Spend the day texting boys to remind them about pub quiz. Walk up to pub early. Two boys (AB & J) are already in pub drinking beer. I throw sweets on table (we eat sweets. A LOT of sweets). I go and get cash out, leaving boys to buy me beer. Come back, third boy (AW) joins us, bringing sick note from fourth boy. My old team stop by for a chat and some sweets. No one at all likes the mango strings that I bought from M&S. The fact that they smell of sick does not help matters. Start to talk about sweets. J wonders if anyone has made a sweet that resembles a red & white toadstool. He riffs on this for a while, thinks you could have a bag of oddly shaped sweets. Then he comes up with Cock ‘n ball & Gritty Tittie sweets. These would “fucking beat Haribo into its dirty German corner”* I witter on aimlessly about the iphone update & use the worst text message possible to illustrate the difference between text message & iMessage. The quiz starts….The first round is music, we write down the answer to the first question before the question has even finished being read (Stone Roses). We pick the wrong pop princess, then argue about what constitutes a pop princess. Gary Barlow is the answer to a question, J reminds me that GB is the best songwriter in the world ever, and collapses with laughter.** We get 9 out of 10. The next few rounds merge… We don’t know what TV programme Aunt Ruth is in. I tell AB to vocalize.*** We don’t know what river runs through the Grand Canyon. We don’t know who is the new Minister of Defence – AB thinks the answer is a name with “lots of J’s & D’s”. It’s Philip Hammond. More questions. At one point AB says “I don’t like that answer”. J replies ” Why? You didn’t even understand the question”. There is a question about Bechuanaland. AW sings “Bechunaland you girlfriend is hot like me”. It is completely lost on the others, a huge waste. We are rude about AB’s spelling. The pub is suddenly overrun with cheerleaders. Honestly. Am going to just gloss over any jokes that may have been made…We buy raffle tickets. J & AB eat the sandwiches, AW & I abstain from this delight. AB repeatedly opens the sandwiches in front of me (oh the horror, the horror). There is a raffle ticket draw. Despite a lot of positive thinking (one prize was a bottle of champagne) we don’t win anything. The quiz starts again. Our collective sugar high has worn off, one of us (AB) has even had a cup of tea. There is a Shakespeare round. Apparently the Battle of Bosworth Field did not happen in Shropshire, but I redeem myself by knowing that the shop nr Shrewsbury is called Battlefields 1403. Somehow this helps us come up with the right answer (Battle of Shrewsbury obvs). The conversation takes a worrying turn, my notes bear witness to the fact that the following phrases were uttered, by who, I do not know. ‘Imagine Prince Charles with his nuts in a box”, “darling, don’t make me shout” & “sorry, there’s a hair in my mouth”….We are told to answer the questions with stealth, so as to not aid the next door team. I attempt to use semaphore, but don’t actually know any. I have to draw a family tree for the Queen, to explain to laws of succession to AB & J. J is amazed that the Queen has three children, he had no knowledge of the existence of Prince Edward. Then we have to spell succession, J grabs the pen from AB & throws it at me saying “no point letting him answer that one” (but I can’t spell it, I had to let the computer work its magic when I just wrote it here). AW & I sing a few songs. There is a question about Morse Code. They repeat some questions from the last quiz, we moan. J then spends ten minutes teaching us some facts about Morse Code, he even says “dah” and “dit” instead of “dot” and “dash”. The quiz is over. We have not won. We have not learnt anything.

*I took notes

** In-joke. A friend claimed that GB was the best singer-songwriter in the world. This lead to a discussion that could have ended in bloodloss, but didn’t.

*** Shoot me. Shoot me now.

From the top…
Roasted Squash with lime & chilli
Pigs cheeks & pork confit with potato & celeriac mash
Roasted tomato and thyme orzotto (veggie option, I didn’t eat this but I would have like too)
Damson jelly & damson fool
Damson ice-cream & damson fool (veggie option)

Last week, I gathered some girlfriends to go for Thai food before watching Bridesmaids. As it was a rather last minute plan, there were only three of us (we left one of us in the bar). I was worried that the other two might have bailed, the one being tired & fed up after a day of work, the other being tired & fed up & seven months pregnant. They didn’t though. We sat, howling & screaming with laughter, with Missus Tiredandfedup grabbing my arm whenever she thought it was upsetting me (I may be single, but I am quite tough!). It was a brilliantly funny but also sad and poignant film, which wonderfully illustrated various female relationships.

