Be-Bop joins the tour...

My younger brother, Beppo, is more or less Italian. He's got the name, the shades, the wife-beaters. He has to have his espresso in a little glass in the mornings with a Marlboro Red and he loves a good robust Brunello. He flew in from Bergamo to join me for a few days. Thank God it was balmy because he does miss the English summer and was all rearing to drink in the early June reverie.

An Edward Thomas moment found me as I waited at Charlbury station to meet him. A listless, contented kind of afternoon where I would have been happy to wait for hours at that temperature. What a luxury to be able to enjoy! I had some things to do which meant I had to stay in one place for a couple of days so we went to stay in the magical world of Asthall with Rosie.

There was nothing but sunshine and endless, rolling lawns. The Windrush River cuts through the bottom of her garden and hems the Valley. It is like being in an ethereal basin; an eden of wild perfection. All around the garden are wonderful, sensual sculptures, in residence for the bi-annual On Form exhibition that was about to begin.

We had a lovely time swimming, playing tennis (which I'm pretty out of control at), eating salads from the garden, drinking delicious wine and just sort of pottering about until we had to hit the road and get down to Kent to do a wedding.

Supper # 10 - ?? village outside Henley

I was too bleary-eyed to even take note of the name of tonights village. We charged out of Henley in Jason's souped-up Land Rover, past village cricket pitches, dead badgers and the place where they filmed Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang and about 10mins later we were home. Shally, Jason's wife had called when we were en route and sounded stressed about dinner. I hope it wasn't because of me. People have said that they feel a bit competetive about producing a winning dinner on account of it going on the blog but hey, I'm just excited to be in all these new places.

I have a flat back in London which I love but I don't miss it at all. I wonder how long I'll remain hooked on the tour? It's not even 3 weeks yet....

THE SET UP: Jason and Shally met when they were in the RAF in Weston Super Mare. He's from the north, she's from all over. They have two kids of 9 and 1. They are as complete and conventional a unit as I have so far encountered. I don't think they have guests over a lot which is why I feel all the more touched that they've invited me for the night. Hayley, the 9 year old is very excited; Jason keeps assuring me that she'll calm down in a minute but I think she's great. I'm fascinated by how grown-up she is and how obedient - and how many toys she has! Laptops and DVDs and wiis and 300 teddy bears up in the loft. And get this - one Christmas Jason hired a snow machine and filled the garden with snow so that Hayley could have a white Christmas. Imagine that! And then she gets sent to the 'Naughty Step' which I long to go and have a look at, despite the fact that there's nothing to see apart from a frustrated little girl.

I attempt to be good and drink a delicious cherry refresher but the Macon-Villages is giving me the eye. Here's the thing - I have no trouble not drinking whatsoever, it's just the wrench of not being involved during all these social times. If dinner is being prepared then drink comes too. If dinner is being served then drink comes too. If dinner is over then it would seem churlish not to cap it off with a drink.

WHAT WE ATE: And so it is that Jason steers me along this well-worn path. As Shally looks anxiously into the oven Jason pops a cork. The baby gets put to bed and the four of us sit in the immaculate conservatory. A big, heavy, steaming casserole of lamb shanks is given the stage - it comes from the village butcher and is everything that a shank should be: unctuous, tender, dark, rich and swimming in deep juices that rivulet through the roast veg.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Package holidays to Mauritius, Florida, Morocco - and how rude the other Brits can be, Hayley's school and its winter ice rink, Shally's pregnancy horror, Jason's business travel and how they started the brewery.

THE PUD: I decide the best thing for tonight is another chocolate terrine - but I put rum in this one. I am given a giant knife to slice it with and away we go. I love this pud so much and am keen to have second's. They all seem to love it and Hayley thinks it tastes like a Terry's Chocolate Orange...I put myself in her shoes and see what she means.

With the kids in bed we move onto cheese and port. Cheese and Port...nothing can play around with these two. We eat herbed oatcakes with Cashel Blue. The port fills my mouth with delight - its sweetness plunging into the blue-veined tang. I could eat this all day.

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: I am so excited about getting to sleep. I feel exhausted and fantasise about finding a B&B tomorrow - a place to just lay still and recharge and drink tea.

Lovibond's Brewery, Henley-on-Thames

A beautiful morning and, despite feeling a bit 'ordinary' after my night in Knowl Hill, I take the wheel with gusto...down the road to Henley where Milwaukee Jeff and Land Rover Jason are waiting to welcome me into their brewery for the day.


I laughed it off when Jason told me I could drink them dry and was surprised when a pint of Lovibond's Gold appeared on my counter before I'd even finished setting up.

"Oh".

