When I Grow Up

The Aim of the Game. A Pie-in-the-Sky post interspersed with pictures of tents.

I do enjoy writing my little letters to anyone who will read them about the stuff I fill my days with. This time I went dancing, did secret crafty things, and played with a baby who has only just learned that sheep go "baa"*.

*he also thinks pigs, chickens, Daddy, books and that strange baby in the mirror go "baa".

It was a good weekend after a week of deadline racing, which is like go-cart racing but burns fewer calories. The crafting was worthy of a whole story to itself, but shall remain a closely-guarded secret for the next 5 weeks. I know, I tease. Buy a ticket for the Aurora Ball and you'll get to enjoy to results of our crafty ways. 'Nuf Said. Because as fun as it is to recount my pastimes to the internet, I am in some ways passing the time until I can be brave enough to get moving on the big scary plan.

So here is a post about camping.

Picture of tent, as promised.

I have a Bell Tent. Technically, I have half a Bell Tent, but conveniently the Other Half has the other half, and we seem to be quite good at sharing. It has a chandelier (took me three shots at spelling that. In between "chendeler" and "chandeleer" I gave up and typed "it has candles you can hang from the ceiling" before trying one last time. Perseverance, peeps) with 21 tealights in that makes my boss at work more than slightly nervous. It makes the tent noticeably warmer and very atmospheric, and this makes for a happy me. Keep reading for a photo of the atmospheric danger-tent. It has a wooden mallet, and funky low camping chairs, a wind-up lantern with a hand-crocheted jumper, a blanket/rug that I'm making out of donated yarn, and bunting.

At the end of the ridiculously soggy 2012 summer, during which not enough people bought pretentious tents, they were about a hundred quid cheaper than normal. With all the financial security that temping brings, I worked out that if I could gather 50 quid a month together, I could afford one on my own by my birthday. Together, we bought one then and there and spent our first chilly night in it at the very end of the 2012 season.

Our spot for our first Fancy Tent night ever. 

It is a thing that I am immensely fond of, despite my continual resolve not to get attached to inanimate objects. You see, I've come to this camping lark relatively recently. I have none of the childhood cold baked beans lurking in the recesses of memory that might otherwise hold me back. My first night under canvas was warm and dry and glorious and in the company of good friends who knew how to camp in style. With Gin. There was also a hot shower, and a stranger who gave us a bag full of very fresh mackerel he had just caught. I learned how to gut and barbecue fish and had an absolute blast. There was a sandcastle building competition that lost the competition element and became a 20-strong sand-village building endeavour.

I'm allowing myself to ramble here in the hope that you'll get that I've been bitten by the camping bug.

That gin-drinking, sandcastle-building,  mackerel-eating trip was before the entire summer I spent at an idyllic Caingorms tiny campsite, and before I started slowly getting myself set up to be able to go camping without relying on other people's stoves and stuff.

So I like camping, and I understand that the whole experience is more enjoyable with a degree of comfort in the mix, and with little things lined up that make it memorable and special. I reckon that the essentials for enjoyable lightweight, even off-grid camping, aren't all that difficult to pull together, and this is where the plan starts. That Cairngorms summer introduced me to a business model that I would love to replicate. The whole place is cute, and sustainable and functional and I love it. But it is someone else's creation, and along with their effort and care for it, they have filled it full of their own ideas, and their own systems and personality. I like the overarching ethos they have, and I think I can come out with another individual version, a spin on it that will be sufficiently different, but still hit the mark. And that is how I plan to make a living in years to come.


A plot of land with somewhere more permanent than a tent for me and mine to live, and to call a base. Somewhere with a decent view and a bit of shelter, and within a couple of car-hours from a city full of people who don't want to be there any more. I don't ask for much, me.

This is the best photo I have of the candle-thing-I-can't-spell. Unfortunately it looks like my head is on a stick. It's a whistle, honest.

The notion is to get my hands on a couple of acres of space I can turn into welcoming camping spaces. Pitches for your tent, and Bell Tent set-ups to rent if you don't have one or don't want to bother doing it yourself. Hammocks. Picnic tables. Outdoor covered kitchen spaces, and fire pits for all. Nice toilets and unlimited hot showers. Somewhere with a roof for your poor campers to take refuge in the Scottish Monsoon Season (TM). Breakfast on demand, and the tiniest shop selling anything we can make and get people to give us money for.

Because Human Nature is to be drawn to danger, especially when it's on fire.

