“I wound up my clockwork sufficiently to tick out onto the waking streets and buzz a newspaper off the sleep-deprived vendor. Like the rest of the poor in sleep of the coming twenty-first century he was a money junkie, trading shut-eye for a tight fist. Nobody can afford to sleep anymore. Do you realise how much it costs?”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

I love my sleep. Love the ritual of clean teeth, the gurgle of gargled water down the drain pipe. The shedding of clothing, as if removing them meant you were rid of the day’s troubles and worries. Slipping between sheets; the tangle of limbs. I don’t often get enough sleep, despite the fact I don’t think I ask for much. Give me at least six hours, I say. Usually I average 4 1/2 during my working week.

“And then I was offered the job of a particle in factory physics. I was offered the job of an electron in an office atom. I was offered the job of a frequency for a radio station. People told me I could easily make it as a ray in a ray gun. What’s the matter with you, don’t you want to do well? I wanted to be a beach bum and work on my wave function. I have always loved the sea.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

The other day, I woke up with a start. Maybe my alarm clock didn’t go off. Maybe I was so sleepy, I turned it off without realising. Or maybe I totally forgot to set it to begin with. Either way, I started the day with a run. Running down the street to the train station. Running to catch a bus. Running, past skyscrapers and concrete empires, threaded between blue skies I don’t have time to glance at. Running, to catch up with the rest of my day. At the end of it, I ran all the way home.

“I know we are walking home by a roundabout route, but after I bought my paper this morning I decided to go to the park and feed the rubber ducks. The real ducks died because so many people were feeding them in the new twenty-four hour working day that not a drake nor a duck had a moment to itself. Some sank under the weight of soggy bread, others exploded. The rubber variety are much more adaptable.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

You know when you’re so out of breath that you can’t whistle? Sometimes I feel so exhausted, that this endless cycle week after week, makes me feel like an exploded duck, weighed down by so much expectation. Expectation of bouyancy. Of being able to fly. At the end of the road, when there’s nothing left of me but a funereal bill, will anyone remember what the duck looked like?

“I flung myself down and watched the clouds bumping each other, the break and mend of a morning sky. My body was relaxed and the ordered chords of my thinking mind began to separate into component notes, to reply themselves without effort, without purpose, trailing into.. sleep.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

Sleep restores me. When he’s by my side, that calm and gently breathing B, shoulders rising and falling, his warmth envelops me like no blanket can. I like turning over, knowing he’s there. That sleepy smile, when he realises I’m staring. The profferred shoulder, then snuggled like a spoon against custard.

I realise life is all about what you make of it. Make your own bed, as they say, and lie in it. One day I hope to achieve that magical balance between life and work. When I finally disappear, I hope it will be on my own terms. In the meantime, I continue to push myself. Push out of bed, push to the train station, push through the day and at the end of it, push home to see the B.

Baked Mandarin Custard :
(serves 2)

80g strained mandarin juice (approximately the juice of 1 honey murcott mandarin)
zest of 1 mandarin
50g caster sugar
3 egg yolks
180g double cream
1/4 teaspoon spices of choice (optional)^*

Preheat the oven to 150’C.

Whisk the sugar, zest and juice together to dissolve the sugar. Add the yolks, spices, then the cream, whisking only just to combine. Strain the mixture, pressing to extract any flavoursome oils from the zest and pour into two ramekins. Bake, covered with foil, in a water bath for 25-30 minutes or until the custard is only wobbling slightly.

Allow to cool in water bath, then chill for a couple of hours or overnight, before serving.

(^* I spiced this custard with cinnamon and cardamom, in honour of Anita’s theme for this month’s SHF : Spices! The custard was served with mandarin and hazelnut sable soldiers.)

A long overdue update on a couple of kids…

Another thing to love about the warmer weather : suddenly all the plants on my balcony that looked like they were on the verge of death during Winter, have sprung to life. Can’t wait to have.. erm.. a tomato, snow pea, and spring onion salad!

Come down from the mountain, you have been gone too long
The spring is upon us, follow my only song
Settle down with me by the fire of my yearning
You should come back home, back on your own now

The world is alive now, in and outside our home
You run through the forest, settle before the sun
Darling, I can barely remember you beside me
You should come back home, back on your own now

–Ragged Wood, Fleet Foxes

He’s away, and now I’m in the doldrums.

While he’s in Tokyo, Seoul and Beijing, I read books distractedly, get a haircut^*, put Fleet Foxes on repeat, have dinner with friends. It feels like a weekend spent in an alien vessel. At night as I lie in bed, his pillow silently bares its grey and white teeth, daring me to venture closer. I stick to the far end of my corner. If this were a boat, the balance would have long tipped me into the water. The deep water of sleep. But sleep is light, and the telephone is sulking. The MythTV box is sullen; it won’t play what I want to watch. At this, I flee into the kitchen, and devise a dessert for 2 to beckon him home with.

I’ve always wanted to make an ice-cream sphere, and this one was going to be Cherry Ripe inspired, but cherries aren’t in season yet, so when they are, I might have to revisit that idea.

But for now I don’t want to wait, so this one is vanilla and elderflower flavoured, with a heart of raspberry sorbet. Raspberry and elderflower sauces stroke the plate. Edible flowers from my balcony complete the picture, reminding me that it really is Spring.

So now I wait, and count down the days until he finally returns and we can share this.

(^* My hairdresser told me he used to call a souffle, “soffle”, to which I replied that I wished he hadn’t told that to me just as he had the scissors right up against the side of my face, because I had to do everything I could to stop from laughing. Funny, tall, dark, handsome and SINGLE, ladies! Anyway, I love the new cut. I feel like Anna Wintour, minus the glamorous wardrobe and extra large sunglasses. I took a picture to show B, which I have also included on my About page. Unfortunately, you can’t actually see the hair because I’ve cropped the picture for the sake of anonymity.)