Breast milk cheese

Oh god, I haven’t blogged for ages! I’ve left it for so long that it’s even prompted my mum, who never normally sends emails, to write me a polite little note asking if she can have a new link (wowzas, and get her using the correct web lingo) because she’s not seen an entry for weeks.

Sorry mum. You’re not doing anything wrong on your computer. I’ve just been a bit tardy with the blogs.

I’ve still not been anywhere near a supermarket. But, quite frankly, I’ve completely run out of things to say about avoiding Tescos. Life has gone one without the trollies and endless aisles, and 10 months into the challenge I don’t even think about supermarkets any more.

So instead, seeing as I begun this entry by talking about mothers, I’m now going to write about breast milk cheese.

Yes, such a thing apparently exists, all thanks to a chap called Alex James, who most people will remember as the bassist from Blur, but these days is more at home churning cheese.

After his success with Blur, floppy-haired Alex moved to the Cotswolds, bought a farm house and turned it into a 200-acre cheese farm producing award-winning British artisan cheeses.

And yesterday I encountered one of the for the first time, thanks to the incredibly friendly lady behind the counter at my lovely new local deli, Fresh Basil, in Belper.

I’d popped in to grab some blue cheese, but the choice was so huge I ended up having a bit of a tasting session.

“What kind of blue do you like?” asked my new friend behind the counter.

“The stronger and stinkier the better,” I assured her.

“Ever heard of Alex James from Blur?” she continued.

I treated her to an impromptu and totally tuneless rendition of Song 2 by way of answer, joined halfway through the chorus by the lad working the cakes section alongside her.

She handed me a soft blue cheese called Blue Monday, made by Alex and apparently named after his favourite New Order track.

It was hands down one of the best blue cheeses I had ever tasted, but something was bugging me…

“It’s lovely,” I told the lady behind the counter. “But it’s not made with breast milk, is it?”

We both laughed. Alex James made headlines a few years ago when he talked about attempting to make cheese using his wife’s breast milk, and serving up a breast milk coffee to Gordon Ramsey.

But I’m assured that Blue Monday is definitely made with cow’s milk, so I take home a large chunk (which, 24 hours later, has mostly disappeared). Apparently breast milk is very difficult to curdle, which (thankfully) makes it less-than-ideal for making cheese.

Fantastic tips from a fellow bookworm

I’ve mentioned before that shopping local is a real movement… those of us who do it are really keen to help each other out, point out the best places and support our favourite traders. Yesterday, for example, I was chatting to one of the girls in Sound Bites, my favourite wholefood shop in Derby, and she said she was struggling to find really nice bread, so I immediately raved to her about Baked, the wonderful Bakery run by my friend Victoria, in Derby.

So it should come as no surprise that my Belper book clubs pals have been keen to tell me about their favourite places as I explore the town.

This morning I came into work to find a wonderfully thoughtful email from book clubber Michele, who had very kindly taken the time to look through the shopping list I posted yesterday and point out some of the places where I could buy what I need.

It included some brilliant insider suggestions such as a greengrocer who keeps large bunches of coriander at the back of his shop, a place in Heanor for herbs and spices that offers next day delivery, and a local farm that offers daily milk deliveries.

She also told me about Belper Farmers’ Market, on the second Saturday of each month, and included a list of other places to try, such as a fantastic Indian restaurant and a great local deli.

I can’t thank Michele enough for all this information and I’m definitely going to be checking out these places. It’s hard to imagine anyone taking the time to rave about their local Tesco or Morrisons in the same way.

Belper is already starting to feel like home, thanks to the welcome I’ve had my from book clubbers and the general friendly feel of the place. Every time I go out for a potter round town strangers stop in the street to say “hi” and the shopkeepers always have time to chat.

In the words of Orphan Annie (always a profound fountain of wisdom) “I think I’m gonna like it here”.

(Yes, I know she was referencing Daddy Warbucks’ mega mansion whereas I’m talking about a small, spider-filled cottage, but you get the idea)

Shopping list

Now that I'm living alone and have bills to cover by myself I need to try to economise a little.

