Category: caravan

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Emergency Cake

Sometimes, when you’ve lived through two successive storms and the wind is getting up for a third wave, there is a need for Emergency Cake.

Today was such a day. As the wind roared around the walls of the caravan and the rain lashed at the windows, I looked outside and declared the weather so foul that it qualified as an Emergency Cake Day.

The key was not to go out to get any ingredients. Far too horrid out there. I would have been swept into a ditch in an instant. Not a good way to go.

So it was rather lucky that I just happened to have a jar of cherry jam and a small punnet of fresh cherries in the fridge, and some cream. I have no idea how that happened. The Seventies were calling me.

As regular readers will know, the oven in the caravan is tiny. One cake in my one square baking tin fills the whole cooking space. It’s a testament to how badly I wanted this that I was prepared to prepare and bake the cake twice (in the same tin) and sandwich them together stickily and unctuously with jam, kirsch, fresh cherries and cream.

And so, dear reader, two hours later both layers were baked. The filling was spread onto the base layer. The top layer was manoeuvred into place. There was much chocolate grating to hide the fissures.

No fancy piping gear here, I’m afraid. This is the Seventies at its most fabulously rustic in cake form.

Black Forest gateaux

Any locals fancying a slice had better battle their way to the top of our rain-lashed hill before it all disappears. A pot of tea and an inelegant, squidgy slice of lusciousness awaits.

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Plastering, wiring, ducting & kebabs

Now is a really busy time for the build. We have two guys (the two Dereks) busily and speedily installing battens and erecting plasterboard panels, with husband wiring and ducting alongside them.

It means long days and not much in the way of breaks. He’s shattered when he collapses in front of the fire each evening. A good tiredness, I think – one born of a long days manual labour and visible progress, but certainly tiredness. We’re neither of us as young as we were!

The best I can do is provide tea and food as it’s needed, and finalise the many remaining decisions on bathroom and kitchen finishes from the caravan.

When I’m not browsing tile sites and bathroom fittings catalogues, or calling Home Energy Scotland for advice, I spend much of each day making flatbreads, cake, quiches, stews and soups.

My latest attempt at urban food is kebabs! Sliced leftover roast lamb, shredded red cabbage, garlic and mint yoghurt, harissa paste and baked soft flatbreads. When you don’t have a takeaway on the island, you make them yourself. Probably much healthier too.

I’m not even pretending that the pear frangipane tart was anything other than an indulgence…we need yummy things right now.

I’m also reading this. An excellent book, if slightly terrifying. It’s about the disappearance of insects due to pollution, pesticides, chemical runoff, changes in farming practices and climate change, and is written very accessibly and compellingly. Dave Goulson is well qualified to write about this, being a Professor of Biology, an expert on insect ecology and an Ambassador for the UKs Wildlife Trusts. Get a copy if you can.

So progress on the build is steady as we move through the highland winter. I’m starting to think about seeds and have ordered seed potatoes, onion sets and garlic. We’re still eating red cabbage and kale from the croft, at least what the deer haven’t eaten.

Soon, now. Spring is coming. Not long now.

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Fuelled by Tunnocks

Watching a film recently, cosied up in the caravan on a cold winters evening, I couldn’t help but notice that there were over 15 minutes of film credits at the end of the footage.

It got me thinking how complex things have become in life (as well as how every single person involved in the film in any capacity now gets a mention).

It also made me smile when I thought of what the credits reel would look like if our house build and croft regeneration were a film. I’m saving up most of the honourable mentions for my long suffering husband, but there is one outlier that I think also deserves a shout-out.

Tunnocks wafer biscuits.

There is a caramel wafer biscuit made in Glasgow, Scotland, a part of daily life here and every bit as Scottish as porridge, haggis and single malt. It’s just called Tunnocks locally.

Tunnocks is an institution. I always have a packet of them in to fuel the day with a strong cup of tea.

The plasterers shun the dark chocolate variety as too sophisticated for their tastes, and go for the milk chocolate ones with their tea and two sugars every time.

Husband likes the dark chocolate ones best.

I think he’d smile at being thought dangerously sophisticated…😊😘.

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Christmas Reading

I promised myself that I wouldn’t buy any books whilst in the extremely restricted living space of the caravan. I promised myself. But it seems that I have an addiction that is very difficult to shake.

