Any Port in a Storm, Part 2

I've picked the last of the plums from the garden and I think I'll have enough to make a second batch of port (if Dr D doesn't snaffle them all for jam first. Not that I'd complain...)

The first batch is looking fantastic.

Mmmm yeah - show me your potential!

This is the must pre pitching the yeast: 13% potential alcohol by volume, given the sugar content.  Given that this is a port it will end up stronger as I pitch some brandy in to end the fermentation. 

I pitched the yeast and left the must with the lid on loosely for 24 hours, stirring the the plum mash every couple of hours or so. There was mighty fizz overnight!

I strained and siphoned into a 5l demijohn the next day. (Siphons! Yay!) There are some small flecks of fruit solids but nothing larger than a breadcrumb. I brought the SG up again: my hydrometer said the potential alcohol was 10.5% (w00t! 2.5% alcohol already! That's right, yeah? Experienced homebrewers, to my aid, please!) so I brought it back up to 13% with a strong sugar syrup. 

Gloop

Fizz

It's bubbling away very happily to itself. I measured the potential alcohol again - 10.5. That's another 2.5% alcohol I reckon...  This is all very approximate you understand :) 

So 5l of liquid at 5% by volume is 250ml.

With this yeast I should be able to get to 14% ABV easily (700ml). Add a litre of 36% abv brandy and I have 6l of 18% port... in theory... If I have the maths right...

I may have to sweeten again after that but I'm assured that that is a legitimate approach. If someone could clue me in as to whether I should do that or whether I should add more sugar before fermentation stops that'd be great!

Watch this space!

Auntie Em gets a stylist?

I used to have a good hairdresser (Scottish Ruth, with the broken central heating, where did you go?) but in the three years since I last saw her I have had maybe two haircuts that I've liked. Now, OK, I only get my hair cut every two months (rather than the magazine-mandated six weeks) but that's still approximately 16 hair cuts to which the response was "oh well... it'll grow out."

I was bemoaning this to friends who have very good hair a few weeks ago and one of them advised me to get a stylist. I balked at this because, living in London, a stylist to me is someone takes 10% of your month's salary to do what the hell they want to your head. Because obviously they're far better placed to know what you want than you do: they're stylists goddammit. And they're all based in these scary salons that make me feel like that bit where Julia Roberts goes shopping in Pretty Woman, but without the warm glow of self-esteem that apparently comes from having borrowed a rich punter's credit card.

Eight weeks have rolled by since the last trim and it's time for a haircut. I've decided I'm bored of growing it: I've been trying to look professional and sober in a premature gesture towards possibly becoming a lecturer, and really it doesn't suit me at all (the hair and, possibly, the career plan.)

I know the style I want - I accidentally got it by some fluke a few years back but have lost the sole photo of it. It's best described as "messy" but that doesn't seem to be enough to go on. Google image search wasn't helping: one more picture of Reese Witherspoon with her artfully tousled frikkin red-carpet locks will kill me. I have a life, not a personal hairdresser. These are not the follicles we're looking for.

In a flash of inspiration, I realised that I was looking in the wrong place for my hair. The style I have in mind doesn't live on top of a Reese or a Drew or a (shudder) Paris. It lives on top of a Satoko or a Satomi. I finally found the hair I want on a jRock site. Please promise you won't laugh:



(Yes, I know, that's not a real person.) It took some finding. Google image searches for "Cute Japanese woman hair" without at least moderate safe search on should not be tried except in the most liberal of workplaces!

But who do I trust to transform my serviceable but dull bob into something Tokyo stylee?

Well, I work in Hendon, North London, home to a sizable Japanese diaspora. There's an Asian hairdressers on the opposite side of the dual carriageway from my tube stop. So, braving rain and underpasses, and rehearsing last night's freshly learnt Japanese grammar under my breath ("watashi no kami koto dekimasu ka?" Is my hair possible? Can you cut my hair?) just in case [1], I took a deep breath and went into a new hairdressers. I even, instead of just making an appointment, asked if I could have a consultation first (oh brave new world!)

Tan - who is from Malaysia and speaks perfect English (to my disappointment - all that practicing for nothing), sat me down and did that "wafting the hair about through his fingers" bit that I (used to) believe was purely to establish the "me hairdresser, you client" dynamic. But no - he told me why that style wouldn't work with my hair and how to change it so the bits that I like would work with my hair.

So I go back on Friday for a two hour appointment. For which I am being charged the princely sum of 25 quid. (For overseas readers (and other non Londoners), that's probably as cheap a haircut I've had in London since I moved here.)

I'm not promising photos - unless it goes really well - but watch this space. Auntie Em may yet have a good hair day!

[1] There's a Sushi restaurant next door where Japanese is pretty much exclusively spoken. I long for the day when my Japanese is good enough to use in there. Free conversation practice!

Spring on my balcony:

I get worms

Living with the world's most ridiculous balcony (26 foot by 9 inches) makes gardening a challenge. Last year I found the answer to my composting needs at least: vermiculture or "worm composting". It nicely combines composting with the joys of pet ownership.

