SB Review: Piggy in the Middle (Porlock)

There are many things that I miss about London. I thought restaurants would be one of them but there is a surprisingly good selection of places to eat to choose from down here. We are slowly attempting to try out them one by one.

Surrounded by pubs and hotels, Piggy in the Middle is situated bang in the middle of Porlock, along the stretch of ‘high street’ which is lit up by pretty little lights and looks so welcoming as you come down the hill and through the village.  On Exmoor we are lucky to have a fantastic selection of local produce being both on the moor and coastal. We have organic produce everywhere we turn and thankfully Piggy in the Middle serves up yummy dishes full of local food.

Fine dining it’s not. The house wine comes in a carafe, the napkins are black linen, it’s a little faux french in decoration and the coffee is less than desirable but the food is nicely cooked and the service is friendly. Too many viewings of Masterchef and Junior Roux have led me to notice things like plate choice, symmetry and style of the food and precisely how acidic the beurre blanc is yet what really matters on a Thursday night when you book with ten minutes notice is that the food is cooked by someone who knows how to choose their ingredients. We shared a prawn, rice and salad dish and a herb and tomato crusted salmon fillet with a sticky toffee pudding and felt satisfyingly full but not overstuffed. The chef came out to speak to us and there was a happy atmosphere.

Not somewhere to go on a first date but an enjoyable place to have a casual supper.

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Piggy in the Middle
High Street
Porlock
Exmoor National Park, Somerset
TA24 8PS

In which we discuss Porlock Arts Festival

R (reading from West Somerset Free Press) (struggling not to laugh) “…Germaine Greer had the [hall] in stitches over her irreverant view of life the universe and all things feminine…”

M (snorting out his wine) “…I’m not quite sure that’s quite accurate… haha… Germaine Greer…discussing “all things feminine”…haha… are you sure it says feminine?”

R (kindly) “yep. But I’m not sure that feminine is quite what they meant”.

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When I have a moment or two to spare I will be back to report on the arts festival events that I did attend and share why I thought Germaine Greer’s feminist stance is out-dated, irrelvant and how I reacted when she flirted with my husband…

Crabbing at Porlock Weir

One wet Tuesday evening we went crabbing at Porlock Weir. Winding our lines down into the murky water with bits of bacon attached to temp the crabs up and into a bucket for no particular purpose other than it was a fun way to pass the evening. And then suddenly, the sun came out and we were bathed in glorious sunshine….

Something to remember in the darkening days of September, where I turned round and the indian summer had gone. Where the air has such a chill to it that the cottage is damp and I need a torch to find the gate again when I come home after work.

Autumn

Our first year in Somerset marches on. It does not hang around for me to savour summer but pushes relentlessly on. September. Autumn. It is as if a page has flipped; the light is undertoned with amber in the sunshine and a strangely peaceful steely grey when it is not. Leaves are falling, the rain is no longer the laughing rain of a summer storm but more forceful. A taste of what is to come. The fronts scud off the sea, the sky seems bigger, emptier. The tourists have faded fast. The roads are full of pheasants not cars. Term has begun and those that are left are the hardy walkers and campers with their boots and rucksacks and plastic-backed maps. The season is ending and the village events have started. Carnivals, art weeks, apple days, a celebration of the bounty of summer and a collective urge to celebrate as the nights draw in.

I stood yesterday upon a gate, stretching up to pluck blackberries off the top of the bush. The rain of the morning gradually receeding over the moor and a warm sunshine broke through the clouds. A buzzard wheeled overhead, it’s cry just audible over the sound of the rushing water. When my bowl was full I climbed off the gate. Crossed the tiny lane and went back over our bridge into our garden. I did the same last week with a couple of kilos from the same bush. That day, I went into the garden, picked some early eating apples from the tree, went to the kitchen and made pie. I think the flour I used travelled the furthest. Tree to table in two hours.

