Casa Rosales

Casa Rosales

Sunday, 30 September 2012

Yarn bombing

Google 'Yarn Bombing' and you will be amazed at the fantastic examples of this community art form - also known as guerilla knitting, graffiti knitting or yarnstorming. It began in the early 2000s and was originally focused on making sterile public places look a little more homely and warm - 'leg warmers' for telegraph poles and 'tea cosies' for telephone boxes...that sort of thing. Then it blossomed into more extravagant examples of really rather wonderful knitting - with cars, statues and even tanks being given the woollen treatment.

Catching up with Mia, an old blogging friend recently, I found something that delighted me. She had been to visit her parents near Saltburn by the Sea earlier in the year and was lucky enough to see some fantastic yarn bombing along the pier - on an Olympic theme. I think it made the news in the UK at the time but I really think I'd like to share it again here for those of us that missed it.

All photographs are taken from the Telegraph who ran a photo article at the time - there are more photos here and I urge you to look at them and appreciate the subtle humour as well as skill that runs through the little creations. Love it!

Possibly my favourite!

The jolly green gymnast

Inclusive of paralymics

Not sure this is the best position for weightlifting...

Do you think they'll remember this?
Just wanted to share - made me smile so much. Thank you Mia! Well done mystery knitter.

Friday, 28 September 2012

Eco showering and stair rods.

Last night, I had a long, steaming bath filled with divine smelling bubbles, courtesy of Clarins' Eau Dynamisante Shower Gel. It was the first bath I've had since about April. I read whilst I was steeping - George Orwell's 'The Road to Wigan Pier' - and had a cup of tea as well. It felt rather like being back in England - just missing a bit of Radio Four, seeing as I have to listen to that via the computer. I thought better of setting the laptop up in the bathroom.

Today, the rain has been falling as heavily as I have seen it anywhere and much of Andalucia is on red or orange alert as storms and strong winds are predicted, along with up to 150mm of rain falling in a 12 hour period in some areas. This is definitely comparable with the rain that has recently hit the UK and caused so much flooding and damage, with here, the homes of more than 1000 people under serious threat.

One big difference being that in a few days time, here, the sun will be out again and will probably stay out for quite a while. The UK has certainly had its fair share of rain and bad weather this year, judging from the news, comments by friends on Facebook and fellow bloggers based in the UK. It's even rained in Knutsford! (My mum lives there and the sun always shines on her...or so she has always had us believe!)

I was thinking about my washing habits over the summer. I rarely showered in the bathroom as FR had the wonderful, ecological idea of putting our (not so ecological) plastic bottles to a practical use. He'd fill them up with water and leave them all day on the roof terrace. By evening time, the water would have reached a perfect temperature and as a family - with the exception of Mateo, who much preferred his privacy - and usually just before bed, we'd go up to the terrace and ceremoniously pour several litres of warm water over each other and ourselves - the temperature usually having dropped just enough for us to then feel a welcome coolness as the water dripped off our shoulders. We told ourselves that no one could see us up there. I also decided that if anyone could, they would avert their eyes in future.

This has to be a very economical and eco-friendly way of showering, although as I look out the window just now, I think the very best thing would be to put all those bottles on the terrace and wait for them to fill with rainwater. It probably won't take very long!

And when it rains very heavily, I am always reminded of my father's attempts to speak to people whilst on holiday outside the UK. Whereas my mum has a wonderful, natural talent for languages and has mastered Swedish, Italian, French and German, my dad would always become totally unintelligeable when faced with non-English speakers. He would seem unable to put a sentence together and become twice the Yorkshireman he usually is. Camping in Italy once, it began to rain very heavily and everyone ran for their tents. Shouting across to the next tent, he said, 'By 'eck, it's comin' down in stair rods!'  Which you now know means 'raining heavily' in Yorkshire dialect! Probably a small area of Bradford dialect, actually...

So baths, rain, showers, plastic bottles and stair rods.

And whilst I can pat myself on the back for showering using natural energy to heat the water, I find myself with a heavy conscience still. It's those plastic bottles.

For years and years, we have drunk water from them. It was a habit I accepted from FR when he first moved in with me about 17 years ago and he had the habit because up to the time he left Spain, it wasn't always safe to drink water from the tap.

