It began innocently enough. The Bear asked me to download an app for a game he was enjoying. All I had to do was go in once a day and send him a 'gem'. Easy.
So dutifully, whenever I remembered, I would do the necessary. After a couple of weeks I noticed changes: dragons had appeared where none had been. There were now little cash boxes floating around. I clicked on one. It made a lovely tinkly noise as of money clinking onto a hoard. I clicked on a dragon. It had a name. I name I could change if I wanted to. I found I did want to.
Bear admitted that he had also been playing on my game when I had been asleep and had set me up with said dragons and their 'habitats'.
Fast forward three weeks and I now had a whole host of dragons, all personally named by me (Asgard, Midgard, Utgard and my cold dragon Hel; d'you see what I did there?). They all needed feeding up, have habitats built and then..... Then I could breed them.
Those concerned with propriety can rest easy. Dragons breed by flying around a cave for a few hours and then produce an egg. The egg sits in a special hatchery until it is ready to hatch.
And here we are. The whoop of smug achievement when I realised I had bred a pearl dragon before Bear, could be heard at the end of the garden and I have been overheard saying "Hold on, just checking on my dragons". When did I become this person? And how do
I stop? Do I want to stop? Hmmm not until I've managed to breed a rainbow dragon at least. Now if you'll excuse me there are some tinkly cash boxes what need clicking on.
Wednesday 6 June 2012
Friday 1 June 2012
Foraging is a political issue
My sister and I have always wanted to find out more about foraging so when she emailed me about a walk on Hampstead Heath with a published foraging type, I jumped at the chance.
So Saturday morning we traipse up the hill in the unusually hot sun to The Gaia Foundation in the back streets of Hampstead village.
Feeling a tad shy we take a bench across the road and watch the rest if the group arrive. A strange mix of serious types with suitable footwear and leather knapsacks, hampstead mums with offspring, flowing skirts and an intimate knowledge of all the Eithiopian restaurants in a 5 mile radius, and youngish lasses in shorts and flip flops. And us. 2 middle aged slightly tubby women in jeans, trainers and plenty of sunscreen.
Our hosts were two far too attractive young ladies and the chief forager. He definitely looked the part: he had a hat and everything. We were introduced to the chief when he loudly declaimed the the Hampstead Heath Corporation were ridiculous monsters for preventing the group from gathering our foraged bounty. "What's next? Telling people to stop mowing their lawns!" Sis took my hand at this point and gave me the "don't respond" look - she knows me so well...
Off we went into the undergrowth. Well up the pavement anyway. We had only gone a few yards when chief stopped and plucked a small weed from the edge of the road. This was chickweed. A delicious salad ingredient apparently. We all took pictures obediently. The earnest chap next to us piped up "It's delicious sautéed in olive oil" and I knew we were definitely in NW3.
As we strolled through the Heath, chief forager pointed out an abundance of edible flora and the occasional poisonous option for those planning a murder... Unfortunately his spiel was peppered with rants on how we all should return to being hunter gatherers and that the African grasses were providing grains across that continent and we could all benefit from that lifestyle. This would be discussed further over lunch...
We'd had an hour and a half of ranting by now under the hot sun and a follow up rant with foraged salad did not sound like fun so sis n I made excuses and skipped happily down the hill to forage for a frappucino.
Sis has since claimed that she did indeed learn something: she learned that foraging is Not For Her.
For those of you interested here is a list of the edible yummies available in your local park or pavement:
Chickweed, lesser celandine, linden, ground elder, dock, cleaver, elderflower, nettle, cow parsley, mustard garlic, alexander, herb bennett, sheep's sorrel, common sorrel, moor sorrel, grass, dandelion and cats ear dandelion.
Note from the author: Some of these plants look suspiciously like others which are poisonous. If you're not sure, Don't Put It In Your Mouth (surely good advice for any situation!)
Now if you'll excuse me I've got cleavers infusing in a jug of cold water.
Addendum: cleavers taste like grass. And cleaver infused water tastes like watery grass. S'quite nice actually.
Addendum 2: Out on Urmston meadows spotted cow parsley, mustard garlic, nettles of course, sorrel & elder. Hey! I learned something!
So Saturday morning we traipse up the hill in the unusually hot sun to The Gaia Foundation in the back streets of Hampstead village.
Feeling a tad shy we take a bench across the road and watch the rest if the group arrive. A strange mix of serious types with suitable footwear and leather knapsacks, hampstead mums with offspring, flowing skirts and an intimate knowledge of all the Eithiopian restaurants in a 5 mile radius, and youngish lasses in shorts and flip flops. And us. 2 middle aged slightly tubby women in jeans, trainers and plenty of sunscreen.
Our hosts were two far too attractive young ladies and the chief forager. He definitely looked the part: he had a hat and everything. We were introduced to the chief when he loudly declaimed the the Hampstead Heath Corporation were ridiculous monsters for preventing the group from gathering our foraged bounty. "What's next? Telling people to stop mowing their lawns!" Sis took my hand at this point and gave me the "don't respond" look - she knows me so well...
Off we went into the undergrowth. Well up the pavement anyway. We had only gone a few yards when chief stopped and plucked a small weed from the edge of the road. This was chickweed. A delicious salad ingredient apparently. We all took pictures obediently. The earnest chap next to us piped up "It's delicious sautéed in olive oil" and I knew we were definitely in NW3.
As we strolled through the Heath, chief forager pointed out an abundance of edible flora and the occasional poisonous option for those planning a murder... Unfortunately his spiel was peppered with rants on how we all should return to being hunter gatherers and that the African grasses were providing grains across that continent and we could all benefit from that lifestyle. This would be discussed further over lunch...
We'd had an hour and a half of ranting by now under the hot sun and a follow up rant with foraged salad did not sound like fun so sis n I made excuses and skipped happily down the hill to forage for a frappucino.
Sis has since claimed that she did indeed learn something: she learned that foraging is Not For Her.
For those of you interested here is a list of the edible yummies available in your local park or pavement:
Chickweed, lesser celandine, linden, ground elder, dock, cleaver, elderflower, nettle, cow parsley, mustard garlic, alexander, herb bennett, sheep's sorrel, common sorrel, moor sorrel, grass, dandelion and cats ear dandelion.
Note from the author: Some of these plants look suspiciously like others which are poisonous. If you're not sure, Don't Put It In Your Mouth (surely good advice for any situation!)
Now if you'll excuse me I've got cleavers infusing in a jug of cold water.
Addendum: cleavers taste like grass. And cleaver infused water tastes like watery grass. S'quite nice actually.
Addendum 2: Out on Urmston meadows spotted cow parsley, mustard garlic, nettles of course, sorrel & elder. Hey! I learned something!
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