Tesco Farm to Fork Trail

As part of their educational programme, Tesco's organise what they call "Farm to Fork" trails for schoolchildren - I believe farm visits are included, in some cases, as well as a look round the supermarket.  Normally these are done with primary school classes - I've seen classes going round our local Tesco's and been very impressed at  how engrossed and involved the children were.

So this half-term, Mumsnet teamed up with Tesco and organised Farm to Fork trails in several locations around the country, one of which was Leyton.  They were open to any child aged between 4 and 11, and so the Daughter, having checked with me first, signed up The Boy to be part of it.  She did check that it was okay for Boy Too to trail along in his pushchair, and was told this was fine, although I might have to carry him in the bakery (in fact, I didn't; he was allowed to stay in his pushchair).

We met up at Customer Service.  There were supposed to be 7 kids, but in the event, only 5 turned up.  There were two very bright children aged about 9 and 7, I think; a couple of small boys who were about 6 and 5, and my Boy, who is 4.  I'm not sure how well the wide range of age and ability worked - the co-ordinator, Stacey, said that normally you have a class so everybody is at about the same stage of reading and writing.  This lot ranged from total fluency, to my Boy who is only just beginning to read, and although he can write his name, it takes a very long time and much concentration!

We were taken up to a room in the back of the building, where the children were asked to put on hi-vis vests which had a picture of some vegetables or fruit on the front and "I'm learning where my food comes from" on the back.  They were then given paper hats to decorate and write their names on - the Boy did write his name, but also drew a picture of a carrot and a loaf of bread, both recognisable once you knew what they were.  He slightly threw everybody by insisting that black is his favourite colour, a theme he continued the rest of the day!

With their hats and high-vis vests on, the children were marched (literally) down to the main floor of the supermarket, and thus to the bakery department.  There, they discussed what things go into making bread, and marked them off on their worksheets (the three youngest needed help with this), and were given some dough to knead and play with.  "What", asked the eldest child, "was going to happen to the dough?"  and she was told that this particular batch would be used for animal food as they hadn't washed their hands before kneading it.

They had to wash their hands afterwards, and this took a bit of time as the dough was very sticky!  Meanwhile, the bakery manager had brought in some "Weirdoughs" for the children to taste - mini-doughnuts flavoured with bacon (surprisingly nice - I shared one with Boy Too, who enjoyed his half) and salt and vinegar.  I passed on that, but the Boy had two!  And a slice of "pizza bread" as the children christened the Mediterranean bread they were also invited to try.  That was delicious, and I looked for some afterwards to buy, but they had sold out.  Still, I shall look for it in our Tesco's.

Onwards, then, to the fruit and vegetable department, where between them they looked out for fruit and vegetables in all the colours of the rainbow, and the older ones were asked to look to see where they came from.

They also had their picture taken with Bananaman, who "happened" to be standing by the eponymous fruit. 

Then it was back off the shop floor, through the door marked "Staff only" ("You can only go there if you work there," as the Boy explained to his mother afterwards).  We looked at the huge warehouse and then there was a visit to the cold store, which was - cold!  The Boy covered himself with glory by answering, when asked what was kept in the fridge, "Yoghurt".  And, indeed, yoghurt, milk, butter and ham featured prominently in the trolleys.  Apparently the law requires these to be stored at no higher than 8C, but Tesco's internal regulations say they must be no higher than 5C.  In any case, the temperatures were nicely below that, so that was all right.

Back upstairs (Boy Too and I used the rather claustrophobic lift, which was too badly lit for my taste, but I wasn't going to carry both him and his pushchair upstairs!) to the conference room, where the really hands-on part of the day started.  First of all, the children - and the adults - were offered "Spooky Satsumas" ("They aren't spooky," said the Eldest Boy scornfully.  "They're just ordinary satsumas in a special box."  Poor Stacey had to agree that this was so!).  After this, they were given the opportunity to decorate, with more or less help from Stacey, a cupcake and a gingerbread man. 

 

After which, they were invited to taste goats' cheese and Cheddar, and compare the two, and then they were given a fruit kebab to eat.  With the various cries of "But I don't like...." whatever (raspberries and blackberries in The Boy's case) I felt faintly sorry for Stacey, but they mixed and matched.  We adults were given a kebab, too, and I shared my blueberries with Boy Too, who loves them.  I'd got him out of the pushchair, and he was happily sitting on the floor eating raisins and such largesse as people gave him! 

