IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE HOGSWATCH

This year was my third Hogswatch, and my second as the hostess of the Pink Pussycat Cabaret Club. 

If none of that means anything to you, be a love and pop over to Google for an explanation, because once again it's after midnight and I should be in bed. 


The bit that Google may not make immediately clear is the abundance is warmth and love that, each year, wraps itself round the small town in Somerset where Ankh-Morpork has found its twin.

I drove there on Saturday morning through blazing sunshine, drinking in gold all the way, thinking to myself, I'm going home. I'm going to my Family. That's how we all feel. Enjoy the few pictures I've scattered though here; they barely touch the surface though, really.

I tried to get a few Hogswatch selfies, which was fun, and there were lots of new faces too - 'Hogswatch Virgins'. Well: Virgins no more - or, as dear Douglas Adams would have had it, maybe rather flushed and sticky Virgins.

As you know from a previous blog, I made a couple of donations to the annual auction in aid of RICE (Research Institute for Care for the Elderly). 
These were a necklace I assembled myself from a mysterious marble found in my bed; and the beautiful artwork print of my f**k-off fantastic tattoo.

In addition, I donated an envelope of fifteen or so Haiku that I had written for the occasion.
Here's the bit that floored me. The Haiku? A handful of moderately pornographic verses, and a dozen or so tributes to our DW friends? Sold for £55.
The necklace? Which, actually, was rather lovely? Sold for £55. Maybe if I'd mentioned that I had slept in it, it might have fetched more...
And the print? One of only three, and the only one available to buy? Sold for £160.

I am humbled.
Where else to take you? How can I, in a few words and pictures, do justice to the Hogswatch Talent Show; the visit from the Hogfather; the fabulous cake competition; the games, lectures and quizzes; the aerial hooping display; the Magnificent Makers' Market; the Sausage Supper or, indeed, The Cabaret show itself?

Of course, I can't. Not really. You had to be there. You really do have to be there. It's like nothing else, and I love it. 
One other thing: Davina challenged me in the afternoon to write a poem based on things shouted out by the audience on the Saturday afternoon.

Things that sprang to mind when they thought of Hogswatch. Sausage! they shouted. Corsets! said someone. Drink! said pretty much everybody. Off you go, Mu. 
I had about an hour, by the time I'd got back to the hotel and changed my costume ready for the evening. This is it, as promised. I don't know if it has a title yet; I'm still waiting for it to tell me. But it's a cautionary tale, of a sort, such as befits the season. Sort of.


This is the tale of Felicity Vaine
Whose tastes for the high life were such
That she only drank of the finest Champagne
And dined upon truffles – so much

That her father despaired of her, so he said “Flair,
Your habits are costly and fine
Your disdain for the ordinary makes me despair!
In fact, I’ve decided it’s time

That you learnt a new lesson in life! Yes, indeed!
Simple pleasures, you know. Now I’ve talked
To your Mother about it, and she is agreed
We’re sending you to Ankh-Morpork!”

“But Daddy!” sobbed Flick, “But it’s Hogswatch, you Fiend!
And I’ve heard the place smells like a drain!”
“That’s as may be, young lady, but you’re not the Queen
And you’re drinking me dry of Champagne  –

So don’t argue, your bags are all packed, off you go
The train’s got a good head of steam
And when you come back, let’s hope that you know
Life is not just a big bowl of cream!”

Poor Fliss – she wasn’t cut out for that life
Though she wasn’t without common sense;
She bought a corset and a long silver knife
And she took up a new residence

At a boarding house owned by one Madam Palm
(Whose daughters were residents, too)
Felicity reasoned with no hint of alarm,
“I’m a well classy bird through and through

I could toil at housemaiding, earning my bread
On my knees, until they are sore;
But the manner to which im accustomed,” she said,
“I need money – so I’ll be a Whore!”

She made a glittering start, being young, fresh and pert
(Though glitter’s a rookie mistake
She soon learnt not to sprinkle it under her skirts
Because after a while, it chafes)

Her clients were noble and wealthy young men
Fliss Vaine was the toast of all Ankh
Oh yes, the toffs wanted a piece of her then
They all love an upper-class yank

But life has a why of handing out fates
And Felicity Vaine’s heart was won
By an unlikely squire who held out a plate:
“How about this – inna bun?”

Well – she looked, and she looked, and her violet eyes
Took him in from his boots to his smock;
And her breath came in fast and her eyes opened wide
As she noticed the size of his – sausage

So Felicity lost most of her dainty ways
And fell from her pedestal high
She couldn’t resist Dibbler’s sausage, no, nay,
Nor his rock-solid thighs. – I mean pies.

© Muriel Lavender
Hogswatch 2014

Well - they asked for it.

So... Thanks to Bernard, Reb, Ian, Boggis and all the organising crew who make it happen. 

Thanks to Davina, Alison, Mari, my DW Mummy Ulisa, Pat Harkin, The Bear Inn, everyone who looks after me like the over-fluffed Diva I am.