Makes you think - this is just a tiny portion of what is used every five seconds in the US.
See Running the Numbers for more shocking facts delivered in an arresting way.

Well, water is safe to drink in Spain now and although there is evidence that there's a lot of 'cal'  - the stuff that goes hard and flakes off in kettles and can ruin a cup of tea - in the water here, it cannot be as bad for the individual and society as the problem we cause with the endless production of plastic bottles. We are quite eco in our habits whenever we can be but I have been closing my eyes to the dreadful situation we are creating by buying and disposing of endless plastic bottles. SO NO MORE! (I still have the argument to win with FR, of course, and the children who have always had mineral water to drink all their lives. But I'll get there.) This is my green step for today.

Lovely image courtesy of freegreatpicture

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Simply Read

Isn't language amazing?

I wanted to do a quick, short post to explain why I'm not writing much at the moment - but I got sidetracked by and with words - as usual!.

The reason for being otherwise occupied is due to the pile of books I collected last week from the Academy in preparation for the new term, which starts on Monday. Exciting stuff.

I have everything from 'My Family' and 'The Enormous Turnip' to 'Five Children and It' and 'London', as well as text books, CDs, grammar exercises and suggestions for language games. To say I need to read all these just didn't seem to sum up the task I have ahead of me.

So, share with me, if you will, an unpacking of that simple word - in its present tense - READ (pronounced 'reed', not its past tense, READ, pronounced 'red'.)

According to Merriam Webster, I will be going over and mentally taking in the content of the books on my table. Which seems fair enough as far as it goes. (And Fairy Nuff is a tackety-booted fairy of questionable talent who speaks solely in verse, of course.) 
But it doesn't go far enough - so, to expand on the idea of simply reading....

Maybe I'll just browse through some of the younger readers' books, as I can decipher, comprehend and understand these with just a quick scan and skim. 
I shall be perusing the more advanced material - in the context that peruse has of studying, poring over, rather than its other context which implies a much more casual approach. (Now how did that happen - that the word 'peruse' can mean study or give only a cursory look?) 
The grammar in the senior text books will definitely need careful reviewing and studying in order to get a full grasp of the content. Maybe even a little interpreting and deciphering in order to explain grammatical problem areas.

So you see, I'm rather busy! Classes start on Monday and I am so looking forward to them. And I will be very well-read before I go. What are you reading now?

(I resisted the temptation to include a track from 'Simply Red' here in order to link in with my title because I don't like the band. If you do, or you fancy listening, I include the link to their YouTube page!)

Thursday, 20 September 2012

See the wood - and the trees

Photo courtesy of foundwalls

“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.” 
― T.H. WhiteThe Once and Future King

Saturday, 15 September 2012

Time Travelling

Travel back in time with me - to 1981. My last year at University and a friend and I see a tiny advert in 'The Grauniad' calling for people to take part in a historical re-enactment for two weeks in the summer. We thought it might be fun to find out more and during the Easter holidays, we went along to find out what was involved. Quite a lot, as it turned out!  

At the end of June and our degree course, Lucinda and I set off, costumes carefully completed and our characters beginning to develop, to a village called Long Melford on the Essex/Suffolk border. A chocolate box place, full of quaint pubs, timbered houses, thatched cottages and antique shops. The jewel in its crown is a beautiful, red-bricked and moated Tudor manor house called Kentwell Hall. And this is where - after walking up the mile-long grove of lime trees and passing through a hessian 'time tunnel' - we were catapulted from the twentieth century into the year 1600. Emerging from the cool of the shady grove and the darkness of the time tunnel into bright sunshine, it really was as if we had been transported into another era completely.

© Copyright Gill Edwards and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Although we were there to make the magic for the many groups of school children who were due to visit during the next two weeks, at least once, I abandoned my character and clothes and returned to 1981 so that I could go through the time tunnel and experience the thrill and amazement that met my eyes once they adjusted to the sunshine.

Just through the tunnel and to the left, a group of rowdy soldiers on leave from the wars in Ireland had set up camp. They spent two weeks arguing, drinking, fighting and demonstrating the handling and mishandling of weapons for their own and the visitors' amusement. Sir Miles Standish was the only one who ventured into the house itself from time to time when he was sober enough to join the gentry for lunch. The rest remained just less than sober at all times (or so it appeared; maybe it was method acting.)

