tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-136098422024-03-07T09:21:36.688+00:00Now's the timeThree things to share every day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.comBlogger3029125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-22832284594372355692014-03-09T18:32:00.002+00:002014-03-09T18:32:45.774+00:00Close up, frailty and tomatoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Whiskers<br />
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Cheerfulness is my chief object in life even when it seems to be a fleeting virtue. I find myself hoping that people will make allowances for its present frailty.<br />
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My grand daughter Giselle tells me that when she was in Thailand she was at first offended that people she met repeated the words "tomato, tomato" when they met her. It was only when they explained that it was in fact a compliment based on her pink complexion, one doubtless encouraged by her initial reaction to their remarks, that prompted the comment.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-4969785470263023062014-03-07T09:00:00.002+00:002014-03-07T09:00:52.647+00:00Story, sunshine and fiction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every window has a story.<br />
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After a bad day Toby and Pippa cheer me up with helpful proposals. This morning I feel better, more cheerful and look forward to day's visitors. The fact that the first thing which I am doing today is bring this up to date is surely a good sign. There are indications of sunshine outside the window.<br />
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Neighbour Pam brings me a meal and sits me down in front of the television with cushions and blankets. I am set up in unaccustomed comfort to watch the new series called <i>37 Days</i> about the build up to World War 1. It strikes me as ordering and explaining the facts better than the pages of history I have just been reading. Two more episodes to go. Well acted and well written, it might only be criticised <span style="background-color: white;">for its degree of simplification. It could equally be praised as an example of fiction approaching the truth more precisely that than history itself.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-74260449192722822232014-03-04T18:52:00.001+00:002014-03-04T18:52:15.218+00:00Stories, tests and pies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Another Sitges door with stories to tell from the Archives.</div>
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Dr Warr the rheumatic, specialist tell me and son, Toby and friend Milo who form a support team for my medical appointment, that the test which have had over the past few weeks show nothing to worry too much about. I feel better already but more test are needed. I leave still weak but optimistic. </div>
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As I am still losing weight and am shown to be slightly anaemic I am advised to eat food which over the years I am to supposed to avoid. Bacon sandwiches, steak and chips, pork pies. Here I come.</div>
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Another Sitges from the archives.<br />
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Dr Warr the rheumatic specialist tells me tha</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-22844537993426036352014-03-02T18:19:00.002+00:002014-03-02T18:19:28.969+00:00Door, study and danger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Door in Sitges from the archives.<br />
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The room where I spend most of my time at the moment I call my study. For a good many reasons I discourage people from referring to it as a office. The function of every office which I used is quite different.<br />
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Perhaps because moving around is a problem for me at the moment I am increasingly attracted by the current sport - called I think <i>parcour - </i> of clambering over buildings and leaping the spaces between edges and projections. It looks very dangerous but has a nonchalant elegance about it which I find compelling.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-52689487754315643562014-02-28T18:25:00.000+00:002014-02-28T18:25:10.991+00:00Fresh peel, achievement and tools<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Peel.<br />
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Managing to get myself out of bed and breakfasted in time to get to Pembury Hospital for am echo cardiogram at 8.45. It may seem a small achievement but it is something I am dreading because the mornings are so difficult and time consuming. Thank you Milo for being outside the front door in time for a lift to the hospital.<br />
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A projecting floor board with loose nails has been threatening to trip me. With a box of well manged tools some counter sunk screws and the ingenious use of a piece of slate, son-in-law Dom levels it off neatly leaving a smooth path from my desk to the hall. Here is a man who loves and understands tools. I am full of admiration. If I am dependent on such acts of skill and kindness I couldn't be dependent on nicer people<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-27579963952244636092014-02-27T18:27:00.002+00:002014-02-27T18:27:42.659+00:00Singer, tamarind and daphne<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Waiting to sing.<br />
