Happy Easter

And here we are at Easter. It’s late this year, very late. I honestly don’t understand why it keeps moving around. I mean, we don’t move the alleged date of the birth of Jesus around. It’s not in November one year and then in January the next, so why keep moving the date of his death about? The Vatican do some mumbo-jumbo calculations based on the position of the moon or something. I don’t know. All sounds a bit mystical and pagan to me, but what do I know?

Anyway, it’s Easter, so if it’s something you celebrate, peace and blessings on you. If it’s not, then happy chocolate day. I bought myself an Easter egg and some chocolate bunnies. I didn’t intend to, but saw a Lion Bar Easter egg and some Malteser chocolate bunnies when I went shopping so I succumbed and bought them. I loved Lion Bars when I was a kid, and Maltesers are always my go-to chocolate. No doubt, they will be scoffed over the long weekend.

My parents gave me some money, and that went towards buying myself a new festival trolley. I do have a trolley that I use for live events and comic cons, but it is only a small one holding a couple of boxes, and it’s not very stable. I’ve lost count of the number of times my trolley has gone arse-over-tit, spilling boxes of books everywhere, especially if the surface is uneven. I’ve been thinking for a while that I need a proper festival trolley that has four wheels and can hold a great deal more, so I ordered myself one and it’s coming next week — just in time for the big Indie Author Book Fair in Huntingdon on the 3^rd of May.

I did buy Franki and Rys their favourite chocolate Easter eggs and sent them to them last week. I made sure I ordered them in good time because I thought everyone would be getting their eggs delivered over Easter, and I wanted them to get them beforehand. They arrived safely and no doubt have been eaten by now.

Last time we spoke, it was coming up to Mothering Sunday and I was convinced that Franki had forgotten about me because it was late Saturday afternoon and there was no whiff of a pressie, let alone a card. Had she forgotten about her old mum? No, of course, she hadn’t. Just after I posted the blog, there was a knock at the door, and it was Amazon bearing a couple of interesting-looking parcels. I put them on the table and was examining them when my phone pinged, and it was Franki video messaging me — she’d just got the notification that they’d been delivered — and wanted to watch me open them.

I didn’t buy you a card, Mum, she said. It’s a 45-minute bus journey to the nearest card shop, and then there’s the cost of postage, all for a card you will look at, say aww over, stand on the side for a week and then throw in the bin.

Okay, I guess that’s fair enough. I have raised her not to waste money on pointless tut, but still…

The large box is instead of a card, she said.

I picked up the box. It GLUGGED!

Now, I likes me a present that makes glugging sounds. It promises so much.

Eagerly, I opened the box to find a pretty bottle of artisan rhubarb and ginger gin.

I thought you’d appreciate this much more than a card, she continued.

Darn right, I do. I really have raised my kid right.

In the other box were some much-needed and much-appreciated items of make-up. So, I was very happy with my Mothering Sunday presents and felt a bit guilty for doubting her.

Have I got my weeks mixed? Was I supposed to blog last week? I have honestly got so turned around this last month or so that I don’t know whether I’m on foot or horseback. I worked two 40-hour work weeks, then had a week off during which I scurried around catching up with everything and sawing up wood. Then I worked another two 40-hour work weeks. On top of that, I had friends coming to stay last weekend, so the whole weekend before was spent cleaning the house from top to bottom, shopping, gardening, washing the car, and making sure the guest bedroom was ready for them. They arrived by train on Friday afternoon whilst I was still at work and collected the spare key on their way through town to my house.

They had asked if we should go out for dinner or perhaps get a takeaway Friday evening, but this whole rapeseed oil allergy makes eating out and takeaways a nightmare of a minefield. Is the food going to make me ill? How stroppy will the restaurant staff be when it turns out I can’t eat anything on the menu because EVERY SODDING THING HAS RAPESEED OIL IN IT NOW!! And yes, I do need you to be more specific than just telling me you use vegetable oil because, guess what, rapeseed oil lurks under that title as well. And yes, I do have an EPI-PEN, but as I really, really don’t want to go into anaphylactic shock in the middle of the restaurant, I would rather avoid the situation and not eat anything that has rapeseed oil in it.

I said we’d eat at home after I got back from work.

