Latest news with #backgarden
Daily Mail
3 days ago
- General
- Daily Mail
Retired rail engineer, 64, builds a £2,000 50ft-long functioning railway in his back garden
A retired rail engineer spent £2,000 building a 50ft-long functioning railway in his back garden. Adrian Backshall, 64, first started the project during the pandemic in 2020, shortly after he and his wife Ruth, 58, moved into their new home in Willington, East Sussex. Mr Backshall used scraps and found objects to create his impressive miniature railway including an old rail trolley which dates back to the Victorian era. The trolley car was rescued from an old siding and kept in his garden initially as an ornament, while the scrap track and sleepers were bought from a heritage railway in Sussex. He then built a frame and roof and mounted it on the old tracks, creating a carriage that seats between four and five people - making a fully-functioning rail line. Initially, the track was around 30ft-long, but this March, Mr Backshall extended it by a further 20ft. It now runs down nearly the entire length of the garden and has two stops: the patio and the shed. Overall, Mr Backshall, who spent 40 years working as a cable jointer for British Rail and Network Rail, estimates he has spent around £2,000 on the rail line. Mr Backshall said: 'We had this old rail trolley because it had been dumped in our previous garden - and my former railway boss Bob said we had to save it. 'So then when we moved here and had more outdoor space Ruth suggested I build a track for it. 'I did that using some scrap tracks and it meant I could just push it up and down the garden. 'But when Covid hit, and nobody could do anything, Ruth and I decided I should jazz it up.' During the pandemic, Mr Backshall built the train carriage - which is fitted with seats, glass windows, and a wood burner for winter. In his first designs, the former engineer had to stand outside his train to get it to run - by winding a wheel that pulled a cable attached to the carriage. But he soon fitted it with a 12 volt solar-powered winch which he can operate from inside the carriage - meaning the train moves by itself. He said: 'That was really quite exciting when we first trialled it. We have neighbours and friends over and I can tell them to just flip a switch, and suddenly they go, 'Oh God, it's moving!'. The couple, along with dogs Mabel and Gladys, moved into their property three years ago and, remarkably, it was Ruth's idea to make use of the garden space. Mr Backshall's most recent development was to extend the length of the rail track - meaning it now reaches the patio at the bottom of his garden. He said: 'It's fun because it's like a proper railway now. You can get on at the top of the garden and get off at the patio.' The couple's two dogs, Sybil and Gladys, are also fans of the creation. 'The dogs absolutely love it,' Mr Backshall said. 'They're in there, our friends are in there. Sometimes people call me and say their grandchildren live near and would love to try. 'It's just fun to do something quirky.' And Mr Backshall's wife couldn't agree more and revealed it was her idea originally. She previously told MailOnline: 'It was my idea in the first place, I like it, it's different and it keeps him occupied'.
Telegraph
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Tom Kerridge's Michelin-star barbecue menu – including game-changing kebabs
Why do I love barbecue cooking? First and foremost, it's got to be the flavour profile. All those smoky, charred flavours and delicious caramelisation – there's nothing like it. And you can explore some incredible global influences on the grill, tasting almost every cuisine you can think of – without ever leaving your back garden. Lastly, it's one of the most forgiving ways you can cook. There's an element of unpredictability – you can't be too precise as you can never completely control it – but that's part of the fun. There is a little more to it, however, than simply whacking on a burger, hoping for the best, then taking it off when it's looking a bit burnt. The basics of barbecuing The kind of barbecue most people will have at home will be some variation of a metal rack set over coals, usually with a lid. Think of it like using the grill in your kitchen oven, but the heat is coming from the bottom rather than the top. It can be quite intense heat and has a great smoky flavour, so cooking like this is perfect for smaller pieces of food that cook fairly quickly, whether that's halloumi, prawns or a minute steak. Heat control This can be done in one of two ways. Using metal coal tongs, you can simply move the coals around underneath the grill to create hotter or cooler spots. Depending on what you're cooking, you'll likely want a range of temperatures on your barbecue at the same time – higher, direct heat to sear meat or fish; cooler, indirect heat areas to cook some veg more slowly – so shift your coals around to create different heat zones. Alternatively, just pick up whatever you're cooking and move it to a cooler part of the barbecue, maybe around the edge. Alternative cooking methods You can treat your barbecue like a hob and cook using pans or trays. You'll still get a lot of that amazing smoky flavour and it's ideal for ingredients you wouldn't usually think about cooking on the grill, like more delicate fish or vegetables, without risking them sticking to the rack or falling between the gaps. Step up the smoke To further enhance that distinctive, irresistible smoky taste, you can either cook things slowly on the grill, to allow more time to absorb flavours from the coals, or introduce an intense extra smokiness right at the end of cooking – try adding wood chips to the coals, which burn quickly, releasing a flavoured smoke to boost dishes such as the halloumi and aubergine burgers shared here. Why marinades are the secret to success Dry rubs and marinades are easy ways to make a big, big difference to meat, fish and veg. Dry rubs – blends of spices, seasonings and sometimes sugar – add an intense extra level of flavour, and they create a beautiful crust as they cook. When it comes to marinades, even if you have just half an hour it will impart so much extra flavour, and can also help prevent meat and fish drying out during cooking. Play around with all those amazing flavours, make a bit of a mess, and, most of all, enjoy the process.
