My Mulberry

A few weeks ago I had a revelation, there is a mulberry tree - da fuq, they're not just bags!? On further inspection I found that said tree is pretty bad-ass and laden with plenty of gorgeous, juicy fruit. To save all the birds, dogs etc. gorging themselves into oblivion, I decided to pick some of these delicious berries and make something to stuff silly all of the featherless, non-four legged people around.

Once I had collected as many berries as I could reach (which was limited by my height, even though I was being helped out by a handy step ladder) I had to decide what to do with them. I have never knowingly consumed mulberries, and after consulting a pile of my Mum's recipe books was slightly exasperated. There were no recipes for mulberries, even Delia - DELIA SMITH people - couldn't help. Naturally I then did what I should have done first, I turned to the ever illuminating internet. After being unimpressed by offerings of jam, mulberry fools, and a few cheeky tarts I stumbled across some recipes for...mulberry liqueur, what a no brainer!

The recipe I am using is an amalgamation from a few sources, namely The Telegraph, and roughly goes like this:

450g mulberries

710ml vodka (apparently gin works just as well)

150g caster sugar

All spice and some vanilla essence to add some extra flavour to the mix (another suggestion is to chuck in a handful of roasted almonds)

Basically I mixed all of the ingredients together in a measuring jug, stirred thoroughly until the caster sugar had dissolved, then transferred into an empty vodka bottle (most sources suggest putting the mix in a tightly sealed and sterilised jar, but I did not have a jar large enough). At the moment the bottle is resting in a dark cupboard and will be 'turned' every couple of days for the next 2-3 months. Yes, this seems like a long time to wait, but I'm sure it will be worth it. Anyway, surely it can't be worse than Bacardi Breezers right? 

P.S. Mulberries stain like hell, so if you are going to be handling them wear some gloves. I didn't.

Thursday's Child

EXCITEMENT! I have just booked to go inter-railing at the end of this summer with the boyf. Well, I say booked, we have the global inter-rail pass for two, some of the necessary train tickets, mixed up with a whole load of awesome plans. At the moment we are going Barcelona, followed by a short stint in Northern Spain, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam and Berlin, phew. It will be the perfect end to the summer holiday, and possibly presents a lastminute.com opportunity to grab some sunshine which has, much to my dissapointment, been generally missing from the English skies (exceptions being when I am locked inside working/studying, of course). Additionally, it will be great to get away with the boyf before we have to return to our respective corners of the country to start the final year of our chosen courses. And, as if I need more justification, I was born on a Thursday afternoon, and if you believe that short but sweet poem (which I suppose is not so sweet for all of the Wednesday children...) I have 'far to go', and to be honest, who doesnt love a good holiday? - Wednesday, I'm looking at you. . .

Buzzing

In my book (haha), one of the perks of being a student means that, come every summer, I have an obscene amount of time with which to entertain myself. Although some of this is ciphoned off by work, starting research for my upcoming dissertation, and possibilities further limited by my imagination/lack of and laziness, there is still plenty of time for me to work with. At some point I will inevitably end up settling down, preferably in the sunshine - getting a tan makes me feel like a better person, and due to my constant failure to apply fake, this is the only way I can achieve a bronzed glow - and leafing through a good (hopefully) book.

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd is one of my most recent reads, and was one that really absorbed me. This book is a heart-wrenching, yet simultaneously, warming story. It is mainly set in 1964, South Carolina and is told from the perspective of 14 year old Lily Melissa Owens, who is delightfully funny, even when negotiating tragic circumstances and a narrative fraught with racial and personal tensions. If you are looking for an entertaining and thoughtful summer read, but wish to avoid all things grey (I do not blame you) then, why not, give it a go.

First Impressions

Hello internet! 

This is my first foray into the world of blogging and honestly I have no idea where to start. I am an acknowledged technophobe, not really 'liking' facebook, dismissive of twitter, confused by tumblr, and still amazed at how shit loads of sound can be released from those circular compact disc's (yes, I did just look up what CD stands for). I am also riddled by indecision and generally have a problem agreeing on anything. Therefore, this blog is probably going to be a delightful (hopefully), if disjointed, mix of whatever is going on in my life or that mad mad mad mad world you (what's up reader!) and I inhabit.

PS - a note about 'L'idiot savant': [id-ee-uht sa-vahnt] a person who is 'gifted' in a particular way but can exhibit 'subnormal' intelligence...Enter moi - if only the 'gifted' particular was, well, there.  And it seemed better than anything else that was tickling my fancy.