It ain't much of a business plan, I'll own, but I'm always ticking away working something out. The huge outlay is the getting started, and it will be a while yet before I'm able or brave enough. And y'know I am lucky enough to have a job I quite like. So I'm a-working away and will do for a while yet, but now you know what I'm daydreaming about.

For now, I get to think of every camping trip I go on as helpful Market Research. I shall be doing some Market Research in exactly 4 week's time. Yay for Market Research.

Adult in training: How to Spring Clean

Wot I done this Weekend. 

Where else but here will you find cleaning, tartan and Peacocks in one place? (If you can actually answer that I want to know about it)

My very own tartan butt. More tartan pictures a-coming.

This is time-travel writing, Peeps. I wrote this yesterday*. Heck, I feel like I'm on the edge of being organised. I'm not - there are boring adminny things that are being neglected in favour of waffling at the internets. I'm staring down another jam-packed week of things I specifically wouldn't miss, but would perhaps rather not have to squeeze in to a single week. I'm a busy little bee - and probably wouldn't be me any other way. Wednesday and Thursday of this week will see me at different Scottish Country Dancing classes for different groups. Teaching, in the main. So I ought to get my weekly fix of bossing people around.

Next week will see three classes for three groups. In a moment of glorious diary confusion I was convinced this was the three-class week. It's not! Night off will be spent being a boring old fart and going to a supermarket. Maybe we'll take Squiggle to liven things up.

This has been written and scheduled, and then left alone (Ed: alone-ish). Scary biscuits. This is a change from what I have been doing recently, which has been to (1) publish, (2) post to facebook, and (3) hit F5 repeatedly to watch the pageview number go up as you lovely people read this crap, doing a little dance for each new number. This time I'll be out and coming home to check up on you. Stick the link on facebook and don't look back. Happy reading, folks.

Saturday sees the Aberdeen University Scottish Dance Society host their annual dance, which for me will see a full-ish day of walk-throughs and trying not to interfere too much. Any of you dancy-types reading this please shout if you're further afield and fancy a jaunt to Aberdeen and a place to stay.

Less Waffle, Kiddo

So this weekend we achieved a huge degree of cleaning. That which any normal functional grown-up might manage as a matter of course, along with having children and making roast dinners. I must admit, for us it is an achievement. We have managed that magical degree of clean which is also tidy. Stuff has homes, hallelujah! One day I might achieve that "Place for Everything and Everything in it's Place" utopia. Even better if I can do that by making "Everything" less. I have a blog in mind about how I love tiny houses. So this is going to be the story of how we made the house tidy enough to go out and have a happy weekend.

Number 0 - Motivation**

Invite all your friends round for something that will need space, like, say practising Scottish Dancing. I don't need any more hobbies - the one I've got has taken over my life. Voila, we have a deadline.

Number 1 - write a list

This is a job for who ever has the nicest handwriting.

This is a list of tons of tiny little jobs. Stuff you can tick off really quickly and feel a sense of achievement about. 

What helped was being able to write a list, eat breakfast and have another little sleep before getting cracking. My style of weekend morning.

Number 2 - Toooones. 

If you go with the radio you can move from room to room and have the same song follow you. No need to bother wasting time turning on a computer or changing CDs. Fling the windows open wide to (1) save stripping out your own lungs with the chemical warfare you're employing, and (2) share your poor taste in music with the new neighbours. 

Number 3 - split 

I'm not very good at cleaning in company. It's one of my flaws. But leave me alone and I'll make stuff shiny. I don't understand it at all, just about learning how to channel this strange thing I do. Besides, that way you can wander through to another room and find that cleaning has happened without you.

Kitchen - my domain. 

Number 4 - fuel your workforce

We set an alarm for lunch, and another for tea stops, with a couple of chocolate stops in there too. If these things were on the list all along then you can tick them off. Boom, another pretty little tick on there.

Number 5 - Add More Stuff to the list

But here's the magic - add jobs as you discover and do them. Tick 'em off right away. Superstars.

Number 6 - Celebrate the little stuff

Washing up zero. Do a little dance. What, you dusted something? Deserves more chocolate. Rebel and leave some stuff on the list unticked - you're an autonomous adult in the end. I've managed to fill a nice big bag of stuff for a charity shop drop. If you want dibs on anything in it before it goes, invite yourself round for a rummage pdq.

Number 7 - Stop and go out

Having a shiny flat to return to is nice, but having fun is better. Saturday night for us was an Indian Language Conference, of all things. Seven of us, all dressed up in tartan, rocked up to be the after-dinner entertainment. We helped ourselves to dinner too. All manner of gorgeous regional Indian grub. Spoilt, we were.