I bought a nice, dual tray wooden bin from Southwark council. It was made from reclaimed wood, by a project to provide training to homeless people. It also eats tofu and reads the Guardian.

Sadly my worms didn't make it through the sub-zero temperatures we had over winter so I'm having to restock. I've just bought myself a couple of hands-full of Dendrobaena Venita to get started again.

Last year they ate their way through all of our vegetable scraps, several torn up newspapers, umpteen crushed egg shells and the contents of the hooverbag, leaving behind a box full of fantastically rich compost. There is no smell, and the worms are photophobes so as long as the lid is closed at night they don't escape.

I'll be using the castings to propagate another batch of the pleasingly prolific "Tumbling Tom" that I grew last year. Whilst the dwarf squash and courgettes were lovely they have too much desire to spread themselves about so I'll be sticking mainly to salad greens, herbs and tomatoes. I may try some pea canes again too. And of course this year we have an olive and a lemon to take care of too.

Perhaps Green Butterfingers would swap some worm castings now for an aubergine later this summer?

Update: I just got email: my worms are now in a parcel winging their way via recorded delivery. Let's hope there's no repeat of last year when the box broke in transit and the parcel sat at the reception desk all day. Thank goodness for the timidity of worms.

Martini Garden

It was one of those ideas that seemed to emerge from the collective mind, rather like the "blackboard dining table" we made: David's aunt bought us a small olive bush for Christmas. That's nice, we said, but where's the rest of the Martini?

All we needed was a lemon tree, a juniper bush, some assorted herbs and spices and we'd be set.

Unfortunately we live in a flat with the world's most useless balcony: 26' long but only 12" wide. The garden remains conceptual, unless we manage to find a central London flat with a more generous patch of outdoor space.

It turns out, however, that wedding anniversary number four is "fruits and flowers." After a lot of (metaphorical) digging I managed to find a lemon tree that is dwarf in habit but will actually fruit in the UK. I was skeptical on this last point, but when the tree was delivered it did indeed have some fruits still on from last year's growth:


Cheesy pseudo-tinted (or pseud-y cheesy-tinted) photo.

So happy anniversary to David: here's the next installment of the Martini Garden, and to many more years of joy. At least we can season our own drinks, even if we can't make them from scratch!

Spring is here, spring is here [1]

A few weeks ago my balcony boxes looked like this:



A few days ago they looked like this:


Hooray.

I must start propagating my edible stuff for this summer. Nothing too big as we may still be moving flat sometime and I don't think I can transport my 4' wigwams of peas very easily. And I must sort out a seed swap with Green Butterfingers.


[1] "Life is skittles and life is beer":



(Sorry David - the annual bout of singing is about to begin!)

Auntie Em eats the fruit (veg) of her labours

Today I made my own lunch:




This is a radish from my balcony allotment. See how pretty it looks in my salad:



Sadly the rest of the salad was bought, but my balcony allotment is coming on:



The closest windowbox has carrots and radishes galore - or will do in a couple of weeks. The furthest one has two squash seedlings, two courgette seedlings, some nasturtiums and some rocket. The big wooden box is my wormery, courtesy of Southwark Council, St Mungos and CRISP. On top is my propagator, in which I'm nurturing some staggeringly vigorous tomato seedlings and various herbs. Behind is an Ikea step stool I used to use on the boat to get down into the galley, treated with leftover paint and yacht varnish (also from my canal days), which I'm using as a potting bench/two level plant stand.

It's a wee bit smaller than Green Butterfingers (of whose allotment I am significantly jealous), but it's not bad for the world's most useless balcony (26' long and 9" wide).

Sorry it's been a while...

... I blame cortisol dysregulation.

I'll be back with some cool things about Kangeroo eyes soon!

Why I'm bad for my husband's health

Interesting study on health effects, as reported in MindHacks. I haven't read the full article, as it's behind a Paywall (for anyone with generous Athens access, it's can be found via PubMed) and it may well be an example of Texas Bullseye[1], but the abstract reports that:

After adjusting for age, systolic blood pressure, body mass index, cigarette smoking, diabetes, and total cholesterol/high density cholesterol, the married men compared with unmarried men were almost half as likely to die during follow-up (hazard ratio (HR) = 0.54; 95% confidence interval (CI): 0.34-0.83)... Men with wives who were upset by work were 2.7 times more likely to develop CHD (HR = 2.71; 95% CI: 1.22-6.03).

Hmm. C'mon funding propsal!


[1]The practice of shooting up a barn door with an automatic weapon, drawing a circle round the three closest hits and calling that the bullseye, post-hoc.

In the not too distant future...

This evening, AD... some of my geekiest (therefore best) friends and I will be at the MST3K allnighter.

How can I explain MST3K? Perhaps via the lyrics to the theme song? Or perhaps you'd rather sit and watch. May I introduce Mike Nelson and his robot friends as they endure (as we will tonight) Hobgoblins:

Polishes own trumpet... takes deep breath...

