Pitfalls of life

I have just been watching a Netflix documentary about a totally gorgeous small boy who travels the world with his parents who in turn are effortlessly beautiful and ( obviously ) fantastic surfers, though his dad could also double up for James Taylor so I immediately loved him. 

 The blonde five year old  ( whose name is Given) narrates the film throughout as they  hop from Mexico to Morocco, Africa to Alaska, in search of waves, living in shacks on the beach or the inevitable old bus ( I’m not bitter or envious or anything), ending up in Fiji where his grandparents live in a house with a roof made from woven palm fronds , his grandfather looking like Robert Redford with blond hair down to his waist and a scarlet sarong. So Given and his little sister live this seemingly idyllic life, barefoot and tousled hair, necklaces of shells and flowers in their hair, learning to fish and hunt and swimming like seal pups. And what an extraordinary childhood.  It reminded me of the film ‘Captain Fantastic’ which if you havent seen, do so. 

One of the things they did during one of their many evenings on the beach reminded me of an afternoon  in Camberwell, an episode still laughed about all these years later. The Mongolian pit oven supper. Ok, there wasn’t a Mongolian in sight but the method remains the same.  I had seen this somewhere and decided it was a very good idea,  so after a lot of build up and feverish anticipation ( I stopped just short of putting an advert in the South London press) we invited friends over  for a feast one sunny Sunday afternoon. We  dug a pit in our garden and then filled  the hole with very hot coals which then create a sort of outdoor oven. Having seasoned and wrapped some chickens in banana leaves ( that looked like something out of a hipster recipe book such was their beauty) we then placed them in the hole and covered them over with the coals. I seem to remember someone even took a photo of this momentous and exciting culinary exercise such was our great excitement. Three hours later we were all quite hungry ( and a large amount of  alcohol had been consumed) Again, the camera came out for the great digging up moment as we removed the coals to reveal two completely raw chickens. Obviously the damp soggy earth of South London was no incentive to anything with an ounce of dignity to even consider cooking itself,  and we ended up putting them in the kitchen oven.  Finally we ate at about 9pm by which time we were past sensible speech,but it was very funny. 

 I have since refined the art of cooking outdoors,  and indeed cooking over and in the fire with the aid of my trusty Dutch oven known with great affection as Ronnie Sunshine. Nothing phases Ronnie, chickens roast in an hour, succulent, bursting with flavour and fresh herbs, baked potatos bake properly with none of that burnt flavour ( forget the ” it doesnt matter, I love the taste of charcoal”) you can even bake bread and cakes. You just get the fire to a perfect stage ( we have in house fire boys who fight for this job) place the glowing coals around him, put the lid on and hey presto. Nothing better to revive the spirits after a hard day of sitting on the beach in the rain. 

I am trying to remember if I have ever actually camped in the snow and seem to remember that yes, one Easter we camped in the orchard and woke up certainly to a very heavy frost, if not actual snowfall . I have loved the snow we have just had, but its time for it to go. Now there is no more snow forecast in London everything is slippery and grey and so cold. I would like to be able to get back on my bike without falling over and to be able to scamper up my front steps without worrying about breaking my leg on the black ice. They don’t seem to have remembered that you are meant to grit the roads around here. Then again we have had it very easy compared to those who have been stuck in their cars and on unheated trains for hours on end,  and our corner shop is well stocked and less than a minutes slither away. 

The boat is currently stuck in the ice ( Kennet and Avon, not Antarctic as I know the term” stuck in the ice ” sounds rather over dramatic) but  as temperatures start  to rise it will start to thaw out. You have to be quite careful moving boats  in the ice (though it would probably be rather exciting), as it’s so easy to damage them. As I sit in my warm bed writing this I am trying not imagine the state of our duvets which we left on board, probably now stiff with frost and damp and extremely unappealing. 

Whatever you are up to today, do it safely. And stay warm.