A sneak peek in Miriam's diary

Well. DI Adams is out in the world, the carnage of the launch party is cleaned up (one chocolate wrapper and a small tea spillage), and the heatwave down here (definitely milder than in other parts of Europe, but still hot) has turned into simply July.

Which means, of course, the writer’s thoughts turn to Beaufort …

Or, more specifically, to Miriam, since I was planning on doing some more of the review and note posts (see A Bucket of Reviews here on the website, or find all the weekly blogs in the Weirdwolves area on Circle!).

I mean, we’ve heard from our more protagonist-y protagonists, so how about a rather more reluctant one …?

A week in Miriam's Diary

Monday:

Must remember to cut back the nettles near the gate. Seems a bit unfair, they didn’t ask to be called weeds, but Priya’s been stung twice now (I don’t know how she does it. She’s the only one who ever walks into the big spiderweb by the greenhouse, too. At least she never makes much of a fuss about that, just tells me I need to put a sign up. That would be quite fun, actually. I might make a Spiders at Work, Keep Clear sign! Or, no. That would scare the postie. People are so odd about spiders!).

I do need a plan for the nettles, though. It’s a bit hot for nettle soup, but perhaps nettle quiche? If I don’t tell anyone, they’ll just think it’s kale anyway. Or is that a bit awful, not telling them? People should have a choice as to whether to eat nettles, shouldn't they? But they do eat kale, and that’s just cabbage with good publicity. Then again, I do remember some silly man shouting at us once when he bought chocolate cake and didn’t realise there was beetroot in it, even though it said so right on the sign! And he ate it all and really enjoyed it, he just got angry because there was a vegetable in it. Probably saved him from scurvy, with that attitude.

Tuesday:

I made a very small sign for the spider, on the lid from a jar I broke last week. I’ve attached it to a stake and put it in the garden, and I don’t think the postie will see it. It’s fairly well-hidden, but it’s a good reminder. I have to admit even Iforgot about the web the other day when I was trying to find where the hens had been laying (Sue’s hens from down the road – I have told her they keep laying here, and offered to give the eggs back, but she says she has more than enough and if they’re at my place, they’re my eggs. I’m a bit worried about foxes, to be honest, because I’m never quite sure who’s in the garden. I must ask Mortimer if foxes stay away from dragons, or if they’re friendly. Oh! I wonder if they talk, like the cat? I’d like to talk to a fox. I’d much prefer it to talking to the cat, anyway. He was at Alice’s yesterday, and he said I should check my wardrobes for pixies, because they’d evidently been at my clothes. Just because I wore my tie-dye skirt with the beading I did when I was learning! A fox wouldn't be that rude. I’m sure of it).

Wednesday:

Mortimer says foxes and dragons get on just fine, so now I’m very worried about the hens. How awful if a fox got one! I said as much to Sue, and she just nodded and said that was always a risk, and over the years she’s accepted it. Which I understand, but I couldn’t. I’d be entirely beside myself if something happened to the chickens when they’re in my garden. I want to put Hens Keep Out! signs everywhere. Then again, Foxes Keep Out might be more appropriate, since they’re the problem. I mean, I know it’s just their nature, but it’s rather put me off talking to them. Plus Mortimer says they’re fine, but they’re slippery. One never knows from moment to moment if one’s talking about the weather, the birth of the universe, or the taste of blackberries in the first nip of autumn, apparently. That sounds a little exhausting. I’m not sure I could keep up. He did suggest he could ask Gilbert to look out for the chickens, but Gilbert gets a bit enthusiastic. He’d likely try to set them all free, even though they’re wandering around quite freely as it is.

