Celebrating the Best of British!

I was recently contacted by a man who felt I had an important voice, and who wanted to see if I could do something to inspire us Britains to buy "British" and rally around local farmers and producers and help support the industry of food producing here in the UK.

I thought it was very timely as this is British Food Fortnight, an event which is now in it's seventh year and is a celebration of the wide diversity of foods we have available here, locally produced and grown right in the United Kingdom.

There is a real feeling growing here in Britain that we should rally around our local farmers and buy "British," in order to help support British farmers and help to maintain Britains fresh and local produce and goods, rather than support goods and produce being shipped in from abroad.

My Todd, in his younger years, was once a cowman. He knows only too well how very hard these people work on their farms, and quite often for very little in return. So many of us never stop and take a thought for the hard work that often goes into producing these lovely things we enjoy on our tables every day and the history behind it.

I try, whenever possible to buy British products. It really annoys me when I go to buy blueberries for instance, and the only ones on offer are from Poland, especially when I know that beautiful British blueberries are being grown just down the road. Oftimes I know it is because of trade agreements our country has with the other countries in the European Community, but I think it's really sad when you can't get a British Blueberry and, to be perfectly honest, I am getting to the point where I just won't buy things unless it says on the label produced in Britain . . . I firmly believe that if we fail to support our local farming communities, they will be forced to shut down shop and then where will we be . . . we'll be at the mercy of foreign producers and investors and will have lost a lot of the charm and pleasures of our local farming communities.



One needn't only hold that resolve to buying only British produce and meat however. The store shelves are laden with butters imported from Denmark, and even New Zealand . . . but there are some wonderful butters produced right here in our own country that are just as good, sometimes even better and quite often much cheaper than the imports. I like to buy British branded butter myself. Country Life is the only major British branded butter in the UK market today. There are a few smaller brands that are a bit more expensive and more specialized, but Country Life is a very good butter and quite reasonably priced. In these days when every penny counts, that is nothing to sniff at!

The farmers that produce this butter work very hard and long hours, and are often very educated people with a great deal of knowledge about what they are producing and a care about the environment and the impact their farms have on it.



Peter Hawkins owns and runs Lingens Farm in Worcester. This is a farm that has been operated by his wife's family for many years. Having studied agriculture at college, Peter traveled all over the world with his wife, Helen, working on farms in Canada, Australia and Saudi Arabia, before settling down on Lingens Farm in 1991.

The Lingens Farm is shrouded in heritage, retaining many of its traditional 17th Century buildings including two threshing barns and old orchards that remain from the time when the farm was used for fruit and hops. Peter is currently working with Natural England to try and restore the old buildings to their former state. Peter and his family work really hard to ensure that the farm works as a profitable dairy farm whilst remaining true to its traditions. To do this, they have created an environment where everything can live and over the years, as well as cows, this farm has become home to many other species of wildlife including hares, foxes, sparrows, wrens and owls who like to nest in the old barns.



Clive Guerney owns and runs Abbey Court Farm in Hereford. His family has owned and operated dairy farms since the early 1960's when his grandfather bought a small farm in North Staffs of 39 acres. Now Clive has his own farm with some 320 cows on an impressive 400 acres. Clive’s farm is very special in that, he has made a massive commitment to not only his cows, but also to the environment which he is very passionate about. He works very hard to ensure that his farm exists side by side with the natural backdrop and wildlife that exists all around him. As well as maintaining and replanting hedge rows and maintaining his woodlands and ponds, Mr Guerney has also created a wetlands area for the local wildlife. He is an active member of FWAG (Farming & Wildlife Advisory Group) and dedicates time to working with the countryside stewardships on annual projects. Clive is also a popular man around the village, having hosted the local village fete and donating a field to the village.

British Farms are not just farms . . . they are history and the soul of all that is good in Britain, rich in heritage and stewardship, and community. As intelligent consumers we need to make every effort to sustain and support our British farmers and this very vital industry.

