HUNTER-GATHERING: wild & fresh food

Mushrooms, The Media and a Man bearing gifts...

It’s been rather a strange week. Tuesday began like any other day, except a bit earlier- I was off to teach Foraging on the South downs, so after making a fire and heating up water for a shower I went on my merry way. I was aware that an article on my treehouse life had been written and was due to be published in the Evening Standard later that day- by 10am the phone wouldn’t stop ringing with allsorts of media types getting “on it”.

 After teaching I had to race home to meet a BBC crew so they could film a bit of my treehouse life and then do a live feed. Sattelite trucks, cars, vans and cables where waiting for me when I returned- what was this! It was great fun having them down and explain what and why I was doing this, but most of all seeing how the news is made and brought to us and the ridiculous deadline they have to edit, set up etc! Following the Standard was the London Paper, London Lite, BBC Radio Kent, ITV meridian and most amusing of all the Mail online which with incredible accuracy and attention to detail, penned me as a “city highflyer” and a “Businessman”- Quite frankly the only business I have ever done has been in the confines of a bathroom, but anyway….

If you would like to see the BBC news video of their visit to the treehouse and get a better idea of my crib- please click here.

 In the midst of the media frenzy surrounding the treehouse, Alistair Humphreys, an adventurer/ writer, came down to stay for a couple of days. As ever, when people come to stay I like to ask them to bring me something of use, absolutely anything really. Alistair, who spent 4 ½ years cycling around the world (how many people can say that!), was only too clued up on the comforts needed in a situation like mine. He came bearing some fantastic gifts- a couple of books, a watermelon, some ground coffee and best of all a stovetop espresso maker! Amazing!

We had plenty of fine food on offer and yesterday evening we had some hot smoked eels, potatoes and beans from the garden and some very fine Field mushrooms that have been popping up with all the rain we’ve been having. The evening was spent chatting through various escapades and the ins and outs of how to write a book. I am quite lucky to have to fine mentors as I embark on my first book, Al and Tom (aka The Hungry Cyclist).

This morning I had to wake up for a call from BBC Radio Sussex for an on-air chat…an interesting experience, especially when the enthusiastic DJ asked me:

“Nick, Just for all our listeners out there who are on their way to work or sitting in an office, could you them paint a picture of what you can see around you….”

This being the woods and mobile reception not being of the upmost quality, the next thing I heard was a familiar “BEEP BEEP” of my phone cutting out. I don’t know what happened after that, I don’t have a radio!

For lunch we had an unsuccessful wander with the gun and then settled upon fish for lunch. We hauled out half a dozen perch from the river, I went through the laborious process of scaling and filleting the fish and Al busied himself sawing lots of wood- I must say my Job list shrinks and things become a lot easier when there is another person about.

I was overjoyed to come across a patch of Fairy ring champignons on our return to the treehouse, apparently they are very common, but other than a paper bagful from borough market, I’ve never had the good fortune to come across them in the wild. I am certainly not an authority on Mushrooms- far from it, but a good way of identifying them according to my sources is the smell of bitter almonds- a whiff of the hydrogen cyanide found within…they MUST be cooked. They were and along with the perch, we had a jolly good lunch!

This week has been fun, media interest is so short lived, its worth getting involved when it comes along, I’ve met some new people and seen some funny things.

I must be off home, my coracle building plans were interrupted this week, So I have to be getting on- the boat trip commences on the 12^th- fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…yo-ho-ho indeed.

 

The Treehouse diaries: Of Marrows & Meadowsweet…

Well, Scotland was grand, but I have returned with an absurd enthusiasm and I find myself trying to do everything at once…not possible! On the first day back down I went out to secure some protein for a slap up supper chez treehouse. Carrying an air rifle the size of this one makes me feel like I should be out sniping the Taliban or knocking flat Charlie in the dense Vietnamese jungle…so naturally to achieve such a look (and for practicality actually- you can’t look through a scope with a flat cap forwards!) I had to go all Samuel L. Jackson with the headgear. After creeping along the hedgerow, I had a nice fat rabbit in the bag for supper and my rabbit skin rug would cover a little more floor space.