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Mackerel and coconut curry. An ingredient which I have not used until now is tamarind paste. I had not associated mackerel with India, but it substitutes well I suspect for an equivalent in Indian waters. Thank you Anjum Ansand for another new experience.<br />
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A spray of daphne placed on fireplace in front of a mirror keeps catching my eye. It looks Japanese, a pleasing sight, all day.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-4114777279777949382014-02-26T18:37:00.000+00:002014-02-26T18:37:07.975+00:00Cat story 2, resolution and parsley sauce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Cat story phase two from the archives.<br />
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Today's resolution is to see if tomorrow I can take photographs of the objects I spend my day idly staring at in a perpetual state of lethargy.<br />
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Lunch with neighbours Milo and Virginia. My fellow guest is their friend Biddy who has just undergone in close succession two hip operations to say nothing of other unspecified illnesses. A crocks' gathering. We flatter one another: How well you're looking! We keep ourselves cheerful with small talk and managing to laugh. The art of small talk at such times is not to be easily dismissed. Parsley sauce with boiled ham and lovely new potatoes. I had forgotten the pleasure of a well seasoned, old fashioned parsley sauce.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-14016900319468256272014-02-25T17:59:00.000+00:002014-02-25T17:59:24.301+00:00In the beginning, anaemia and pomegranate <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The beginning of a story about a cat.<br />
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Doc rings to say that my haemoglobin count is low. I that why, I ask him, I spend so much time staring in front of me without doing anything else? Yes, he says. He says he will ring later to say whether I should still increase the new medication, which may be causing the anaemia<br />
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A large pomegranate greets me this morning. I roll it about on the table to loosen the pods within. I peel it as carefully as possible to reveal the structure of the pods, which I begin carefully to pull apart allowing the pips to separate easily and the pith to be discarded. This seems to me to be the sum of the wisdom which I have accumulated over the years from my own experience with pomegranates and the advice of others.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-29821315899998765022014-02-24T18:50:00.001+00:002014-02-24T18:50:40.824+00:00Wagtail, turmeric and The Sound of Music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pied wagtail investigates.<br />
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For the lentils I prepare today for daughter Pippa I find some fresh turmeric which I chop up small and use instead of the powdered stuff recommended. The house is infused with a its invigorating scent.<br />
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I have never seen The Sound of Music. And I don't think I want to.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-18924885245890389652014-02-23T17:10:00.002+00:002014-02-23T17:10:40.157+00:00Sandwich, singing and bag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I too have a weakness for sandwiches.<br />
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Full marks to France for its performance of La Marseillaise before the Rugby match against Wales.The team knew the words too. But almost predictably Wales was hard to beat as a choir.<br />
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In the newspaper an advertisement for an all leather "manbag". We used to call it what the illustration reveals to be a satchel. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-29592353652725125422014-02-22T18:05:00.001+00:002014-02-22T18:05:33.063+00:00Art, cold water and freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Art re-made.<br />
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A woman's voice on the radio touched with laughter reminds me of cold water flowing over smooth stones.<br />
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Free is a mighty word. Protesters in Independence Square in Kiev speak of being free. The leaflet on my doormat offers a free pizza if, for a mid-week delivery, I spend more than £100.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-51016627322947377702014-02-21T18:32:00.001+00:002014-02-21T18:32:20.812+00:00Hats, late and dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hat stand at farmers' market from archives.<br />
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I arrive an hour late for appointment with GP. He is forgiving, takes me my blood and promises to ring me on Monday to tell me if I can take more of the new pills which are going to cure me.<br />