Buying British is important for many reasons. In doing so we are the lucky recipients of some of the best quality produce and goods in the world and we can reduce our carbon footprint and the impact that it has on the world. I believe in doing my part, how about you?



To help celebrate British Food Fortnight, Antonia of Food, Glorious Food is hosting a blogging event which celebrates the very best of British Food . . . the challenge being to to create a thoroughly British dish from (where possible), locally-sourced ingredients.



I have decided to make a lovely Bread and Butter Pudding, using Country Life Butter, a uniquely British Branded Butter . . . Bread and Butter Pudding is a variation of custard, bread and butter that has become one of our great British Classic puddings. It's always been a good way of using up stale bread and a testimony to great British ingenuity and thrift!



*Bread and Butter Pudding*
Serves 6-8

This pudding has a delicious sponge like texture, just oozing with thick fresh custard between the layers.

12 medium slices of white bread
2 ounces british butter, softened (Country Life!)
8 egg yolks (British free range organic please!)
6 ounces sugar
few drops of pure vanilla extract
300ml of whole milk
300 ml double cream
2 ounces sultana raisins
more sugar for sprinkling

Grease a glass baking dish with some butter and set aside.

Butter all the bread, removing the crusts and cutting in half diagonally, creating triangles. Arrange the bread in layers in the prepared baking dish, sprinkling with the raisins in between the layers.

Whisk the egg yolks together in a bowl along with the sugar, mixing together well. Set aside.

Place the vanilla in a pan with the milk and cream. Bring to the simmer, then remove from the heat. Whisk a bit of this heated mixture into the egg yolk mixture, slowly to temper it, then whisk it in completely, stirring all the time. Pour the warm egg mixture through a seive onto the bread and butter layers. Leave to soak for 20 minutes before cooking.

Place a large roasting pan onto a baking tray. Place the dish with the bread and butter pudding into this roasting pan,a nd then fill the roasting pan with warm water to come up 2/3 of the way. cover the whole thing with buttered foil and then place in the heated oven and bake for about 20 to 30 minutes, just until the mixture begins to set. You don't want it to become too firm.

Remove from the oven and the water bath and place it back on the baking tray. Sieve more sugar over the top and then place it under a hot grill to dissolve and caramelize the sugar. Watch very carefully so it doesn't burn.

Serve warm spooned out into individual bowls or plates. You can serve with ice cream or pouring cream if you wish.

*Note you can add some freshly grated nutmeg in between the layers if you wish for an extra spicy flavour.

Sweeping Out the Cobwebs

"To help us the beauty of God's world to see -
Sweep out the cobwebs, wherever they may be."
~unknown

Last week, when I was enjoying a bit of free time, we decided to do a fall clean here at Oak Cottage. Every picture was taken down and wiped off and the walls wiped down behind. Nothing was left unturned, and every speck of dust and cobweb was routed out and gotten rid of. We live in a very cob-webby part of the world, I have decided. Cob webs seem to grow here overnight. You don't have to live in a neglected home, or to visit a vacated house to find cobwebs though . . . spiders are busy all the time. They have much more time than we do, it seems, to go about their business . . . after all . . . they have houses to build.



As I was sweeping the cobwebs from the beams in our upstairs lounge, I thought about how good it would be to start sweeping a few cobwebs from our lives, instead of just from our ceilings and beams, and how, in doing so, we could clear our vision to the beauty of the world and life that God has so generously given us . . .

We clutter our lives with endless cobwebs . . . ignorance, bad temper, stubbornness, procrastinating, being lazy, neglecting things that need attention, being impatient with others . . . there is an endless list of things like this that we could all find piling up in our lives and preventing us from living life to the fullest.



For instance ignorance . . . does the cobweb of ignorance keep you from enjoying all the great achievements of man? Does it cause you to accept less than you are due on earth because you really don't understand the scriptures? Are there ways and things you could be doing better if you only took the time to study how? Perhaps we should all take a little bit of time in our lives to expand our knowledge . . . of others, of ourselves, of our countries, of our governments, of our world, of the scriptures . . .