Because our girlfriends are golden. They know our bones. They may know where you come from, or only know you in the hear and now. They might see you religiously every weekend for tea and cake, or once in a blue moon for a weekend of fun. They hold our hair when we are busy throwing up. Pee in the same cubicle as us (or when they are chatting to you on the phone!). They hold our hands when we are upset over silly boys. They bring tampax and sweets when most needed. They lie on trampolines, looking at the stars with us, or lend us head torches so we can see in the dark. They text us exactly what we need to hear, and ask us the hard questions that we need to be asking ourselves.

Friends come and go. People and times change. The girls I spent that long long summer holidays after GCSE’s with are strangers now. My vodka swilling gang from college are, with one exception, just Facebook friends. Instead I am surrounded by a motley crew of friends, some of whom I have known forever, some for only a few months. Some live a two minute walk from me, others are at the end of long train journeys. But I keep making the effort. Texts, emails, notes scrawled on a postcard. A quick drink after work, or a night out on the tiles, dressed up to the nines. Friendship needs to be worked at, just a little bit, for it to flourish. True friends are worth the effort.

But good things have been happening. Lying on a trampoline, looking at the stars whilst a friend manically jumps around me. Escaping to Paris, and being lost in a city I love again. Swimming, albeit in a pool, but swimming, lots & lots of swimming – I really do dream of swimming. Another new baby in the world, someone else to sing to sleep. And wedding dress shopping for my oldest oldest friend, looking for the right old dress for her to wear on her next big adventure.

I keep breathing. All is well.

And now I have just booked flights & accommodation for a few days in Paris. A few days ago, in the interests of “research” I looked at the Metro map. I then quickly looked away, as it just looked far too confusing to contemplate. It was almost enough to make me book a holiday in Ludlow instead. And then I remembered. At one point in my twenties, when I was young, had thin legs & lovely tanned skin (I have photos) I was bloody good at travelling on the Metro.  OK, so it was mostly between Gard du Nord & whatever the station is that goes south is, but I could almost do it in my sleep. And I could get around the rest of the city too, without too much going wrong. So here’s hoping that as soon as  I smell the Metro, it all comes flooding back. Parisian streets just aren’t as easy to negotiate by foot as Manhattan ones.

Oh, any hints/tips for a few days in Paris most welcome. Even though I will probably just sit next to the Seine, people watching. My cousin did suggest that I should act out books for my holiday plans, the first on being The Dud Avocado. But I just don’t have an evening gown….

At this weekends party we worked out that most food items count as our 5 a Day. Beer = hops, they are a vegetable, almost. Cheesecake = milk from cows, cows eat grass, that’s some greens then. Baklava = walnuts, nuts count, right? I love having like minded friends who are also great cooks!

So, come the 4th of June, I knew who was cooking, but I had no idea what they would be cooking. I knew where we would be eating, but had no idea if it would be lots of little tables, or one long communal table. And apart from the 4 friends that were joining me, I had no idea who the rest of my dining companions would be. I stocked up on some prosecco to take along and had a houseful of people over for pims before some of us embarked on our trip out into the wilds of Shropshire.

The venue was not really in the wilds of the Shire, a lovely barn just off a main road, and a great venue for a party. We were greeted with glasses of something very cold, vodka-y and raspberry-ish. I think it was raspberries in vodka, but something else may have been added. Probably. People were introduced, some yummy nuts were handed round, and the chatting started. Then it was suggested that we made our way to the table (one long table, lovely) for the pre-starters. Now, I have written pre-starter because I am quite sure that is what it was called, not an appetizer, but I may be wrong. So, some of us (me) rushed to the table, others leisurely wandered over. This is what we found.Gosh, vegetables that look like they were dug up from the garden within the last few hours, not vac-packed and flewn thousands of miles. Carrots that tasted of carrot. And enough asparagus to feed my craving for green. And all to be dipped in mayonnaise. I hate mayonnaise, but the object of my hatred is that white stuff in a jar, not this silky, home made deliciousness. Oh and we had bowls of peas, still in their pods. There is nothing sweeter than popping peas from the pod directly into your mouth;  it is a taste from childhood, and is too nice to be just a memory, it should be enjoyed more often. These platters were soon demolished, and it was time for the starter.