And when it comes to food shopping I'm not really used to budgeting. I tend to be ruled very much by my stomach and what I fancy on any given day, meaning I probably spend too much on food - some of which (I'm ashamed to say) goes to waste.

I've decided to try writing myself a weekly meal planner and shopping list to stick to, in the hopes of using up everything I but and saving a bit of money. I'm on a late shift today so I've put together my first list this morning... and I have a feeling that part of my challenge will be finding everything I need from my new local shops in Belper.

My meals for next week include lentil and spinach cottage pie and pasta with leeks (both recipes torn from last Sunday's Observer Food Monthly magazine), roasted butternut squash ravioli (from Tuesday night's Hairy Bikers), bangers and mash, jacket spud with veggie fingers, and a quickie tea one night of egg chips and beans. I'm also going to make a banana cake and minestrone soup this weekend to take to work for my lunches next week.

Obviously I've already got some of the above in my store cupboard or freezer, so my shopping list is as follows:

Lemon
White onions x3
Carrots x4
Celery
Mushrooms
Bay leaves
Thyme
Weighing scales (I left my old ones behind)
Vegetable stock
Spinach
Spuds x5
Eggs x12
White flour
Sage
Parmesan
Red onion x1
Creme freche
Butter
Brown sugar
Gruyere
Broccoli
Leeks x2
Tupperware (to freeze some soup)
Baking powder
Bicarb of soda
Milk
Kale
Tin mixed beans
Tomato x1

Lets see how I get on...

Under siege

I know I’ve been quiet again, but this time with good reason... I’ve been busy moving house and I’m happy to report that I’m now settled in my lovely new little cottage in Belper.

Lots of local shopping tales will follow as I start to get life back on track... but first I’d like to share this little missive on the joys of moving into a very old, listed building, right in the middle of spider season.

Now, as every arachnophobe knows, September is a dangerous month. It’s the time we spend the rest of the year dreading.... the time when all those huge monsters that usually stay tucked away beneath our floorboards come crawling out to terrify us.

Yes my friends, September is spider mating season.

It’s the month when those massive hairy lady spiders (because in the eight-legged world, the girls are bigger than the boys and there’s no such thing as a Gillette Venus) come out of their hidey holes and go parading around your house, like amorous singletons cruising the town’s cheesiest nightclubs on a Saturday night, looking for action.

These girls are on the pull.

So I knew the move could be dangerous and I braced and mentally prepared myself accordingly.

The first couple of spiders that appeared were only medium (on a scale that starts with microscopic and ends with utterly massive and satanic) so I bravely sucked them up with the hoover nozzle.

And when I spotted a couple of smaller ones in two little webs in the kitchen, I decided to try leaving them to it, and even Christened them Fred and Wilma in an effort to make them seem more pet-like.

I was on a roll and thought I’d got it covered, until Saturday night.

After a hard three days struggling to move all my worldly goods I was ready for a girls’ night on the sofa with the cat and rabbit, a glass of wine and a cheesy rom com. Something comforting with Hugh Grant in it.

And I was enjoying just such an evening when one of the largest spiders I have ever seen came sauntering out of a corner and strutted across the living room carpet.

My god, she was striking. She was the spider equivalent of the 6-foot leggy blonde parading across the middle of the night club.

As I levitated off the sofa in absolute horror I could be sure of only one thing.... there was absolutely no way I could allow any spider boys to get their hands (legs) on her. Such a beast must not be allowed to procreate.

In a fit of superhuman bravery I tipped out the contents of the bin and thrust it over her - trapping her inside.

I then dashed over to the bookcase, grabbed the Complete Works of Shakespeare (the heaviest volume I could find) and plonked it on top of the bin.

Phew.

Heart pounding and knees trembling, I then took myself back to the sofa to have a little cry - partly in relief (I’ve got her cornered) and partly in horror (but what the hell do I do now?!).

What I did, of course, was frantically text a couple of my closest friends who are also arachnophobic for sympathy. Being scared of spiders is like a club - you’re either in or you’re out.