How about the beauty that surrounds us? Do we take the time to stand and watch a particularly beautiful sunset until it sends tingles up and down our spines, or to sit in the garden and watch the leaves that fall from the trees this time of year in an aerial dance of beauty, or to stand of a night and watch the stars that twinkle above us??? Or does the cobweb of impatience rob us of these precious things, and only make us mindful of the passing of time and all the things we need to get done . . .

There is the joy of a child rushing in from school at the end of the day, all eager to tell you all about what they learned, who they saw, what they did . . . do you stop to listen to what they have to say, and share in their excitement or do you spoil the moment by only thinking about those muddy shoes they have just tracked inside the door and by voicing your dismay and annoyance at the muddy floor . . . the cobwebs of impatience and frustration clouding what could have been a perfect moment of sharing between parent and child . . .



How about that elderly neighbour just down the street? Have you bothered to take a few minutes to see if they need any help or cheering up? It needn't take much, or have you entangled yourself in the mesh of procrastination and find yourself with just too much to do and not enough time to do it in . . . certainly not enough time to do a kindness for another . . .

These are only a few examples of cobwebs we all use to clutter up our lives and which prevent us from experiencing all the joy and blessings we have been given here on earth to enjoy . . . the special little things and moments that might be overlooked, except for the sweep of the dusting broom . . .

Who doesn't love Fried Chicken. I know I am as guilty as the next person when it comes to this. The crunchy skin and coating are so scrumptious and delicious. It's not that good for you though and just loaded with fat and calories, as well as bad cholesterol . . . Oven fried chicken is often much better for you and can taste just as good as the deep fried kind!





*Fried Chicken the Oven Way*
Serves 6

This chicken is delicious, tender and moist. It’s not as high in calories or fat content than regular fried chicken, although . . . I still would reserve it for an occasional treat.

2 1/2 lbs skinless chicken pieces
3/4 cup mayonnaise (I use low fat)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/4-1/2 teaspoon salt, to taste
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/8-1/4 teaspoon hot sauce, to taste
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon celery salt
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 1/2 cups dry bread crumbs
2 tablespoons chopped flat leaf parsley

Combine the mayonnaise, lemon juice, salt, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, garlic powder, celery salt, dry mustard, pepper and paprika in a large glass bowl and mix well. Add chicken pieces and toss to coat. Cover andrefrigerate for at least 4 hours (or up to 24 hours, if you plan ahead).

After marinating, remove the chicken from the refrigerator and toss around in the mixture once again (to make sure pieces are well-coated).

Preheat your oven to 180*C/350*F. Lightly spray a baking pan with some non-stick low fat baking spray and set it aside.

Place the breadcrumbs and parsley in a shallow dish, mixing together well. Roll the marinated chicken pieces in crumb mixture to coat on all sides. Place in a single layer on the baking pan.

Bake, uncovered, for about 45 to 55 minutes, depending on the size of the chicken pieces you are using, turning gently halfway through or until the juices run clear when tested with a fork.

Remove to a warm platter and serve. We like to have this with mashed potatoes and gravy as a once in a blue moon treat! (In for a penny, in for a pound!)

Sharing A Room, and the Magical Properties of a Glow in the Dark Jesus . . .

With the exception of a very few years in my early teens, I shared a bedroom with my sister for most of the time I was growing up, and, for a few years, even my brother as well. His crib was over in one corner of the room, and my sister and I shared a big double bed. This was fine with me . . . I've never been all that greedy (waiting for the lightening bolt to strike me here . . . ) and I always really enjoyed the companionship of my sister and brother, at least, for the most part. I was always afraid of the dark . . . not to mention Santa Claus, so having them close by worked quite well for me.



One year, when I was around five or six years old, my father decided that it would be nice if Santa Claus could talk to us in our bedroom . . . that was when the three of us still shared a room. He had rigged up a walkie talkie, and hidden it in the bedroom. That night, after we got into bed, and were all snuggled in . . . all of a sudden Santa Claus started to talk to us. I'm sure he thought this would probably be the thrill of our lives! But . . . to me, a 6 year old child that was afraid of Santa in the first place . . . the eerie staticky sound of a Santa Claus, with a mysterious French accent, coming from under my brother's crib was terrifying . . . and so, I was glad I was not alone.