To cure the pelts, I have adopted a standard technique of NOT scraping off the fat from the pelt, pinning it to a board with nails, coating liberally with salt and sitting it in mosquito net for a few days undercover. The result is a good stiff skin- perfect for a rug. I did one about a month ago that got wet and attacked by flies- it went a bit rank, so I did learn a valuable lesson- don't leave it out in the rain!

When I returned from 5 days away on my educational break, I checked in with my landlord’s who, in return for looking after their 500lb pig ‘bangers’ when they head north, had kindly watered the patch in my absence. Apparently there was so much rain; they didn’t have to a lot. All I was told is that there was more weed than a Jamaican cannabis factory; my plan of being a lazy gardener obviously wasn’t going to happen.

As I walked up to the patch, it looked so out of control that I could barely see the round, crisp balls of iceberg. Some serious weeding was in order…immediately. Although I try my best not to procrastinate, sometimes procrastination in itself can be a wonderful thing: the freedom of turning your back on the problem in hand, shrugging and saying “Fuck it” is priceless.  Tomorrow it is…or the day after.

On the upside, I had an enormous glut of runner beans, plenty for eating and even more for pickling. I picked my first one and bit in to it with a satisfying crunch and marvelled at the incredible sweetness of it, a versatile addition to the garden indeed. In my absence the courgettes had gone a little haywire and turned into marrows the size of Arnie’s forearm.

“What the hell am I going to do with these?” I said out loud, then took the cursory look around to ensure I was alone and hadn’t just been caught chatting to myself…as I have mentioned before, in much the same way as playing air guitar with a stick, it’s fine if you’re on your own.

Weirdly enough the answer came to me quite quickly, in the same way I had hollowed out a pumpkin and filled it with Gruyere and cream in a past post (stuffing big vegetables is great fun), I could put fish, veg and stock in it and bake it in the embers…or meat, fish? No, meat. Maybe fish? Yes…meat.

When I got back from the patch I had quite an epic spread of green stuff, enough to really excite any evangelical vegetarian, but for a corpse-cruncher like me, the picture wasn’t complete. Just before the rain came, I did my “sniping” instead of fishing- after a week of smoked salmon and eel, I was feeling a tad fished out.  After peeling the rabbit and curing the pelt, I took all the meat off the bone, kept the liver and threw away the kidneys. Now I’m a big fan of offal but where kidneys are concerned I don’t care what anyone says, they taste of piss.

 

I made an enormous fire using the finest oak available to humanity and let it burn down to top quality embers. Once the fire was going I got to work on the mutant courgette: The top was sliced off and the base was hollowed out and seasoned well, this might work!

 

The rabbit was browned off in a pan over the fire and set aside to cool while I put some potatoes (cubed) on to boil. I chopped up some spinach and put it in the base of the hollowed out marrow, followed by some chopped runner beans, w.garlic and hop shoots. The rabbit and all the juices were poured in along with a half a stock cube and some water (at this point a glass of white wine in both me and the marrow would really have made the dish).

Down here tinfoil isn’t the kind of thing that grows on trees, Burdock leaves are the treehouse dweller’s best wrapping tool, It has a vast skill set: from clutching slimy eels to wiping a backside, and even wrapping food to place on the embers of a fire.

40 minutes after firmly placing my packaged supper onto the embers and building a little nest around it, I went to inspect. It was done…perhaps overdone?

As I removed what was left of the wrapping and gingerly removed the lid, my nostrils were hit with a mix of mouth-watering aromas. The contents of the marrow and most of the flesh were ladled onto my waiting plate and eaten without delay…one hell of a supper! I cant help but think that it was really a dish for 2 people, but I ate it all anyway and felt incredibly fat and lethargic afterwards…that’s why hammocks were invented.

