to popping my head through the kitchen door to ask if I could actually HAVE a breakfast. My order was taken in exchange for a spot of waitressing when I had to ask some fellow guests if they wanted tea or coffee (as Barbara had forgotten to ask them herself).  Fair enough I suppose, I had only paid £20, I guess there had to be a catch right?! My breakfast arrived like an apparition and was delicious, as was the coffee. Happy to be caffeinated and full I made my way to my room to pack my belongings and head back to normality.

Despite the quirkiness of this place, ie if you ask for a cup of tea don't expect it to arrive

at all and if it does then good times, the Hollybush Inn has an intimate charm. Leave your customer service expectations at the door (wait, stay with me for a minute) and you'll open yourself up to experiencing something rare and spontaneous....and unmissable.  Just make sure you book a ROOM!

http://www.hollybushcamping.co.uk/page8.htm

A Fling In One

Disc Golf

 

 

Before you think I've taken leave of my senses and just started making stuff up to blog about, pop 'Disc Golf' into Google and have a slice of 'Itoldyouso'. The modern version of the sport started in the 60s but it's thought that the game was invented as early as the turn of the 20th century. It's now played worldwide and has it's own associations and tournaments. Admittedly my initial reaction was "Disc wha'? You're havin' a laugh!" but, once I digested my own slice of 'Itoldyouso', I decided to give it a whack.

 

I met Matt, the creator of Ashton Court Disc Golf Course, for a round. He explained that Disc Golf was very similar to regular golf except it uses frisbees and baskets. Prompted by my blank expression (I know nowt about golf) he went on to explain that, at each 'hole', you throw a frisbee at a target (a metal frame comprising of a basket with dangly bits of chain that direct the frisbee down into it) and the object of the game is to reach the target in as little throws as possible. Simple right? Wrong, I was utterly useless at it. I had to take a crash course in 'throwing', my instructor was quite encouraging (in other words, a massive liar).

 

A few holes in and I was marginally less dreadful at throwing but was picking up a technique quite useful for a beginner, ie letting go of the frisbee at a more opportune moment so it doesn't fly off and decapitate a pigeon. Along the way I witnessed some proper disc golfers at play and, man, can they throw! At one stage I could even hear the whirring of a frisbee soaring over my head. The more skilled players have collections of discs that are chosen, much like a golfer would choose a club, to reach the target more effectively. Discs can be different weights, depending on speed and control required. I learned that how you hold & angle the disc can manipulate it's direction as they curve in flight. An experienced disc golfer will have their own throwing style and technique for any given situation, including a 'run up' to give the disc added momentum. Mind you, I was still coming to terms with throwing it in the general direction I needed it to go, manipulating the direction is lesson 2 I guess...

 

The course at Ashton Court has been designed to challenge the players with targets hidden within wooded areas and over hills out of view. One target is next to a pond and, having been told that frisbees don't float, I felt the pressure not to land mine in the mucky water, it was cold and I wasn't wearing proper attire for wading. Luckily it landed

just short of the target on terra firma, phew! Many times it landed amongst nettles, in muck, within two feet of where I was standing (particularly shameful) but, gosh darn it, it always ended up in the target. My worst record was roughly 7 throws at one hole. My learned instructor's was 2 and his starting points were further away from the target than mine (to preserve my ego we didn't keep score). I learned that the average number of 'holes in one' are far higher than that of it's club and ball counterpart however I think I'd be happy with a hole in 6 at this stage...oh, and keeping it out of the nettles.

 

So if you're wandering about in Ashton Court and you see a metal frame with chains, it's not a deer feeder, it's a Disc Golf target. Go on, give it a whirl. Did mention that it's free?!

