Nearly half a century ago, when I was incarcerated in the catholic convent, during the winter months we were made to tip out onto an inhospitable, muddy pitch to play the scary game of hockey. I tried my best to shrink into oblivion whilst my stout-hearted sister faired better as a rather good sport, girly goalie.
All these years later who would have guessed that I would now be having a thrilling, vicarious affair with the game...
My cooking colleague and friend is the mother of one of the England team players. During the past week the atmosphere in the kitchen has reached boiling point as this masterly, modest bunch of blokes have taken the world by storm, championing each match, coping with injury while playing like true gentlemen all the way to the 2010 World Cup semi-final.
The gang at OVF would like to wish the team continuing success. On their return home there will be a box or two of goodies winging there way to them as a small gesture of the pleasure and inspiration we have all taken from their courage.


Fry-ups are all very well but you need to have built a small extension or driven half way round the M25 to justify tucking into this glorious gut-buster of a breakfast. What I would suggest as an alternative is the unparalleled combination of
Here it comes again…
Shall I chop the salmons head off or not?...Oh well, does it really matter as we're going to eat it, not ask for its opinion?
On my way to Ouse Valley Foods I saw an albino squirrel. How advantageous it would have been for that magical little creature when the snow silenced the land. This morning it stood out in frighteningly vulnerable contrast to the murky January morning.