Meadowsweet…oh meadowsweet. Now that the elderflower has gone and the cordial I made from it also about to go the same way, I decided to apply the same non-exact science used to make elderflower drinkable to the somewhat similar sweet, fragrant flowers of meadowsweet- now in full swing.

I often have meadowsweet knocking about the treehouse, for both its pleasant aroma and its use as a good herbal tea (see British Bush Tea post). Meadowsweet comes from its old school name “mead sweet” which refers to it’s past as a sweetening agent in mead production. It is also very useful medicinally; it is a remedy for upset stomach, heartburn, headache or used as a mild painkiller. The latter is due to the plants high levels of Salicylic acid- a principle ingredient found in Aspirin. So, if I could turn the flowers into cordial, it would be a lot healthier than a dose of Ribena and replenish my dwindling elderflower stocks.

Meadowsweet Cordial:

Makes 2 bottles.

Oddly enough, as the name suggests, found in meadows! Although your best bet is down by rivers and streams, the white “candyfloss” heads will stick out like a sore thumb.

• 200g Meadowsweet flower heads (about half a carrier bag)
• 700g Granulated Sugar
• 50g Citric acid (available at any brew shop- if not add more lemon juice, the cordial wont keep for long though)
• 2.5 litres Water
• Juice of 2 Lemons   

Bring the water to the boil in a saucepan and add the flower heads, stir gently and remove from the heat. Add the lemon juice, stir and allow to infuse for an hour.

Strain through muslin, bring the strained liquid to the boil once again, add sugar and stir until dissolved, remove from the heat and add the citric acid. Allow to cool and then bottle up.

Best served with ice on a blistering hot day! To my knowledge this isn’t something you can buy…so do give it a go, I think I prefer it to elderflower; Maybe I could make some booze with it? Watch this space…

Its good to be back at home in the woods after being north of the border, everything seems new again and fresh… like a new bag of newness, fresh from the factory where they make new things.

Anyway, I would love to stay and ramble on, but It is 1am, I must get back to the treehouse and get some shuteye before getting up early to go and teach foraging on the South downs, then its off to Cuckmere haven to try and get a bass supper, some seaweed, samphire and whatever else is up for grabs.

Night night.

 

 

Inverawe: Smoking, West Coast style.

It wasn’t until the age of 12 that I first set foot across the border into Scotland. It was only a matter of time, as a young lad obsessed with fishing and longing to see a salmon for real, I couldn’t believe my luck when I found myself balls deep in the swift, peaty waters of the River Carron surrounded by the vast heather draped highlands. I even managed to tuck into my first Salmon- a fine 6 pounder fresh from the sea. Somehow, after a battle of biblical proportions, I managed to get the fish in with my 8ft split cane trout rod…I was also the only person to catch that week! On the same trip I went deer stalking for the first time, which is where the antlers that adorn the front of the treehouse came from…so this time I was keen to bring something that would add more than just aesthetic value to my treehouse.

Eager for a bit of company after my first 2 months living amongst the leaves, I took a brief trip to the west coast of Scotland for a “couples” holiday-myself and my lady, Emma & Justin and Jimbo & Clare. Not too far from Oban is the Inverawe Smokery, owned by Robert & Rosie Campbell-Preston, Emma (their daughter) invited us up for a short break…like most things I find myself thrown in to these days, I had an underlying motive: what could I learn from the finest smoker’s in the Country?

I had tasted the delights of the Inverawe range when I lived up in town, I always eagerly awaited the starter at Emma’s dinner parties, which I knew would be smoked duck, eel, trout, mussel or my favourite- the roast smoked Salmon. This holiday was also a chance to do a little low maintenance gorging- I have been eating well over the last couple of months, but to be able to heat water at the flick of a switch, twist a handle for a shower and turn on the gas rings for a fry up would be delightful…oh the joys of modern technology!

