First of all, an apology for the lack of posts for so long. We were away for a few weeks and I've fallen out of the habit. Hopefully this will be the start of a revival.
So, the idea of this blog is that we are the colonials infiltrating the Brits. However, I think the Brits are infiltrating me. I found myself watching coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show last night. Okay, I admit it, I watched an hour of it on Monday too, that's how bad it's getting. My interest in gardening is normally limited to vegetables, but for some reason, I was attracted to watch a show about show gardens. Not really anything much I can take back to my own Garden of Weeden; these are pretty fancy and expensive gardens. Rightly or wrongly, I felt like an old woman watching the show.
Speaking of weeds, I decided to put some of those weeds to good use and make nettle soup. Surprisingly, there wasn't as many nettles as I thought on the plot - the couch grass much be beating it. But I got enough to make the soup. It was a lovely green colour and the taste was alright too. But the texture was yuck. Even pureed, it still felt like I was eating a bowl of chewy grass. I'm pretty sure I let it wilt enough, so I don't know how it could have been a smoother texture. And rightly or wrongly, I felt like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall eating the soup.