I was in a queue on a London bus last week, behind a woman asking the bus driver for complicated directions to an obscure destination. All-in-all, she seemed very needy direction-wise, and was determined to contradict everything the patient driver said in his perfect, charmingly accented English.

She finally huffed and puffed her way to a seat, muttering that she still didn’t know where she was going. She grabbed me as I looked for a seat and asked if I could help. She said ‘why don’t they employ English people? I’m not from around here (meaning she was from Brexitland) and I couldn’t understand a word he said because of his accent’.

A red rag to a bull

I told her that I had understood every word he’d said, despite being behind her, and when she insisted that he hadn’t been speaking English properly and that I should help her, I said: ‘No I can’t help you. I have a strict ‘I don’t help racists’ policy.’

The irony was, the person to finally take her in hand, and show her where to get off the bus was a Polish lady (with an accent).

Another thing that made hiss and spit (I’m really selling myself here) was the number of people I saw carrying their dogs in baby wrap slings. I mean WTAF? They weren’t carrying handicapped or injured dogs, or even unvaccinated puppies; these were fully-functioning canines equipped with the requisite four legs and a tail.

My brain and my mouth often have separate agendas: while it was very challenging to prevent my mouth from snarling sarcasm and abuse, my brain has been feeling guilty ever since for never having carried Java around in a scarf…

Despite the various sources of irritation, I rediscovered these English custard tarts during my trip. I used to love them as a child, and the ones I ate last week didn’t disappoint!

Recipe for English Custard Tart (serves 6)

For the shortcrust pastry:

• 110g flour
• Pinch of salt
• 50g butter, cut into squares
• Cold water

For the custard filling:

• 400ml single cream
• 1 teaspoon butter
• 3 large eggs
• 40g sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Whole nutmeg, grated

To make the shortcrust pastry:

Sift the flour and salt into a bowl. Next add the butter to the bowl and, with a knife, cut into smaller pieces into the flour. Then rub the butter into the flour using your fingertips until the mixture is crumbly. Sprinkle roughly a tablespoon of water into the mixture and gradually start to form a dough ball, first of all using a spoon, then your fingers. If the mixture is too dry and isn’t forming a ball, add a drop more water. Place the pastry in a plastic bag and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

When you’re ready to roll out the pastry, prepare a tart tin and then line with the pastry. I used separate tins to make mini tarts, but you could also use a larger one. Cover the pastry with greaseproof paper and fill with dry beans and bake in a preheated oven for 15 minutes. Remove from the oven, remove the beans and greaseproof paper and cook for a further 10 minutes.

To make the custard filling:

Place the cream and butter in a saucepan and bring it up to a gentle simmer, then whisk the eggs and sugar together. Pour the hot creamy liquid over the beaten eggs, add the vanilla extract and half the freshly grated nutmeg and whisk briefly again. Pour the filling into the tart case and grate the rest of the nutmeg all over. Bake in the oven for 40 minutes, or until the filling is just set in the centre.

I had to make the same journey every morning for a couple of weeks recently, and part of my route went through pheasant-rich countryside. Nearly every day I saw the same pheasant couple, and with each passing day, the boy pheasant looked increasingly bemused, broken even. He just stood by watching the female while she scuttled and screeched like a hyperactive basket case running on crack cocaine. After about 10 days of this daily hysteria, the couple disappeared for a few days, and then the male reappeared with what seemed to be a new mate; another male. After the hyperactive addict he obviously wasn’t taking any chances!

I don’t have much jewellery, but the pieces I do have are in a terrible state of disrepair, for various reasons. I was recently motivated to take everything to the jeweller to be sorted out, because I crushed my wedding ring between two terracotta flower pots. Actually in hindsight, I realise my wedding ring saved me a visit to Accident and Emergency. As the jewellers was closer and the wait less long and tedious, all was well. The jeweller, seeing all my damaged pieces, exclaimed ‘what on earth do you do to them?’. His expression was as bemused as the male pheasant when I detailed the various jewellery-related accidents, involving horses’ hooves, plant pots, walls and car doors.

