For the last five consecutive days it’s alleged to be the hottest day of the year, thus far, hence much basking in the warm breeze and avoidance of the searing sun. Your roving reporter is today planted at the dining table on the patio. My stoic protector, a huge rectangular umbrella which may well be (not unlike the writer), a tad faded and have seen better days, but until the builders are finished there’s no way we’ll consider ‘springing’ for a new one.

 

  

 

As the brolly went up, there was an immediate feel of ‘home’. Recollections of past summers, giggly booze-up-barbecues, platters, natters and chatter. The buzzy bees gearing up as the honeysuckle and lavender present themselves ‘open for business’.  For us this simply resonates from the department of ‘somethings you just can’t buy’.

 

 

 

A few years ago a significant birthday (“One of many deary?”) saw the plating of a cheery cherry tree. It’s growing wonderfully and loves being where it is on the far side of the garden.  I knew we’d never harvest any fruit from it as it’s so near a huge yew hedge (multi-storey nest park) and therefore perfect in-flight catering for the hedge-fun’d inhabitants, without to much of the initial flying bit.

Today finds the Tea Boys chucking away as he retires to the confines of his cool, dark, middle-earth office as I have been caught in the act!  Oh no!  Oh yes, I am indeed guilty as charged. 3 offences! Firstly for starting this with the weather, I’m English, it’s our default setting, there after it’s just verbal free fall.

 

  

 

Eventually, I get to the guilt and frozen dessert. The second offence? Yes I’m guilty of buying the cherries and then forgetting about them. Guilty of harvesting a few authentic leaves but I’ve always known I’d be on a hiding to nothing with the home-grown cherries. It pleases me, beyond measure, to know they are enjoyed your our feathered friends, albeit when both are seriously underripe. Fluff bomb dwellers who fledge by the hedge are so cute. As the adage proports: Keep your friends near, but maybe not their enemas nearer? (well something like that)

 

  

 

The tired purchased cherries are successfully redeemed. Stone-in, sprinkled with caster sugar and dampened with neat amaretto. Left in a pot to soften, booze-snooze and sigh into the almond liqueur, in a low oven, for half an hour or so.

 

  

 

The third misdemeanour considered utterly outrageous. The setting: Our Tea Boys defaults most days to a dark chocolate choc ice to punctuate supper. High days, holidays and very hot days I’ll shake things up and offer one through the day, or just turn up and present one, just so laissez-faire here eh?  Note: should we run out it’s a crisis!

In my loving and kind-hearted way, she pleads to the prosecution. I took a telephone call and two choc ices were left unattended, in the sun and very nearly melted.  Phew! I’ve purged my guilt. I know a bit dramatic but you need to realise refrozen is also not acceptable. Guess who found them, before I couldn’t sneak another couple out of the freezer? Having offered said choc ice, right now was going to be fine!

 

  

  

 

The huff and fluff was short-lived and the choc ice replacement swiftly devoured. Ting! An idea started to roll. What if I whizzed up some cream? What if I grated some more dark chocolate? What if I lobbed the boozy cherries, defrosting choc ices and whipped cream together, it might off set the malaise?

 

  

  

 

I sacrificed another choc ice (shh) and placed the mix into a lidded tub and then into the freezer, for a few hours.

I’ll leave you sitting on the edge of your seats no longer, since the result is awesome.

 

  

 

So if you find yourself in the dock, pleading guilty/pleasure. There’s recompense, there’s forgiveness, there’s none left… but there’s quite a lot of it down his shirt.

I rest my case M’lud.

 

Toot toot x

 

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