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For once I remember one of my dreams . I am awake enough to make some notes. I a walking along a road in a strange city. Which one I try to guess? I pause by a narrow street almost vertical. At the bottom is a miserable dirty river. Beside the street is a table, on the table a magazine. The wind flips the leaves of the magazine. From where I stand I look for a dome. Perhaps this will suggest the name of the city. No dome. Instead in the distance is a tower. The tower reminds me of Seville Cathedral. Perhaps that is where I am. For some reason I an worrying about the table with the magazine and the wind constantly turning over the pages.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-28709086902634157782014-02-20T18:23:00.001+00:002014-02-20T18:23:34.764+00:00Drinking, pathos and lentils<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Spanish drinking water - one of many street covers from the archives.<br />
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Help. I must begin to talk to normally for a moment. I hear myself answer the telephone in a pathetic "feeling sorry for myself voice". Outside the window a song thrush is celebrating a bright end to a wet day. I listen and learn.<br />
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Cooking again for brother, Ken I experiment with something new as far as |I am concerned with lentils, Channa Dahl. Until now lentils for me have been confined to small orange seeds which quickly make a mush familiar from Indian restaurants and Puy lentils, the hard green pulses used largely I think in European cookery, quite different and with a taste of their own. Channa dahl comes I think from the Punjab. They are large, yellow and require to be cooked for at least an hour. The wait is rewarding. You simmer the lentils with coriander, turmeric and garam masala. This breaks down into "a thick<i> lentilly </i>mass with the individual pulses still discernible" I quote from Anjum Anand whose book <i>Indian Food Made Eas</i>y, I have been using And from which I have learnt much. To this mass is added at the last moment, cardamom pods, cumin, cloves, cinnamon, mustard seeds, desiccated coconut and chilies quickly fried at the last moment. We agree this is the most successful vegetarian venture yet. The photograph of the dish in the book looks good. It tastes better.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-16972160261483148982014-02-19T17:58:00.000+00:002014-02-19T17:58:15.047+00:00Walking, flying and sources of power<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The curious act of walking.<br />
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Outside my window a silver car on trailer sails by it wheels just touching the top of the hedge.<br />
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The two bracket clocks in the house chime at almost the same time. Satisfying, but you have to question the need for them. I have lost count of the clocks in the house which monitor the time on radios, computers, telephones and TVs and which are remotely regulated. Is clockwork still needed? Perhaps it is. Imagine the absence of batteries and other sources of electric power.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-27361513889640197042014-02-18T18:10:00.001+00:002014-02-18T18:10:27.346+00:00Mud, simplicity and triumph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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More jetsam on Thames mud<br />
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For vegetarian brother Ken a simple dish of lentils and spinach spiced with turmeric, coriander, ginger, garlic and garam masala. He says it isn't simple because he follows and detects the different flavours. I am flattered. But it is simple.<br />
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After Ken leaves I immerse myself for the once again since since the harsh times begin in Schubert's String Quintet. While it is playing I it get dark. As it gets dark I note a flash of lightening followed by a roll of thunder. With what triumph the last movement raises the spirit!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-80435815094286142342014-02-17T17:55:00.000+00:002014-02-17T17:55:01.907+00:00Jetsam, ivory and kindness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Jetsam on Thames mud.<br />
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I wake sometimes worrying about the declining population of elephants. The papers are full of the threat to their survival which originates entirely it seems from the burgeoning demand from China's middle class for items carved from ivory. International law forbids the slaughter of elephants and the sale of their tusks, but rampant greed appears to be winning the battle. Campaigning too even when it is led by the British Royal Family is losing out. We are witnessing a crime against a rich and magical inheritance. Yet I couldn't help noticing in the paper with great sadness an emotional call by Prince William for the destruction of the entire collection of antique ivory in the Royal collection. Old ivory is sensibly excluded from the ban on the sale of tusks. To destroy meticulous and beautifully executed works of art would be another crime.<br />
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In the Pembury Hospital coffee shop an ambulance driver noting my problem in getting up from the table where I am siting next to hers, proffers help. "There you are young man," she says.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-18359012815242296352014-02-16T18:57:00.000+00:002014-02-20T18:26:26.320+00:00Chimney perch, roast and denouement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Chimney perch<br />