Also to the left, but nearer the house there was a field of wheat where a number of peasants with scythes were making hay - and lots of other business -  including much downing of tools, joining in with the goose girl in making music and dancing. It took them almost a week to cut the hay so committed they were to engaging with those who passed.

Andrew in his two roles at Kentwell
On the right of the house and near the entrance, the shepherd tended his flock. Andrew, the shepherd, was a redhead with freckles, a burnt nose and a strong Suffolk accent. He spent much of the time looking for a potential wife from the many young 'wenches' (by no means a derogatory term in Elizabethan times) who visited. As one of the lowliest of jobs, Andrew was made the 'Lord of Misrule' at the final outdoor feast, held after the last of the visitors had left.

(Dreadful photos, I know, but I have only a few very precious ones that a friend shared with me after the event. Not one of me or Lucinda in costume has survived the years. Amazing that these have survived at all - considering what fate befell my photograph albums after a long-term relationship finally ended...)

As we approach the house, the bridge over the moat was often inhabited by Mummers performing some noisy play or generally larking around in silly costumes. They travelled from place to place in a big cart that some of them pulled, whilst the rest of the troupe continued their performances from on top or dancing around the cart.

Crossing the moat into the courtyard is where you would meet my alter ego - let's call her Annie (whose own words appear in italics as I know she will butt in constantly during my reminiscences). She was the assistant housekeeper at the manor and as such was in a very privileged and responsible role, especially as the person playing the housekeeper actually WAS the housekeeper and kept being called away to answer the telephone and other modern day inconveniences, such as a blocked toilet somewhere in a not-to-be-entered part of the house - Tush! Aye, responsible indeed with Sir Francis calling my mistress Maureen to his special service many a time, leaving me with all the work. What special service - that's what I want to know! - The housekeeper's frequent absences gave me great 'business' to use as part of the daily lives we all had to create for ourselves. It also explained why I had less formal clothes - I was dressed in quite lowly clothes, whereas the housekeeper had a smart dress - I was just a glorified wench with a gift of the gab and a distaste for the hard work of the kitchen. I spent my time meeting and greeting the many and frequent visitors - schoolchildren during the week and the general public at the weekends - moving them gently on from one room to the next, ostensibly in search of Sir Francis or the Lady of the Manor, though in reality, providing the first part of the 'tour'.

As we passed through the kitchen, we would observe the cook, Lettys, permanently perspiring and anxiously flustering around the difficult task of preparing the extravagant lunch for the gentry with no more than a few young and inexperienced wenches for help. (I SO did not envy this role!)

Leaving the kitchen, we'd go upstairs to the calm of the Still Room, where potions, herbs and pomades provided a most wonderful, background scent to the work that was going on. I swear by the potion given to me one day - I had awoken with a terrible sore throat and was worried I was going to be ill. As part of the morning's business, I mentioned this to Mistress Elizabeth of the Still Room and she made me take one of her potions - honey and onion mixed together - and within a very short period, my throat was absolutely fine!

After the Still Room, I'd usher the guests through into the Broidery room, another haven of peace and gentle womenfolk, then down some steps and outside to visit the Bakery. Here, fresh breads were made daily and on this visit, I took the opportunity to sample the latest creations of Mistress Cyd - a woman so committed to authenticity that she didn't wear her false teeth or her glasses and happily and myopically grinned into the face of her surprised visitors. A child once pointed out that her bread was covered in flies - Mistress Cyd replied that they were raisins, not flies - at which moment, the raisins all flew away. The saffron bread was out of this world...I'm pretty sure it contained raisins, not flies too.

The children, by this time, would have usually fallen under the spell of the place absolutely and also became more talkative. This is when my hard work would start. As we walked the distance to the Alchemist's tower, I would almost inevitably be bombarded with information about what was going to happen in the 'future' - interestingly and almost without exception, the children from all different schools and backgrounds, talked about what happened after 1600 most possessively, claiming 'we did this, we found that ' and I would have to show my astonishment at the things they had done and discovered - (and such scandalous tales they tell me - of men on the moon, great fires in London, carriages without horses! Marry; 'tis beyond my wit to know of what they speak!)