One time my mother had the stomache flu, and so my dad had to take care of us and cook for us, for what seemed like an eternity. I am sure it only seemed that way because the only thing my father knew how to cook was fried eggs . . . and we had them for breakfast . . . we had them for lunch . . . we had them for supper . . . and we had them again . . . and again . . . This was fine, and probably quite nutritious, except that, on about the third morning, my sister woke up with fried eggs in her hair. Yes . . . I'd gotten the tummy bug myself . . . and, quite naturally, the person I shared a bed with was the lucky first recipient of the news! It was a very long time before I was ever able again to sit down and enjoy a fried egg . . . and, I'm not entirely sure if she was able to either . . . although,in all fairness to me, I have heard that egg shampoo does give the hair a certain shine and glow . . .



Being afraid of the dark, I quite naturally also assumed that there was a monster living under our bed. This was not just an ordinary monster though, this was a monster that had a particular taste for little girls and boys. It loved to crunch them up and eat them, with the exception of their heads. It didn't like the taste of little girl or boy heads. I often went to bed a bit later than my sister and my brother, because I was older of course! Usually by the time I was sent in to bed they had already been asleep for a time. I would tiptoe carefully and quietly into the room, so as not to disturb the monster under the bed you know . . . and then, I'd carefully pull up the covers on each of them . . . taking special care to be sure that only their heads were showing above the satin edge of the blankets. My stuffed toys and dolls got the same treatment, as I was never quite sure if he would eat them or not. Only after we had all been tucked in safe and sound, was I able to fall asleep, and rest assured . . . the monster was never able to eat us, for only the yucky parts were showing . . . thanks to me!



I remember one time I awakened in the middle of the night, and I was certain there was a group of aliens outside our bedroom window singing their sirenic sultry song to us. I lay there in the dark . . . worry creasing my brow, and terror ruling my heart . . . listening to the sounds repeating, over and over again, for what seemed like an eternity before I realized that, what I was really listening to was the eerie sound of my sister's laboured breathing. She was recovering from Rheumatic Fever, and so her breath was whistling somewhat as it took it's journey in and out of her nose and lungs which, to my un-trained ears and due to my vivid imagination, sounded somewhat like an alien melody . . . trying to lure us into their spaceship and take us away.



Once we got to be teens . . . sharing a room with each other started to lose some of it's charm. It wasn't cool to really "like" your sister, and I am now ashamed to say . . . I found her following me around and listening in on the conversations I had with my friends hugely annoying and embarassing. By then we had single beds and we each had our "own" side of the room . . . with an invisible line dividing the room in two. Each was responsible for keeping their own half clean and tidy . . . but of course . . . neither one of us was really tidy, and if we were . . . it was never at the same time! That used to cause a few arguments, especially if my going out on a Friday night was determined by how clean and tidy the room was on a Friday morning! It's also very hard to have secrets . . . as all teenagers do . . . in a room that is shared with a person that's very determined to find out all there is to know, and then use it to . . . either get you in to trouble . . . or to get you to do something you don't necessarily want to do, such as loan them a special blouse or sweater that you really didn't want to have to share in the first place! Hence the rule my father ended up instituting . . . "No sharing clothes." It caused too many arguments. All the rule really did though, was to send the clothes sharing underground and stop our bickering out "Loud" It became a whispered art after that . . . and was very well developed!



