The Oxcliffe Fox

Heralds of spring

2012-02-02T03:45:00.000Z

I’M ONLINE, listening to the David Jacobs Collection on BBC’s iPlayer feature.

And wafting down the hall from the kitchen is my latest slow-cook experiment: a Bonfire Night Sausage Hotpot. It’s still got four hours to go, too!

Anyhow, I’m somewhat shocked to discover that it’s already February; the daylight hours are growing perceptibly longer, and despite the heavy frosts we’re experiencing I’m amazed to see crocuses shooting up in the front garden and many of the trees at the back already in bud.

Heartening little heralds of spring!

Oh, roll on the end of this rather dreary winter!

Revisiting the past

2012-01-18T04:02:00.000Z

I DO us a tasty stew thing as my experimental cook this week – a mix of chicken thighs, sweet corn and broad beans, all slow-cooked together in a tomato sauce.

And it’s such a relief to be back in good appetite again, for both My Good Lady and myself… our stomach complaints have finally abated.

Meanwhile MGL and I have been making little trips out in the car to see how well I can cope with the driving.

Since my stroke last year, it’s been something of a chore for me to go any distance – some of the deadness in my leg returns.

Anyhow, today we do the weekly shop and then, since it’s such a bright afternoon, we go off into the countryside around us, and pay a visit to the village of Silverdale, a place we know very well indeed; the hotel, there, was at one time one of our favourite dining spots.

Oh, it’s all changed of course – under new management, revamped and, to me, running to seed a bit, but still pleasantly familiar nonetheless: plus ça change and all that.

It’s a far cry from its glory days, though, when the hotel’s telephone number was “Silverdale 3” and when excursion steamers used to moor there for afternoon tea.

Back in those days the grounds extended down to Morecambe Bay, with fine, manicured lawns, beautifully laid-out gardens, and where guests could avail themselves of the tennis courts and the bowling greens.

Then the deep-water channel of the River Kent shifted and the hotel – indeed the whole village – was left high and dry, marooned as it were on an expanse of sand.

Most of the land was sold off for redevelopment and the village now has the sleepy air of a dormer backwater.

It’s still got a certain charm though and I can well remember our first excitement, when, as newlyweds, we lived in a damp, draughty cottage at nearby Crag Foot, and we used to explore this Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

Happy memories!

The longest week of the year

2012-01-01T03:53:00.001Z

IT HAS struck me before now of course – this interregnal period between Christmas and the New Year, and just how long it often seems.

But this time it’s been, I think, the longest few days of the year.

Partly, of course, it’s due to the fact that the holidays have fallen on the weekend, extending the brokenness of the period by an extra four days.

Mainly, though, it’s because My Good Lady and I have been suffering from severe digestive problems caused by – I’m not quite sure what.

Food poisoning is my first thought, but I’m told that there’s some sort of virus floating around.

Oh, Christmas lunch with our friends goes off well enough, but we come home already feeling suspiciously tired; I certainly need an hour’s nap, and MGL is away to her bed by about 8 o’clock.

The next day the problems start with us. Neither of us feels much up to either cooking or eating, so we heat up one of the ready meals we keep in the freezer for emergencies.

The next day I am in really serious discomfort, with my stomach aching, a general feverishness wracking my whole body, and my appetite completely deserting me, as has my sense of taste: MGL has gone to the trouble of cooking up a Moroccan lamb tagine thing and I can barely manage a mouthful of it.

I eat practically nothing for the next couple of days – a bowl of soup, a small, plain omelette and that’s about all.

By this time MGL is also showing similar symptoms to mine – truly we’re a sad pair indeed.

So passes the week until Friday, when, for the first time we feel well enough to join some of our friends at the Pub for an hour or so.

By Saturday, though, New Year’s Eve, MGL is in frightful state again; she spends most of the day curled up in her armchair, a blanket pulled up to her ears, clasping her griping stomach and refusing almost all food and drink.

I’m doing a little better, though; I persuade her to try a bowl of cream of chicken soup, and later in the evening, I microwave a rather bland fish pie for her.

She does rally a bit later, we even manage a bottle of wine, and in this way we see in 2012.