After hopping on the 7.20 from Euston to Glasgow, followed by a 2 hour car journey, I found myself back in my element: balls deep in the River Awe flicking a fly across the ripples.

On the first morning I was up at 6.30am, eager to get in amongst some fish. I had the choice of sea trout on the river, or 4 lochs chock to the brim with big trout…decisions, decisions! I pulled out a few trout from two of the lochs and then hauled out a sea trout from the river. By 10.30am I wandered back up to the house with a big smile that grew even bigger when I was greeted by a full English.

I won’t go through all the ins and outs of “6 go mad in Scotland”, tales of air-humping Jack Russell’s, going to jail, Green Jean, culinary finesse of haggis, clapshot and whisky and the notorious “mussel bandits” are all too much to go into… so on with the smoking!

A familiar smell hit me as soon as I arrived, so much so that I actually sniffed myself; as a result of my tree-dwelling experience I have become permanently infused with Wood smoke pour homme. It was of course the waft of smouldering oak drifting across from the smokery.

Robert Campbell-Preston is the Hugh Hefner of smoking  (without the jacket and leggy blonde tarts), the man is clearly a master of his art, and Rosie is the genius behind what to do with the product as can be seen in her Inverawe cookbook. Robert explained to me the time and experimentation that goes into each new product; the majority of his cold-smoked items spend around 72 hours in the chamber. Hot-smoked products also benefit from a night of cold smoking before being finished. It was very clear that this is one slick operation that pays attention to detail, tradition and above all: taste.

On our second night, after a shirt-splittingly good meal, Robert took Justin (his prospective son in law) and myself down into the heart of the operation. At around 10pm we entered the smokery, donned a lab coat, hair net and a shiny pair of white wellies before going through a good sanitising. Through the processing kitchen we entered the smoky underworld of the Inverawe smoking chambers. The smoke gave the corridor of chambers an unnatural haze and despite the amount of fish I knew was behind each numbered door, the fishy smell was nowhere to be found.

Justin and I tried not to get in the way as Robert checked the temperature of each chamber and went about the health and safety garb associated with the traceability of each batch. Finally he opened up a chamber to remove some Salmon steaks due to be “roast smoked” the following morning. Not even a trip to my local monger could have prepared me for all those glorious fat, pink fillets of salmon fresh out of the smoker…the sight of it made my mouth water, as if on cue Robert removed a hunk of Salmon flesh and we sampled some of the freshest smoked salmon I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.

As we left to go and check on the smouldering urns out the front, Robert showed us the Walk-in fridge. Most of the products are destined for packaging to be distributed to the likes of Harrods, Selfridges, and Waitrose etc. Certain batches are on order for such culinary institutions as Bentley’s Oyster bar in London (and weirdly enough, my favourite Restaurant). In the fridge was a crate holding a batch of enormous Eels, It was clear from the look on Roberts face, as he wielded a smoked beast, that he was quite pleased with them.

Outside, we attended to the urns that held the wood for smoking. I always thought that only sawdust was used for smoking. Here at inverawe they use logs, which are placed on top of a chamber of gently smouldering sawdust. Robert explained that they used beech and oak as their primary fuel source and that he has become quite the hero amongst local sawmills:

“Most of the saw mills only use the main trunk, so their left with all these bloody limbs, so I take a couple of truckloads of the limbs off their hands”.

Robert got a little agitated by a particularly stubborn urn that refused to get into position and reverted to a mock-Scottish accent punctuated with much profanity and colourful language…to which Justin and I fell about laughing. As we left Robert to do his final checks he turned and said:

“Better have a good scrub down boys, or you won’t be getting any tonight!”

Fortunately, Clare has become fairly accustomed to the smell of wood smoke, As for Justin, he would just smell like his better half’s father…what a legend!

As we were not too far from Loch Fyne, we decided to go and scope out the competition. Really, it was just so we could get our teeth into some seafood. Loch Fyne oysters have got quite a reputation and very good they were too. As for their smoked products, no bias necessary, Inverawe have certainly got it in the bag. I sat and had ½ a dozen oysters, the girls had a seafood broth and Jimbo happily sucked out the brains of his langoustine.

