We camped, we fished, we left.

Last weekend we stupidly went on a camping trip. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time, it's just that sleeping on a half-inflated mattress in the damp and cold does not say "five star hotel" to me.

Surprisingly, we have all the camping gear. The big tent with three rooms and a "sunroom", the outdoor table and chairs, the kitchenette. And yet, there is just no escaping the fact that camping is dirty and sandy and not-at-all comfortable. So, why do we go?

Why do we do anything my friends?

Guilt.

My gorgeous and very practically-minded eldest daughter said one night at dinner, "We should go on  camping trip".

For me, the killer is the word "should". She may as well have said, "You two are bad parents who make no effort to get your children away from every electronic device known-to-man. If you don't get us out of the house and into some fresh air this instant I'm going to report you to child welfare."

It's that word "should", and all its guilt-ridden connotations.

So, we packed up and left for Moore River. It's a pretty little place on the coast about an hour and a half from home. 

We spent lots of time walking, taking photos, playing card games and getting rained on. And it was fun.

 In a stroke of parenting-genius we went fishing. There must be lots of good-parenting points in that. We caught nothing, but got our feet wet and sandy, got rained on again, and laughed more than we have done in a while. 

You see, the thing about camping is that there's no getting away from anyone. 

And that was lovely.

x

Therapy anyone?

I'll take baking over therapy any day. I was having a particularly bad day last week and decided to do some baking to turn it around. I'm not sure why baking can turn a bad day into a borderline-good-day, but it works for me, especially if the baking involves yeast. There is something about waiting for a dough to rise that fills me with great contentment. Strange, I know (perhaps it is therapy I need after all).

I took out my terrifically food-stained copy of Nigella's How to Be a Domestic Goddess, and turned to the chapter on bread and yeast. I knew ordinary-old-bread wouldn't cut it, it needed to be something sugary and sweet (remember that a significant part of the healing process is in eating the finished product). Enter.... Norwegian Cinnamon Buns.

Here is the recipe. If you have the book it's on page 322 (and if you don't, shame on you.)

Combine 600g plain flour, 100g sugar, half a teaspoon of salt and 3 sachets of dry yeast (21g). In another bowl whisk 100g melted butter with 400ml of milk and 2 eggs.

Add wet ingredients to dry and mix to combine. Next, knead the dough by hand or use a dough hook on your mixer. (I had to add extra flour here as my dough started out looking more like soup.)

Place the dough into an oiled bowl (I just used the mixing bowl from my mixer), cover with clingfilm and leave it to rise for about 25 mins. (Here's where I go and make a cup of tea and start to feel better.)

NB. Ensure no small, hairy animals go sniffing around your dough.

Once your dough has risen, take one third of it and roll it out to fit the bottom of a greased and papered roasting tin (33x24cm). Roll out the rest of the dough onto a floured surface to make a rectangle measuring 50x25cm. (Am I the only one who keeps a ruler in the kitchen?) Spread this dough with a mixture of 150g soft butter, 150g sugar and one and a half teaspoons of cinnamon.

Next, roll this into a sausage shape starting on the long side.

 Cut the sausage into 2cm slices and place each piece onto your dough in the tin, cut side up. They don't need to touch as they spread out quite a bit. Brush them with a beaten egg and leave to rise again.

(This time I'm wise to my dog's antics and I put them up high.)

Leave them for 15 mins, and then place in a hot oven (230 degrees) for 20-25mins. Nigella says not to worry if they 'catch' (by which I think she means burn). Mine did a bit, but looked almost identical to the picture in Nigella's book, so as advised, I didn't worry.

They were a sight to behold when they came out of the oven - buttery, glistening and smelling like a Norwegian Bakery (I'm guessing here, as I've never been to Norway, much less been into a Norwegian Bakery).

As soon as they had cooled enough to be touched, we dug in, adding extra butter for good measure.

And, yes, they were truly magical in their healing powers.

x

You may be the Chosen One, but just look at my lights...

There are lots of things that we put up with in our homes - the things that we'd like to replace one day when time/money permit. Some things are best lived with for a while until the right decision can be made. However, some things are just so brutally ugly, so poke-my-eyes-out-with-a stick ugly, that they cannot, and should not be borne. Example A, the box of light fittings in the picture above. Surely these could only be at home in a little-old-lady's house with doilies and musty smells.

Just to convey the true horror, here they are in situ.

Admittedly, the slightly phalic light globes are not helping matters.

So, where does one go when one is unsure of what to buy, but needs it quickly? Ikea of course. A quick trip on Saturday saw us return with bellies full of breakfast and three new light fittings. Two matching lights for the open kitchen and family area, and one for our Room of Requirement (another Harry Potter reference). Our Room of Requirement is at the end of our entrance hall and is a bit like a foyer (but nowhere near as grand or posh), with no real purpose at the moment  except to house our piano and a few other musical instruments. If you are unfamiliar with Harry's Room of Requirement, it gives you what ever you are looking for/need at the time (I think he wins as his is much more exciting).

But I digress. A few hours later and, thanks to a husband who quite happily tackles small electrical tasks (with the power turned off of course), we now have lovely lights that wouldn't know a doily if they were draped in one.

These in the kitchen and family room...

...and this spectacular number in the Room of Requirement.

I bet Harry is just a little bit jealous now.

x

Memory Lane (well, Silver Street actually)

There is a whimsical block of streets in South Fremantle which is so mouth-wateringly-pretty that it always makes me think of lollipops and sugary sweets (so what's new?)

If you are ever down that way, take a walk down Silver Street, along Coral Street and up Gold Street - even the names are magical.

I found these shots going through some old photos. I love the mustard colour of the combi van and the muted reds and browns. 

I may have blogged some of these before, but worth a trip down Memory Lane I think.

Just along Coral Street there is a tiny park (we called it Surfboard Park in honour of the one piece of play equipment).

Have a glorious weekend.

x
PS - a new header for my blog, made with the program I love to hate - Photoshop.