Stinging Nettle Baba Ganoush! well, in truth a hummus hybrid, roast aubergine, plumped out with chick peas… olive oil, lemon, garlic and seasoning
‘Baboushka ya yay ya yay ye’… the essential ingredient, early 80’s Kate Bush, then dance, with exaggerated panache, wielding hand blender, around the kitchen… a slightly less skimpy outfit as a drab, cold rainy day here… such a revolting country. tho it makes me happy to live in a world where Baba Ganoush is a word!, such a delight to utter
surprisingly tasty dish, tho beware of the sedative nettle effect, i promptly fell asleep on the bed in the loft, sleeping beauty slumbers
first nettle harvest of the year… my ankle recovered enough for a slow jaunt up the cliffs
tingle throb, fingers fizz from a nettle sting… a fuzzy sensation that convention labels as painful… but is it?
bird song the soggy lament for this somber spring… the hillside still clad in its winter garb, branches of purple burgundy mingled with lichen green… the occasional canary custard yellow daub of gorse
look closely, the buckthorn sprays, tight clenched buds, about to kick off! next week a seethe froth of white, not yet… not quite yet
mud, mud galore, ooze slurp that keeps the score, patterned from each passing footfall
channeling a soupcon of Jack Nicholson in the Shining for the snap too!
anyway, back to tonights movie… The Yin Yang Master… a cheerful romp, loving the kung fu racoons!
when in doubt, life at a crossroads, always helpful to ask myself ‘what would kate bush do?’… cheerfully eccentric results x
milarepa, great buddhist yogi and saint, whilst meditating in his himalayan cave ate only nettle soup and promptly turned green
