The amount of cooking I've done since the beginning of the summer holidays is mind numbing. Appetites never seem to be sated, one meal merges with another and I've completely run out of ideas. But...... the plums are ripe and this is easy and delicious and so beautiful that it perks me up a bit. Half and stone lots of plums. Lay them in a baking tray, cut side up. Sprinkle over them the zest of one or two oranges and the juice of one, a broken cinnamon stick, some juniper berries and some brown sugar and bay leaves. Put in the oven until soft, which isn't long. You can have them with custard if you feel like more work or yogurt if you don't.

The boys had found a couple of pink, children's seaside fishing nets and were desperate to go down to the river to catch minnows. Ruby put her bikini on and I grabbed some paper and some pastels and off we went with the dogs. There's a spot by the river that I have wanted to try and make a painting of for ages. I had some drawings of it and had been waiting for a moment to take some pastels down there and see if I could get enough information to   finally tackle   a big painting when I got home. When you're 300 miles away, you've really got to hope your drawings are thorough enough, and you never know until you actually get going. Anyway, I drew, the dogs played, Ruby swam and the boys caught minnows all afternoon. I'm now trying to fit painting it round all the distractions of summer holidays. Even if nothing comes of it this little drawing will remind me of a very happy Cumbrian afternoon.

We've just got back from two weeks in Cumbria. One of the many nice things about being in Cumbria in August is the glut of bilberries.They grow all over the fells, hidden under the leaves of very low growing bushes. They are the wild cousin of the enormous, water filled and weird tasting American blueberry. You can't buy them in a punnet in a supermarket. You have to get down on your hands and knees and really look for them. But the flavour is more than compensation. They are tiny and it takes a whole afternoon for two or three people to pick enough for a pie. Something you'd only think of doing on holiday. It's always the first thing we do. And the sharp, dark, sweet pie is to me the taste of August on the fells.

I asked Billy to dig up enough potatoes for lunch. Either he thought we were having a potato only lunch or he was completely ravenous. In any case he dug up a whole row of potatoes and we have been eating them boiled, fried, roasted, stuffed and mashed ever since. Yesterday I made these potato cakes. First, gently fry a finely chopped onion in butter. Then mix with grated potatoes, a beaten egg, feta cheese and lots of mint. Make into little cakes and fry carefully in butter. Really good with a yogurt and mint and lemon dip.

During last weeks incredible heat, I couldn't set foot in my studio without melting. The thought of making coherent decisions about a nearly finished painting was beyond me. The only vaguely cool place to be was in the house. I grabbed my sketch book and snuck off to bed where there was something I had wanted to draw for ages! The view from my bed out of the window is of billowing layers upon billowing layers of willow and ash branches. So I proped myself up with pillows and whiled away one of the unspeakably hot hours.

Gooseberry puree isn't fancy or cleaver or trendy and you can't show off with it but it's almost too delicious for words. It's the only thing out of the garden which I now bother cooking and freezing. On a short, dark, cold February day there's nothing like some sweet sharp gooseberry to remind you of summer. And growing gooseberries is about the easiest thing in the world. The bushes just do their thing, they don't need pruning, staking, watering or even looking at. They just reliably produce huge crops of green, hairy, veiny gooseberries! Making puree is brilliant because you don't have to top and tail them, just cook them up with sugar and an elder flower or two if they're still out. Then squash through a sieve and eat with plain yogurt. 

I arrived home, starving, from hanging the Group Eight exhibition. It's such a pleasure at this time of year not to have to plan any meal at all. I know there's lots to eat in the garden. All that hard work and swearing about it not being worth the trouble, is forgotten ( it definitely IS worth all the trouble) as I picked the new broad beans and a huge handful of parsley. Because I was feeding Andrew (who doesn't feel he's had a proper meal unless there's meat involved) I fried some bacon. If it was just for me I wouldn't bother. I podded the beans and put them in the blender with garlic and olive oil and salt. Then I mixed it all together with the bacon and chopped parsley (basil is good) and the fettuccine. A good salty cheese is nice on top as the broad beans are so sweet.

Every day I walk past a plantation of Norway Spruce. It's dark and cold and seems to me utterly lacking in life. The only times I linger near it are after snow, with excited childish feelings of Christmas and Narnia. And now, in June when the new growth begins to appear and all the trees come to life. The electric green fringing along the edge of each branch highlighting the graceful shapes and movement in the trees.

