life – Page 39 – Louisa Parry

Six Beautiful Things from the weekend

1. “This wood will keep you warm next winter,” I tell Carla as she watches me pull thick branches from the giant pile and stack them on the dormant flower bed. Further down the garden, John is building a platform where the wood will season while I’m sorting it from the twigs (which will be chipped and used under our chicken run) and the ivy (which had been strangling the tree and will now be composted). The garden is so much lighter without the sycamore’s shadow.

2. The giggles and screams as John tricks people on ChatRoulette.

3. The worst thing about World of Warcraft is all the travelling about so I like it when I have a string of quests to complete on the way. I loop through the Hinterlands with perfect efficiency and level up twice when I cash in all the completed tasks at Revantusk Village. The game’s combination of micro tasks and multiple possible paths is deeply rewarding and I wonder how I could organise projects in my real life to be as pleasurable.

4. I finish reading ‘All my friends are superheroes’ by Andrew Kaufman. I enjoy the physical book as much as the story – super smooth ivory pages and a lovely choice of font.

5. Another day sorting and stacking wood. It’s pleasing to sweep up the last of the sawdust when the giant pile has finally gone.

6. The sieved flour disappears into the liquid almost instantly, leaving behind just a ghostly trace.

3BT – doggies!!!, growing, yum onion = yumion

12/2/2010 / louisa / 0 Comments

1. The tree surgeon brings his dogs with him: the little girl watches her human and pines when he dips out of sight while the sleek but strong black lab pads about the garden carefree. Throughout the day, I nip out to check on them and to talk to them, and Katherine comes over earlier than planned to meet them too. I can’t wait until we have our own.

2. Sat up on the sofa, Joe looks almost like a real person.

3. I just don’t know how they make the onions so delicious. I could eat them all day.

3BT – wrapped up warm, it’s coming together, casserole

10/2/2010 / louisa / 0 Comments

1. They walk to meet her at the train station but end up meeting on the corner. He explains they were running late because it took longer than he thought to put on the dog’s coat. She picks up the jacketed Westie for a hug then hugs him too. They walk away together, holding hands over the leash, as she tells him about her day.

2. The shelving units – to be fitted in the dining room after the decorator has done his thing – arrive while I’m out. The wood is beautifully smooth to the touch and I’m delighted by the attention to detail – the handles, the hinges, the catches – on the cupboards.

3. The casserole is a bit of a hodge-podge but very welcome and warming.

Remembrance of biscuits past: 25 years in the life of a biscuit eater

9/2/2010 / louisa / 4 Comments

James from Encounters with Remarkable Biscuits asked me to prove I’m not actually the same person as Clare by writing my own post for their site. It was published yesterday over there but I’m publishing it here too.

No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place…at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory.
À la recherche du temps perdu

1. 1985. When I close my eyes, the resulting darkness isn’t completely flat black – there is something simultaneously both smooth and rough about it, both uniform and pitted. I instantly equate the texture with the surface of ginger thins and continue to do so for the next 20+ years. Ginger thins remind me of closing my eyes, closing my eyes remind me of ginger thins.

2. 1989. Weekly pocket money from Nana must be spent instantly at the newsagents around the corner and the transaction must always include the purchase of a Choc Dip. It is eaten quickly as not to spoil my appetite for the impending Sunday roast. The majority of the biscuit sticks are eaten dry; the last biscuit alone delivers the anticipated orgy of chocolate goo.

3. 1992. I don’t know – am genuinely perplexed – why anyone would pick an orange, mint or fruit Jacob’s Club when the all chocolate version is available. They are eaten in the following way every time, without deviation: bite off the chocolate from the ends, gnaw off the chocolate sides, peel off and eat the chocolate on top, scrap off the cream with top teeth, attempt to clear the chocolate base with teeth (not always successful but an attempt is necessary) then finally, eat the biscuit. The best part is the cream layer.

4. 1995. I visit Ikea for the first time and discover their double-chocolate oat biscuits. A new obsession is born.

5. 1998. I travel 80 miles to meet my then-boyfriend’s family for the first time and after dinner, a tin of biscuits is opened – left over from Christmas but still full. Amongst the assortment are some small biscuits: golden, slightly domed and vanilla flavoured. The melt-in-your-mouth texture is divine and I instantly annex them off from the boyfriend and his brother. The boyfriend calls them “forbidden biscuits” and realising they smell like my vanilla body spray, we call my scent “forbidden biscuits” for the duration of our relationship. It’s the only thing that makes me nostalgic for that time.

6. 1999. Oreos are a precious treat – only available once in a while, when the bargain shop in town gets a random delivery.

7. 2001. Bourbon biscuits dunked in tea are the only weekend breakfast for me.

8. 2002. Dan is obsessed with Echo bars. I try to share his joy but don’t think they taste of much. I repeatedly try to see what he sees in them and help him get through his stash in double-quick time.

9. 2004. I realise I reach for dark chocolate digestives as my everyday biscuit of choice now and see it as a signal that my biscuit palate has matured.

10. 2005. The anticipation of a cookie – not the finest quality but large and a refreshing choc-mint flavour – is the only thing that gets me through the day.

11. 2008. I’m sitting on a bench outside the former kitchen block at Sachsenhausen concentration camp, listening to an audio commentary about life – and starvation – in the camp. I eat a dark chocolate wafer biscuit as discretely as possible and I’m ashamed how good it tastes.

12. 2010. The New Year is welcomed with friends, port and cheese. We have homemade ginger shortbread in the shape of squirrels and dinosaurs – blue cheese and brie are (separately) pasted along the top for the ultimate sweet and savoury experience. It begins and ends with ginger.

Four beautiful things from over the weekend

7/2/2010 / louisa / 0 Comments

1. We’re talking about the different personalities of her three dogs and she tells us that Jack is a bit of a clown. As soon as she says it, he stops his frantic exploring and looks at her with a super serious, hurt expression on his face. Perfect comedy timing from the canine.

2. The fish falls apart with the slightest touch; bright white flakes amongst the rich spicy crust.

3. Even though the screen tells me that it’s due, it’s still a joy when the bus suddenly appears.

4. On the bus, I’m reading a sad story about a cat (the bit about Neil in David Sedaris’ ‘Youth In Asia’ essay) when I hear a meow. At first I think I’ve imagined it since I’m prone to auditory hallucinations of that nature but looking around, I spy a ginger cat in a cat basket across the aisle. She meows again then curls up in a ball.

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