I have, finally, got a new job! As of June, I shall be a Proper Editorial Assistant. After so long feeling like a child only allowed into the entrance of the sweetshop, this is quite exciting. There's no more money, of course, but people in publishing do always seem vaguely surprised by the idea that one might need money with which to live. There's a slight feeling in the industry that to even mention the word 'salary' is bad manners - the (much better paid) Senior Editors all appear to believe that reading the scrawlings of the insane should be reward enough. 'How much does it pay? How terribly sweet of you to ask, darling. Now do toddle off and marry a banker.'
We've spent the weekend in Bath, visiting my properly grown-up cousin (my age, but at least 12 times more mature) and her equally grown-up partner (they own tall, white salt-and-pepper grinders and thus are officially partners rather than boyfriend and girlfriend). It was, as usual, lovely, if somewhat frighteningly polite. We spent most of today playing bridge and listening to opera, our serene air of middle-classness flawed only by my boyfriend sniggering at every use of the word 'rubber'. Incidentally, we own salt-and-pepper grinders that don't match and are from the pound shop. I'm not sure whether this leaves us in partner territory or not.
Sophie (my cousin) and I, also cooked an utterly delectable smoked ham. For anybody who happens to read this, go and buy one immediately! Then simmer it gently in enough water to cover, roughly chop and throw in 2 onions, some celery, 2 carrots, a leek, cloves, peppercorns, bay leaves and any other herbs desired (thyme works well). Simmer for an hour for 1kg gammon joint, then 20 mins for every 450g (check this first in a real cook book, as not certain about timings). Make a glaze from marmalade, sugar, mustard and soy sauce (mmm....) and get some cider ready. Take the ham out once it's simmered for the right amount of time, then remove the rind and some of the fat. I then rubbed a little salt into the rind, chopped it into strips and stuck it in the oven (which should have been set at 200 degrees - sorry, forgot to say that bit). This bit's optional, but does turn out to make Superb crackling. Back to the ham itself. Put it in a roasting tray. Score the fat with a sharp knife, then cover the fat with the glaze, really rubbing it in, then pour over the cider (should be a couple of inches deep in the roasting tin around the ham. Stick it into the oven, and roast it at 200 degrees, basting it about every 15mins - the recipe said 30 mins, but ours took about 50 mins and was perfect - the top should be caramalised and crispy, but not quite burnt. While it's resting, you can make a sauce with the juices in the tin. Add some fresh thyme, a little flour and boil to reduce. It was superb, although now my stomach is slightly blocking the view of this keyboard, which is rather worrying.
It's now 10pm, and I am overjoyed to not have work tomorrow. We are instead going to Thorpe park, which will be both terrifying and marvellous. I haven't been for years, and although I do always underestimate my innate fear of rollercoasters, I'm confident that I can break through the terror barrier and go on the Saw ride without throwing up on someone's head. Must remember to stay well clear of alcohol. Dutch courage would be a mistake in this case.