I was a tad apprehensive when the plate was placed in front of me. I am not as fussy an eater as I used to be, but pâté , cold meats, fish and sandwiches are still way out of my comfort zone. I was bought up to eat what was put on my plate, but am good at avoiding having mixed up foods on my plate. So I was going to have to be brave. Oh but braveness brings such rewards. This was a rabbit terrine with pickled cucumber and sourdough bread. The terrine was beautiful, if you put a plate of it in front of me now, I would wolf it down. The flavour of the meat was complimented by the sweety tartness of the pickle. On reflection, this was my favourite course of the meal.

Whilst all this lovely food was being devoured, all the guests were getting on like a thatched roof on fire. I actually knew most of the people there, but that was by coincidence, not design. Topics of conversation were, at various points twitter ( I know, I know. Its not always me bringing it up), theatre, New York, noisy teenagers, wine, books, cucumbers, babies with hammers, Boring and photographing food – and that was just the people around me. My friends were seated at the other end of the table from me, and I like not sitting next to the people I have turned up with. That way, we have lots to talk about on the way home. And you get to talk to interesting new people, which surely is the point of going out for supper? (trying not to go off tangent, but I do get annoyed when couples HAVE to sit together, but am trying to stop myself from getting wound up about it. Luckily, this wasn’t in evidence at the MSS). Anyway, time for the main course. This was ham hock with broad beans, braised lettuce and new potatoes. See how fresh it looks? Gosh, its making me hungry just looking at it. We are lucky to live somewhere where using lush local produce is encouraged, but even then, some establishments are serving mass produced, pre-prepared, straight from the freezer meals. The outstanding purpose of the Marches Supper Society seems to be about embracing  local, seasonal food, and cooking it beautifully and allowing the flavours of the produce to speak for themselves. And I am sure an awful lot of work goes into this sort of cooking. The ham hock was delicately pink in a sea of fresh green. Spoons were needed to scoop up the broth (the greedy person in me would have liked bread to soak it up) and really was very tasty. All too quickly, it was pudding time.

Gooseberry cake with elderflower ice cream. I have to admit, I didn’t realise it was elderflower, which just goes to show how we rely on knowing what we are eating for judging the flavour. I would like to go to that restaurant where you are fed in the dark, as long as they don’t feed me mackerel pâté or sandwiches. The cake was just the most perfect texture, with a crumbly fruity layer on top, and went perfectly with the ice cream. It was quickly demolished, and swiftly followed by tea & coffee & shortbread. The coffee was in the largest cafetiere I have ever seen. I didn’t take a photo of it just in case Aged Parent saw it & demanded one. I HATE coffee grounds more than I hate sandwiches, so don’t want to think about the coffee grounds the MSS had to dispose of.

And that was it. We sat talking until it was time to leave, and then put our contributions into an empty saucepan. It had worked out at £20 per person, which was a very decent price indeed for such a wonderful evening. I hope the Marches Supper Society will be a regular event on the Shropshire  scene. We may have some first class restaurants around, but it doesn’t mean everyone can afford to eat in them. And Ludlow may be a food mecca, but few eating establishments in town offer such tasty, fresh offerings. The Marches Supper Society is well worth investigating. Who knows where it will pop up next.

*This is because the original picture used for the twitter icon had cut off the “S” and the “Y”, hence the “Upper Societ”.

NB. I may know the three people who slaved away in the kitchen for hours, producing & hosting the food for the evening, but they haven’t asked me to write nice stuff about them. If I had found a hair in my terrine (or a hare, geddit) or hadn’t enjoyed something, I would have said so. It just so happens that not only are they nice people, but also exceptional cooks.

*I will go into more detail about this meal soon. With pictures.