Yahoo
17-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Tim Dowling: the tortoise has been plotting his escape for more than half a century
A reader writes, asking how I can let my tortoise roam free in my back garden. She'd like to do the same with her adopted tortoise, but is worried it will escape. I explain that my garden is bounded by high brick walls, safely sealing the tortoise in, but that I too am consumed by fear that he will escape. He's very good at hiding, and this always strikes me as a strategy: wait until they think you've already gone, and their guard will drop. Also, he has form: my wife was eight years old when she got the tortoise. After her parents separated he went to live in the country with her father, and promptly escaped. He stayed missing for two years, until a farmer found him while combining in a field a mile south of his last known whereabouts. For 20 years the tortoise lived in a pen with the farmer's sheepdogs, with a white stripe painted on his back to make him easier to spot whenever he got out. At some point in the 1990s the farm was sold, and the tortoise was returned to my father-in-law, who very quickly returned him to my wife. That was nearly 30 years ago, which can make the end result feel like destiny, although probably not from the tortoise's point of view. To him it's just one foiled escape attempt after another. This spring, our oldest son also returned to us: his lease is up, and he has yet to find a new place. When I arrive to pick him up from the flat he's shared with friends for the last two years, his belongings are in bin liners, his furniture piled on stairwell landings. Once he stayed missing for two years, until found in a field a mile south of his last known whereabouts 'It's not usually this messy,' he says. 'Don't worry,' I say. 'This is the only time I'll ever see it.' The car is so full that the last things have to be crammed in and the doors quickly shut before they fall back out. The oldest one rides with a suitcase on his lap, and a potted plant on the floor between his knees. His mother is not thrilled to see all this stuff – another household, essentially – piled up in our hall and living room. 'Lucky for you we're going away,' she says. 'You can figure out how to get it all upstairs before we come back.' 'I will,' he says. 'What's for supper?' We're setting off early in the morning for a long weekend, leaving little time to inculcate a fresh sense of residential responsibility in our new roommate. 'You'll need to get cat food,' my wife says. 'Lock the back door if you go out.' 'OK,' he says. 'I'm expecting a package tomorrow,' I say. 'Do your laundry,' my wife says, 'and keep the kitchen clean.' The next morning the oldest one's stuff is still piled in the hallway – it's easier to pack the car by carrying the bags out through the side door, where I pause to show my wife the repaired fibreoptic cable that restored our internet. 'They even repositioned it so it won't happen again,' I say. 'Are we ready?' she says. 'I want to go before the school traffic starts.' We load the dogs in the car and head off. Somewhere along the M3 we begin to weigh the pros and cons of our new living situation. 'On the one hand, he's a terrible slob,' I say. 'On the other hand, we now have two potato mashers.' 'I'm going to set some ground rules when we get back,' my wife says. 'But it's also good we can go away and feel secure about things,' I say. 'Are you kidding?' she says. 'How secure do you feel right now?' When we arrive at our destination I check the weather in London – it's due to get very hot. I then send a panicky, pleading text to the family WhatsApp group about the seedlings in my office, and their immediate watering needs. Half an hour later I receive a reply from the oldest one. It says: 'where is the key'. I explain about the key – again. Eventually he texts back to say he's now out all day. Then the middle one texts to say he will drop by to water that afternoon. My wife joins in, issuing a brief rebuke to the oldest one and a reminder of his renewed residential responsibilities. 'He's gone very quiet since then,' I say. 'Well, he'll be embarrassed, I hope,' my wife says. We don't receive any kind of reply until late afternoon, when the oldest one finally replies: 'I think you left the side door open,' he writes. 'The tortoise has just been returned to me from across the street.'
