As you know, I don’t have word verification or comment moderation here – occasionally one or the other might be put up, if there’s a sudden spate of spam or if I know I’m going to be away from the internet for a week or two, but otherwise I just delete the ones with dodgy links.  I do, however, have Blogger set to send comments for moderation on posts over 20 days old.  There are a surprising number of dodgy comments left on them, and I’ve just deleted 17, from about the last fortnight.  I didn’t read any of them, but looked at the headings in case any of them wasn’t actually spam.  For the first time ever, I found one quite offensive.  It said (and I have to disguise it, because I don’t want to attract more of the same) “Attens10n, ch1ld d@t1ng m@n”.

What does it say about This Modern Age, however, that I take the offers of enhancement or paid-for romance in my stride?  All aimed at men, I might add.  Women are either deemed to be less easily duped or more content.  Or possibly poorer.

Talking of poorer, I think that I’ve mentioned that the Sage has taken to using my phone for calls, as I can’t possibly use 10 hours-worth in a month and he certainly can.  Since the phone is a bit away from his mouth, he tends to shout a bit so, considerately, he uses my phone in a room I am not.

I had been preparing a rhubarb crumble, and returned to the drawing room (also, the Write Stuff, which I’d been listening to, was over) as he was saying “goodbye” to someone.

“I’ve been telling G about *article about G’s former employers*”

G is in New Zealand.

I have rather forcefully explained that I would far rather have the cost of a call to New Zealand on the landline than on the mobile.  He has apologised as if it was a personal insult.  I had to explain that it wasn’t. Just an expensive mistake.

Oh well.  We’re nowhere near as expensive to each other as our children were.  Well, some of our children.  Ro was surprisingly good value*.

Of course, they’re all Worth It.  Which reminds me, I looked after Pugsley this afternoon while his mother was at her tap dancing class (no, she doesn’t fall off into the sink).  When she came back, he was reluctant to clear up the pack of cards scattered on the floor.  When her command didn’t work (unusually), I said that I’d give him a count of five, and after that I’d pick him up by his feet and bounce his head on the floor.  He picked up the cards.  How odd.  I’d have gone for the bounce, in his situation.  Anyway, not long afterwards, he went to sleep.  I said it was unusual for him to be naughty.

Weeza and Zerlina are visiting tomorrow.  Huzzah!  I am very happy.  And, obv, I have forgiven the Sage.  His rhubarb crumble will go into the oven in two minutes, and soon he will be as happy as I am.

*joke, Weeza and Al.  Joke.

I didn’t mean to make all the marmalade in one go, but that was how it has happened.  Not in one batch, of course, that would have been silly (yes, I am silly, but not that silly.  There are limits).  I used a method I never have before, which was to cook the oranges whole and then cut them up.  It was in the Times, Lindsay Bareham’s recipe.  I have a book of hers, which I like very much, so I’m inclined to trust (I know, darlings, it doesn’t take much) – anyway, I thought I’d try it, if only to disregard in future.

You’d like a link, I daresay.  I’m not sure if it’s okay to quote someone else’s recipe, because I’ve read that there isn’t a copyright on them – not on a traditional sort of thing, anyway.  If you can’t access it, let me know – I”m afraid I’ve changed it, anyway. This is it.  I’d advise not adding the sugar when Lindsay does, as if any of the orange skin isn’t completely soft and you need to simmer it further, it won’t work once sugar has been added.  Also, it seems to me a really messy thing to have the seeds in a bag in with the sugary mixture.  What I did was to cut up the oranges, put the seedy pulp in a stocking and dangle it in the water with the cut-up peel, and then simmer it until I was sure it was all done, then take out the stocking, let it cool a bit, squeeze it, add the sugar, let that dissolve completely and then boil the marmalade until done.

The proportions of fruit and sugar are the same as my usual (Delia) recipe, except for an extra lemon.  She says 10 oranges, but the sizes vary vastly, so I went for a kilo, which happened to be 12 of mine.  There is much less water, but the pan is covered, so it’s fine.  It’s a good recipe and I’ll use it again.  Some comments on the website said that the marmalade was reluctant to set – she said it can take 24 hours, but mine set all right.