In London the seasons came and went, marked not by weather but by fashion. Here, the change is daily; the flowers that grow in the lanes which mark my journey to work, the colour of the heather on the moor*, the movement of the sheep, the clouds which pass over. The size of the pheasants littering the roads. I miss London and fashion so much I dream of frantically shopping like my life depends on it. And yet, there is something compelling about being here.

*It has just turned the most amazing shade of pink and purple.

Emptiness is loneliness…

Inspiration is everywhere on Exmoor. And yet, and yet, I find I cannot put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, brain to mouth. A hundred blog posts started. None finished. It is a lonely business, living in the countryside. Beautiful but lonely. I talk less. A million less words a week. Endless evenings of drinking and talking and laughing. Now, the only people I talk to ‘in person’ from Monday evening to Thursday evening are my colleagues and my clients. I am that lonely lady who talks to the checkout attendant. Even the teenage boys who have long greasy fringes and blink through long lashes.

I drive home, west along the coast road, although the sea is hidden until I reach my village. You can see the change every single day here. Now, at the end of August, the hay has all been brought in, the sheep are back and the shadows are longer. The swallows have left, the sunsets are deeper, less orange and pink than early summer. The seasons are definitely changing. The light is more golden, more grainy, the moon clearer, the trees silhouetted against the evening sky. The nights are starting to draw in.

Car Troubles

I burst a tyre. Heading back to our village after dropping husband at the station for him to return to London, skirting round the moor and then suddenly. The strangest noise. I’m such a girl; I thought it was engine failure but knew I couldn’t stop at the top of a hill on a blind corner. I coasted to the bottom and pulled over, shaking. I turned off the engine. The noise stopped. Funny, that. My mind went blank. It’s amazing how quiet it is out in the middle of nowhere at twilight. About as quiet as my brain.

Thankfully, in all of the places to break down I at least had mobile signal. I fumbled with the phone, all thoughts of how it worked out of mind and I struggled to make a call. Husband’s phone was off as no signal; parents in a boat somewhere in the channel. Faux-Bro didn’t answer. Thankfully, my father-in-law did.

By that point I’d got out of the car, frightened it was engine failure and the car might explode. Something smelt bad too. By the time father-in-law answered I’d realised it was just a flat tyre. My panicked self told him I’d last been taught to change a tyre by my father when I was a girl guide, aged 13. I didn’t think I could manage it in the gathering dust on the side of a road. Thank goodness for mother-in-law’s who buy their sons roadside cover for Easter presents. And thank goodness for Minehead MOT who were with me within 15 minutes of my call for help.

A charming young lad changed the wheel and informed me it wasn’t just punctured it had burst. He seemed surprised I’d kept control of the car. I was more worried that I hadn’t noticed a bang. He took the old wheel away and I arranged to give him £150 in the morning for a new set of front tyres.

SB Review: Churchgate Gallery, Porlock

On Saturday afternoon Husband and I were invited to the opening launch of the Churchgate Gallery in Porlock. The gallery is, as the name suggests, at the foot of the gate to St Dubricious Church, which has a flat bell tower that legend has it had the top part removed and used for the nearby Culbone Church. The gallery itself is, as one perhaps often expects from galleries, is open and white with interesting light coming down from the old windows.

The art is all for sale and the gallery specialises in local work, both of local artists and local scenes/interests. Foxhunting, wildlife and representations of Exmoor and the seasons were all well represented with some beautiful pieces. I was particularly taken with John Hoar‘s watercolours and Kate Wyatt‘s animal line drawings.

The gallery also features the works of local photographer Neville Stanikk who was at the launch signing his books. The Churchgate Gallery can reproduce any of his photographs from any of his books on either paper or canvas and there are some absolutely beautiful photographs to choose from. Husband and I started to try and choose and just couldn’t.

The food and drink served during the launch was some of the nicest canapes that I have eaten in a long time – mini bruschettas, pate with honey, olive and feta and enormous glasses of Pimms or Millers Gin & Tonic. We didn’t want to leave and could easily have stayed all afternoon sipping drinks and chatting to the other visitors about the art work. In the end we chose a Jonathon Walker print for a present and 2 of the beautiful artists greeting cards. Had I not been off shopping for myself I would have bought some hammered silver earrings by Caroline Lytton and will certainly be returning when I need presents and birthday cards. A beautiful addition to Porlock.