The Guardian
17-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Tim Dowling: the tortoise has been plotting his escape for more than half a century
A reader writes, asking how I can let my tortoise roam free in my back garden. She'd like to do the same with her adopted tortoise, but is worried it will escape. I explain that my garden is bounded by high brick walls, safely sealing the tortoise in, but that I too am consumed by fear that he will escape. He's very good at hiding, and this always strikes me as a strategy: wait until they think you've already gone, and their guard will drop. Also, he has form: my wife was eight years old when she got the tortoise. After her parents separated he went to live in the country with her father, and promptly escaped. He stayed missing for two years, until a farmer found him while combining in a field a mile south of his last known whereabouts. For 20 years the tortoise lived in a pen with the farmer's sheepdogs, with a white stripe painted on his back to make him easier to spot whenever he got out. At some point in the 1990s the farm was sold, and the tortoise was returned to my father-in-law, who very quickly returned him to my wife. That was nearly 30 years ago, which can make the end result feel like destiny, although probably not from the tortoise's point of view. To him it's just one foiled escape attempt after another. This spring, our oldest son also returned to us: his lease is up, and he has yet to find a new place. When I arrive to pick him up from the flat he's shared with friends for the last two years, his belongings are in bin liners, his furniture piled on stairwell landings. 'It's not usually this messy,' he says. 'Don't worry,' I say. 'This is the only time I'll ever see it.' The car is so full that the last things have to be crammed in and the doors quickly shut before they fall back out. The oldest one rides with a suitcase on his lap, and a potted plant on the floor between his knees. His mother is not thrilled to see all this stuff – another household, essentially – piled up in our hall and living room. 'Lucky for you we're going away,' she says. 'You can figure out how to get it all upstairs before we come back.' 'I will,' he says. 'What's for supper?' We're setting off early in the morning for a long weekend, leaving little time to inculcate a fresh sense of residential responsibility in our new roommate. 'You'll need to get cat food,' my wife says. 'Lock the back door if you go out.' 'OK,' he says. 'I'm expecting a package tomorrow,' I say. 'Do your laundry,' my wife says, 'and keep the kitchen clean.' The next morning the oldest one's stuff is still piled in the hallway – it's easier to pack the car by carrying the bags out through the side door, where I pause to show my wife the repaired fibreoptic cable that restored our internet. 'They even repositioned it so it won't happen again,' I say. 'Are we ready?' she says. 'I want to go before the school traffic starts.' Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion We load the dogs in the car and head off. Somewhere along the M3 we begin to weigh the pros and cons of our new living situation. 'On the one hand, he's a terrible slob,' I say. 'On the other hand, we now have two potato mashers.' 'I'm going to set some ground rules when we get back,' my wife says. 'But it's also good we can go away and feel secure about things,' I say. 'Are you kidding?' she says. 'How secure do you feel right now?' When we arrive at our destination I check the weather in London – it's due to get very hot. I then send a panicky, pleading text to the family WhatsApp group about the seedlings in my office, and their immediate watering needs. Half an hour later I receive a reply from the oldest one. It says: 'where is the key'. I explain about the key – again. Eventually he texts back to say he's now out all day. Then the middle one texts to say he will drop by to water that afternoon. My wife joins in, issuing a brief rebuke to the oldest one and a reminder of his renewed residential responsibilities. 'He's gone very quiet since then,' I say. 'Well, he'll be embarrassed, I hope,' my wife says. We don't receive any kind of reply until late afternoon, when the oldest one finally replies: 'I think you left the side door open,' he writes. 'The tortoise has just been returned to me from across the street.'