My mother had a rich (or it seemed to us) cousin that lived in America. Her name was Lydia McNayr. During the depression, when my mother was a little girl, she and her sisters had been the happy recipients of care boxes from her cousin's family, which contained hand me down clothes and other treats. This went on for years, and after my mother had married and had all of us, Lydia would then send packages to us kids at Christmas and Easter. I remember in particular some pretty crepe paper butterflies held together by sparkly painted wooden clothes pins that my sister and I ended up using to hold back the curtains in our bedroom. They were different shades of pink, and had sparkly clothespin bodies and springy black pipe cleaner antennae. One year, she sent us these fascinating pictures to hang on the wall. Each one was slightly different than the other, but they each had the Lord's Prayer painted on them and pictures of Jesus. The background was this purple cardboard and the pictures were an odd greeny kind of white, but the best thing about them was . . . they actually glowed in the dark. Those two pictures hung on our bedroom walls (each on their owner's respective sides) right up until I grew up and left home to live on my own. There was something very comforting about those pictures, in being able to look up, when all around was dark and black and scary . . . and being able to see a magical Jesus looking down on you, His loving profile and tender words helping to scare away the bogey man, and any monsters that may have still been lingering under the bed. I wonder what ever happened to them? I like to think that somewhere they are still working, still glowing in the dark, still protecting . . . hanging now on some other little girl's bedroom walls . . . but . . . they probably are long gone . . . except in the sepia glow of this little girl's memory and mind . . .

I finally got around to making the Roasted Tomato Salad last evening for our tea. It was delicious, if a bit hard to photograph and have come out looking as tasty as it was. In any case, as bad as the pictures may or may not be, I highly recommend!



*Roasted Tomato Salad*
Serves 4

Imagine a crusty roll dipped in olive oil and the sweet juices of a sticky roasted tomato all drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette . . . you have imagined the nectar of the Gods . . . and this lovely salad.

12 large tomatoes cut in half*
24 large basil leaves
2 fat cloves of garlic, peeled and minced
4 TBS extra virgin olive oil
2 TBS good quality balsamic vinegar
24 black olives
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200*C/400*F.

Place each tomato into a roasting tin, cut sides up, and season each with a light dusting of sea salt and black pepper. Sprinkle the minced garlic evenly over each. Place a basil leaf on top of each one and then drizzle about a tablespoon of the oil over all.

Place the roasting tin in the top half of the oven and roast the tomatoes for about an hour, until the edges are beginning to slightly blacken. Remove the tin from the oven and allow the tomatoes to cool somewhat before dividing them amongst serving plates, spooning any juices that are in the pan onto each as well.

Whisk the remaining 3 TBS of olive oil together with the balsamic vinegar and drizzle this dressing over each serving. Top each tomato with a black olive and serve with lots of crusty bread to mop up the juices.

*Delia suggests that you peel the tomatoes first, but I never do.

I Have A Pair Of Hands . . .

I have a pair of hands, and although they are something I have taken very much for granted in my life, they have served me well. They are starting to look a bit older now. I can’t really put my finger on it but, they just don’t seem to look as youthful as they used to. The skin seems somehow less taut and perhaps they are a bit more wrinkled looking. No age spots yet, but I am dreading those, for I know they can‘t be too far in coming. They have been a great help to me in my life, and seen me through many times, both good and bad.

I’ve used these precious tools to reach out and grab hold of life. As an infant these hands helped me to reach out beyond the sphere of my existence and explore and learn about the world around me. My fingers were one of the first things I learned to put in my mouth, followed by my hand. As I got a bit older my hands were what helped to prevent me from getting really hurt when I was learning to walk and would fall upon the floor. They were important tools in helping me to learn how to feed myself and become independent.



As a very small child my mother taught me how to put my hands together, bow my head and pray, so they have been instrumental in helping me to commune with my Lord, and even now when I listen to a very spiritual piece of music that touches my heart I like to raise them in the air and somehow feel as if I am able to touch the hem of His garment. They have helped me throughout my life to feel closer to my God.

With them, I learned to tug on my clothes, and do up my buttons and tie my shoes for the very first time.

With a pencil or a crayon or a needle and thread I have learned to create and make tangible the songs of my heart and the inspirations of my soul. My nimble fingers have produced many a thing of beauty, be it a story to tell my children, or a cake or a meal to celebrate a special day or occasion.