Thanks to Kev, George, Pam, Rob, Nige, Jan, Vicky, Steve, Robin, Phil, Cohen, Matthew, Alex, Renta, Ana, AJ, Haddock, Harry, Darren, Carrot, David, Stew, Pixie, Ellie, Erik, Renta, Eli, Jacob, Aine,

Angelina, Adele, Ras, Krystel, Adora (much missed), Dibbler (remembered in rhyme), Igorina, Kirstine, Vanessa, Ian, Pam, Dr Hix, Grundy, Amy, Richard, Nina, Chris, Mandy,

Granny W, and all the endless people I can't name because it's now half past midnight and I still have laundry to deal with. But I love you. All of you. 

Thank you, Hat. Thank you, Terry. For everything.

CHECK OUT MY RACK (No, my actual rack)

CONDESCENDING WITCH IN THE KITCHEN 

I'm going to attempt to type this over the cat, so if it is full of silly errors, that will be why (honestly: she's very very old, and no longer understands that sometimes she gets in the way. No, she says, The Universe is mine now. All will fit round me).

This blog is not about my cat, but it is about nice things. Not ranty things. For a change. I've been baking this weekend, you see, and of course being the SocMed Addict that I am (and I had to restrain myself from use of hashtags there) I uploaded pictures of yummy things onto Instagram*.

Inexplicably, people asked for recipes - which is tricky to fulfil, as I make them up. But you're welcome to give them a bash. Don't expect miracles, though. I don't, and I'm the fucking Pope.

Here is the flapjack recipe. Everyone knows how to make flapjack so I won't go into a list of instructions. Just grease the tin well, use a low-ish heat (180C) as the sugar content is high, and let them cool in the tin. Oh - before they go into the pan, put the cornflakes in a bag and hit them repeatedly with a rolling pin. That's fun to do.


BREAD - I love to make bread and I don't do it often enough. There's nothing clever or fancy or artisan about my ingredients or my method ('Artisan'. If you mean 'handmade', say handmade. Please); I'm not claiming that my results are spectacular or better than those of others, like her off telly and that; and I cheat and use this (left) because I don't like getting gooey dough under my ridiculously long fingernails. KitchenAid. I do love it. Sigh. And it's purple...

What is more, if I take a break and then go back to breadmaking after a long time, the first batch is always like bricks. Always. Fortunately my family like my 'Dwarf Bread' so it gets eaten up just as fast as the decent loaves. Check out those delicious little bastards on the right, though - those are Marmite pinwheels. I didn't invent them, I only attempted to emulate them.  Here's what to do: 
1. Make a quantity of bread dough (see below). After it's risen, roll or press it thick but flat on a floured surface. 
2. Spread Marmite all over that motherfucker. As thick as you like. Do it. Then sprinkle grated cheese all over it if you want to. Mmmm. Yeah.
3. Roll the dough up like a Swiss roll. Pinch the edge closed if you like; it's not an exact Science. Slice the roll into, I don't know, 3/4" or 1" slices, depending on how big you want the finished pinwheels to be. 
4. Arrange them in a floured tin - two floured tins, they need space - and bake at 200C for about 17-20 mins.
5. Cool on a wire rack. Prepare yourself for adulation.

BREAD DOUGH - do it in any way that works for you. My way is not especially wholesome or pure. But the end results never last more than a day before they're gone - so something's working.
1. Half a bag of flour. I use white. Don't judge me. In a bowl. Make a well. Drop two dessertspoons of sugar into the well. Fill it with warm water. Not too warm. Drop two teaspoons of yeast into the water and stir.
2. Cover the water and yeast with flour from the edges and leave it for ten minutes until the yeast is working. Sprinkle two dessertspoons of salt round the edge of the bowl - keep it away from the yeast for now.  You might want a bit more salt - up to you.
3. Mix up the flour, water, yeast etc with a knife. Add more water and incorporate all the flour. Add flavourings at this point if you like - herbs, fried onions, olive oil, seeds, nuts, mixed peel, anything.
4. Once the dough is formed, knead it on a floured surface. This is important and meditative. Yes, it's the bit I don't do because it's gooey. You can do this in a mixer with a dough hook for five minutes, or by hand for about fifteen. Roll, press, fold. Roll, press, fold. Until it's clean and elastic.
5. Let the dough rise in the bowl for 30 minutes. Bit of olive oil over it, cling film, and a tea towel. Warm place. It should double in size. 

6. Shape the dough and put it in floured baking pans. I make rolls or small loaves as they cook faster.
7. Into the oven for 20 minutes. Don't open the oven until the end (you know that though). Cool on a rack. Lie to your children about hot bread giving you indigestion. Help yourself once they've left the room. And don't burn yourself when you take them out of the oven. Ouch.

Bake. Balls it up. Have another go. Let me know how you get on.

*Do you follow me on Instagram? You really should.