Occasionally, for one reason or another, we'd get a backlog and the smooth transfer of my current group to their next destination would have to wait awhile and it was during this time that some of the best conversations were had. Some of the children were completely caught up in the idea of us being real and living in the year 1600 and I was even asked if, when they went home, we were all dead...quite a mind-blowing concept for a young child to have had. I was treated to all the important discoveries of modern times, including being shown wristwatches (for telling the hour they say), the car, (they do insist they travel from London this very morn, 'tho' even poor I know London be two days travel away), television (they say this thing be like pictures that move and sing and dance and other strange things I cannot understand) and space travel (nay, some other things they say show them for fools, I believe not a word.)

Usually, I'd leave a group at the Alchemist and head back to collect the next group of visitors, but occasionally, I got to do a full tour with a group and so saw everything that was going on and all the different business that people were making. At the moat, a small group of washerwomen were based - including the wonderful Caroline of Effingham, who hid her punky orange and black hair under her Elizabethan cap, but who had a tumultuous love life, the dramas of which led her to throw herself into the murky moat waters on a regular basis. Unfortunately, this resulted in a rather nasty rash, whereon Mistress Elizabeth suggested she leave her lover and stay dry.

It seemed the gentry folk spent their mornings walking rather distractedly around the gardens, chatting politely, dancing a little or throwing wooden balls into wooden cups. I think they had much less fun than us lower classes and they also became rather disturbed that we would insist on curtseying to them - even when there were no visitors to witness it. Their big event each day was gentry lunch. More of which in a moment.

The bellows boy was a most handsome young lad called Leaf, whose job it was to tend the various fires both inside and outside the house. One day, his fires smelt particularly good - turns out he chopped up and burnt a very rare and precious trunk of applewood that had been specially curing/drying for many years in order to be made into musical instruments. It had the most wonderful smell but Leaf kept out of the estate manager's way for a little while...He was often to be found snoozing near the logpiles and almost always surrounded by a group of young girls who were totally mesmerized by his beauty.

We had lots of poppets with us. This little poppet spent the whole fortnight running around in her bare feet - I had no idea who she belonged to.

As well as a wonderful silversmith called William, there was a brilliant calligrapher who scribed away all day, every day; some excellent musicians and singers, a potter - who at times forgot which century he belonged in and talked to the visitors about how 'ecologically sound' life was in the Elizabethan era - where did he learn words like that? The place was full of most knowledgeable and talented folk.

But this tour had to end as the time to serve gentry lunch approached. Annie was required in the kitchen to ensure the safe arrival of numerous heavy platters and bowls full of spiced meats, elegant breads and salads decorated with flowers. She would lead a group of young wenches, each with their platter, from the kitchen to the big dining room with just the right amount of pomp and circumstance to encourage stray visitors to join in the spectacle. And then...running the gauntlet of serving the food to the awaiting gentry - many of whom would whisper quietly, be careful with their dress, don't spill, don't give me any of that...and others - OK, one in particular - who took his role of lewd Scot a little too far at times. As chief wench, Annie took the groping and prodding with apparent good humour, though she made sure it was HIS foot that the wooden platter was accidentally dropped on...and at least she managed to keep the younger wenches away from his wandering hands. (May his hammer be brittle! May his plow seize! May his pigs be set upon by ravens and torne asunder leaving only bespecked bone and curdled fat for which the rats upon to feast!)

On returning to the kitchen, Annie often got to eat some of the leftovers of gentry lunch and could heartily recommend some of the wonderful flavour combinations many of which have remained favourites - such as meats with dried fruits and pine nuts and oh, that delicious saffron bread! 

A key piece of business involved Annie's intended husband who was the head carpenter. In actual fact, he really was a carpenter and lived in the village. He was also about 75 years old. At the information meeting we had at Easter, we had decided between us that some good business would be for me - then 22 - and he to be a couple that would create plenty gossip. Annie would go to visit him at some point everyday and he made great business by wooing  her excessively and publicly - feeding her strawberries from his garden and cackling as the juice ran down her chin and into her cleavage. It certainly caused plenty gossip.