Books have always been a big part of my life.

One of my earliest happy memories of Christmas is opening a gift-wrapped book. The smell of the paper and printing ink. The tactile pleasure of handling it, feeling the slight roughness of a linen book cover. The crisp turning of its new pages. The pleasure of curling up quietly on a sofa and losing myself deeply in its world. These are things I’ve always loved.

I couldn’t resist buying a few books to read over this festive break. It seemed sort of traditional.

Besides. Alan Garner has just published a new book at the age of 87. It would seem rude not to support such a momentous undertaking. I first read his novel The Owl Service at the age of eight, and I found it deeply disturbing, and very powerful. So much so that the memory of the book stayed with me, and when forty years later I came across a copy of it in a secondhand book store, I had to buy it to read again as an adult. It was still a strongly evocative, disturbing book.

His new book, Treacle Walker, is apparently based on the legends around Alderney Edge in Cheshire, where the author still lives.

I shall wrap it in festive paper and gift it to myself for Christmas. I shall find some quiet moments to absorb it.

It’s over fifty years now since I first read his work and I feel that Mr Garner and I are overdue a revisit.

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Christmas thoughts

It’s beginning to look as if we have another uncertain Christmas on our hands with the latest Covid variant running amok globally. I was hoping that this year would be different, but I guess we need to realise that this may be the new normal. Husband and I have our booster shots booked in for next week, and it feels like it’s not a moment too soon.

We may have one of the stepsons with us for Christmas, we may not. His travel plans are a bit up in the air just like everything else in the world at the moment. I’ve ordered supplies as if we have him here, happily eating us out of house and home. Well, caravan and home really.

Last year we cooked a piece of venison in the slow cooker for Christmas lunch. This year we have a piece of local highland beef, and with a year of kitchen juggling experience under my belt, moving things in and out of my tiny caravan oven, I’m hopeful that there will be roast potatoes too.

I only really start to feel as if Christmas is a reality when I see the lights start to go up in the village cottages and I’ve written and posted my Christmas cards. Christmas has always been such a big thing in my life. I’m getting used to a second year of no table, no big gathering, and life in a wee space where the normal arrangements can’t be made. We will definitely be in the house for next Christmas.

However different and sparse Christmas arrangements might be this year, I am grateful above all that we are all well. Health and happiness are so much more important than any of the other trappings that we associate with this time of the year. I will gather berries and foliage to decorate the caravan, put up some fairy lights, plan trifles and mince pies to take to friends, but mostly just savour the time that we have together.

Wishing you all a stress-free and happy run-up to the holiday period. Remember, it’s about the people that you love, not whether you’ve managed to bag the last turkey in the shop.

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Snowy days and roast hogget

Storm Arwen swept in over the last few days bringing a significant drop in temperature, and with it, snow.

It was difficult to see the mountains of Knoydart in the flurries of snow and sleet sweeping down the sound, but once it had cleared we were treated to a scene of absolute beauty.

The low winter sun lit up the slopes of the mountains and the skies were blue and crisp. Somehow the air always seems cleaner and colours more vibrant after a storm.

We were not as badly affected by the storm as the East coast and other parts of the UK, surprisingly. The caravan rocked alarmingly in the wind and the hail and sleet were relentless for about 24 hours, but we didn’t lose power or water, so we figured we’d got off lightly compared to some.

The morning was so stunning that we decided to get out to enjoy it.

We popped down to our local pub at lunchtime and warmed ourselves by their open wood fire. They had local hogget (lamb) on as a Sunday roast , and one warming plateful later, with a pint of Skye Ale to wash it down, we drove back to the croft replete and content.

There is always blue sky after a storm.

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Orangettes

I’ve been scanning local shops for small gifts for friends and neighbours for Christmas. I’m always trying to be sustainable, so any gifts that I make myself can only be a good thing.

I’m experimenting with making homemade chocolate nut clusters and orangettes . Orangettes are something I fell in love with when I lived in France – candied orange peel dipped in chocolate. These are relatively expensive to buy and aren’t easy to find in our local shops.