Thursday:

Ash has just been by, Gilbert’s little human friend – I say little. He’s distinctly taller than me, but he’s so skinny and young I can’t stop thinking of him as little. Anyhow, I take it Mortimer told them about the chickens – or told Gilbert, which is the same as telling Ash. He shares my concerns about the risk from the foxes, but he’s quite a levelheaded lad. I always forget he worked on a farm in Eldmere. He pointed out there was no way to fox-proof the garden, and that if Sue wasn’t worried, I shouldn’t feel responsible. I did ask him if Gilbert could perhaps talk to the foxes and ask them to stay away, but he seemed to think that was a bad idea. He said that would just be announcing that the chickens were here for the taking. I’m quite going off foxes, I tell you. So we had cheese toasties and some courgette cake for lunch, and I asked him what he thought about the nettle quiche idea. He’s very in favour of it, so I think I’ll make an extra-big one for him and Gilbert. They need feeding up, the both of them.

Oh! And he liked my spider sign :)

Friday:

Nettles are the worst. I decided to harvest a good amount of them, so I could try making a quiche tonight and see how it went, and still have enough to make another tomorrow (plus I thought I might try freezing some extra nettles to use when I get paneer next. Nettle palak paneer might be rather nice!). Well. I got all kitted out with a long-sleeved shirt and some washing-up gloves, and managed to collect a full basket just fine. I took that up to the house, then off I went for another go at the blasted plants. I’d just leaned right over to snip a particularly big stem when someone said, “What’re you doing?” right behind me! I got such a fright I overbalanced and landed face-first in the nettle patch! I mean, not face-first, that would be a fright. I caught myself on my hands, but my knees went into it too, and I was wearing quite a light skirt, so they got me through it. And the person who’d asked me what I was doing laughed – honestly, so rude – then when I tried to get back up I tripped on the bucket and fell over again, and spilled all the nettles out, and I was wearing clogs at least, but my skirt got hitched up a bit in the confusion, and now I have nettle stings all over my lower legs from both landing in them the second time and the bucket falling on them. And somehow one got me on the back of my neck as well. Then I couldn't even find any dock leaves!

Luckily I’ve got plenty of aloe vera plants in the house, so I’m now covered in aloe vera juice and waiting for it all to calm down. And ignoring Nellie, because it was her who surprised me. She’d come to look at my pond and says I’m not caring for it properly. I don’t care what she thinks when she makes me fall in nettles!

Saturday:

Nellie brought me a strange mud dressing for my stings yesterday. There were an awful lot of them, and they were taking a terribly long time to go away, and she said she felt bad for making me fall (not for laughing, though, but I suppose one must forgive her for that. It can see it would have looked quite funny). The compresses didn’t smell very nice (I suspect snail slime was used, and possibly some less savoury things), but they did work rather well. Nellie also collected all the nettles I’d dropped, as well as some extra, then after that she hung around being suspiciously nice. I asked her if she wanted some Welsh rarebit, and we had that for dinner rather than nettle quiche. I must deal with the rest of the cuttings, though. They’re all sitting in the sink looking somewhat triumphant, and one can’t allow that to continue. I suppose I shall just have to get on and take a quiche to the WI lunch today without even testing it!

Sunday:

Nettle quiche was a great success! Rosemary did come over a bit funny when I told her what was in it, and claimed she could feel the welts rising in her throat, then Carlotta said she loved it, and everyone in the old country knew you used what crops were available, not just the ones from the shop, which of course set Rosemary off wanting to know what crops they raised in Manchester other than illegal ones. Rose then said those sort of crops would be a lot of fun in a quiche, so I may be a little circumspect in how much I eat of anything she turns up with for a few weeks.

Ash and Gilbert came by for their quiches, and they were very complimentary about them. Gilbert agrees with Ash, that no one should mention the chickens to the foxes, so I suppose that’s that. I might put a sign up, though. Foxes will be thrown in the nettle patch, perhaps. Not that I would, but having had that experience myself it does seem like a rather good threat. It’s worth a try, anyway.

I am now oddly invested in the fate of the chickens …

And over to you, lovely people! Who else would you like to hear from? Let me know in the comments!

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