It caused even more when Annie suddenly seemed to spend more time with a young ploughman with stronger arms and more teeth than her wiry old suitor. The young man so turned her head that she abandoned her post of assistant housekeeper and ran away with him to join the gypsy band that roamed the outer edges of the grounds. There, it turned out that Annie had a previously unknown skill - that of fortune telling and in the last weekend of this year of 1600, her palm was so crossed with silver that she was able to return to the present day with a fuller purse than she had left it.

There was more business going on than I will ever have room to tell - though some of the more serious stuff centred around the need to keep Sir Francis Clopton's involvement with the Catholics a secret. The gentry had more political gossip to amuse them and were often 'wagering' on the year of Elizabeth's death or involved in smear campaigns against Sir Walter Raleigh, who was staunchly anti-Catholic. For those of us frolicking in the undergrowth, these things went over our heads though I am sure there was a lot of very informed historical discussion going on - I just wasn't party to it. On the final day, there was a proper sword fight between Sir Miles and one of the gentry - I have no idea why but clearly a great deal of effort had been put in by the swordsmen as blood flowed and the crowds made a great deal of oohing and aahing. It was a clever ploy to get all the visitors into one place before ushering them out at the end of the day. Whereon we  discovered the blood was not real. On the penultimate evening, we had a great feast where we all remained in costume, though not in character, and downed a goodly quantity of ale and food prepared by us all. Leaf was rather lovely, wasn't he?

I have never been as grubby, nor as lacking in vanity (no mirror!) or as very contented with the people I was with; for two whole weeks, we ate together, lived together, slept in a tents together, made great business together, learned together and had a wonderful, individual but shared experience together.

That was in 1981, just the third year of Kentwell Hall's historical re-enactments. Thirty two years later - that's 32 - they are still running and from what I have found on the internet, they are just as popular both for visitors and those who take part.
Time travelling. I can heartily recommend it.

Further information:

Kentwell Hall website
A visitor's blog - thanks to Anne-Marie at Life's Adventures blog who visited this year and took some wonderful photos.
Before it's news blog - a travel blog that also captures some great photos
Living with the Tudors - this is a wonderful set of little videos from more recent years.

Friday, 7 September 2012

Suggestive September

I've noticed some changes in the past week. Some subtle, some suggestive, some significant little changes.

It's September and from the very first day, the temperature here in Alcala la Real changed - the day remaining as hot as ever but the night time feeling cool. By the third night, we were reaching for an extra layer on our beds - the single sheet that had felt so stifling over the months of July and August now suddenly inadequate. We woke up shivering and disbelieving. The children suggested I dig out their quilts from their summer storage. Please.

On Monday, Ruy and Romy return to school - Ruy to his last year of primary and a feeling of growing up. Mateo has another week to go before he starts in yet another new school. There is one school here that has made leaps and bounds of improvement recently and has a young and enthusiastic teaching staff and we feel it will be better for Mateo than the more plodding style of his current school. Unlike the U.K. there's a steady shuffling around of students between the secondary schools here and Mateo will move with at least one of his friends. It's also slightly nearer to where we live and Ruy will go there next year. We hope and have been assured that he will do at least some of his science subjects in a science lab. in the new school. He hasn't been in one since he arrived in Spain...I suggest this is not a good thing.

We have noticed this last week that the park in front of our house is quiet from about 9 o'clock instead of ringing with the sound of children playing often til midnight. Romy has spent many a late night with her friends, on the swings, playing football, hide and seek or carrying smaller children around in her arms. The silence in the streets now contains the suggestion of earlier bedtimes. Quite rightly too!

I received an email from the head of the Academy where I will be working again from October with my new timetable. A few more hours but spread out over four days and a new examining board's syllabus to get to grips with. Maria has shown great confidence in my abilities and I'm so grateful to her - I will now be sharing the teaching with Toni, the other teacher there  - not just providing a spoken English class. I will be doing about 40% of all the teaching but 100% with the final year group. I'm so looking forward to starting again though there's just the suggestion of nerves in my excitement as I take on something a bit different. Up to now, my classes have been full of games, singing and just talking. Soon, I'll be teaching more grammar and supporting the students in reading, writing and listening too. Like a proper teacher.