Pictures, you ask? Oh ok then. 

Levitation. Love the shadows in this one.

What my highland looks like from the stage, apparently.

Number 8 - Get on with the rest of a Long Weekend. 

Yes, Jesus died for my eternal salvation, but a three-day weekend is a nice by-product. I do feel the standard 5 days working:2 off is a terrible ratio and we're all being conned. Then I remind myself how much this kicks the butt of my old three-job-at once situation, and how it means I can save those precious pennies for that future camp site dream.

Easter Weekend. There was Church. I forgot about how grown-ups are meant to dress up for Easter, and was the only jeans+hoody combo in a sea of suits. The lovely L was the most visible part of the Church singing group, in a Church I'm beginning to feel at home in. I sat at the back and pulled faces during the serious bits. The Minister had all the adults fooled with a rattling hymnbook, and the kids ate too much chocolate. I was both fooled and sugar-high. I ate my first creme egg brownie, for I am a child of my time.

So holy they were on facebook before we even finished the service.

Today (that would be yesterday to you) there were castles, and Peacocks, and a trip to this freaky-scary-amazing junkyard, which was too overwhelming to take pictures of.

We talked about philosophy and politics and how we like blue.

So my house is cleaner than it was. I know what my bedroom floor looks like. Please invite yourself round nice and often so we have an incentive to keep it that way. Yes, I know it's good to think of keeping a place nice just for yourself, but my terrible pride means that I am just more likely to get things nice for others. We have plans for a few more tweaks and additions to this place to make it really funky. If they ever reach fruition, I have a notion of putting together photographs for a house tour.

I leave you with this epic picture from today's adventure. Enjoy.

Kudos to the photographer. L again.

*Most of it. I then popped back in at lunchtime today to edit, because I managed to get my own life wrong. Two dance classes this week. Three next.

**Too lazy to renumber when I though of adding this line after I'd written the rest. 

Squirrel's Big Weekend

A weekend in the life of me and my little, ginger, squirrelly friend.

And what a weekend it was. Squiggle the squirrel stayed home chillaxin' all day yesterday and tells me he has the same planned for today. Lazy sciurus.

I myself have had a lovely time carrying around a very small stuffed toy and taking photos of it. This is going to be a mainly pictorial recounting of events, because everyone likes looking at other people's pictures, right? Human nature is to be inherently more interested in others' business than our own. Our weekend went some thing like this.

Friday T=1700

Leave the workplace. Me, that is. Squiggle was hanging back at home with our other small squishy ginger children. Cycle my way home where our lovely Finnish friends were to be found napping on the sofa, as is the Finnish way. I made pizza for us as the rest of the troops assembled in our somewhat chaotic flat.

T=1830

Aforementioned assembled troops divide in to two nearly identical cars and drive. Destination Deeside.

T=2000 - free dancing!

Ballater has two halls next door to each other - The Victoria Hall and the Albert Hall. So she could have a big party with all of her friends, and he could have a substantially smaller party next door with a few of his.

Here we have me dancing with the Edinburgh Uni OTC, who turned out to be a good laugh, if rather pished.

The other things I know about Ballater are:

• That there used to be a railway line that finished there because Queen Vic wanted to get to Balmoral in steam-powered comfort, but didn't want the plebs to be able to get within a few miles of the place. If it wasn't for silly Mr Beeching, we might still be able to get there on the train.
• It has a campsite.
• It has a coffee shop/outdoorsy shop that serves very large bowls of soup, a very good chipper, and a fairly questionable chinese. This I know from personal experience. 
• Oh, and very handy public loos where they have taped up the fancy 20p-unlocks-the-door mechanism in favour of an honesty box. 

Squirrel was there too.

T=0000 

Home time, more driving. So, so enjoying having a licence and wheels to be able to take people to stuff like this. 

Saturday, in which squirrel gets some culture and finds his nuts.

L and Squirrel sleep all morning (having got up to make the breakfast and gone back to bed, I do admit). I actually quite enjoy making the kitchen shiny again. I am getting so old!

What follows is a first for the little guy. We got to go to the theatre!

This isn't his ticket. It's mine. He didn't have one but we hope nobody noticed. Ours were comps anyway.

The Ballet was Rapunzel, a tale of broken families and disastrous pregnancy cravings. I think the moral of the story was that if you're going to steal magical made-up vegetables from an evil Witch's garden, best not get caught in the act, or else you'll end up selling your unborn child. But maybe I wasn't paying attention properly*. The Queen got to wear frilly red knickers, the Price rode around the forest on a mini-scooter, and the evil Witch had rollerskates and a special skirt to wear them with.