I have been meaning to post this recipe for a while, but every time I make these tiramisu, they disappear before I’m able to take a photo!

Recipe for raspberry tiramisu (serves 4)

• 3 egg yolks
• Cane sugar, 70g
• Crème fraiche, 150g
• Marscapone, 250g
• Vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon cardamon
• 12 sponge fingers
• Raspberries, 125g
• Amaretto, 50ml
• Very strong coffee, 50ml
• Dark chocolate, 70g, grated

Place the egg yolks and sugar in a ‘bain marie’ over simmering water and whisk until the mixture is creamy and doubled in volume. Remove from the heat and whisk for another minute until cooled. In another bowl beat the cream, mascarpone and vanilla until thick and creamy. Gently combine with the egg mixture and set aside. Break the sponge finger with the back of a spoon and arrange in the bottom of the serving glasses, then distribute the raspberries on top of the sponge. Combine the black coffee and amaretto and pour over the raspberries and sponge fingers. Spoon or pour the cream/egg mixture into the glasses and finally top with the grated dark chocolate. Chill for at least four hours before serving.

Léo mentioned our beehive issue to fellow students in Bordeaux, where he is studying. It turns out that the ‘Bordelais’ refer to the Landes, which is just to the South of Bordeaux, and where we live, as the ‘Wild West’. As such, beehivegate resulted in philosophical shrugs and ‘c’est normal pour les Landes’ comments. This seemed pretty accurate a few days later when, at the notary’s office on other business, we mentioned the problem. We explained that we had rogue beehives on our land, and that we were looking for compensation in honey. We fully expected him to refer us to page 1043 of the Beekeeper’s Code of Conduct, or some such. Instead, his advice was to make absolutely sure they gave us proper heather honey, and not ‘that disgusting sunflower crap’!

Jazz, the horse we acquired recently to accompany Bijou, another of our horses, has not dealt well with the recent rain fall. Arab horses have particularly sensitive skin and seemingly, Jazz is no exception. Despite three shelters, he got very wet on Friday, and this very nearly catapulted him into a nervous breakdown. Outwardly, he showed the signs of a horse with colic: rolling, pawing the ground, looking despairingly at his abdomen… What didn’t make sense was that he kept alternately jumping up in the air as if on springs, and then sitting on the ground like a dog. When I noticed that rubbing him with a towel seemed to bring comfort, I realised it wasn’t colic; it was a full-blown damp-coat hissy fit. As soon as I got inside, I ordered him a raincoat, thinking, trust us to end up with a horse with severe weather neurosis.

Recipe for rum raisin and almond chocolates

• 50g raisins
• 2 tablespoons of rum
• 50g almonds
• 200g good quality dark chocolate (I use this one, which is excellent for cooking)

Soak the raisins in the rum for at least four hours, overnight if possible. Toast the nuts in the oven until lightly browned and fragrant, let cool, then chop coarsely.

You can just gently melt the chocolate in a bain-marie, stir in the rum-soaked raisins and almonds and then fill the silicone moulds (I use these) with the mixture and leave them to set in the fridge. Or for a really shiny, flawless finish, you will need to temper the chocolate (see below).

To temper dark chocolate

Untempered chocolate is less controlled and uneven, resulting in a duller appearance. Untempered chocolate is also more sensitive to heat and humidity, and melts more easily.

Finely chop the chocolate and place two thirds in a metal bowl over a saucepan of simmering water. Make sure the bottom of the bowl does not touch the water. Place a digital thermometer in the chocolate, which you should stir frequently with a rubber spatula. The temperature of the chocolate should never exceed 48°C. Once the chocolate has melted, remove the bowl from the heat. Stir in the remaining third of chocolate little by little, letting it melt before adding more. Leave the chocolate to cool to about 28°C, then immediately place it over the simmering water again. Reheat to 31-32°C and remove the bowl again once you have reached the temperature. The chocolate should now be ‘in temper’ and must be used quickly before it cools and sets. If it does cool and solidify before you have finished using it, it should be re-tempered (i.e. reheated to 32°C).