 

I did say I wouldn’t go into details, but, one morning Emma encouraged us to go down to Loch Etive to gather some mussels, something I was particularly keen to do, which would be followed by us boys having a manly “Mussel-off” for lunch…I think the tides must have been wrong and the rain too much. All that remains to be said is that we were well and truly screwed by the mussel bandits- “big time”.

As I prepare to head back to the solitude of the trees and leaves, I take with me the things I have learnt over the last week, things I didn’t know such as brining the fish prior to smoking them, smoking is something that takes a lifetime to perfect in much the same way as casting the perfect fly when balls deep in those Scottish rivers. As I pack up my rucksack and stick in my new copy of “home-curing and smoking” by Keith Erlandson, the possibilities seem endless. Having not seen the Treehouse for a good week, I have begun to miss it, Surfing will have to be postponed this year, I have had my educational “break” this summer, it appears I have an awful lot of work to be getting on with.

 

The Treehouse diaries: In Print, Perch and outwitting Pigeons.

(Giving it some "blue steel" in the living room...)

This week brought the rain. It was inevitable, a good stretch of close, hazy summer days was bound to end with a bang. That bang began with the pitter-patter of raindrops on my tin roof as I sat by the stove updating my diary. A flash followed by a low rumble and the drumming began, I had felt rather cosy in my dry arboreal dwelling, the corrugated iron roof was holding up well to the downpour. Iron roof…big tree tall tree running through house…lightening! Shit!

Despite putting on the thickest rubber soled shoes I had on (reef shoes) and going to sit under the treehouse while the storm passed and count the seconds between flashing and rumbling, I was in the middle of a wood with plenty of other trees. Perhaps more desirable, isolated objects would be better targets?

The weather has become fickle, this means thinking ahead, plenty of pimps and faggots (yes, yes stop laughing, they are bundles of differently graded birch for burning) to stock up on, hammocks to be put away and more cooking inside. My food prep has become more sophisticated, less time spent rambling, hunting and fishing, things like bread, pickles and pesto (from nettles and an overabundance of rocket in the garden) have been top of the agenda.

(Collecting Faggots in the birch wood...) 

Last week, I was thrilled to see “The Treehouse Diaries” In print for the first time! My column for Reader’s Digest has begun and will be running for the next 6 months- a slightly condensed account of how life is going down here.

This week I have been targeting the P’s, Pigeons and Perch. Perch have long been a favourite of mine, for both the table and their general appearance. They are the Jackals of the waterways, fierce little buggers with an appetite to match, when on the prowl in packs up go the spiky dorsal fins and woe betide and small fry in the viscinity. Their white, meaty flesh is fantastic and the best comparison would be bass. You would hard pressed to find them in a fishmongers…even Billingsgate, If you want to try it, you must get a fshing rod and some spinning gear. I did a post some time ago (see here) with a superb recipe for “filet du perche”, a Lake Geneva classic and exactly what happens to any I get my grubby little mitts on.

Pigeons have become my absolute nemesis down here. Their constant coo-ing and careless presence (whenever I am unarmed), has been getting to me. Pigeon is the tastiest of all wild meats and unfortunately, my skill with a gun does not match my abilities with a rod and line.

The Ojibwa birdpoles I made have still not bagged me a pigeon supper, and since the cows have moved into the field and knocked them over, I doubt they will in future. I needed to come up with a new way of trapping pigeons, hours of online searching and thumbing through piles of trapping books, led me to one conclusion: the gun is the most effective way…with decoys, which I don’t have!