And of course the following morning, having re-assessed the situation and decided that I was absolutely not capable of dealing with the contents of the bin, I called in a brave (and definitely non-phobic) helper to tackle Her Ladyship.

I am now living in fear. Roll on winter.

Thank you to the Swedes

"Come on love, you can do it"

I'm at the check-out at Ikea, being cheered on by a pair lovely (and exceedingly patient) ladies in the (quite long) queue behind me, as I try to unpack my trolley (which seems to have turned into a giant Jenga game) onto the check-out conveyor belt thingy, which is frankly laughably short. I mean, this is Ikea, for Christ's sake, and the check-out is so small you can't even fit the inevitable accidental house plant purchase on it.

I actually don't really like Ikea very much, and in a previous life I will admit I spent a lot of time bitching about its nasty, characterless, flat pack furniture.

But in this life, with house move number two of the year looming, and with not much more than a pot to p*ss in, needs must... and where else can you find six glasses for a couple of quid and two frying pans for a fiver?

So I took the list from my last blog, gritted my teeth and headed off to the branch in Nottingham this weekend. And I have to say, I got all my household bits and bobs, including unaccounted-for things like a wok and bathroom bin, well within my budget. Thank you Ikea.

But I have to say, it was pretty much like a modern-day Challenge Anika. Ikea really is meant for couples. It's the old cliche.... you go to Ikea with your partner when you're in need of a good argument. But as a sole shopper, it soon turns into a bit of a nightmare.

The shopping trollies they give you really aren't big enough, and mine was soon so full that I couldn't even see over the top of it. I nearly flattened several small children on my way round that weird, claustrophobic, Ikea one-way system, forgot to pick up my kitchen bin lid because I got myself into such a fluster, and by the time I reached the check-out my patience was wearing thin.

"I need an ironing board," I told the girl at the till. "I didn't see one on my way round."

"You missed it," came the bored reply. "It's back in aisle five million and fifty eight."

I peeped over the top of my trolley Jenga and gave her what I hoped was a plaintive, puppy-dog look.

She sighed, picked up the phone and telephoned someone to go and pick up a £9 (£9!!!!!!!) ironing board for me.

Then of course I had to suffer the indignity of unloading the overflowing trolley while a bunch of other shoppers spectated and the bored cashier checked it all out and piled it up at the other side. Because apparently, at Ikea, there is no one to help you. Not like at Tesco where they ask you if you need any help packing up your shopping, when all you've bought is a packet of chewing gum.

As I trotted my empty trolley round to the other side of the till and started re-packing it, I could see the interest mounting with my fellow shoppers. Will she get it all back in again? Is that bin going to balance on top of that pan? I bet that cushion is going to fall off half way to the car park. And oh hell, where is she going to put the ironing board? I'm surprised they didn't start up a sweepstake.

Gingerly I grappled the trolley out to the car park, and then realised that I probably was going to lose the cushions half way to the car. It was time to give up trying to go it alone and call in some help. Luckily a friendly lady was waiting by the loading bays with her own trolley, having sent her husband (yes apparently they can be useful sometimes) off to pick up the car, so she offered to watch my trolley while I went to do the same.

Phew! Not an experience to be repeated again in a hurry, but at least it was cheap and cheerful, so I'll say a grudging thank you to the Swedes.

A little help from my friends

I hate the Beatles, I really do. I think it’s an inbuilt hatred, fed down to me in my formative years by Rollings Stones-loving parents and then nurtured by a traumatic primary school project to create a mural of a yellow submarine. But every time I hear those whiny Scouse voices (and they really are whiny) the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And not in a good way.

But just this once, I’m going to make an exception and quote them….

“I get by with a little help from my friends”

In this case, it’s my lovely friends at my book club who I’m referring to. I went to a meeting a few days ago, and as my book club is in Belper, I was excited to tell them all about my move. The cottage I’m moving into is about a two-minute downhill walk from the Queen’s Head pub where we meet so I’m already looking forward to rolling home after a couple of glasses of wine.

