I’ve spent New Year’s Eve and New Years Day in the countryside. I grew up spending all of my weekends and holidays at my grandparents’ farm and although the farm is no more, mainly because my granddad died many years ago, we still have the house. It’s a big family house, very cold and wet, but the kitchen is always warm thanks to the old cooker, the kind of cooker that still needs wood and fire. And I love it.
Growing up in a catholic country with three catholic grandparents and a mother who feared disappointing her own mother was tough. I had to do things I never wanted to do, not because I was particularly disobedient or rebellious, on the contrary, I was a shy girl with a book in her hands, sitting on the floor in a corner, that was me. I had to do things like going to mass every Sunday and pray there and read little gospel books that my granny gave me. And lives of the saints… actually those stories of saints doing things to achieve holiness were my first fantasy readings (oh please don’t laugh at me!). And of course a good catholic girl, at 8 or 9, must celebrate her first communion day.
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The tea is ready 