 

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Ashton-Court-Disc-Golf-Course/454458561264157

Blow me down

Glass blowing at Bristol Blue Glass

 

Another creative venture for ya, I tell ya I'm oozing so much creativity at the moment I need a sit down. This time I was at the Bristol Blue Glass factory where I tried my hand, or rather my lungs, at a spot of glass blowing. I was impressed to see that this company still makes all their products by hand, er lung...you get my drift... Each piece, although made to spec, is completely unique in that it's not made from a mould but blown into shape by a glassblower's own lungs. This ancient art form dates back as early as the 1st century BC, and I was pleased to see it's still alive and well. 

 

The molten glass is kept in an extremely hot furnace, over 1,000°C, that's almost hotter than a mouthful of scotch bonnets. I was shown a long pipe, called...well, a blowpipe, innit obvious?? A blob is 'gathered' on the tip of the blowpipe and, employing skilled techniques in turning and blowing, said blob is shaped into your chalice/paperweight/vase/delete as approriate, various hand tools being used to maintain this shape. Intermittently, to keep the glass at the correct temperature it's poked through what's called a 'glory hole' (hehehe). I avidly watched the glassblower checking for impressive burns but to no avail, these guys must be extremely careful working with temperatures like this. I can burn myself pretty spectacularly cooking pizza at 200°C so was a bit cautious of not getting too close to glory holes and the like.

 

When I got the opportunity to make my creation, I stood at the end of the blowpipe and summoned forth the air from my lungs. I blew my blob into a round ball which was rotated and moulded by the skilled glassblower into a giant blue bauble. It was then transferred to another furnace for cooling - still at a temperature of about 400°C it needed 24 hours to reduce down to a less skin melting temperature. It now dangles proudly from my patio door collecting the daylight and reflecting it in hues of blue, how pretty! ...And I am first degree burn free (until my next pizza).

 

 

 

http://bristol-glass.co.uk

Image: Sinéad Millea

Going potty

Pottery Lesson at The Village Pottery

 

Well hello there stranger! Sinead Nua has been on a go slow this year but is picking things up with great speed and is ready with some new additions to the experience bank. I'll start the ball rolling with a couple of creative ventures, and you thought I was all food food food! I spotted an opportunity to fling some clay in a supervised environment, aka pottery class, so I popped along to The Village Pottery in Clifton where I met my instructor, Jen. I started off with a nice cappuccino and a browse amongst the pots, bowls, dishes and jugs on display and wondered what I might CREATE (read with dramatic tone and hand in air gesture). I was starting to feel all artistic and wistful, but less like Francis Bacon, more like Brian from Spaced.

 

I was shown through to the potter's wheel, which looked pretty impressive compared to the plastic battery operated yoke I had as a kid. I made stumps of clay on it, they were post modern comments on society - at 11 I was way ahead of my time creatively, I'll probably be famous when I'm dead. I was invited to sit at it as one would sit upon a motorcycle, but was assured it would not accelerate and throw me to the floor as my brother's Honda Hornet had threatened to do (he said he was going 10mph but I swear it felt like 70).

 

 Anyway, back to the potters wheel...I was given a lump of clay to fling into the centre. SPLAT and off I go. I was instructed to mould it into what I considered quite a fallic shape and then, thankfully before my blushing became obvious, with step by step guidance on moulding and shaping my lump morphed into a bowl right before my eyes, a pretty awesome bowl even if I do say so myself. It was finished off with a glaze, I chose a green to match my country kitchen in the dream house in my head (it's by the sea and has a country kitchen, that's all I have so far - am waiting for Sarah Beeny to advise of the rest but she doesn't do head calls..) My bowl was then transferred to a shelf and queued up for the kiln. I could hardly wait the three weeks it would take to set and for the glaze to shine up a lovely country kitchen shade of green. I got the call to pick it up and ran like Charlie with his golden ticket all the way to the village. My bowl now sits on my window holding lavender, a very noble post reserved for handmade creations.

 

 

 

Jen offers lessons like this, plus introductory lessons (the above without the kiln bit) and large group lessons. To find out more check the link below.

 

http://www.thevillagepottery.co.uk/lessons

Image: Sinéad Millea