So, Thursday evening was spent making a lasagne from scratch to the point where it was ready to go in the oven. I let it cool, covered it, and put it in the freezer. I also made garlic butter ready to go in a sourdough baguette. Friday morning, I thinly sliced a red onion and put it in a bowl with iced water and a teaspoon of red wine vinegar. I like a proper Greek salad, and I planned to make one to go with the lasagne, but the raw red onions it’s traditionally supposed to contain don’t agree with me. To be honest, I’m not sure raw onions agree with anyone. If you soak them in iced water and vinegar, it helps break down the enzyme that causes heartburn and acid reflux. In short, it starts the cooking process.

At lunchtime on Friday, I charged home and drained the onions. I quickly put together a Greek salad and put it in the fridge, as well as took the cheese that needed to soften out and put it on the cheeseboard. I tidied up and then dashed back to work.

The weather here in the UK has been spectacular over the last couple of weeks. Warm days with blue skies, and everywhere you look, spring flowers are popping up. Anyway, they collected the key, and when I eventually got home, I found them relaxing in the garden with cups of tea. I put the oven on, got changed, and then slid the lasagne into the oven to cook. I made big gin and tonics for everyone and had half an hour relaxing in the garden and chatting before we came back in to finish cooking dinner and to eat. And how was it? Delicious. The lasagne was tasty and very satisfying. The Greek salad was lovely, and is there anything better than homemade garlic bread?

We drank our way through almost three bottles of wine, we chatted, we ate cheese and played music. It was a very relaxing evening.

First thing Saturday, I dashed to the shop to grab croissants fresh from the bakery, which we had with apricot conserve, juice, and fresh coffee. After breakfast, they went to visit family, so I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, caught up with laundry, and sorted out the pets. Midmorning, there was an unexpected ring at the door. I opened it. My brother stood there … ???

I’ve got a vanload of pallets for you.

Oh, right, okay then, best you put them in the garden.

Now, to give you some background as to why my brother unexpectedly turned up with half a dozen large wooden pallets, we need to go back to last spring when I gave my garden a makeover and painted all the fences, trellis, and walls in a different colour. The roof of the pergola is currently made up of rolls of bamboo fencing simply laid over the joists and nailed into place. They have served well for the fifteen-odd years they’ve been up there, but they are looking a bit decrepit now and need replacing. I had the idea to get wooden slats, paint them the same urban slate as the pergola and nail them across, leaving gaps in between for the jasmine and the rambling rose to climb through.

I looked at buying the timber. Wiped the tears of disbelief from my eyes and decided I had to find a cheaper option. I mentioned it to my dad, who said that a friend of my brother’s works at a builder’s merchant, and they always had loads of sturdy wooden pallets lying around. Why didn’t we ask him for some to take apart, remove the nails, paint, and then use to make a new roof? Apart from the cost of the paint, it would be free, and I’d be recycling used timber.

Brilliant.

That was a year ago. Nothing happened. Now and then, I would jog my dad’s memory. Oh yes, he’d say, I’ll get onto that. Nothing would happen again. Until Saturday. When five monstrous pallets arrived unannounced on my doorstep. They are currently sitting in my garden until we can get around to doing something with them.

Saturday afternoon, once my friends returned from visiting family, we went for a long ramble about town and had delicious handmade gelato in the Abby Gardens. I had mango-flavoured. It was delicious. Then we wandered through the gorgeous Victorian cemetery, which is wonderfully neglected and overgrown with wildflowers and grasses, along the river at the back of the park, and then through town to Waitros,e where we stopped to buy steak for Sunday dinner. Apparently, if you buy meat from the fresh meat counter on a Saturday, there’s 20% off the price, and if you buy fish on a Friday, there is also 20% off. I did not know that. I do now and will take advantage of that.

They were going out for dinner on Saturday to a posh dining club experience in a local restaurant. They had asked if I’d like to go, but to be honest, it was very expensive, and what with the whole rapeseed oil thing, probably not worth the effort, so I said no. They left, and I made myself a delicious rustic sausage ragu with pasta and salad. I also packed up my car because the next day was my first live event of the year, the Leiston Easter Craft Market. I would need to leave by 8am on Sunday, and didn’t want to wake the whole household, lugging boxes and my table out of the house.