Sqiggle pictured here warming his butt before the show, whereupon we turned off the camera, because my inner Usher would not have had it any other way.

During the interval L and I get ice cream. S gets a chilly butt.

We cycled home, had some noms, some more boring stuff, and went to Tesco. Which is less boring when you are a tiny cute squirrel, or have one with you.

Squiggle takes charge of the scanner.

And finds his nuts.

That's enough of Saturday.

Sunday, in which Squirrel skips church but gets ice cream.

L and I do some running around to fetch a hire car, and go to church, where we learn about football and betrayal.

T=1400

We drive to a locked building with a car park and conveniently central location, and meet 8 more people. All ten of us split between two quite small cars and set off in convoy in a southwards direction. On route we talk about politics and Scottish History, subjects on which I have no wisdom or authority whatsoever. But I tried anyway. I enthuse to my passengers about an ice cream sundae called a Scoopy Snack which features no less than three chocolate cookies.

Upon arrival in St Andrews, we lead our little gang to the famous Janetta's Ice Cream shop and squeeze in to the cafe. A terrible thing has happened, and there is no longer a menu of ice cream sundaes. I ask for my Scoopy Snack nonetheless, and it is arranged. Independently from me, on another table at the far side of the shop, my passengers were trying to recount my description of my favourite ice cream to the waiter. All in all we manage to order 4 different variants of an ice cream sundae that isn't actually on the menu any longer.

The rest of the ice cream is coming, honest. I was a bit quick off the mark in getting the camera out, but after that I was distracted somehow, so this is what we've got.

All ice cream/cookie creations should be bigger than squirrels.

Suitable fuelled**, we made our way to the main event, the St Andrews Castle Ceilidh. For the uninitiated, it's a Ceilidh, in a Castle.

T=1730

A couple of hours of enthusiastic ceilidhing, outside, on sloping grass, in hiking boots. Everyone gets to feel like a superhero at this gig. Castle Ceilidh is something that makes me very happy and also very sad. I've been to this thing since I came to University, which I think makes this my sixth. It's always pretty epic, but every year it gets chipped away at. I'm going to go every year I can, because one day soon it will get so squeezed it will be unviable. Historic Scotland keep upping the hire, and upping the conditions. We cannot lay a finger on any of the stonework lest it blows away. We cannot sell torches at the gate of the castle, or even in the street outside it. Every year 'Elf and Safety takes away a little bit too. This year instead of a torchlight procession along the coast and out along the pier, up on to the skinny scary bit and back again, we walked down to the harbour sans-flame, the lucky first 20 people (about half) got fire, and were allowed to walk a few hundred yards along the pier. Those attempting the high bit got stewarded off. It is still epic, and I guess for those we brought along, it was epic still for not having a better past version for comparison. I went away resenting things like Public Liability Insurance, and really feeling for the guys who manage to still put on this amazing night each year, in spite of it all. Thanks, guys!

I also went away pondering where else you could ceilidh outside in something dramatic-looking, then run around with fire and heights. If you have a ruined Scottish Castle, please get in touch. Anyone? No, no-one?

Anyway, it was still good. There was some fire.

And good weather, and a gorgeous skyline.

And a man with a cello that made for a more interesting skyline.

And in the end, the Aberdeen contingent gathered around it's single flame, sharing heat and light in the face of over-enthusiastic legislation.

Next week I shall endeavour to write some more. It will have been Easter between now and then. I know this because L might buy me a chocolate chicken and Raindeerpants has been writing about eggs and maxi-carrots. Who knows what I will come up with.

I leave you with one last picture of this cute little guy, now that he is back in our lives.

Eek!

*I should never be a theatre critic. 
**Ok, there were chips as well, but followed by calorie-burning. 

We Found The Squirrel!

The Squirrel that was lost is found. And there was great rejoicing in all the land. Honestly, I did a dance.

In celebration of this achievement, and by way of welcoming poor wee Squiggle (yes, that would be the tiny squirrel's name) I have declared today to be...

Bring Your Squirrel To Work Day. 

A day which tends to coincide with my annual "Let's Not Bother Tidying My Desk Day"

Squiggle is also going to get to come on our other Weekend adventures, if he wants to. Tuesday's Tuesday Blog Post is going to be about this weekend's many adventures, if they turn out to be interesting. For now, lunch is over and it's time for me do do some of the boring work they pay me for. 