But I have to say this has been one of the longest – and worst – weeks of the whole year!

You can bet that I’m praying for a happy New Year for us all!

A Christmas dream

2011-12-25T02:32:00.000Z

TO BE honest, I don’t really consider myself an adherent of the Christian faith. There are as many things about Christianity I loath as I admire.

I suppose I agree with Nietzsche’s comment that Christianity lends itself to corruption as much as to joy and Godliness.

But if I’m not of the faith, I am, of necessity, of the tradition; I was brought up a Christian, indeed a Catholic, and especially at this time of year I’m surrounded by the symbols of that two thousand year old tradition.

Okay, I admit, it’s a stretch from the gifts of the Magi to the crass commercialism that we all endure today and of which we are all, willy-nilly, victims.

I do admire some of the music which the tradition has inspired, both classical and popular.

And in the latter category, I would like to mention one of my favourite secular carols which I was pleased to hear again on Sandie Dunleavy’s radio show in BBC Radio York.

Christmas Dream was written by Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Tim Rice for the otherwise rather forgettable 1974 film, The Odessa File.

Why I like this particular song is because of the lyrics which talk of “the crying, the shouting, the dying” – unusual to say the least of it.

The sentiment that “All nights should be silent, they should all slow down” is one that I heartily subscribe to.

Above all, the chorus:

The whole world needs a Christmas dream

We need it to warm us,

To calm us, to love us…

is surely at the very centre of the Christian tradition.

And in that tradition, in that spirit may I offer to one and to all a warm, calm and loving Christmas.

My Christmas dream indeed.

Cold feet

2011-12-24T03:58:00.001Z

I’VE BEEN somewhat remiss about my postings of late – no real excuse for it except a kind of lethargy which has been upon me for weeks now.

I seem to spend more time asleep than fully conscious.

We’ve been dogged by a certain amount of ill health, too – again, nothing major, just the usual seasonal coughs and colds and the like.

But it just adds to my winter moroseness.

Oh, what I wouldn’t do for a few weeks in the sun! I tell My Good Lady so this very evening as we recall the glory that is the Caribbean, or the wonder of South East Asia.

Not for us at the moment, alas. Maybe later next year. We shall see.

Anyhow, the Big Day is nigh upon us and we’re about as set for it as we’re likely to be.

Little or no cooking involved for us this year, we’ve been invited by some friends for Christmas lunch – and I have to say even this has been something of a trial.

PD, our host, has certain mental health problems, and in the space of the last few weeks has been getting himself more and more worked up about our now immanent arrival.

At first he was really keen, but now I fear he may be in the edge of some kind of breakdown on our account.

Were it not for the fact that Lin, his wife, is really enthusiastic about our coming to their home, I think I might have tried to extricate us from their invitation.

Far too late now, of course – we’re committed.

But I approach the day with a certain feeling that the old feet are getting well and truly icy!

Of seasonal wine and rather a lot of turkey

2011-11-03T02:10:00.001Z

AND STILL in the spirit of the fast-upcoming festive season, we’ve just taken delivery of some Christmas wines.

Quite a good selection this year – albeit an expensive one – ranging from a Châteauneuf-du-Pape to go with the roast turkey, to a premier cru Chablis to go – well, anytime really.

Also included is a bottle of Champagne with which to welcome in the New Year.

I always feel a little more celebratory when our Christmas case arrives, and the promise of all that delicious supping!

Meanwhile I turn my attention to today’s dinner – turkey, by coincidence – in the form of a creamy stew with mushrooms and mustard and a good dollop of dry white wine.

I misread the recipe, though, and by accident I make a sufficient quantity for 4 to 6 people.

And because there’s cream in it, I can’t freeze it. So, what to do?

There’s far too much for 2 people, and it’s too late to ring round and invite some guests.

I end up serving half the portion and the rest I put in the fridge and keep fingers crossed that it doesn’t go off before we can get round to consuming it.

Actually, it rather good with My Good Lady’s only criticism being that the coarsely chopped meat could have been cooked for a little longer.

She clears her plate, though.

Sausage day

2011-10-23T02:04:00.000+01:00

IT’S MY big cook day, and I’m doing us old-fashioned curried beef sausages.