Sunday morning stretched ahead of me in a lovely empty sort of way. Just me and the children. Lunch was easy, there was half a chicken in the fridge. I was expecting two more for supper which I could think about later. At 12 o clock the phone rang. "Surprise, surprise! We left early and we're only an hour away. We'll be with you for lunch and we're starving." Thrilled; obviously. I rolled my sleeves up and began to chop an onion. Wildly wondering how to make half a chicken go round. To the onion I added the chicken meat and some red peppers. There was no tomato puree in the larder but there was a jar of caramelised red peppers. So in they went. It was very sweet by then and I added half a chopped lemon and a tiny bit of chicken stock. I left it cooking while I went to pick some coriander. Just before I served it I stirred in very finely chopped garlic and coriander. We had it with rice and spicy cauliflower. The colours were beautiful. It tasted ok and every one still thinks that meals are conjured up out of thin air at a moments notice.

Ruby very gently reminded me that I'd promised to paint her a picture of Ted as her confirmation present. That was about three years ago and Ted actually died in February. Good point. I rifled around and found some drawings of him and decided I'd have a go at doing a lino cut. Something I have been meaning to do for ages. I had a small piece if lino and a lino cutting tool with 10 different shaped cutting blades which I'd never used. So this is my first attempt and I'm amazed that anything resembling a dog came out. It's such a different process from painting or drawing where you are adding all the time. Here you are taking away and once you've made that cut you can't put it back. You can't stand back and think " UUrrgg, that's not right, I'll have to change that". You really have to commit to each mark. You also have to keep your fingers out of the way. My right hand looked like it had been savaged by a vicious mouse. And then there's the whole issue of what ink and what paper to use. A reminder of how little I know about anything.

My husband hasn't spoken to me since I proudly confessed to him last night that his supper had been devised under the remit of no cooking and no washing up. Baked potatoes, no effort. When they are cooked half them and put the flesh in a bowl. Then I mixed in the last of a bowl of coriander pesto which I had in the fridge, a bit of cheese and stuffed it all back into the potato skins. Then back in the oven until brown. Brilliant, I thought and opened a tin of butter beans which I dressed with lemon and oil and lemon zest and mint. Perfect and not a huge effort. And personally, I would have wept with joy if I had arrived home to a tasty meal like that.

The cricket season's started which means we never eat a meal together. Boys are coming and going at different, and always very vague, times and when they are here they need feeding NOW. This spinach pie is actually really good to have for the endless rolling meals that happens at the moment. It's my version of the delicious Greek pie.

Cook spinach in butter and drain well. Mix in a bowl with lots of feta cheese an egg, salt, pepper and nutmeg. Then layer a baking tray with filo pastry sheets, smearing each one with butter. Pile in the spinach and feta mixture and cover with more sheets of pastry and butter. I'm sure there's a correct way to neatly fold in the edges but I don't know it and it doesn't affect the taste.Cover with more butter and cook till golden. This is really good hot, tepid or cold.

The world outside my studio has just turned from yellow to white. The field and garden are covered in dandelions. They look very bright and chirpy and spring like when they are a sea of yellow but I prefer it when they are a mass of seed heads. So delicate, so perfectly round and so intricate. And they seem to glow at night. Walking through them before bed, with my dog, is quite dizzying. It's almost like walking through stars.

Laura brought us a huge bag of asparagus and we had just picked the first of our own. I thought we'd have the last packet of venison sausages,  the asparagus and  hollandaise sauce. Easy. Sausages went in the oven, asparagus went in the oven with olive oil and lemon and a bit of thyme, I began the hollandaise but my mind wandered and I managed to get my fool proof recipe wrong. I'd had a weird day, firstly I'd had to clear my studio for a life drawing class. It was very odd having lots of people in my usually totally solitary space and to have to tidy up when I was in the middle of a painting made me realise how strangely important  every half discarded drawing or even every paint covered rag is to the creation of it. Secondly, I sold three pictures (an uncommon event) and thirdly, and worst of all, I had slapped black paint over 3/4 of my current painting. A canvas I had been trying to keep as light as possible for the last week. No wonder my hollandaise was as scrambled as my brain.

My dog is the perfect artists companion. He curls up in my studio for as long as I'm in there and is always enthusiastic if I'm painting or drawing outside. He sits and waits patiently until I've finished or does a bit of rabbiting. Here he is under the morello cherry outside my studio. Cherry blossom is so frothy and joyous, it's one of those things in nature which really look like they exist for the sheer hell of it. Because, why not, something has to be the most showy, the most gorgeous, the belle of the ball. And the blossom on a fruit tree is doubly exciting because your thoughts turn to the fruit to come. In this case, beautiful dark red sour cherries, which we have to try and beat the birds to. There's no time to draw them, they're even more transient than the blossom.