I eye the drink suspiciously but it just looks so refreshing sitting there all frosted glass and frothy head. I'm leaving the van there over night so don't really have an excuse - I plunge in having only had a few green raisins for brekky and it tastes good. On vacation good, like tasting freedom after a long spell at sea.

The rest of the day goes like this: Serve some customers, get passed a beer. Ice some cupcakes, get passed a beer. Cut some brownies, get brought a beer. Replenish the cones, have an abandoned beer returned to me. It's like being at college again - which is great but I'm not sure how much of a perky shopkeeper I appear towards the end of the day...probably extra perky at the start though.



Here is an interview I gave at, I would say, the latter part of the day.

It wasn't the busiest day in the world but shoot me and call me a bad businesswoman if I didn't love it all the same. You can't mess with being parked up in a beautiful spot, surrounded by friendly people and just taking a bit of time. I can't wait to return.

Supper # 8 - Asthall, Oxfordshire

A gentle rumble along the back lanes from Beckley to Asthall, via Witney and Waitrose...a sunny, wistful, poignant Oxfordshire afternoon - and reminiscent of one of my favourite poems, Adlestrop by Edward Thomas.

Village greens and St Georges flags still blowing. Idly flapping really. Bucket-like valleys containing a jumble of 1950s houses, Cotswold stone cottages, hay bales and farm machinery. I stop at every opportunity to stagger down ditches and into bluebell woods. I want to lie down amongst them and have a lazy time...but I have to be in Witney to meet Annie from the school bus and then on to the magic of Asthall Manor.

THE SET UP: Rosie and her daughters Annie and Dora moved here from Green Island, Jamaica 10 years ago. The house used to belong to the Mitfords and 'Love in a Cold Climate' was written here. It's the kind of place you could imagine writing a book. I say this all the time, I realise, but there is something soft and enveloping about being within those ancient, besieged walls. The rest of the world could fall away, clearing the path for the mind to run wild.

We cooked together around the enormous block of a table in the cavernous kitchen. Rosie threw together a vegetable risotto with bright green pea puree while I pottered about looking for implements to make the chocolate mousse. I found myself surrounded by bottles of liquor - rums and brandies, Pimms and gin...and a dazzling bullet of creme de Cassis. Rosie pounced on it and quickly paired it up with some chilled prosecco - great glugs of this dark and delicious syrup went into each glass and the result had something of the Prohibition era about it. Special.

WHO CAME: Rosie, Annie and moi.

WHAT WE ATE: Glossy tomato salad sprinkled with oregano from the garden, frilly frisee salad, a pea risotto, studded with St. Augur cheese and baked Seabass with lemon - the perfect (almost) summer supper.



THE PUD: I wanted to make something non-dairy because Annie doesn't get on so well with it. This recipe jumped out at me when I was in Waitrose: ginger chocolate mousse I often pick up those cards in the store but never make them. This mousse is good but not sensational. I prefer my mousse to have lots of whipped cream in and, no offense to G&B, next time I'll use a really decent chocolate and add pounded stem ginger separately. The raspberries looked pretty but really didn't taste of much (Waitrose again) and I still struggle with the old fruit + chocolate issue....unless it's banana or orange.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Annie went to bed pretty early. She's under the thumb of her A-levels and so, for once it was great to have a proper ole one-to-one: Rosie's sculpture exhibition in the garden, Jamaican-English marriages, quite a lot of personal stuff, confessions, admissions, laughter and tears. A friend of hers turned up with a crashing bore from Hungary, but it didn't matter because she was riveting! We all sat agog as she recounted the tale of the goalie for the Punjabi football team who she chased across India and who has just showed up in England, years later. I tell her I want to meet a miner on my travels and she immediately pulls one out of the bag. Roll on Middlesborough!

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: I could have spent the entire rest of my trip in there working my way through the bookshelves.

In the shadow of Christchurch College

What a great view I had on Wednesday - looking onto the Oxford college...it's just a shame we were just round the corner from another Oxford institution, the G&D Ice Cream Cafe.

Oh well, it was fun to be there and the customers that I had proved good quality: students, town council members (thanks Kevin!), Japanese tourists, more students...

No supper - Beckley Park

I used to come here as a child. The house belongs to a cousin of my mum's. My mother has some interesting family members - a clairvoyant/alcoholic aunt who lives in a hotel, peyote gatherers, monks, and one, a dwarf, who worked in a circus and ran off with the strong man, but it is at Beckley that resides the only one I know of who is into trepanning.

Amanda was away in Jamaica but I was looked after immaculately by everyone who works there. Down a winding path is a little wooden house which became my home for the next couple of nights. No heating and little hot water but total peace and tranquility. I relished the chance to just eat crumpets for supper. Both nights. And to read my book and write my journal - and take long walks round the ancient, beautiful garden.