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Churchgate Gallery

High Street Porlock Somerset TA24 8PT T: 01643 862238
E: churchgategallery@live.co.uk W: www.churchgategallery.co.uk

Open daily 10.00 – 6.00 Mon-Sat
11.00 – 5.00 Sun

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Images via John Hoar & Kate Wyatt’s websites.

Time flies

How can it be June already? Late June, come to that. This blog is starting to look as unloved as our garden. Although, to be fair, letting the garden turn into a meadow was a deliberate attempt to disguise the poo pipe Wessex Water saw fit to stretch across the garden and over the back wall for over 3 months now, complete with orange ski netting. Not that you can see much of it now, with grass and waist high plants. Good luck removing it, Wessex Water!

Finally, after about 6 weekends away or busy on the trot, this weekend we are staying in Somerset. I may have to work and also watch the tennis but I will also, hopefully, get to post. Stay tuned!

SB Review: Heartfelt

Husband and I started of the bank holiday with the intention of spending the afternoon at the Luxborough May Fair and duck racing. After an unpromising start in which we couldn’t find it followed by a quick escape up a bank covered in stinging nettles when we discovered hoardes of people picking over the meagrest bric-a-brac, book and plant stall I have ever seen, we had afternoon tea in Dunster followed by what was intended to be a look at Watchet, a small coastal town we have yet to see.

What happened instead was that I saw Heartfelt, the first vintage shop I have seen so far in our three months in the south-west, a long browsing session and chat with the owner, Mandy, and a purchase of a gorgeous Ferragamo white skirt which is constructed from layers of grosgrain ribbon. It is 1980s I think, classic pencil cut and reaches to just below the knee, and will be perfect for our upcoming summer of weddings. (photos coming to PeacockFeathers & Diamond Rings when I get a chance to take some).

Heartfelt is a beautiful treasure-trove of vintage, ‘vintage’ and new clothing, mainly skirts, dresses and tops. Some items are labelled vintage when they are clearly fairly recent (i.e. within the past 10 years) and from high street brands, but anyone with an eye for vintage or fashion will immediately be able to spot the good pieces. And to be fair, everything in there was lovely (I am just not prepared to pay the same value as new for a second hand dress from a label I know to be stocked by Oliver Bonas) and an excellent departure from the majority of the other shops that I have encountered so far in West Somerset.

There was also a good selection of accessories, shoes, bags, jewellery and hats and it is a shop I am certain to visit repeatedly. I was also taken by the vintage chair on which to park a bored Husband (if one had one in toe, thankfully mine is happy to indulge me and enter into dialogue) and the vintage tea cups and saucers to serve tea for customers who look like they could do with a cup to fortify themselves for the long haul. There was also a pleasing large mirror and lots of natural light.

Well worth a visit if you happen to be in or near Watchet.

They are also running an interesting looking competition for Somerset’s Young Fashion Designer of the Year which is open to all designers under the age of 26 with a permanent address in Somerset. They have some great names lined up as judges.

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Heartfelt

8 Swain Street

Watchet

Somerset

TA23 OAB

Open everyday except Wednesday afternoons

Photos from heartfeltwatchet.blogspot.com

Blossom

Suddenly, the countryside has come alive with blossom. I took these in our garden this afternoon after a rather rainy day where we drove over the moors and down to the beach before retiring to home for tea, biscuits and a relaxing evening spent reading and blogging and sitting cosily in the kitchen with my husband.

The verges and hedges are full of greeness, wild flowers and new shoots. The whole place has been carpeted with soft green verdent grass. Birds are nesting and the air has a new found warmth to it. Flocks of dandilions appeared as if from nowhere. Exmoor really is beautiful.

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All photos by me