Perhaps more than a couple….

And my amazing book club friends immediately rallied round with tips on where to shop and a couple of much-needed donations to help me with the kitting out of my new place, which as I’ve said before, I need to try to do on a shoe string. Lovely Hilary has volunteered a TV that she was going to put on Freecycle, and Lovely Jill is donating a microwave.

Both of these gifts are hugely appreciated.

Then this morning I received an email from another book clubber, Michele, asking if I'd like any help moving as her partner has a van.

With the exception of my book club pals and a couple of Derby Telegraph colleagues (plus my friends at my second home – Fresh Bite Pizza) I don’t actually know anyone in Belper – I really am starting afresh. So the warm reception and donations really made me feel like I’m making the right move. And of course, also mean that I won’t be buying either a TV or a microwave from Tesco!

A list!

After nine months of bitching, I think it’s probably becoming pretty obvious that I don’t very much like Tesco.

But I do have one thing to concede….

If you need to kit out a house, cheaply and in a hurry, you could pretty much find whatever you wanted – from microwaves to pots and pans, bedding and even candles - at any decent-sized Tesco Extra store.

They even sell Tesco branded horse rugs. Not that I would…. (and I don’t particularly need one of the house either)

But I do need to kit out a house in a hurry. Unfortunately without the help of Tesco.

The little cottage in Belper that I’m moving into next week is unfurnished so I need to buy a hell of a lot of stuff, and because this move is the second I’m making this year (neither of them planned!) the funds at the Bank of Beecroft are running a little low.

Tesco’s well-known motto is “Every Little Helps” and right now I could see how the supermarket could actually be helpful… simply by providing me with a lot of the stuff I need, at a decent price, all under one roof.

But no. Don’t worry. I’m not going to crack. I’m going to do this move without the supermarkets. Here’s my shopping list for the next week (and I’m sure I’ll be adding to it)….

Washing machine + installation
Fridge
Freezer
Hoover
Ironing board
Microwave
Freeview box
TV
Frying pan
Set of saucepans
Knives and forks etc
Plates
Bowls
Glasses
Chopping knives
Chopping board
Toaster
Kettle
Throws
Cushions
Kitchen bin
Potato peeler
Blow up bed
Kitchen utensils set

On the move again

One of the reasons this blog has occasionally fallen by the wayside is that this has been quite a year for me – in terms of changes to my life – and things are certainly looking very different now to how they were when I started avoiding the supermarkets back in January.

And one of the reasons I’ve been a little distracted again of late Is that I’m on the move again – this time to a little cottage of my own in a town called Belper, which is just north of Derby. The big move is happening next week and I’m hoping it might be my last for a little while.

Hilariously, one of the first people to find out about my relocation to Belper was the lovely guy in Fresh Bite Pizza – where I imagine I’m going to become an even more regular customer!

However, as well as being good news for the till at Fresh Bite, I think my move will be good news for this blog too, because Belper is a really brilliant, thriving little town with lots and lots of independent shops for me to explore.

And yet again I’ll be doing the move without the aid of Morrisons banana boxes, and kitting out my own place on a budget without the aid of Tesco’s homeware aisle, so there will be plenty to blog about over the coming weeks.

Giving in to the inevitable

Another Sunday… another night in the newsroom….. which regular readers will know is usually my excuse to stuff my face with all manner of naughty treats to keep me going. There’s something about the graveyard shift that just inspires over-eating. It’s like I can’t possibly put Monday’s paper together unless there is something sugary or stodgy in my mouth at all times.

So today, I decided to give into the urges early and make myself a pack-up accordingly, rather than pushing coins into the office snack machine at regular intervals. If I’m going to be naughty, I may as well make it good-quality naughty.

So I popped to Brown and Green, the artisan foods shop near Little Eaton, this morning for a better class of naughtiness, and bought myself treats including posh chocolate, Belgian waffles, real cream from Duffield dairy and so on.

