The Good Life - revisited
The biggest problem with drugs is the law of diminishing returns - you can never recreate the intensity of that first high. Same as most things in life.
And so it was true this weekend - attempting to hit the nirvana of last Sunday night by engaging in another weekend of foraging, preserving and cordial making (see http://bouncermangel.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/the-good-life-harvest-festival.html). Except it's not quite as fun second time around. Scratches, nettle stings, hands permanently stained with berry juice, fractious kids, more produce gathered than one can comfortably deal with (going against the first rule of foraging), and the hours spent preparing the berries. OK I secretly enjoy the pain of nettle stings.
It's a complete ball-ache preparing elderberries: combing the tiny berries off each bunch with a fork, it took me two hours to get through my carrier bag full; the berries get everywhere, staining my fingernails, hands and the stone tiles in the kitchen (cos I haven't re-sealed them in seven years). Yeah, the novelty has worn off.
So come Sunday night, no jobs done, no housework done, house a mess, apples rotting in a tub, blackberries to be washed and cooked, elderberries to be cooked, no time to prepare stuff for Monday morning - the usual Sunday night downer kicks in. Only one thing to do: indulge in my favourite narcotic substance and crack open a can of lager.
What? On a school night!
And so it was true this weekend - attempting to hit the nirvana of last Sunday night by engaging in another weekend of foraging, preserving and cordial making (see http://bouncermangel.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/the-good-life-harvest-festival.html). Except it's not quite as fun second time around. Scratches, nettle stings, hands permanently stained with berry juice, fractious kids, more produce gathered than one can comfortably deal with (going against the first rule of foraging), and the hours spent preparing the berries. OK I secretly enjoy the pain of nettle stings.
It's a complete ball-ache preparing elderberries: combing the tiny berries off each bunch with a fork, it took me two hours to get through my carrier bag full; the berries get everywhere, staining my fingernails, hands and the stone tiles in the kitchen (cos I haven't re-sealed them in seven years). Yeah, the novelty has worn off.
So come Sunday night, no jobs done, no housework done, house a mess, apples rotting in a tub, blackberries to be washed and cooked, elderberries to be cooked, no time to prepare stuff for Monday morning - the usual Sunday night downer kicks in. Only one thing to do: indulge in my favourite narcotic substance and crack open a can of lager.
What? On a school night!
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