The final act of the day was for the children to make sandwiches to take home for their lunch - basically cheese and salad, though I don't think a single child used any of the lettuce that was provided!  The Boy said "I don't like salad!" but made his sandwich with tomato, cucumber and carrot, and later enjoyed it very much.  The sandwiches were bagged up to take home in a goody-bag which included a banana, raisins, some recipe sheets and some stickers.  And, of course, their worksheets and hats, and, best of all, a £20 Tesco voucher for the accompanying adults! 

I was glad to have gone on the "trail" myself, as I was interested, but had had my doubts as to whether the Boy was really old enough to enjoy it, but in the event he did, very much, and was very full of it afterwards.  I am not sure how much he will remember of what he learnt, but it was a fun outing for half-term.  All the same, I think it was as well we weren't a bigger group, as it was hard enough for the co-ordinator to cope with the different ages and abilities as it was. 

Paddy and Poppies

I'm covering two excursions from last week in one post as neither was really major enough to warrant a post of its own.

On Monday we went to the Durning Library in Kennington to hear Paddy Ashdown speak about the French Resistance in the Vercors, an area of France we know well from many years of going to the Mountain Cup in Villard-de-Lans.  It was an interesting talk, and one could buy his book for £5.00 less than the list price, so I did, for the Swan Whisperer's birthday or Christmas present, and had it signed.....

Then on Saturday we had been going to go to the London Forest Choir's concert in Chingford, but our daughter, who sings in it, was unwell and unable to sing, so we decided it was rather a long way to go just to hear Fauré's Requiem, which they are also singing in Central London on 9 November.  So instead, we thought we would go and see the poppies at the Tower of London.  In case you don't know (and who doesn't?), they are placing over 800,000 ceramic poppies in the moat of the Tower to commemorate those British servicemen who were killed in WW1.  It was absolutely packed out, but the poppies were lovely:

And I couldn't resist this photo of Tower Bridge in the late-afternoon sun:

On our way back to catch a bus on London Bridge we came across one of the mini-Boris buses that are a current art installation:

An afternoon in the park

The Brockwell Park Miniature Railway runs on summer and autumn Sundays, but next Sunday will be its last hurrah for the year.  So as the family were busy next Sunday, I got a text asking whether we were free to go with them this afternoon.  I said yes, once I'd finished preaching and we wanted to go to the farmers' market, so we arranged to meet them at 12:30 outside Brixton Tube.

We wandered round the farmers' market, but Giggly Pig no longer seem to go there, and the only sausage stall sold cooked sausages rather than raw.  We did find some buffalo sausages, which were delicious (having had them for supper), but other than that it was disappointing.  I wanted a cauliflower, but they were £1 each, and I'd seen them for 60p in Walthamstow Market on Thursday.  And they don't really do street food, which the daughter had hoped for.  So we were hungry.  Wahaca has just opened in the old Railway Tavern, which has been derelict for some years and was Brady's before then, so we had a look there, but it seemed a bit expensive, so we thought we'd potter round the market.  At lunchtime on a Sunday, it was packed out, of course (and our favourite Colombian doesn't open on Sundays), but we found another Mexican place, Jaliscos, where between us we managed tacos, and a burrito for me, beer and pineapple juice.  All very delicious, but "regular" was too spicy for Boy Too, who was consoled with a fruit pouch instead.  I found that on my limit of spicy, too - I could have enjoyed a slightly higher level of spice, but was glad I hadn't, on balance.  But the pulled pork was delicious - I normally find it has so much sauce on it you can't taste the pork, but this one didn't.  The Boy enjoyed his, too.

We then headed for a bus, and got off at the Brockwell Lido gates of Brockwell Park.  In fact, we should have got off at the Herne Hill gates, as that's where the railway starts. The daughter and I found the miniature seats were really rather narrow, and we were a bit wedged in!

The Boy was allowed to hold the tickets and handed them very solemnly to the ticket collector!

After our ride, we decided to walk across the park to the children's playground, where the daughter remembered being taken to play as a small child.  We walked up to Brockwell Hall, now a café, which was sore on the calves, I found, and the Boy grembled a bit, too.  Then, of course, it was downhill.  We went into the walled garden and saw that the roses were still glorious (and smelt glorious, too), and then walked down past the ponds - which are, in fact, the only part of the River Effra that is still above ground, to the playground, which is now rather more of an adventure playground than the swings-slides-climbing frames we remembered from thirty years ago.