My pack up for this evening includes some olive sourdough bread made in Crich, homemade humous, an amazing looking lemon meringue with raspberries and cream, a waffle (which I have just polished off with a cup of tea), choccies and a really nice salad to go with the (inevitable) Pizza Hunt pizza.

I’m all set. Bring on the news….

Wild thing... You make my loaf spring!

These days it seems like there’s a promotion week for pretty much everything…. And working in a newsroom we get all the crazy press releases for them. It ranges from the very very worthy breast cancer awareness month to the slightly crazier things like mushroom fortnight… national sausage week, and so on….

So imagine my (admittedly slightly dubious) excitement when I came across the news that this month is officially Britain’s first Sourdough September.

Sniggering aside, this is actually quite worthy of a plug. In the UK we really are totally crap with bread, favouring those horrible, tasteless white sliced loaves and huge round stodgy bread cakes over properly baked bread, which tastes better and is so much healthier.

The Real Bread Campaign is attempting to address this, and it is the organisation behind Sourdough September.

New campaign ambassador Duncan Glendinning, of the Thoughtful Bread Company, in Bath, said: “For me, the best Real Bread combines great crust, depth of flavour and fantastic crumb. Sourdough is the only bread capable of delivering all of these and the only type that actually improves with age.”

And campaign coordinator Chris Young added: “Happily Britain is rediscovering the delicious delights of Real Bread made with just flour, water, salt, time and care. Plain sourdough has the simplest recipe of any loaf and yet, like alchemists, the most skilled bakers can transform these three basic ingredients into a whole world of gold medal Real Breads.”

On Twitter, @RealBread is running SourDOH! inviting people to name and shame sourdough shams by posting photos using the #sourdoh hashtag, and joining the #RealBread conversation.

Genuine sourdough bread is leavened only using a live starter culture produced by mixing flour and water to nurture one or more species of yeast and lactic acid bacteria that occur naturally on the surface of cereal grains, and therefore in the flour. As well as developing a greater depth and complexity of flavour, aroma, and texture than commercial baker’s yeast, some studies have found long fermentation using a sourdough starter to have a range of dietary benefits. The Real Bread Campaign calls for more research into real bread.

For more go to www.realbread.org

Off message

Okay okay, I know I’ve gone a bit “off message” again.

Truth be told, I’ve been struck by a bit of writer’s block. And yes I know I do this for a living, but after nine months even I have started to run out of steam when it comes to writing about avoiding the supermarkets. Don’t worry, I’m still avoiding them. I’m just running out of things to say about avoiding them!

Today, for example, I popped out on my lunchbreak and bought some lovely bread, baked in Crich, Derbyshire, and brie from Jack Rabbits, Derby’s amazing delicatessen. I also grabbed an avocado from the Eagle Market and a salad from Soundbites. But having already written about all those places, it’s hardly the stuff of gripping headlines.

I think what this shows, more than anything else, is that avoiding the supermarkets has ceased to be a challenge and has simply become a way of life for me now, which can only be a good thing.

Maybe at this point, rather than continuing banging on about bread and cheese, I should open myself up to questions from the floor?

A plug for my pals

Today’s blog is a little bit of a plug for my friends at Brown and Green, in Derby Garden Centre, near Little Eaton, which (now I’ve moved to Derby) is officially my new favourite place to shop.

They are having a special local food celebration event this weekend.

Manager Susie writes:

"We're pulling out the stops to celebrate all our Derbyshire made produce this coming Saturday and Sunday (31st August/1st Sept). Inspired by a recent flurry of new Derbyshire producers on board, we thought we'd take the opportunity to highlight the growing range of food and drink within our store which is grown and made within the county.

"Over the weekend we have various suppliers joining in store to meet customers, tell them all about their produce first hand, and of course offer tastings too.

"On Saturday meet Dan from Derby Brewing Co with tastings of local bottled beers Old Intentional, Business as Usual and Quintessential. Baljit from Mickleover based Apna Spice also joins us with her handmade authentic Curry Bases, and last but not least, new Derbyshire producer Brock & Morten will be joining us introducing their Derbyshire rapeseed oil.