This is not about volcanoes this is about  the Common Ash; Fraxinus excelsior. I've been drawing them in bud for the last few weeks. The buds are amazingly strange. They suddenly seem to appear, knobbly and quite randomly placed and when closely inspected they look almost prehistoric. They start out a beautiful dark purple which seems perfectly designed to compliment the greeny gray smooth bark. They swell and swell until they finally flower. They either have male or female flowers (male stay dark purple, female are green with purple tips.) But the really weird bit is that a tree can change it's sex from year to year. They're easily overlooked but worth some attention if you happen to be passing one.

I was given a huge bowl of muntjac mince which I put in the fridge and tried to find the energy to do something with. Eventually it was the only thing in there and had to be used. Burgers; I thought. So I fried a couple of onions and some garlic. Mixed it with the mince and some spices, cinnamon and cumin and I can't remember the others. A bit of soy sauce went in and some honey. Then I looked at the time and had to do a two hour round trip to pick a child up from a party. On my return I put some grated parmesan in and an egg and began the long and boring task of squidging them into burger shapes and frying them. What seemed like hours later, I had a huge platter of 40 delicious burgers and 15 minutes after that, the whole lot had gone.

The quantity of food that my children eat is unbelievable. During the holidays any pretence of painting  goes out of the window. All my creative energy is directed into one meal after the other. Here are a few from the last few days.

My son groaned as I served up more cauliflower cheese. He's got a point, I do cook it quite often. For two reasons; first, there's a lot of it about ( for months and months there's cauliflower or root vegetables and that's pretty much it). And secondly, it makes a good sauce if the rest of the meal is dry. So I've been doing it something like this recently and there hasn't been nearly so much groaning.

Cook chopped garlic and ginger briefly then add crushed cumin seeds and turmeric and chili. Add the cauliflower which should be cut up quite small and stir. Add a spoonful or two of tomato puree  and stir in with a tiny amount of water. Put the lid on and cook for a bit. Doesn't take long and horrible if overcooked.

Hazel catkins are standing out against the, seemingly, dead world around them. Dancing in the wind or hanging completely still, if the sun shines they catch the light and take my breath away.

This is the last of the sad looking radicchio in the garden, but much less sad looking than the slimy, tasteless, pale stuff in the supermarket. Shove it in a baking tray and cover with olive oil, lemon juice and some chunks of sweet gorgonzola. Cook till it looks delicious.

Both Ted and Dora are dead now. Ted died last week. This is one of a series of paintings I did of them. I liked the way they were two of the same but slightly different. And their body language was very expressive. It was one of barely contained irritation, petty jealousy and deep loathing.They hated each other. It was really interesting to paint but a nightmare to live with. They brought the worst out in all of us. We each had our favourite and would vigorously stick up for one in the face of accusations from the other camp. Sometimes we must have sounded like a pack of terriers having a fight. So it's the end of a Fox Terrier era for us but hopefully the beginning of a more harmonious one.

We had these sprats a week or two ago. According to my husband you eat sprats in January (I'm not arguing, he was brought up on the marshes around Great Yarmouth, so he should know.) They are his idea of perfect food; flesh and so much the better if it's still got its head on. I on the other hand have reservations and not because they've got there heads on. I'm paralyzed by guilt when eating fish, having watched the film " The End of The Line" the other day. It's a brilliant film, incredibly informative and incredibly depressing. I just don't know what fish is ok to eat. And as I sat looking at my sprats I realised I was doubly miserable, not only fish but fish babies.

Today I have;

walked dog

painted pictures of prawns for someone

hoovered

helped son tidy room (doesn't understand concept on his own)

cooked really nice lunch; roast muntjac, puy lentils with red onions, celeriac in butter and dijon mustard and mashed potatoes. Followed by pear and chocolate sponge pudding and custard.

walked dog again

washed up

5 loads of washing

and the children have just asked me what's for supper........moan, moan, moan.

I don't enjoy making cakes much. I think it's something to do with the boredom of following a recipe. They take me hours, I make a huge mess and they're never that good. How does my neighbour, Pat, make such light and airy and delicious creations at the drop of a hat? Anyway when it's my daughters birthday (whose favourite thing is cake) I have to set to work. Too boring to give a recipe but with a kind of custard butter icing and three tubes of smarties, I think she felt her birthday had been properly honoured (well, would have if I'd remembered to get any candles.)