And, as usual when attempting something new, I’m a little nervous.

The fact is I’ve never even tasted beef sausages before, let alone used them in slow-cooked curry sauce.

They turn out to be pretty good; less fiery than the more normal pork verities, they nevertheless go well with the warmth of the curry.

All washed down with a very agreeable Australian Durif-Shiraz wine.

Excellent.

Christmas plans and pea soup

2011-10-12T02:28:00.000+01:00

I CANNOT believe that the run up to Christmas has already begun.

But yes, we’ve already booked the table for our group festive dinner at the Pub, and our plans for the Big Day are firmly laid.

We’re dining at the home of some friends this year, as a change to eating out which, to be honest, has got a bit tedious.

We’re looking forward to a good, homemade Christmas dinner – a roast turkey with all the trimmings… Promises to be good, especially since PD and his wife Lin always go to the trouble of getting a premium quality bird from Marks and Spencer’s.

Meanwhile, I’m busily soaking some split peas, ready for my pea and ham soup done in the slow cooker tomorrow.

I really do enjoy using our “Big Ears” – the aromas as it plops away, hour after hour, fill the whole house.

I have to admit to a certain apprehension about this soup, though. My mother used to do it to perfection when I was a lad, and the recipe I’m following is definitely not the same as hers.

For example, with mine, everything goes into the pot at the same time; my mother used to boil the ham first, then use the stock to make the soup.

The ingredients are a little different, too.

I guess I shall just have to keep my fingers crossed.

Cruising down the river...

2011-09-30T03:50:00.001+01:00

I AM lying in my fold-down bunk of a bed, with the ship gently rocking to and fro in the wake of a passing barge, and with the sound of water outside our cabin window sighing gently.

All very soothing and restful.

The little cabin is warm and rather muggy, and a kind of delicious, heavy languor is upon me. My eyes just keep closing of their own accord.

My Good Lady, I know, is safely ensconced up on the sundeck with her puzzle book and her novel, while I attempt to catch up on a couple of very broken nights of sleep in a post-lunch snooze.

It’s still only about the third day of our holiday but already the pattern of shipboard life has established itself.

An early breakfast – thanks to the alarm clock that is Wi-Fi set to ring at seven-thirty every morning, heaven only knows why – maybe the most consistently good meal of the day.

Then, depending on day’s itinerary, we either set out for a morning’s sightseeing, or more likely, settle ourselves to down to watch the Rhineland scenery floating by.

Lunch is at 12 o’clock sharp and consists of soup, a small main course or a salad, and a dessert.

The afternoon now stretches ahead; My Good Lady and I often take a bit of zizz at this time, although, too, we sometimes disembark and have a potter round one of the ports we’ve come into: Remagen, Koblenz, Rüdesheim…

At 1900 hours dinner is announced and we brace ourselves for another assault on our stomachs – the food on this cruise is definitely sub-par to what we might have expected – and our table dining companions, Ray and Margaret, are as bemused as we are as to what is presented to us.

Evening in the salon is something of an ordeal, too, with a deafening performance of the man at the musical synthesiser, sometimes accompanied by a strangulated, ill-pronounced song, booming at us through giant loud speakers. No place for a quiet conversation, this, and now, as darkness has fallen, it’s a little too chilly to sit out on deck.

So we endure it for as long as we can, although it is mitigated by the conviviality of another couple we have met, Esther and Bernie. Bernie, indeed, has a sense of humour that rises above even this musical torture.

And so to bed.

But it is a good holiday break, despite the shortcomings of the food and the entertainment, and one to which we should not be too loath to do again. River cruising has some definite advantages over the ocean variety. So, maybe next year, who knows, a sail down the Mekong River perhaps, or a trip along the Amazon?

Sleepless and on the eve..

2011-09-20T04:42:00.000+01:00

MY EARLY night is as sleepless as I expected.

We’re off on our German travels in the morning, so naturally I thought a good night’s sleep would be just the thing…

But I find myself wide-eyed and awake, lying rather restlessly in bed, and trying not to disturb My Good Lady, snoring softly beside me.