"On sweet Sunday Louise from Chesterfield based Liza Bakes will be offering tastings of her Orange Polenta Cake and Sticky Toffee pudding (both of which have won Great Taste Awards recently), and Buxton Puddings join us with tastings of their fantastic Moorland Pudding and Buxton Pudding.

"On both days we'll be offering tastings and information on a wealth of other Derbyshire products, including Derbyshire cheeses from Franjoy Dairy and Hartington Creamery, chutneys and relishes from The Quirky Cook plus new season, and just arrived, local honey – from apiaries located nearby at Mickleover, Etwall and Hilton. Add to this our fresh delivery of artisan real bread from The Loaf at Crich on Saturday morning, plus gorgeous fresh seasonal Derbyshire veggies and mushrooms. A feast made in….Derbyshire!

"Brown and Green is located at Derby Garden Centre, Alfreton Road, Little Eaton, Derby, DE21 5DB. Free parking, wheelchair and pushchair friendly, restaurant, large garden centre and pet store on site – come and see us!"

Jacket potato fatigue

This afternoon I’m suffering from a medical condition called Jacket Potato Fatigue.

Now don’t laugh, this is serious. It’s brought on by eating a large baked spud on a lunch break, too quickly (and possibly without really drawing a breath) while sat hunched over a computer, and symptoms include extreme lethargy, slight blurred vision, back ache and shortness of temper.

Basically I feel like every other organ in my body has shut down in a vain attempt to prioritise digestion of the crippling potato.

But, like with smokers’ cough, or gout, I’m well aware of the behaviour that brings on an attack, and that succumbing to a baked spud at lunchtime will result in Jacket Potato Fatigue. I’ve suffered before. And yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, I still go to the baked potato stand. Why?

Well firstly I do love a good baked spud. I like them with cheese, then beans, then coleslaw (in that order – I get very upset if the order of toppings is mixed up).

And secondly, I’m on a bank holiday shift in the newsroom today, so I felt the need for a bit of stodge, but lunchtime options were limited. None of my usual favourite shops were open, and I couldn’t take my colleague Whaddy up on his offer of picking something up from Morrisons. So I went for a wander into Derby city centre and one of the only places I could find serving food was the jacket potato stand.

We’re back to the issue of convenience, because most local greengrocers and market stalls simply don’t open on bank holidays, so unless you’re very well planned, the only option available is the supermarket.

Sexist magazines - a rant

I've managed to get the TV in my bedroom working - which those who know me and know how bad I am with technology will agree is a pretty special achievement.

So I had the news on as I was getting dressed this morning and was interested to hear about a protest that was happening outside Tesco stores across the country today, calling on the supermarket to Lose the Lads Mags.

The campaign, led by a couple of feminist pressure groups, wants the supermarket to stop selling titles like Zoo and Nuts, because they argue that the magazines fuel sexist attitudes towards women. The campaigners also say that exposing employees to the images of nearly naked ladies on the front covers of these publications is tantamount to sexism in the workplace.

They have targeted Tesco mainly because it is the biggest supermarket in the UK, so clearly they are starting at the top.

I tend to agree that lads mags are bad news, promoting a kind of casual sexism that I think is much more damaging because it's so mainstream.

But has anyone stopped to think about the women's magazines recently? Because in my opinion, some of these titles can be just as damaging when it comes to equality.

I stopped buying magazines like Cosmo years ago, because, quite frankly, they made me feel a bit depressed. Literally everything in these magazines is about image and attracting a man - with articles on clothes, shoes, make-up, and getting/pleasing a boyfriend. The message is clear - if you're not going about your business while looking so attractive that you are literally beating men off with a stick (like a kind of reverse Linx effect) then you are basically a failure as a woman.

And if you're not spending your life thinking about looking good or attracting a boyfriend, then you're also a bit crap. Back to Lady School for you!

I actually did my university dissertation on the effects of the glossy magazines, both for men and women, on attitudes towards women. I remember specifically one particular article (and I think this was in Cosmo) that I analysed as part of my work. It was one of those top-ten lists, called something like "10 ways to be happier" and one of the suggestions was waxing your bikini line into a heart shape.