Orangettes

I started by scrubbing and peeling a few organic oranges, lemons and limes. I re-wrapped the fruit to use another time, and popped it in the fridge. The peel was sliced into thin strips and boiled for fifteen minutes, drained, and repeated twice. This is to remove the bitterness from the pith, apparently.

Naked citrus fruit

Next up is a simple sugar syrup – just sugar and water- to which the drained peels are added and simmered gently for an hour.

They’re then scooped out, rolled in caster sugar and dried on a rack overnight.

Drying with a sugar coating

This morning I melted both dark and milk chocolate in a bowl over hot water on the hob, and dipped the fruit peels. They’re currently on drying racks chilling in the fridge ready for testing later. (Although I’ve had a few sneaky pieces just for quality control purposes already😊)

The residual boiling syrup is pale yellow, infused with a delicate citrus taste, and tastes too good to waste, so I’ve poured it into a jar ready to add to my next gin cocktail (like we have those so often here on the croft 😂) or to drizzle over cakes or desserts.

I think that these will make nice, simple gifts for neighbours, which I’ll pop into paper bags or small gift boxes. They didn’t cost much (oranges, sugar, good chocolate) and they taste so much nicer than shop bought. I love that these are made with the peel and that I can re-use the syrup so that all the fruit is used in some way.

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Cold, starry nights, and concrete

As we move through November we draw ever closer to the winter solstice and the darkest, longest night of the year. The constellations of Orion and the Plough are clear and bright in the dark night skies, and we start to sense the breath of winter across the croft.

Starry skies

It’s time for warming stews, winter berries, warm spices and the comfort of thick socks and jumpers in the caravan. The fire is on most of the time now.

And time for concrete. After months of let downs, delays, finding new solutions and a new supplier, we at last have a firm date for the arrival of the liquid thermal screed to go over our underfloor heating pipes in the house to make our floor.

Pouring thermal screed

It’s coming next week. It’s taken us a whole year to get to this stage and this is a big milestone for us. Once the floor is hard and dry enough to walk on, some weeks down the line, husband will start the MVHR duct installation and electrical wiring in preparation for plasterboard installation early in the new year.

I try not to wish my life away by focussing upon this time next year when we will be dry and cosy in the house. I’m conscious that although it’s what I want, that every day is precious, and that it’s still a long journey to get to that point.

We may be in a cold and drafty caravan which causes a sharp intake of breath before getting dressed in the mornings (with as many layers as we can) or a leap into the shower squeaking at the exposure of skin to cold air before the hot water hits, but this way of life also has its blessings.

We are very aware of, and very close to nature and the elements. The night skies are remarkable at this time of the year. The storms are elemental. This year has been one of reconnection with the land and weather after many years of numbness caused by urban living, and it’s been remarkable.

Opening the caravan door and listening to the rushing of the burn over the croft on a crisp, starry night, perhaps with the occasional hoot of an owl is a wonderful experience. There are no other sounds. The silence is profound.

When the storms hit and we are tucked up under warm quilts or blankets listening to the wind tearing across the croft, or the rain lashing the windows, it does also instill a very real sense of well-being and cosiness. We are grateful that we’re not out there in the teeth of the storm like so many have to be, and very aware of its power.

We count ourselves as very blessed.

Life is good.

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Autumn gales

Winds on the island can be severe. We arrived here a year ago in the teeth of Storm Aiden, and almost a year later to the day here we are again with the autumn gales upon us.

This is not a photo of a stormy shoreline

We are a bit more seasoned this time around. I know now that the house is unlikely to blow down, and that the caravan is equally unlikely to sail down the hillside, tethered as it is to four large tonne bags of hardcore.

Hardcore bag tethered to caravan

However, knowledge doesn’t make it any less dramatic. Yesterday evening as we went to bed the noise of the rain and the hail on the metal roof of the caravan was deafening. Once the hail flurry had passed the sound of the wind whistling through the lorry strap tethers took over. The caravan also rocked vigorously as the wind fought to lift it, only to be slapped back down with the counterweight of the hardcore bags.

One on each corner …

All in all, a bit difficult to sleep. It was like being in a washing machine at times. It’s testament to our familiarity with it now that we somehow managed to drift off and got a reasonably good nights sleep.

Winter is almost upon us. Get the hot chocolate in and dig out those big jumpers!