I’ve used these hands to stroke the cheek of my lover’s face and to hold him close to me. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I loved and was loved. As I got older they helped me to comfort and hold my newborn child, and then to teach and guide my toddlers and then teens, however clumsy and inept they might have seemed at the time. These hands have been tender and firm, strong and sometimes weak.

These hands have written letters to family, neighbours and friends, stories for my children, and now my grandchildren.With these hands I write to you each morning and share with you the secret ponderings of my mind and my heart.



I've used these hands to wave goodbye a thousand times, never knowing if I would ever again see the person I was waving too. I have held them up in joyous greeting after long separations and in grand reunions.

My hands have held lovers and children and now grandchildren. They’ve wiped the tears from a child’s tender face and heart. They’ve consoled family and neighbours and friends. They’ve shaken with anger and fear and covered my face in sorrow and despair.



These hands have been dirty, and cut, scraped and swollen, tender and sore, yet still they serve me.

They have a good number of years left in them yet. They still have many miles to go and many trails to follow, many experiences and trials still to help and guide me though. They were with me in the beginning helping to lead the way and they will be with me at the end helping to lead the way. They are the mark of where I’ve been and the signpost of where I’m going, and they will be what I reach out and touch the hands of the Saviour with when he finally leads me home . . .



I hope you didn't mind me sharing this with you today. It's a post I wrote previously over on AOL journals last year. Since AOL has decided to shut down their journals people are scrambling to try to save what they have written on there before it disappears forever. I am much the same. Some of my best writing is stored on there and I am trying to figure out how to save it. A lot of work . . . it would be a shame to see it dissolve into thin air . . .

Of course that means I am trying to save recipes and food photos as well. This is a lovely dessert I make often in the fall. We like to have Cream spooned over it, but Ice Cream works very nicely as does Custard!



*As Good As Apple Pie Dessert*
Serves 6

I love to make this delicious dessert in the autumn when the apples are ripe and fresh and full of flavour. Being surrounded by orchards the way we are, we are inundated in the autumn months with windfalls and this is a great way to use some of them up. Easy and quick, this will become a firm family favourite.

Crumble base and topping:
½ cup cold butter, cut into bits
½ cup caster sugar
1 ½ cups plain flour
¼ tsp salt
FILLING:
5 cups peeled and sliced apples
½ cup caster sugar
2 TBS plain flour
1 tsp ground cinnamon
¼ tsp freshly ground nutmeg
Pinch of salt
Freshly grated zest of ½ lemon if desired

Preheat the oven to 180*C/350*F. Lightly butter an 8 X 8 inch baking pan orglass casserole dish and set aside.

Measure the flour, salt and sugar into a bowl. Stir tocombine. Drop in the bits of butter and rub the butter into the flour mixture until resembles fine crumbs. Divide the mixture in half and press half of it into the base of the baking pan. Reserve the other half.

Slice the apples into a large bowl. Stir the sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt together. Stir this into the apples along with the grated lemon zest if using. Pour this mixture over the crumb base and press it down a bit with the back of a spoon.

Sprinkle the remaining half of the crumb mixture evenly over top. Pat lightly in place.
Bake in the heated oven for 40 to 50 minutes, or until bubbling and nicely coloured on top. Remove from the oven to cool a bit before serving.

Serve cut into squares with some pouring cream , custard or ice cream. Delicious!

Learning to Forgive Yourself . . .

“The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect he becomes an adolescent. The day he forgives them he becomes an adult. The day he forgives himself he becomes wise.”
~ unknown

I came across this quote the other day and I immediately thought to myself, Wow! This is really thought provoking. I have struggled with self forgiveness most of my adult life. The intellectual part of me knows that there is nothing I can do about the past but the heart part of me still wants to kick myself for whatever misdeeds I feel I have done.

I think most of us are like that, to a degree. I can forgive others of pretty much everything they have done to me in life, (forgetting is a little bit harder, but then again, that’s a whole nother subject) but when it comes to forgiving myself, I am a much harsher judge on me than anyone else could ever be, and, as far as forgetting goes, well . . . I’m afraid that those things that we’d like to be able to forget, they seem to stick with you in your mind forever.