Now I'm sorry, I'm all for personal rooming, but a heart shape? Seriously? That's not going to make you happy - it's just going to make you frustrated and inevitably a bit stressed when you accidentally lop off the top left hand corner of your design.

Meeting friends increases happiness. Laughing increases happiness. Doing something worthwhile increases happiness. Having a heart-shaped bush does not.

So yes, in the fight for equality for women, lads mags are a step backwards. But in my view, a lot of the magazines for women aren't much better either.

Local shops are not twin-friendly

I’m cheating slight today (which clearly I never normally do!) by using a comment from my lovely pal and newly-yummy-twin-mummy Christina as the basis for this post.

She told me the other day that she was hoping to do a little bit more local shopping, as she is currently on maternity leave, but that as it turns out, she’s finding that the supermarkets are simply better equipped to help her in managing the shopping and the babies at once.

Christina writes: “I was hoping to make this more of a way of life now I am on maternity leave and have time in the day to shop about. In fact, every day I take the pram for a stroll into the village, so it's now very easy for me to buy veg, birthday cards, bread and so on from the village shops... or it should be.

“Unfortunately, EVERY shop in my village has two, steep stone steps leading up to its entrance. No way can I get a double buggy up there, and nor could anyone get a wheelchair up there.

“The only shop in my village to have installed a ramp is the Sainsbury's Local - would love to hear what local shopkeepers have to say about accessibility. I understand there's a short term cost, but there's a host of wheelchair users and pram-pushers out there who can't shop local.”

She also sent me this lovely picture of the twins, Amelie and Rosa, enjoying a snooze in the double trolly chair kindly provided by those bods at Asda.

Christina makes a very good point. Most of the local shops that I go to, although not having steps, are very cramped and sometimes in can be hard to move around with a basket without bumping into other customers – never mind a pushchair or wheelchair.

When it comes to accessibility, perhaps supermarkets here again have the edge – alongside convenience – as factors that the local shops are struggling to match.

Free pizza!

I’ve raved about Fresh Bite Pizza, in the Derbyshire town of Belper, before. Run by a lovely smiley Iranian gentleman and a handful of equally-smiley staff, it is, quite simply, one of the best places in the world to get a pizza.

So imagine my delight when I popped in yesterday for my usual Tuesday treat and was told that my pizza would be on the house, because the staff have read this blog and think I’m doing a great job avoiding the supermarkets.

I’m on a bit of a soapbox at the moment I know, but the evidence really is mounting up that when you avoid Tesco and the like, and give your custom to your local shopkeepers and businesses instead, you end up building up a network of friends who will happily help you out, and really make you feel it’s worth your while supporting them. Forget your faceless customer loyalty cards – you get a much better service from your local shops – be it a free pizza, packing boxes, or even the offer of a helping hand moving house.

Thanks Fresh Bite!

It's just my life!

Despite my best intentions and promises to blog every day, regular readers may have noticed that the posts have been drying up a bit of late.

It’s certainly not due to lack of enthusiasm for my challenge – quite the contrary. I’m loving my year without supermarkets so much that I can’t ever imagine going back to being a regular at Tesco. I’ve met so many lovely people and eaten so much wonderful food over the past eight-and-a-half months.

But I’m just running a bit short of things to say about it. I envisage myself, in a Big Brother Geordie voice, repeatedly monotoning: “DAY 212 IN THE WITHOUT SUPERMARKETS HOUSE…. STILL NOT BEEN TO TESCOS”

And actually perhaps this is a reflection of how well the challenge is going. I no longer have much to say about it because shopping without the supermarkets has simply become a way of life. I no longer find it at all difficult; I have shops that I regularly visit for everything I need, and it just doesn’t require much thought any more.

I still get asked how I’m getting on my friends and shopkeepers, and recently I’ve almost found myself reacting with surprise. It’s been a case of: “yes fine, great thanks, I barely even think about it anymore to be honest”.