FR has just returned from 5 days in Budapest as part of an international conference relating to the work of Edward Bond. He's had an absolutely wonderful, inspiring and engaging time. International is stretching it a bit - it's been a European group with representatives from the UK, France, Budapest and Spain. This was the first meeting of a project group looking at taking the work of Bond into schools within the individual countries but also bringing a larger group of students from all four countries together at some point in the future. We were looking forward to one of the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' breaks. Since we arrived in Spain we have lived in much closer proximity to each other than we'd been used to and sometimes we have felt that a little more space would be appreciated - I have chosen my words very carefully! It was so lovely to have him call me several times a day to share his enthusiasm about his experiences in Budapest and to know that it didn't feel right that I wasn't there with him. And five days seemed such a long time - he seemed to be away for ages. I suggest there is so very much truth in the adage, 'Absence make the heart grow fonder'. And now he's back, there is so much to do that we are going to work together on the Spanish part of the project - so maybe next time there's a conference, we will go together!

If there is a suggestion that the holidays are over, there is the equal suggestion that here, in our house, we are ready to get our teeth into some work, to buckle down and start the new term with renewed enthusiasm. However....

To combat the sense that the holidays are over and it's time to get back to work, tomorrow we will head off to the seaside for one last day on the beach. Well, wouldn't you?

Saturday, 1 September 2012

Heart and Soul walking

I do walk Darwin most days, twice a day, and over the summer months, not always with a good grace; not always as far or as long as Darwin would have liked. It has been very, very hot and I am a born and bred Northern England lass.

Heart, soul and the one swollen foot!

I read Natalie's post on Chickenblog about making those steps count, walking with eyes, ears and heart open to what's around, making it fun. And cos I love Natalie and I love her blog, I'm walking with heart and soul this week and for weeks to come, I hope. Thanks Natalie.

(I have one swollen foot and one perfectly normal foot - why should that be? It has seriously hampered my shoe purchasing fetish as I can't get both feet into the shoes I like...and curiously, it's not as bad here in the heat of Spain as it was in Huddersfield.) But I digress.

Whilst we have stuck to the known pathway as usual this week, we've walked with more focus and I've thought more and I feel more positive because of it. I wanted to see my footprints in the sandy pathways and although I rarely see anyone on my walks, I was surprised to see so many marks of feet that also 'this way trod'.

(You'll have to trust me that that what I am pointing out really is one of my footprints from a previous day/walk!)

The walk up to the pine trees just round the corner from our house

So far, it's all uphill - really good for the heart.

Look up, look up - blue skies, a variety of trees!

Look down - how far we have climbed!

Look up, look up- these are big, beautiful trees

What Darwin uses for a ball - a tree full of balls!

Top of the hill - behind this wall is La Mota - love the railings.

What a beauty - must show this to Darwin

Hey Darwin! Look, no, look...

He's got it! Clever boy.

The view across Alcala la Real from the top of the hill - right in the middle is my friend's house.
I wave.

It's the one right in the middle with three small windows and a wide window on the top floor.
They can't see me but I always wave.
They have the best views of all from here.
And at this point, at the top of the hill but not entering the castle walls, I turn around and go back, breathing in the scents of pine forest, rosemary and dust. The noise of this noisy town is only just audible and I've done this walk eight times this week - four times on my own, three times with Mateo and once with Romy and Ruy. Mateo took Darwin on my teaching day and one day I went to the olive groves instead. I see few people on this walk, though this week, on one occasion, I met one of my students; on another, I saw a man on a beautiful horse and on a third, I met another man calling his dog. He was calling 'Mozart, Mozart'. So I called 'Darwin, Darwin' and as we passed, we smiled a cultured, rather smug smile at each other. He wasn't Spanish.

Hard to ignore the beauty around me in any case, doing it with heart and soul has deepened the whole experience and I have had a very reflective week, felt much more centred and have found new energy.

Walk, live, breathe; walk, live, breathe. Today, as a special treat, Ruy, Romy and I (and Darwin) did our walk, live, breathe via the Paseo de los Alamos - the park the centre of town - and then, when we'd walked, lived and breathed a bit, we had an ice-cream each.

Ice-cream is sometimes heart and soul food, don't you think?