Big shout out to my man...

... who had his first fiction publication launched the other day. It's not on line unfortunately, but it was in an anthology of writing chosen from the classes and groups that have been studying at the city lit. It is an honour to be chosen, given the stiff competition, so forgive a little wifely pride! If we ask nicely, maybe some of his stuff will end up on line somewhere...

Good morning Aberystwyth: a photo essay

Okay - there's this van, see. With a very funny decal. And I wanted to take a photo of it (as you do), but couldn't justify taking the camera for that reason alone (what if the van wasn't there? How silly would I feel then eh!) So today I inflict uppon you: "Scenes from a walk to work". If you're sitting comfortably, let's begin...

---

The walk to work is steep - but the trees are in bloom and the weather's nice...

---

In fact - it just gets steeper, the higher you go. There are times I'm convinced that Aber is just a cosmic joke at the expense of my cardio-vascular system.

---

Still climbing - I was going to snap the field full of rather charming shep (they look rather sleek and modern now they've been shorn) but I guess it was their day off or something.

---

At last - the money shot. This isn't the highest part of my walk, but the steepest parts are behind me now. This is where I usally pause, on the pretext of admiring the view - and a pretty good pretext it is too. I live at sea-level, just fyi!

---

Campus itself is very pleasant, though definitely has that mid 20th century vibe about it. There is an interesting mix of cutesy little woodland paths and seriously brutal buildings - I keep thinking I've wandered into Center Parcs by mistake...

So that's where I am now - typing away when I should be working. Damn these blog thingies: how's a girl supposed to get anthing done?

She's Baaaaack

Yup - the world's most dilletante, non cat-related blogger is back, and in the coming weeks we'll be looking at the church of Xenu (It's my new religion - don't you dare thought-crime me!), freedom of speech (oh go on - you can thought-crime me), and my brand new robot army. But then I'll probably run out of steam once more... ho hum - why do recovering alcoholics have the most stamina?

If you're in town tonight can I recommend the Royal Society talk by emminent and highly charismatic (I'm married, not dead!) Prof. Steve Jones. Don't get there too early though - I'll be wanting a front row seat.

Ooohooohoooh - I just noticed there's a webcast:
Check it out.

Bad Auntie x

Tabbies' 1st meow!

Tabbies & Freelance Funkstress Downbeat Nick (stage name "Ginger Tom"?) at Bodrum, Stoke Newington on October 10th

Before:


>
Soundcheck - a little tense!

During:



Happy now!

After:


Are we in it for the money?

Major props to Downbeat Nick - we'll all miss her so!

Fame at last

So Tabby-Looking Cat (Dynamic duo Spud and myself, stage persona:"Marv") Played our debut a few weeks ago at the deliciously decadent and prettily pretentious Salon Pachyderm (which also featured the music of Padama, the literature of the polyvalent Ms Kathleen Kiirik Bryson and a film by the spectacular Dr Stumpf

Well now we go "pro". The funky Downbeat Nick has touched us and touched us good! October the 10th sees us support Zeff & Sulk, for a night of all original acoustic indie. Come cheer us on: If you don't like the music, the beer's great!

Two new choons - both festive in nature (quite a departure from the band who brought you such feelgood favourites as "Masochistic Me" and "Second Skin") - will get their global debut too. A momentous occasion all around!

No, I will not fix your computer....

The problem, any CSer/IT bod will tell you is being roped into fixing people's computers. I've had this happen on so many occasions (including a Dr Elizabeth Corday of the motherboard, St Jude of the PC, raising of Lasarus of the desktop, miracle at 4am, new year's day 2001) , that I decided to get me one of these.

I have however decided to make this my manual. That'll learn 'em. I shall also be Kevorkianing the PC of the next person who says I can't be a geek because I lack a "y" chromosome... you know who you are: Be warned!

Random Happiness

A bandstand full of French chaps in boiler suits. French chaps in boiler suits playing music that defies definition. Playing with an energy that shakes an irreverent fist at the searing August evening's heat.

A bandstand that moves. Playing pied piper with besuited, uptight, Waterloo commuters and casual, curious tourists alike. A bandstand that explodes as something not quite klezmer, not quite jazz, not quite ska and not quite french folk is unleashed.

A bandstand that hurls thousands of red petals and rainbow streamers in the air against the flat, concrete planes of the National Theatre. Red petals and rainbow streamers that hover for minutes in the freak updraft warm air from hot pavements, turning against a turquoise sky.

A random, surreal, serendipitous moment on the way home after a hard day.


Exploding bandstands. From the Zic Zazou website  

My life - Piled Higher and Deeper

Well, the money runs out in November, the ideas ran out last week and my enthusiasm has been MIA for months. I must be nearly finished?

Ah yes, the PhD process. One more crack about it being "worth it in the end" and I think I'll be forced to hit someone. Still, it's not as bad as when this happens.

I have felt like this so often that I think i deserve this

Still, at least I still have a chance of finishing before Martin - so when my birthday rolls around (the big 30) there's a change I can console myself like this