While I was doing this, I also thought I’d pinch some of the peel for my gin and vodka.  Unfortunately, once I’d peeled off the, er, peel (with a potato, er, peeler), I couldn’t find the bottle of gin that I’m sure I bought before Christmas, though I did find the vodka.  I do think I bought it, but I know we didn’t drink it.  Anyway, in the end I looked in the freezer and found the remains of a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka, not much of either, so I decided to make lemon vodka and Seville orange vodka. It was an ordinary bottle, not a litre, so I had to work out the proportions which, fortunately, turned out to be 140g of sugar, which is just 5 oz.  I can do decimal, but I’ll never think decimal and my scales are imperial. I only had the one bottle and a bitsworth of vodka, though two actual bottles, so I’ll top up tomorrow.  Then I’ll make lemon gin too and compare in due course.

I got a production line going – simmered one lot of oranges in a big saucepan while I was finishing off the marmalade in the preserving pan, fitting in the washing of jars and the potting in between – oh, and looking after Pugsley – and it seemed a good idea to carry on.  I did 4 batches, which is a yearsworth, including some to give away, surely.  It was so successful that, if Al has a few oranges left, I don’t mind putting them in the freezer in kilo bagsful, ready to cook if we run short.

All this took several hours, and I’d also volunteered to cook dinner – a deceptively simple number involving leeks, hot-smoked salmon, tomatoes, pasta, crème frâiche and courgettes.  It was all done by 20 to 8 and I was glad to sit down.  My back hurts a bit, I’ll stack up the pillows tonight.

After dinner, I checked emails and was shattered to find that a friend is in hospital being treated for cancer.  He and his wife are dear friends, and their son died suddenly, in his mid forties, from an unsuspected aneurism, just before Christmas.  A mutual friend told me.  I phoned Joanne, got the answerphone and had to leave a message.  I’m ashamed to say that I was audibly in tears, which is hardly supportive.  I couldn’t help it.  Fine friend I am, though.  Honestly, darlings, useless.

I finally bothered to look for a car insurance quote this morning.  Not entirely to my surprise, I found one that had the same level of excess (couldn’t think what it was called for a minute, nearly called it a surplus) that I’d had before, of £250 and the same other terms, for £210, rather than the £244 I’d been quoted from the company I’d paid £203 to last year, and this time they wanted £300 excess.

I’d rather stay with the same company, but it is made hard for me.  I recognise that I’ve been charged a low price to get my custom and that I’ll need to shop around again next year.  I did ring the company, in fact, and was offered a price around £230 with a £250 excess – if they’d sent that to me, I’d have just paid it.  So why on earth not?  I’m not that bad a risk – I mean, anyone can have an accident, but I’ve never had a car insurance claim and I’ve been driving for 39 years.

Anyway.

Gosh.  39 years.

Sunk in contemplation.

It’s an indication of my level of … shall we call it relaxation, rather than laziness?  Oh, go on, let us … that this was almost all I did today.  I wrote 15 letters, which was three letters and 13 copies of one of them and walked round the village to post them.  I strode out, noting that this was the first time that I sometimes forgot to notice every step that I took.  This is, I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned, one of my simple and humble ambitions.  Just to walk without noticing the action of walking.  I’m nearly there.

I also made a couple of necessary phone calls, one of which was to cancel an engagement that I quite wanted to do, but which I can’t get to next week as I may not drive yet.  I could get a lift one way, but not both.  Still, even for little prinZess, that isn’t so dreadful, I suppose.

Last night, my back ached so much that I lay on my side for a while to sleep – on the operated side, so that there wasn’t a danger of the joint slipping out.  It hurt, but I was so tired by then that I slept anyway for a while.  The Sage and I still aren’t sleeping all that well.

Marmalade tomorrow.  I have the oranges, the lemons, the sugar and the jars.  I think that’s all I need, isn’t it?  Preserving pan, of course.