Let me leave you with this picture of our new adventuring companion, Bogdan The World's Best Advertising Strategy, or "Boggy" for short. 

Watch this space come Tuesday. 

How to Make Mango Chutney, in the Fairy-Accredited Manner

This one's got pictures!

This week's Tuesday Blog post is a how-to. The secrets of the Mango Chutney Fairy are told. Well, some of them. I know nothing yet of her amazing abilities in invisibility, or breaking-and-entering. Perhaps they're related? Either way, I don't know. 

But...

Making chutney - turns out I can do that!

DISCLAIMER TIME: This is not going to be a recipe. This is a recipe. So is this. That second one there is pretty close to what I did - I have a sneaky feeling that Delia may have pinched her recipe off our very own Mango Chutney Fairy. This is a series of very vague instructions, which as near as I can permit myself to come to using a recipe. Can't handle being told what to do.

Everyone ready? Let's do this!

Ingredients:
Mangoes
Sugar
Vinegar
Assorted Spices
Onions
Butter

First things first. Chop up your mangoes, 6-8 of them. Cover in brown sugar, cover the bowl with cling film and leave for a while. A few hours, overnight. In our case 2 days in the fridge. This seems to make them release a bit of liquid, which is probably a good thing - who wants dry chutney, after all?

Yes, this is where my teapot lives.

Next up. Whooze. Leave as much of the cling film on as you can and still get the mixer in. Saves a lot of laundry and wiping. We whoozed our mangoes with smooth chutney in mind. For less-smooth, edgier chutney, rewind to the "chop your mangoes" instruction, and do more chopping.

Blend till it looks like something you don't want to step in.

Possibly number three. Onions. Two small white ones in our case, but it's probably a case of whatever you've got handy. Red onions might make it look funky. Chop 'em. really really tiny. My Mum has another electric whoozey thing that would do it for you, but I don't believe in the amount of washing up it creates. Big sharp knife for me every time. Leave the onions waiting, they can handle it. 

Tangent. The onions in question came from these lovely, vegetable-throwing ladies. And they were Evil*. This is a picture of me crying, and of L "Eyes-of-Steel" being suspicious and deeply unsympathetic.

Still doesn't portray the sheer volume of water leaking out of my face.

'Nuff tangents. There's chutney to be made here. Where were we? The onions have been chopped and are now on the naughty step thinking about what they have done. 

Step fourish. Open the spices cupboard. Let's call that step 4:1

Open it carefully.

4:2, We're after these guys. Our spicy little line-up as follows: Ginger (better fresh and chopped up tiny, but there are austere times), Turmeric (mostly for colour), Coriander, Cardamom pods (bash them up a bit if you feel frustrated, otherwise just whack 'em in), Cumin and Cloves.

It was that one, Officer. It was 'im wot dunnnit**. 

Chuck a quantity of "some" of each in to a pan with a teeny bit of oil or butter.

Add heat. After not very long, add the now-remorseful onions. Forgive them. It's not their fault your eyes are wimps. Stir it round a bit till everything is beige.

Mostly these pictures are here it you're interested in the quantities of stuff that went in to this. 

This bit, with the evil onions and the added spicy things, is a killer on the eyes.

I have no idea which way up this ought to go, but as I can't turn it, here you go. 

Step five (are we on five yet) - Add vinegar. Somewhere short of a whole one of these bottles is what the Mango Chutney Fairy advises, or so I'm told. 

This is what vinegar looks like.

Steps 6, 7, 8, and possibly even nine. Add heat and elbow grease. Boil for hours, stirring often. "Sorry I can't come out tonight, I'm stirring my chutney". Don't let it burn. This stuff is essentially very hot acid-sugar. When it splurts, it hurts***. Keep those googles on. 

A few hours later, when it has passed through the "applesauce phase", which is like puberty for chutney (in that it smells a bit funny, is very unco-operative and yet quite near to being ready), and starts to look like chutney you can do the Test. This is the official Fairy-Approved for ascertaining whether or not it's Done Yet. Take your spatula. Move it across the bottom of the pan. This is a lot like stirring. If you can see the bottom of the pan before the boiling red sea of chutney closes in again, it is officially Done Yet. 

Let's call this bit step ten. About fifteen minutes before this magical point (God knows how you know when that is, ask Delia), find some glass jars and put them in the oven. By now you'll be on constant stirring duty and might need to ask a friend to help. Doubly so if you've left your Spongebob Squarepants oven gloves in another room. 