But it certainly answers all those people who wondered how I’d cope, or how much effort I’d end up putting into avoiding the supermarkets.

I guess I could liken it a bit to becoming a vegetarian, which I did in a fit of stubborn self-righteousness aged 13. It was tough at first, as I figured out what my new list of food likes (Lynda McCartney pies) and dislikes (frozen veggie lasagne) would be. But once I got the hang of it…. Well, I never think about it anymore. It’s just my life.

Lovely supermarket-free shopping

Busy day today so very quick post this... just to prove I'm still avoiding Tesco... here's my lovely shopping from Brown and Green in Derby...

Hope Valley ice cream

“Sorry Austin” I muttered in my best Elizabeth Hurley accent as we ground into yet another huge pothole in the track.

Keen-eyed readers will recall that Austin is the name of my little grey Astra, and the poor car took a serious punishing yesterday after an unplanned de-tour to Hope Valley Ice Cream parlour.

I’d taken a friend for a drive around the Peak District and we were making our merry way out towards Ladybower Reservoir when I spotted the Hope Valley sign at the side of the road.

Those who know me will know that I’m largely governed by my belly, so of course the breaks were slammed on and a speedy u-turn was performed.

Who cares that it was raining and blowing a gale? HOMEMADE ICECREAM. ‘Nuff said.

The track up to the farm can only be described as perfect for making visitors feel like they are embarking on an adventure into the rural wilderness – probably best negotiated in a 4x4. But as long as you don’t mind gritting your teeth and wincing a bit as the bottom of your car scrapes into yet another dip, then the reward is well worth the effort.

Thorpe Farm has been a dairy farm for 300 years, and the Marsden Family have been working the land since “great granddad” moved there as a tenant.

We arrived to find some happy-looking calves who were keen to be stroked and scratched, and indeed animal welfare is at the heart of what the Marsden Family do.

Milking in the farm’s parlour is a low-intensity process, with a viewing gallery for children on school trips and visitors, and turnips are also grown on the farm to supplement the cows’ diet.

Wildlife is also taken into consideration – the farm’s four miles of hedgerows are tended carefully to make sure it is a haven for birds and the Hope Valley website boast that the farm is “a home and feeding area for over 74 types of bird including owls, curlews, green woodpeckers, kestrels and swallows”.

The icecream is made with milk from the cows and egg yolks from the farm’s free range hens, and as well as selling it from a small parlour on the site, it is also sold at various Peak District farm shops and supplied to the local pubs.

I had a pot of Gertrude’s Whisky and Ginger, which was absolutely gorgeous, and I was gutted that I couldn’t take any home with me because with our day trip still in progress, it would have melted before reaching my freezer.

For more information visit www.hope-valley.co.uk

Bad bunny update

It’s tedious link time again…. but I’m going to make today’s blog a short update on the war between myself and Bad Beans Bunny, because last night an important battle was won.

Avid readers (god bless you) will recall that the rabbit has been driving me nuts rattling the bars of her cage all through the night, leaving me feeling not dissimilar to my beautiful best friend Christina, who is currently getting up every two hours (god bless her too) to feed her newborn twins.

And on Tuesday I went out into Derby’s Eagle Market to buy some soap and some mega hot, blow-her-furry-little-brains-out chilli sauce, with a view to making the bars of her cage less palatable.

I decided to play fair (after all – she is a little bit smaller than me) and start with the soap – reserving the mega hot chilli sauce for an if-all-else-fails 4am desperate situation. My own personal version of the atomic bomb.

So last night, before bed, I sat by her cage and liberally rubbed the dry soap bar (a foul-smelling pink thing from a market stall bargain bucket – yep, there goes the supermarket link) all over the front bars of the bunny cage, where Princess Beans likes to rattle.

And then I went to bed.

And then I slept. A long, glorious sleep, right through the night, with no bunny disturbances what-so-ever.

I woke up this morning and looked over to the cage to find Beans sat by the bars, looking at me somewhat distastefully, but making no attempt to put her mouth round them.

Victory! VICTORY IS MINE.