The Stone of Scone, or the Stone of Destiny, is a 152kg block of red sandstone that would have been placed under the 700-year-old coronation chair yesterday. Historically it was used during the coronations of Scottish monarchs, and then the coronations of the monarchs of England, Great Britain and the United Kingdom.

My great uncle’s garage

The stone is well travelled — Westminster Abbey, Scone Abbey, Arbroath Abbey, and more recently, Edinburgh Castle. And in 1950, it travelled to my great uncle’s garage in Glasgow, having been stolen from Westminster Abbey by four Scottish students, who wanted to make a statement about Scottish nationalism. As my great uncle was a renown (and from memory, very vocal) member of the Scottish Covenant Association, who were campaigning for a Scottish Parliament, they passed the stone to him, which is how it ended up skulking in his garage.

As a child, I used to love visiting my relatives and their garages in Scotland in June, during the raspberry harvest. Raspberries were — and still are — one of my favourite fruits. Cranachan is the Scottish version of Eton mess, originally made to celebrate the harvest. The word cranachan means ‘churn’ in Gaelic. The almonds and chocolate are my addition, and not part of the original recipe. Apparently going rogue runs in the family!

Recipe for Cranachan (serves 4)

• 2 tablespoons oats
• 1 tablespoon almonds, chopped
• 300g raspberries, crushed
• 350ml double cream
• 2 tablespoons honey (heather honey if possible)
• 2 tablespoons whiskey
• 2 squares dark chocolate (minimum 70%), grated

Toast the oatmeal and almonds until rich and nutty and then leave to cool. Whisk the cream until just set, and then stir in the honey and whisky. Stir in the oatmeal and whisk lightly until the mixture is just firm. Alternate layers of the cream with the raspberries and purée in 4 serving dishes. Allow to chill slightly before eating.

I had booked tickets to London for the very day that Luc’s tractor succumbed to multiple injuries. I loathe packing, and departures in general, so as Luc had said we should leave for the airport at 3pm, I had planned to pack my bag at 2.45pm. Unfortunately, what I hadn’t factored into the equation was a struck-down tractor and its extremely labile and distraught owner. In view of these circumstances, Luc decided that we should delay our departure, to check that his beloved was picked up and properly towed to the ‘tractor hospital’. To hell with me and my flight! When the transportation arrived two hours early, our departure abruptly changed again to give us time to stop by the ‘hospital’ to confirm the treatment plan with the mechanics. And presumably discuss DNR etc. I suggested gifts – perhaps flowers and grapes, but my suggestion didn’t go down well. To cut a long and emotionally-charged story short, I ended up arriving at the airport late, sweating profusely, smelling of engine oil, and wheeling a suitcase full of season-inappropriate mismatch.

Coercing Clint

We have a hunter friend who often stops by for coffee, and who has a Clint Eastwood-style gum chewing habit. Luc finds this intensely irritating, but, until now, all attempts to get him to spit out his gum upon arrival chez nous, had failed. We recently offered Clint and his well-toned jaw muscles a slice of this Linzer torte. He and his gum parted company with a vibrant ping on the edge of the bin, and he even asked for a second slice. Manipulation by torte!

Linzer torte is a traditional Austrian pastry, similar in texture to shortbread and topped with tangy fruit jam. It originated in the city of Linz in Austria.

Recipe for Linzer torte (serves 8)

• I egg
• 150g cane sugar
• 150g soft butter
• 250g flour
• 150g ground hazelnuts
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• Pinch of salt
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
• 3 soup spoons cocoa powder
• 1 jar of raspberry jam (you could use blackcurrant or apricot)

Combine the egg, sugar, butter, flour, ground hazelnuts, baking powder, salt, cinnamon and cocoa powder to form a ball. Then cover and refrigerate for at least an hour. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Next roll out the two thirds of the pastry, using a rolling pin and use to line a well-greased tart tin. Fill with jam and then roll out the remaining pastry, cut into strips to form a criss-cross pattern over the jam. Bake for 25 minutes.