The saddest part of not being able to forgive one’s self is, that it gets in the way of our being able to live the best life possible. We can either be miserable for the rest of our lives and wallow in that misery, or we can give ourselves permission to heal, and I’m afraid it’s an on-going process and won’t happen overnight, or at least it hasn’t for me.

Forgiveness is something we have to decide to do for ourselves. Nobody else can make that decision for us. When we don’t forgive, it’s like we are cloaking our eyes in a mask which distorts everything that we see, and wants everyone else around us to look through that same mask. Forgiveness is taking off the mask. Not forgiving, is like carrying an anchor around our necks and trying to walk through life wearing it, allowing it to drag us down. Forgiveness is like taking the anchor off, and leaving it behind, striding forward in confidence and walking away from it, lightening up and being able to enjoy your life again. It has nothing to do with worthiness, yours or anyone else’s. When it comes right down to it, we are all worthy.



We must choose to love ourselves, and I don’t mean that in the self centred, selfish “I am the be all and end all” type of way. I mean just quietly and simply, accepting ourselves for who and what we are, and allowing others to do the same. If we can’t love ourselves, how ever can anyone else love us? If we can’t love ourselves, how can we heal? Guilt is something we use to cover up everything negative and bad. When we feel overly guilty, we commit the ultimate betrayal of abandoning ourselves. Yes, we should be sorry for the things we have done, but we should also learn to let it go once we have acknowledged our sorrow, or we will never be able to heal ourselves.

Part of being able to forgive yourself, is understanding that we don’t have to be punished, and giving ourselves permission to let go of the pain that our misdeeds have caused us. We need to be more realistic about ourselves, and the expectations we hold for ourselves. Why should we be harder on ourselves than we are on others? Ask yourself if you would be able to forgive someone else had they done the same thing, and then . . . Forgive yourself. Let it go . . . We cannot change the past, it’s dead and gone. We can only change the future, and we do that by learning from our mistakes, and by taking what good we can from the past and moving forward in faith . . . leaving the things we know we cannot change behind.



Forgiving yourself doesn’t mean that you should forget what you did or said that might have injured another or caused yourself distress. To forgive yourself doesn't mean you aren't responsible for what you did or said. To forgive yourself simply means you realize that you might have done something differently if you had known how. Forgiving yourself means you recognize that you didn't know how to do something differently, and to realize and accept that you have learned by your mistake. As someone once said, experience is what we get right after we need it. When we know better, we do better . . .

It's fig season! I love figs and I was able to get some lovely punnets of them at the shops yesterday for a very reasonable price! I could eat figs every day . . . in tarts, in cakes, in pies, but here's another delicious way to enjoy them that is quick, fairly easy and really quite wonderful as well!



*Fresh Fig Salad with Feta Cheese and Toasted Walnuts*
Serves 2

You can easily multiply this salad to serve more people. It’s fruity and refreshing and wonderful change from ordinary green salads. It’s very quick to put together and you can have it done in not time at all. With a bit of crusty bread and butter on the side it makes a nice light lunch!

4 fresh black figs, medium to large
2 ounces of feta cheese
2 ounces of walnut halves, toasted* and roughly chopped
DRESSING:
2 TBS Walnut Oil
1 tsp white balsamic vinegar
½ tsp Dijon mustard
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Put the vinegar, oil, mustard and a good pinch of salt and pepper into a small bowl and whisk it together well. Set aside until you have the rest of the salad ready.

Wipe the figs gently with some damp paper towelling. Trim the stem end and cut them into quarters. Arrange them on individual plates in an attractive way. Crumble one ounce of feta cheese over each and scatter the walnuts over top.

Give the dressing another quick whisk and then drizzle it evenly over each salad. Serve immediately.

*To toast the walnuts heat a heavy frying pan over high heat and then toss the walnuts into the pan and toast for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove and set aside to cool.