Boy Too had fallen asleep by then, so his mother and I sat on a bench and reminisced while the Swan Whisperer and the Boy went off to explore.  They had great fun, and when Boy Too woke up he had a few goes on the slide and on the swings.  And there were tears when it was time to go, but not many.... I was tired by then, and so was the Boy, I think.  A 196 bus came first, so we saw them on to it, vigorous waving all round, and then a 37 which took us home to a much-needed cup of tea.

France with a Four-year-old

My grandson, usually known in Blogland as The Boy, is now four years old, as he will tell you given the least provocation ("I am four you know, Gran!").  He is obsessed by trains, and the thought of a train that takes cars under the sea was irresistible.  So I said that we would take him to France for a day, so that we could go in a train that takes cars under the sea (aka Eurotunnel, of course). 

He spent the previous night with us, and on the Monday morning we were up early and away slightly later than planned, at 07:45, but still made our booked crossing, with no time to call in at the terminal.  The Boy found the subsequent wait rather boring (so did I!), but was enchanted when we had to drive on to the platform to get on the train!  It had not occurred to him that this would be necessary.  We were on the top floor, and he was just slightly nervous when we had got parked and it was time to get out, but he coped admirably, and enjoyed visiting the loo, and going into the compartment behind us with his grandfather - this was empty, so he could run around.  They also went downstairs to have a look.

The plan had been to shop first, then go to Cap Blanc-Nez to have a picnic lunch, then go to Boulogne to play on the beach and then walk - or scoot in the Boy's case - round the walls of the old city.  The first part went without a hitch; the weather was fine, and there was a lovely view across the Channel to the White Cliffs of Dover.

We had our lunch, and then headed off in the car to Boulogne.  The Boy fell asleep, despite my attempts to keep him awake with raisins - he woke up with them clasped in his  hand and said "Ooh, raisins!" surprised to find them there!

The beach, too, was lovely.  Even I, who don't like beaches much, enjoyed walking on the sand as there were so many different kinds of sand - dry, damp and firm, damp and squishy....  The Boy was fascinated by his own footprints, and by various other footprints there were, of dogs and birds and other people.

 

And there was paddling:

But then, sadly, it all went pear-shaped.  When we got back to the car, the Swan Whisperer couldn't find his key - and we realised that someone else had found it, and had stolen our satnav, all the charging leads (but not, oddly, the multi-charger that plugs into the one and only socket) and, worst of all, my beloved binoculars.  And the first-aid kit and warning triangle, so we were now illegal.  We were, of course, extremely lucky not to have lost the car, the shopping in the boot, and the Boy's beloved scooter.  I think what I mind most, apart from my binoculars, is the clever lead that plugged into the satnav which made it able to tell you where there were traffic jams.

We should, with hindsight, have called the police, but neither of us thought of it.  And we didn't like to move the car nearer the walls of the town in case the thief were following us - we just wanted to get away.  So often bad things happen to us in Boulogne - we have had a puncture there, I drove our previous car into a ditch with the Boy's mother when she was 8 months pregnant with him, we got caught in a serious blizzard (and I have never been so frightened, as the French are even worse about driving in the snow than we are in the UK - but the Swan Whisperer was marvellous, and actually enjoyed himself that time)... and now this.  No, we are never, ever going to Boulogne again, and our day-trips will either be in Calais itself (something I was reluctant to do this time as there has been some unrest among the would-be migrant community there) or north towards Dunkerque.  Which is where we headed.

I felt sorry for the Boy - if it had been just us, we could have driven round all day, or something, but with a four-year-old.  But he was very, very good.  I don't know how much he gathered of what had happened, but he didn't fuss or anything, and enjoyed a second walk/scoot with his Granda in some random seaside resort north of Calais.

Then it was time to start thinking of supper, so we drove back to Calais, got petrol (which we didn't need, and I didn't think was all that much cheaper, but still), and then went to the Buffalo Grill for an early supper - all the people there were British, having an early supper before going home, we were amused to note.  The Boy had a burger with rice (he chose that instead of chips, and ate most of it), followed by a scoop of chocolate ice-cream.  The waiter raised his eyebrows and asked if he wouldn't prefer the children's lolly that was part of the set meal, but no, he wanted a scoop of chocolate ice-cream, and I was pleased to note that this was allowed as a substitute.  He had orange juice to drink.  I had a steak with ratatouille and then a crème brulée, which I had been fancying  (it wasn't part of the set menu, so we had to pay extra, but the Swan Whisperer very kindly said that was all right), and beer to drink, and the SW also had steak (but a more expensive one) with chips followed by chocolate mousse, and also beer.  It was all very good, although the Boy steered clear of the starter salad they give you as a matter of course in that place. 

