Marmalade and a mouse

 

Well, I wasn’t expecting this! A few days ago, this sweetly painted parcel arrived - even the address was beautifully hand scribed and must have taken so much time and care. I’m still in the dark about who it came from, as there was no return address and I suspect the gift giver wanted to remain anonymous. 

I think there may be a clue with the foxgloves and bees, but I may be wrong. Anyhow, it contained two lovely pots of Frank Cooper’s marmalade, including the dark, chunky bitter gold that is the vintage type. The kind of card I love, with a Paddington quote, and an adorable hand knitted mouse, who is now known as ‘Coops’ for obvious reasons. He does look as if he is protecting my jars with a ‘none shall pass’ stance.

So I am hoping that the generous gifter reads this, perhaps having read my previous post about buying a jar on an extravagant whim. And I hope they know how very touched, pleased and smiley their present made me. Coops is now installed in the bedroom, I am going to cut out the painted box front and display it somewhere and I know just what to do with the marmalade...

For my Patreon subscribers, (£3 monthly and upwards) my latest post is a photo packed jamboree called ‘The Way of the Horse’, exploring pastures new, having tiny adventures and discovering lovely Shropshire views. With Marjorie.

Oxford Marmalade

 

I’m eating a lot of toast this winter. For some reason I've reverted to thick white sliced, which I know isn’t the best health-wise but is cheaper and strangely comforting. I have also had a craving for marmalade and I am unusually particular about marmalade. It has to be Oxford Marmalade (with a capital M).  Now there’s nothing cheap about Oxford Marmalade, but as I’m eating so much toast, I have decided it counts as a proper and necessary food staple.

I’ve formed a little ‘bubble’ with Jean-and-Brian-Next-Door. We are all self isolating and the other week Brian drove me over to a local Co-Op, as I couldn’t get an online delivery in time to save me from having to concoct a meal from the contents of my fridge, which consisted of half a jar of ancient pickled beetroot, three lemons and a small chocolate mousse of uncertain age. It was the first big shop I’ve been in for nearly a year. Mask on, I drifted about, instinctively learning the strange pandemic dance of avoiding other people and not blocking the biscuit aisle for too long. Then I spotted it. Frank Cooper’s Fine Cut Oxford Marmalade. I saw the price, hesitated, then had a ‘sod it’ moment and put it in my basket. 

When I was 19, I moved from a damp bedsit in Bournemouth and life on the dole, to Oxford, to start my art education. I instantly fell in love with the town and greedily drank it all in - sketching in the Ashmolean, discovering real ale, exploring the lovely shops in Little Clarendon Street that I couldn’t afford - yet. Because naturally, I dreamt that I would one day be a well known artist, maybe living in a nice house in the Jericho area, with a studio and well able to afford little luxuries. Back then, there was a dedicated shop on ‘The High’ for Frank Coopers jams and marmalades. I can still remember venturing up the steps and through the slim pilasters that framed the arched doorway,  feeling very daring and buying my first jar of proper thick cut Oxford Marmalade, a real indulgence on my meagre income. 

It was handed over in a fittingly nice white paper bag with a drawing of the shop on both sides and soft string handles. I still have that bag, as I used it to keep Christmas decorations in, although it is of course, older and very worn now - rather like myself. 

The Oxford shop on the High Street shut many years ago and became an antiques centre, which is still there now. But I never lost my early love of the dark, bittersweet - almost sour - flavour of proper marmalade and every time I  taste it, I am momentarily a 20 year old art student again, hungry for artistic fame and wanting to eat the world. So long as it is spread with Oxford Marmalade.