In a bid to banish the gloom. (There's been too much hospital and homesickness round here) I decide to dig out an Elizabeth David recipe. Prune and Pumpkin Tart. Odd, I know, but my two pumpkin hating children had seconds. First make a shortcrust pastry and put it in the fridge to rest. Peel and chop into small chunks 1lb of pumpkin (some are dryer than others which means they can suck up a lot of butter. I used Crown Prince.) Cook in butter till almost a puree then add 2oz of sugar and enough cream to make a beautiful orange goo. Then add about 20 Argen prunes. Roll out the pastry and line a dish. Add the mixture and sprinkle with a bit more sugar. Cook hot for 15 mins and turn the heat down a bit for 25. Doesn't it look good?

 The lack of light is beginning to get very depressing. But there is a silver lining as far as painting goes. The muted colours of dead grass or of branches with buds already swollen seem to sing under leaden skies. The pink of a dogwood is staggering. 

Everybody still hungry. I wish I could have a few weeks off after all that cooking at Christmas; and how can they still want to eat? This is easy. A generous amount of cavelo nero, washed and the really thick stalks discarded. Boil for a bit .Always longer than I think.Drain it and whizz in a food processor with garlic and lots of olive oil, salt and pepper. Meanwhile cook chopped bacon in oil, add the greenery and cook for a bit. Mix with pasta and serve with grated cheese. I've never met anyone who didn't like this. 
 

This is the perfect time of year for admiring the shapes of trees. No leaves, they've all long gone by now. Black outlines against overcast skies. Each species has it's own  shape and colour and texture; and within that group each tree is unique. I'm forever being distracted by their graceful silhouettes.

Meatballs and chips. Comfort food. I never have exact ingredients but try to put very very chopped up onion and garlic with minced lamb, lots of grated lemon zest, feta cheese, crushed cumin and coriander seeds and lots of mint ( I know there isn't any at the moment ) or whatever fresh herb you have and lots of parsley and salt and pepper. Then mix up with your hands and squidge into small balls. Put in an oven dish, cover with tomato sauce and grated cheese.

Not much to eat tonight...3 potatoes, tiny slice of pumpkin and a bit of curly kale. Chop potatoes and pumpkin. Toss in oil, salt, pepper and fennel seeds. Cook in oven for about half an hour. Meanwhile boil the kale briefly and chop it up. Add to the potatoes and pumpkin and cook till crispy. This would be really good with pheasant stuffed with cottage cheese. Stuff a pheasant with full fat cottage cheese. Brown in butter. Wrap in bacon and cook for about an hour in a pot with a lid. When cooked empty cottage cheese into pan with juices and mix together with brandy.

This was good and filled everyone up for five minutes. Chop half a red cabbage finely. Put in a colander and sprinkle with salt. Leave for half an hour. Mix in a cup 2 tbs of red wine vinegar, 1 tbs of water and 1 tbs of caster sugar. Rinse and dry the cabbage. Fry in very hot pan with oil for a minute or two. Add a handful of raisins and cook for a minute more. Add a handful of pine kernels and stir. Add the vinegar and cook for a bit longer. We had it with sausages and butter beans in tomato sauce and fresh white bread.

Over the last year I must have picked up at least 20 old helium balloons.They have been let go of at some sort of celebration. An act of joyous hope and frivolous prettyness, all our hopes and dreams floating off heavenwards, out of sight and who knows where........ I know where.Tangled in a hedge, half submerged in a pond, caught by it's curly tendrils in a tree or even in the garden of Buckingham Palace. Just like an old plastic shopping bag.

This won't fill him up but I had to make it. Apple Snow. The apple tree in the chicken run is looking fantastic. Huge, pale, green, smooth fruit glowing amongst the large, dark, green leaves (Lord Darby, I think) and obviously, as I'm in the chicken run, eggs. Pureed apple and whisked egg whites. Really clean and delicious.

 Supper. What's in the fridge? Two smallish smoked trout fillets, less than quarter of a small pumpkin and some feta cheese. I've got to feed three tonight. So, roast pieces of pumpkin in oven. Then when it's nice and soft, mash it up with the trout,lots of olive oil, mint and parsley and mix it in with spaghetti and feta cheese. I like trying to make not much go as far as possible.

 I've found that I'm drawn to paint in certain places at certain times of year. I thought this was just opportunity but infact I now think it's all to do with the time of year and the different colours and shapes that are there.  For instance, half way up a hill in Cumbria, there is a place that stops me dead in my tracks in the summer but never in the autumn or winter. Maybe it's because the yellow larches and the orange bracken break the symmetry of the summer greeness. Equally there are places which I only look at twice in the autumn. One is a row of cricket bat willows with a row of taller poplars behind. Only now do the willows seem to be this beautiful silvery,blueish green.  Is it because the poplars behind them are turning rusty brown or do the leaves actually turn blue before they fall off? Either way I paint them every October.