And then it was time to go back to the Eurotunnel, and again we didn't have to go to the terminal but went straight through.  The English passport control were far more stringent coming in than going out, and we had to produce the letter of authorisation that the Boy's parents had given us; his passport is now four years old, and he really doesn't look like that any more! 

He was most disappointed that we were on the upper level again, but we explained that you didn't have a choice, but had to go where you were told, and Granda took him down to see the lower level before taking him to find a loo that wasn't locked out of service (as the one in our compartment was) to clean his teeth before we got him into his pyjamas and snuggled in a blanket in the (vain) hope he would go to sleep on the way home.  Apparently another family were doing the exact same thing, so they had to wait while several lots of teeth were cleaned and final pennies spent....

Google navigation on my phone, while adequate, isn't quite as good as the satnav, and we got one or two wrong turnings on the way back to Walthamstow, but got there in the end.  A cup of tea later, and we set off on a remarkably painless drive home (it is so much quicker and easier to use public transport that we always do if at all possible), after what ought to have been - and mostly was - a lovely day.

The Great Independent Bookshop Trek

It all started with this, on Facebook.  I have a feeling I may have shared it, but can't now find it if I did.  But it was suggested that when our friend J came over from her native Massachusetts, we might want to do a tour of independent bookshops.

So I looked at the list, and thought of bookshops I also knew, and arranged an itinerary.  J, A and I met in East Dulwich, which is between Hither Green, where A lives, and Brixton, where I do.  So our first port of call was

in Lordship Lane.  We then took two buses, changing at Waterloo, to Red Lion Square, where we walked up Lamb's Conduit Street to find

which was where I was tempted and tempted, but managed to stay strong.  I could have spent £100 so easily - all those wonderful books published by Persephone, many that I loved in childhood or have lost my own copy of. My friend V has a subscription and gets every book as it is printed, and I rather wish I did!  Anybody who wants to give me a present.....

Anyway, I was very, very strong-minded and didn't buy anything (not even The Children who lived in a Barn, which I loved as a child, not even Mariana, not even A London Child of the 1870s, not even Consequences). And eventually we came away, and walked down towards Shaftesbury Avenue and our next planned port of call.  This, en route

turned out to be the bookshop of the Swedenborg Society, so we didn't stay there long, but headed on, stopping for lunch at Byron Burgers, which was nice.  I do like a good burger!

Our Shaftesbury Avenue port of call was

which I love, and spent ages browsing in.  But I didn't buy anything!  Very strong-minded I am....  Then a bus up to Bond Street and a rather long walk up Marylebone High Street (which is always longer than I think it's going to be) to

which is a beautiful shop and has a great children's department, too.  I believe it specialises in travel books, but it has a very large general selection, too.

We finally dragged ourselves away from there, once I had persuaded J that if she hadn't read The Pursuit of Love she was seriously missing something.  And walked down to Baker Street to catch a no 2 bus to Victoria, where we got a bit lost looking for

Actually, it might have been here that I persuaded J to buy The Pursuit of Love, but never mind that now.  A had to leave us at that point, but J and I decided to head on via Sloane Square and the 137 bus, so that we could decide whether to add in one final bookshop or not.  In fact, we found this one

while we were changing buses opposite the Chelsea Royal Hospital.  This was an art bookshop, but we didn't stay long as we were getting tired and wanted to get the next 137.  Which we duly did, but got off at Old Town and walked through it to our final destination of the day:

Clapham Books is not what it was now it's moved from the High Street - it used to have a lot of discounted and second-hand books, which it no longer has.

And finally, very tired, we got one final bus to my flat!

Railways, Routemasters, Rain - and a lost village!

August Bank Holiday, and the weather forecast was appalling.  But there is only one chance a year to travel on a Routemaster across Salisbury Plain to a lost village, and that is on August Bank Holiday.  So, despite the rain, we set off.