Having found plenty of chicken/ garden wire on the fences at my mother’s house, used to stop her old cat Gizmo escaping, I went and ripped it down, determined to put it to good use. If my memory serves me correctly, I made a very cunning trap during my time shipwrecked in the Cook Islands- The Hawk Island No. 2 was not quite the Havahart No.9 but equally effective in the capture of chicken. If it can catch a chicken, it could, maybe, catch a pigeon…

This time, I had a lot more tools and fixings to put togther the same trap…and didn’t have to spend days building a cage with twigs and string (a relief to say the least…). Using a hammer and nails, some hazel and my staple gun from my set design days, I knocked together a new, updated version of the Hawk island No.2: The Treehouse No.1, I just hope it works as well!

The clever thing about this trap lies in its self-setting simplicity. The cage is held up by two notched sticks that rest on top of one another, around this is looped some fishing line that is attached to two stakes at the back end of the trap. Once baited, the greedy bird walks into the trap intent on a good feed, hits the fishing line which then pulls out the sticks and drops the cage…very clever!

Well that’s all for now, I have a few more to build and some serious baiting up to get on with. All this talk of pigeon is making me hungry…perhaps I will have a quick wander with the gun just in case.

The Treehouse Diaries: Burnt Bread, Fish, Showers and a Bench…

It has been sweltering this week, my feet have forgotten what socks are (and shoes for that matter) and I have been wearing the same shorts all week, I certainly didn’t expect to revert to my Cook Island Lifestyle in this country!  Of course this weather has meant I have been able to get up close and personal with the river, both in terms of swimming, fishing and exploring.

The river has been furnishing my table well, As we have been approaching a full moon, I have been setting nightlines like a man possessed, as a result, plenty of eels now swim freely in my “freshwater fridge”: a large net in a secluded pool downstream. Having a good stock of fish readily available has meant less time on the hunt and more time enjoying life down here and coming up with crackpot schemes and bizarre plans for the months ahead, not to mention a little hammock time…

The other morning, I sauntered through the wood in barefoot elegance to go and check the lines. With a visit from my Editor the following day, I was eager to impress and was trying to work out what would be the best menu for lunch. After finding I had a few eels squirming at the ends of three lines, I went to lift the fourth and final- the water exploded and I found myself staring at a glorious 3lb Brown Trout thrashing about insanely. This was a fish I didn’t want to lose...nothing left but to go into the drink, hauling him out could result in breakage! Instead of using the towel to dry myself after, it too went in as a makeshift landing net and something to wrap the fish in whilst I stumbled downriver to the “fridge”. All went well other than gashing my shin on a submerged metal ‘thing’…much swearing, blood and plenty of sweat.

I was able to serve up Salad from the garden and stuck the trout in the hot smoker…damn fine nosh! 

On the subject of food, I have been digging up my first early Potatoes…I have more than I know what to do with! That goes for Salad and spinach too, and the runner beans are about to kick in! Fortunately the overflow from the ‘patch’ is gently trickling into my Mothers kitchen…not all is wasted.

 

I know ‘tis not the season and no doubt some people may not be so pleased but man cannot live on bread alone. If a pheasant is foolish enough to come in range whilst I am out with the gun, I am not one to pass up the chance to enjoy a little ultimate free-range birdage (pigeon is always top of the list). Every now and then, I get an urge for a chicken burger, often after an evening of over indulgence at one of London’s many watering holes. Not that I was inebriated, I just fancied something a bit “filthy”, a gamey KFC if you like.

I used half of my Sourdough starter to make some pittas in my big heavy skillet, chopped and dressed some salad from the patch and used the dregs of some garlic mayonnaise left by one of my recent guests. The pheasant breasts were chopped, washed and rolled in seasoned flower and shallow fried until golden brown. Below is the layout I had for my fast-food supper, although ‘fast’ doesn’t come into it- you don’t have to pluck and gut your meal prior to tucking into an Unlucky Fried Kitten.

NB. Notice the added moth on the pitta…extra protein!