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Sunday roast with Milo and Virginia and family. Sun shines on on us as we sit and talk at dining table. A bonus for tradition.<br />
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Find myself looking forward to The Archers where a true soap episode is imminent. How will the awful Helen react when she learns that her lover is as bad as we have always known him to be?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-16663461530827433732014-02-15T18:51:00.000+00:002014-02-15T18:51:13.093+00:00Structure, texture, football and culinary heritage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Composition: structure and texture.<br />
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Two football players Stanley Matthews and Tom Finney remain in my memory from my childhood when the game was much loved and widely respected, not least by me, in a way completely different from today. Both men received knighthoods, unusual in those days. Above all they brought skill and standards of excellence to their sport without the taint of riches. They are worthy heroes. News of Tom Finney's death at the age of 91 strikes an astonishing contrast with the culture of football today. Finney was a plumber and continued to run his business while he excelled on the field. He always played for the same club Preston North End. Compare that with the record of a modern footballer. Yet he is acknowledged as one of the greatest players of all time. Old men may lament that things ain't what they used to be. And sometime old men are are right.<br />
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Thinking back on the recipes which my Mother cooked for us as children, a stained and battered cookbook comes to my mind this morning. It is by a food writer now forgotten called Elizabeth Craig. Its faded cover was mauve and I can just now picture it in the kitchen drawer where it was kept. From this book came the puddings and stews and pies which I remember form the years of World War 2 and the post war years. My Mother loved this food, which she was introduced to at school in England, where she arrived as a small child. She was good at producing it though it contrasted with the Middle Eastern and oriental recipes passed on to her by her own Mother. As I think about that forgotten book this morning it testifies to the curiously mingled culinary heritage which I have at my disposal and is now being pursued and augmented with new influences by my children.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-18685856961830659732014-02-14T18:37:00.000+00:002014-02-14T18:37:06.903+00:00Gold, kindness, better<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Gold from the archives.<br />
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Seldom have I been more grateful for a small kindness that seemed to be a huge one. Foolish enough to leave off a painkiller this morning. I have to call on the help of neighbour Pammie. The cup of tea and sandwich she makes for me is a life saver.<br />
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Although the GP is away today he rings me, kindly and helpful as ever to tweak the painkiller. A better end to a bad day.<br />
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Gold from the archives.<br />
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Seldom have I been more grateful for a small kindness. After being foolish enough to leave off a painkiller this morning I had to depend on my neighbor Pammie to make me a cupo</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-50207497197654635672014-02-13T18:20:00.001+00:002014-02-13T18:20:22.913+00:00Dry, transformation, The Archers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Summer thirst. No water shortage now.<br />
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Just recently the word <i>confit</i> referring in French cookery to the preservation in fat by a process of slow cooking of such meats as goose and duck, seems to have spread to the slow cooking of root vegetable such as potato and turnip. I have seen no recipes but having heard the method referred to, have tried it myself and found it rather good. Today turnips - a dull vegetable I always thought - poached in duck fat and anointed with a touch of honey and a little lemon juice. A remarkable transformation.<br />
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After more than 20 years I have given up watching East Enders. The quality of writing and acting has deteriorated. I'm still loyal to The Archers though and unlikely, after 40 years or so, to stop following the ups and downs of the inhabitants of Ambridge. Though I refrain from serious criticism of soap operas, I have the impression that the Archers is improving. If asked about my addiction I say that the majority of Archers' characters are rather unpleasant and not without the sour edge of truth. I find myself half believing that they exist.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-83279317987874464392014-02-12T18:28:00.000+00:002014-02-12T18:28:07.362+00:00Watching, roast cod and taking care<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Watching the sea.<br />