The day started badly.  We were hoping to catch the 9:27 from Clapham Junction, which would have been a direct train with no changes.  However, no sooner were we on the bus than we noticed we'd left a window open, so we had to get off to go and close it, and lost all chance of that train.  When we finally got to CLJ, we realised that the Swan Whisperer's free tickets were, in fact, day Rover tickets, so I need not have bought tickets at all!  What a waste of £25, we thought - but then, the very kind inspector on the first train suggested that I get them refunded when we got home, not something that it would have occurred to me to do. 

We got to Salisbury, where we had 20 minutes to wait, and then realised, to our horror, that the connection to Warminster was run by First Great Western, not South West Trains.  Oh well, we thought, we'll just have to use those tickets after all, and the Swan Whisperer will have to buy one.  But we ran out of time to buy anything from the ticket office, so spoke to the ticket collector as soon as we got on the train - and he let us travel on our day tickets!  People are so nice sometimes.

We arrived in Warminster at about 12:00, I think.  TfL route 23A leaves from outside Warminster station.

We bought a day ticket, but it was so wet that we ended up staying on the bus for the next couple of hours, while it drove through Imber and out on to Salisbury Plain,

passed through a couple of random villages (with great difficulty; the roads are really not designed for London buses), and finally back to Imber, where we got off. 

Imber was a tiny village in the middle of nowhere until 1943, when the villagers were given six weeks to get out (which is a lot more than my grandparents got - they had to leave their home with only ten days' notice!) and the village has never been inhabited since.  Most of the houses are shells, built to train troops in house-to-house fighting.

The Church, however, has managed to remain open, and a service is held once a year.

  It was open today, and there was an exhibition showing the history of the village, and photos showing what it used to be like:

People were selling things to raise money for the church - tea and biscuits, plants, honey, books and booklets about the village, and so on.

When we had seen enough, we had a wander through the village, and then finally got back on the bus to head back to Warminster.  We had already noted when the South West Trains service was, and caught that train, which took us all the way to London without a change.  And the kind person in the ticket office refunded my tickets, so I hadn't wasted £25 after all! 

The Museum of Wimbledon

I didn't actually know that there was a museum in Wimbledon, but then, it's not a part of London I know very well, except for the bit where it joins Raynes Park.  However, I discovered that this year marks the 900th anniversary of the founding of Merton Priory, and the museum had, until next weekend, a special exhibition devoted to the priory, so we decided to go.  It was free, and as we no longer pay for public transport in London, we had a very splendid afternoon that didn't cost us a penny!

We decided to go to Wimbledon via the Northern Line, which took us to South Wimbledon Station, and then we took a bus to Wimbledon Station.  It turned out that we ought to have stayed on the bus, or waited for another one, as the Museum itself was on Ridgway, some 15 minutes' walk from the station.  But a bus quickly took us there.

The museum itself is housed on the upper floor of some kind of club - sadly, there is no lift, so no good for those who must use wheelchairs.  We first went to the exhibition, which was really quite interesting.  By complete serendipity, we had driven over the remains of the priory yesterday, when we visited the big Sainsbury's in Colliers Wood - the remains are under the road that was built to service the superstore and, incidentally to move the A24 away from the junction by South Wimbledon station, which is still a bit of a bottleneck.  It was an Augustinian priory, and they know roughly where things were, but it was destroyed almost as soon as the monasteries had been dissolved because they wanted to reuse the stone to build Nonsuch Palace.

Most of the exhibition was photographs and writing, so not suitable for small people.  But quite interesting.  It comes off on 31 August - the museum is only open at weekends - so if you want to go, you only have next Saturday and Sunday.

The rest of the Museum is basically one big room, tracing the history of Wimbledon from a few big houses to the teeming suburb of today.  Apparently, not even the railway did much to cause the growth of the area, what made the difference was the provision of safe drinking-water!  Once you had both transport links and clean water, the population mushroomed exponentially!

Wimbledon continues to be a railway junction (South West Trains, First Capital Connect, District Line and Tramlink, if you are a transport geek, like I am), and we decided to go back on South West Trains.  Normally, platforms 6 and 7 are not in use, as they are the fast lines, but this doesn't seem to be the case on a Sunday, and that was where our train stopped.  We thought at first we would not be able to get on, as the platform was cordoned off (presumably they don't want people flinging themselves under the 8.53 from Waterloo), but someone opened a gate, and everybody rushed through.  The train came in on platform 7 at Clapham Junction - platforms 7 and 8 are set down only and you can't get on trains there - which I was not expecting, as I was used to trains on the slower lines that stopped at Earlsfield and then at platform 10.  We just missed a bus, but didn't have too long to wait for another one home....