I do like the Leiston event. Even though it’s an hour’s drive away, mostly through twisty, tiny country lanes, and it’s only four hours long — 10am to 2pm — it has a nice vibe to it, people are friendly, the pitch is only £15, and I generally do quite well. I got there and put up my stall. I was quite excited to see how my new hardback books did. I mean, they had sold like hotcakes at the Christmas markets I did, but that was Christmas, so things might be different at an Easter fair.

It was sluggish to start with, but then things picked up and, in the end, I sold £150 worth of books. For a tiny village market, that is not bad. I did treat myself to a cup of coffee because it is excellent coffee and only £2 for a large cup. I bought five raffle tickets for £1 — I still live in hopes of winning again — and a lump of homemade fruit cake the size of my hand. I asked the lady on the stall if there was any rapeseed oil in it. She puffed up indignantly and exclaimed — Not in My Cake! — Okay, sorry. So, I bought it, and it was lovely.

I didn’t win the raffle, by the way.

Halfway through the morning, an elderly lady staggered into the room, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Huffing and puffing, she looked around, spotted me and stalked over to me, waving her stick at me.

You! She exclaimed. You!

Um, me?

Yes, you! You made me cry!

By now, other stallholders and shoppers were turning to see what the commotion was about.

Did I?

Yes, Chaining Daisy! Never cried so much over a book in my life. Absolutely loved it. I’m about to start Rambling Rose. I wondered if you’d be here and came to buy some more books.

And she did. She bought the hardback edition of the Blackwood Family Saga omnibus.

It’s always so lovely when something like that happens. It is such a tonic for an author. To have someone come to an event specifically to find me and buy another book, well, it kinda makes it all worthwhile.

I got home from the event at about 4.30. By the time I’d unpacked the car and put everything away, it was gone five, so I had a gin and tonic and then chatted to my friends as they made us a delicious steak dinner, with mushrooms, fresh buttered asparagus, and new potatoes in garlic butter. It was lovely, all washed down with a bottle of wine, and then we finished off the cheeseboard afterwards.

And that was the weekend over and done with. I had to go to work the next day, and they were catching the ten o’clock train to go home. I wish we’d had a bit more time together, it would have been nice to go out for the day, but what with me working overtime, them going to see family, and me having already booked to do the Easter fair, there simply wasn’t time. Oh well, we did spend some time together and it was lovely to see them both.

At least my hours were back to normal this week, and I only worked Monday and Tuesday. As it’s the Easter weekend, I have next Monday off as well, but then I’m back to work on Tuesday, have Wednesday and Thursday off, working overtime on Friday, have Saturday and Sunday off, then back to work on Monday. Is it any wonder I get confused about what day or week it is?

It’s a beautiful day here in Suffolk. A tad breezy, but sunny and warm. Let’s face it, any day I don’t have to put the heating on and can dry laundry outside is a good day. I did manage to take apart one of the smaller pallets yesterday, and I had a go at one of the bigger ones. But they are too sturdily assembled for me to pull apart, not without damaging the planks, and I don’t want to do that. Dad says he’s coming next Wednesday to help me. It’s going to be a big job. Once the pallets have been taken apart, all the nails need to be removed, then the planks will need two or three coats of paint. The old bamboo roofing must be removed. Before the painted planks can be fixed in place, though, I will have to climb up the stepladder and put a couple of coats of paint on all the joists — I couldn’t do it last year because the bamboo roofing was in the way. And then all the planks can be nailed securely in place. It’s good we’re getting it done now before the rambling rose has got up to speed. It’s a vigorous climber and has wicked thorns, so it’s as well it’s not quite reached the top of the pergola yet.

And then that will be the garden finished. I’m looking out for some retro tin signs for the wall, and I need to buy a few more lightbulbs for the outdoor lights, but apart from that, it’s done. I can sit back this summer and enjoy the fruits of my labour — well, not cherries, because the tree’s been chopped down.

Am I writing? Hopefully, this weekend. Now I’ve written my blog and caught up on the laundry, nothing is stopping me from diving back into my work in progress, so … you never know, I may get a few more words down, especially as I have an extra day off on Monday.

Anyway, Happy Easter. I hope you have a wonderful weekend, and I’ll chat more next time.

Julia Blake