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For Ken I prepare a Punjabi style roast fish in a spicy yogurt sauce. Ken brings two juicy cod fillets. A paste is made of fresh ginger, mustard seed, poppy seed, yogurt, powdered coriander and chopped coriander leaves. I roast the cod with a layer of the paste on each fillet, which is topped by pieces of ghee. A little lemon juice to finish off. Fluffy rice to keep it company.<br />
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"Take care" is what people say to each other in troubled times such as these when rivers burst their banks, the coast crumbles under huge waves and vast areas of farmland becomes lakes. It's not the sort of thing I normally say, but today I catch myself with the phrase on my lips.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-38762490110408464602014-02-11T15:11:00.001+00:002014-02-11T15:11:41.626+00:00Shelter, indignation and confit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Shelter<br />
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So much indignation on the radio, on TV. Energy wasted!<br />
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Toby stays the night. I roast a duckling. Instead of cooking the bird whole, I follow my new routine. I joint the duck, and having pricked the pieces all over brown and crisp them, The breast which requires little cooking and should be served pink I reserve and set aside. The legs and wings can now be cooked very slowly in the fat as for a <i>confit.</i> Additional fat can be used to<i> confit</i> turnips or other root vegetables. Although I have used this method for game birds and for chicken it seems to me that applied to a duck in can scarcely be bettered.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-51275089526267395202014-02-09T18:10:00.000+00:002014-02-09T18:10:19.176+00:00Frieze, waves and calm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Frieze. More from bridge people archive.<br />
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All night the wind blows through the branches of the lime tree. Sounds of waves breaking. Wake to hear only the the alarm call of a blackbird flitting by outside the window. The wind has dropped.<br />
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A calm atmosphere prevails at the The Three Chimneys - a pub where the food is invariably simple and well cooked. Whence the tranquillity? Although it is Sunday and all tables are occupied, people converse quietly and - how could one possibly know? - seem to be talking sense. This goes for regular drinkers and people having lunch. Then you realise. No music or sound system of any kind. Sometimes it is only when it is absent that you notice the ugly and the superfluous.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-61566501663920563992014-02-08T18:08:00.002+00:002014-02-08T18:08:44.607+00:00Bridge people, fish and chips and<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Bridge people from the archive. It is is Blackfriars over The Thames.<br />
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Chores interrupt Pippa and Dom's visit. So instead of going to the pub we decide to sample the produce of the <i>Down Town Fish Bar</i> opposite the Compasses. It deserves its good reputation. Generous pieces of cod firm to the touch in crisp batter and chips which stay hot and crisp. Because we feel that fish and chips is picnic food, we decide to sit round the dining room table and eat it straight off the grease-proof paper. No washing up! Disgraceful.<br />
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All night the rains beats against the windows. I picture the weather map now almost a permanent feature of BBC forecasts. Circles of arrows dancing across the Atlantic like whirling dervishes on their way to swallow our frail island and its inhabitants.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06972049290586377462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13609842.post-6381641208894277662014-02-06T18:01:00.002+00:002014-02-06T18:01:44.680+00:00Silver 3, cricket and tact<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Third in the series of Silver photographs which, with a recent interruption I have fished from the archives.<br />
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Good news that the new chief executive of Microsoft, Satya Nadella is a cricket lover. Though it is not a game widely know in the country of Microsoft's birth, he learnt, he says, as much about management from playing cricket in Hyderderbad, India, the country of his own birth. If only cricket remained the sport it used to be, a byword for honesty and fair play. It does remain a team game where individual skill, tactics and strategy are balanced against endurance and concentration. Not everyone understands its complexity. Nor the stately progress of a test match, or the rough and easy game of village cricket. But sour political attitudes are being allowed to creep in to the conduct of the game. And new and brasher forms of the game are changing its image. Is it pure fantasy to wonder if the association with Microsoft, loose as it is, might in some mystical way begin to set things straight.<br />
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On my way home in the rain from a neighbor I stop by the hedge as a blackbird lands a few feet from my head. We remain still he and I. He, unwilling to move as the raindrops fall about his bright eye fixed on me. And I, from a sense of tact and respect. I am glad to say that it is I who leaves first . </div>
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