Pour hot chutney in to hot jars, trying very hard not to die. This might be a job to ask an adult to help with. Put the lids on WITH THE OVEN GLOVES and leave on a heat-proof surface. 

Photograph this achievement.

Step 11. Mature for a while. About 2 months? Leave the Mango Chutney alone as well.
Step 12. Give to all your friends! Those two tiny pots might get to come camping with us, so I'm only allowed 5 friends.

That's it Ladies and Gents. I leave you with another picture of me crying. Just cos.

*Evil onions. The ladies are highly unlikely to be evil. I cannot picture how organic small-scale vegetable farming would fit in to a grand scheme for world domination. If you can, please write in. 

**Cardamom. Sneaky little things. Hanging out in their pods, like dolphins. 

*** I should not be allowed out. Or to have an internet connection. Sorry for that one. 

The Mango Chutney Fairy

... and how you can welcome her* in to your life. 

I have a Mango Chutney Fairy, Everybody!

I have never personally met my Mango Chutney Fairy. I do not even know if she has a name. I think Mango Chutney Fairies are existentially similar to Tooth Fairies and Father Christmas, in the that it helps to believe in them for the magic to happen, but they do require a degree of assistance from the people around you who love you. Mine seems to get on quite will with L, the aforementioned other half.

Almost exactly 5 years ago, probably having bemoaned my lack of Mango Chutney, or disposable income with with to purchase such frivolous condiments, some Mango Chutney appeared in my flat as a birthday present. Just appeared. I think I came home one day and there was a card and a jar of chutney on my bed.

This stuff. Classic, but there was better yet to come.

Either the year after that or the one after that (eloquent as ever, kid) I made similar "wouldn't it be nice if the Mango Chutney Fairy came for my Birthday" noises again, and this time my present from the lovely L was a huge jar of home-made stuff. Very very good at that. It took me the full year to get through it, whereupon... birthday! If the only birthday present I ever get again is mango chutney I will not be disappointed.

I have quite recently had yet another birthday. I made two requests because I am cheeky like that. One being that the Mango Chutney Fairy would pay me another visit.

The other request was for a crochet dinosaur.** 

If you are ever feeling blue, try a google image search for "crochet dinosaur".

So I asked for some chutney, and chutney was made. I am a lucky bunny. The huge jar is for me because I am greedy, and the normal size one may be for giving away. The mango is pictured for reference and all the pretentious terracotta isn't mine.

Sounds sticky!

Now it has to stay in the jar and not be eaten till May. That's forever! So I have chutney, and I like chutney, so I got excited about it. All over Facebook. So now I want to make a batch of the stuff, in smaller jars, so I can give some of it away. Poor L thought this idea was cute, but thought it was a bit much of me to ask this of the Mango Chutney Fairy, as L has to help out a lot with the heavy bits. So....

...Drumroll...

I am learning the Secrets of the Mango Chutney Fairy

And I will share them with you. 

#1

You go (or send someone) to buy 6-8 mangoes. They're currently about £1.20 for two in Aldi. Tighten your belt and think of it as an investment. Mango trees are huge and grow in warm places unfortunately. Tangent Alert. Perhaps in the future I'll learn to make Chutney from plums or apples or onions or something I can feasibly grow in this northern corner of the world.

Or build a giant greenhouse in the shared back garden.

This all ties up with my hippy future plans to run a campsite and make enough money from campsite/hostel/cafe/shop/folk music to stay alive. But has precious little to do with Mangoes or Fairies. End Tangent.

#2

Chop up your mangoes and put them in a bowl with lots of sugar for a day or so. This stage is currently happening in our fridge.

#3

From here on in I'm hazy on the details, having not yet been shown The Ways. From what I gather there is a quantity of vinegar, bashing up spices and boiling with more sugar till the house smells funny and you can't quite breathe. I shall perhaps report back. In the meantime, you're already on the internet.

#4

Heat up your jars in the oven to sterilise. Add boiling sugar/proto-chutney to jars, and get the lid on while they're hot to seal the button on the lid down.

#5

Soak the burnt sugar off the pan.

#6

Wait at least 6 weeks*** for the chutney to mature. Ok, a month will do, I guess?

#7

Keep some for you and give the rest away.


So there you have it, boys and girls, a whole post about Chutney.



*L says that our Mango Chutney Fairy is girl. I would personally take a feminist stance on this one and postulate that gender has no bearing on a Fairy's ability to provide tasty mango-y sugar-gloop.
**Check this out. Please.
***Steps #5 and #6 take about the same length of time.