“YOU could sell your marmalade, you know” says Julia, a woman of impeccable discernment and taste. “And your fruit loaf and your parkin.” Modesty forbids my suggesting that maybe I could also sell my home-made granola, my marmalade cake, my Irish tea bread and
– oh well. You get the picture. I am now officially a domestic goddess. The Nigella of Askrigg. Or perhaps more realistically the One Fat Lady.
Marmalade was a doddle. Except I bought three times more oranges than I needed and didn’t even have a jam pan. How do you get to be a 62 year old countrywoman and not have a jam pan? Easy – I’m still a town mouse at heart. Anyway, the marmalade helped to raise £600+ (for the Ayries Trust, a charity set up by Al and Amanda of Askrigg in a small village in South India) at our open house and coffee morning last week.
Loads of people came from miles around, to see the completed refurbishment, swap stories and photos, and look at deeds and indentures relating to the chapel going back more than 200 years. Many of them had been married here, or attended Sunday School, many more saw names of antecedents on the documents which we must now get into the museum or the archive for safe keeping. All in all a lovely day and nobody seemed to think we were showing off which we were worried about. Or at least nobody said it.
And yes – I did manage to sell eight jars of my first ever, and truly delicious, marmalade.