I am obliged to use every last bit of every thing that is the result of a successful hunt (I have not yet found a use for pigeon feet- but I am sure I will!), without the luxury of a fridge, I have resorted to sticking the carcass and leftovers (tatties, rice etc.) in a billy can with some water, half a stock cube, a few wild garlic bulbs and a some herbs from my hanging baskets. I give it an hour of simmering before bed and the same the following lunchtime adding a few dried jew’s ear mushrooms. The result is always pleasing and takes minimum effort- something of a rarity in this alternative lifestyle.

Now, I have been lucky in many of my endeavours down here, things have come good many a time, first time around, but it was inevitable that a colossal balls up was just around the corner. That balls up reared it’s ugly head one evening when making my sourdough bread. The fierce heat of the fire melted the aluminium pickling pan I had put in the fire as a makeshift oven…not only did it melt, the bread had become a lump of charcoal…shit happens. In future sourdough and loaves can be left to a proper kitchen…flatbreads are my new best friend. 

On the subject of ovens, the clay oven is complete, Clare came down for the weekend to help me finish it and do a little decoration. I know have to wait for it to dry out and then apply a pure clay slip to all the appearing cracks, then the oven can be fired up for the first time.

In my last post, I did mention I would give you a peek at the shower…in fact other than the ‘throne’, which is filling up nicely, I have spoken little of sanitation down here. I do all my teeth brushing and shaving at the sink unit as well as my washing up…for 1. The river is a fantastic way to cool of and have a rinse, but I am not keen to wash in it with soap and pollute it in that sense, also I do not wish to smell of river.

 

The Shower is my favourite, and possibly most luxurious item I have. The shower consists of a galvanised bucket, a few small lengths of copper pipe, a gas on/off valve and a watering can rose. It delivers 2-3 minutes of heaven, depending on how much you open it. Water is heated to the desired temperature in my big pan over the fire, transferred into the bucket and hoisted into a tree. There are few things more enjoyable than stripping down to your birthday suit in the middle of a wood and having a good scrub down: I have never felt so clean and refreshed!

 

I have for some time, been keen to put together an alfresco table and bench. I thought about doing the table first but was more taken with trying to build a bench using old school tricks instead of nails or screws. I began whittling and drilling holes and hitting things with hammers instead- it actually works very well, but takes a little more time, something which I am not short of down here, so best make use of it!

I found a fallen tree with a mat of ivy detached from the tree, which was still going strong. The ivy seemed a perfect width for a bench top, so back to camp it came. As you can see, it turned out rather well…

A good place to sit and mend nightlines.

Other things to make note of: The wild raspberries by the river have come out! Although I am fighting a losing battle against the birds to get enough to even consider making 1 pot of jam…greedy bastards! 

I have some new neighbours in the field next to the wood…they fill the days and nights with strained mooo’s and their eerily human coughing. The great thing about cows is: you are never short of a willing, interested audience.

In the spirit of this whole Crusoesque enterprise, I felt something was missing, why does no-one smoke a pipe anymore? My Father used to smoke a pipe regularly, especially when fishing and tutoring me in the ways of righteousness when in came to flicking a fly line…the memory still remains of that sweet smell of pipe smoke, so I felt it was time to go a little Samwise Gamgee and dig out a fine old churchwarden to enjoy the odd smoke when I stuck my small hobbit feet up at the end of the day…and actually it is quite pleasant!

As I have mentioned, this whole adventure is to be published next May, therefore a diary has to be written and this is usually how it is done:

The rest of my time down here is continuing at a slow but measured pace, as always, fuel and food are always needed so there is never a time that nothing needs doing. Everything takes longer down here than it would in a modern day dwelling, I find myself blissfully unaware of what is going on in the real world. Took me three days to find out the man that wrote ‘Billy jean’ had passed on…here’s a “shamone” for you MJ, you legend! I have come to realise, obviously, that what I am doing is nothing new: humans have been living like this for thousands of years….what I can’t seem to work out is why we, in the 21^st century, seem to get such a thrill out of going back to this primitive, basic way of life…when I figure it out, I will let you know…