Oh, to sleep as a baby! I find as I grow older sleep is something of a luxury – if, on the odd night, I can sleep without disturbance, I count it a blessing, a boon.

The Hindu scriptures describe death as a “deep, dreamless sleep” – and oh dear, how I sometimes long for that! At least for a night or two.

Anyhow, we’re packed again and ready for the off; the taxi is coming for us at 9-ish in the morning, and by this time tomorrow we should be aboard the M.S. Alegria, and floating up the Rhine…

Everybody tells me it should be a fantastic trip – I hope they are right.

Sorry if I sound a bit grumpy – to be honest I’m a little nervous, what, with my lack of sleep and the difficulty I’m still having with my leg.

No doubt it’ll be fine.

See you when we get back!

Until then, auf Wiedersehen.

Autumn holiday plans

2011-09-06T04:25:00.000+01:00

SEPTEMBER has come in with a roar!

Torrential downpours, window-rattling winds and creeping cold are all conspiring to give us the autumn blues.

And guess what, we’re off on our holidays in a couple of weeks’ time – a Rhine cruise in northern Germany, maybe the one area of Europe that’s even colder and wetter than England!

I’m certainly planning to pack some thick woollies to take with me.

It’s given us something to look forward to, though – both My Good Lady and I have been feeling the need for a change of scene.

Our normal holiday destination – France – is a little out of reach at the moment because I don’t want to risk a long drive; my leg is still giving me some trouble.

The idea of a river cruise seems just the thing.

And for once, too, we’re splashing out on a taxi to get us to and from Manchester airport rather than driving down and staying over, although it would have been nice to meet up with family and friends perhaps…

Anyhow, incongruous as it seems, we’re getting ourselves ready for the off.

I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for a late Indian summer!

A small regret

2011-08-20T04:35:00.000+01:00

PEOPLE who know me well will tell you that I have a great love of musical theatre and film.

I mention this because I’m listening (again) to the BBC’s radio tribute to Kander and Ebb’s amazing work (Friday Night is Music Night, Radio 2 and online).

Sometimes I regret my decision not to move to London after I graduated – I would really have enjoyed the whole West End theatre scene.

Our visit last year to see Les Misérables is a case in point – what a joy that was!

Unfortunately, it was a bit of an epic journey for us, what with My Good Lady’s disability and, now, my recent stroke makes it, for the moment, almost impossible for us to get down.

There’s also the small matter of the not inconsiderable costs involved.

Still, I can enjoy CDs of soundtracks and DVDs of movies, as well as the wonderful musical output that the BBC provides almost daily.

So yes, it is one of my small regrets, not being a bit closer to the Big Smoke, it is in reality a very small one.

Discomfiture

2011-08-06T03:35:00.000+01:00

A SENSE of unreality pervades me as I drive back from our Friday gathering in the Geriatrics’ Corner of the Pub.

I know my car control is a little erratic – but then other people’s seems no less so.

And the unreality extends to meal time, too; I’ve prepared us a Moroccan spiced tomato and chicken casserole, and I’ve just got the boiled rice to do.

It’s not until My Good Lady asks me if I’m not making the accompanying

Gremolata that I realise I’d completely forgotten about it.

Unreal!

Quite what is causing this state is a bit of a mystery. Oh yes, I find the Pub today too noisy for my hearing. My tinnitus is playing up badly, and with PD yelling, as it seems, at the top of his voice across the Corner while I try to talk with Fran and Den and Henry, it makes it almost impossible for me to follow what’s going on.

My leg is giving me difficulty, today too, and for some reason my back is aching.

All in all, I’m feeling a bit of old crock!

On the positive side, my chicken dish is quite amusing, even without the Gremolata condiment, and the Romanian Merlot, Cab Sauv., Shiraz wine proves to be quite enjoyable, too.

Best of all, today, My Good Lady seems to be in much better spirits than of late, with her “black dog” experience finally in abeyance.

I know, I ought to count my blessings instead of wallowing in my own discomfiture.

Sunday pies

2011-07-25T03:42:00.001+01:00

THERE is something comforting and very English about a good old pie.

I’m very fond of them – especially on a Sunday, when, after the housework, we succumb to an easy-cook, shop-bought, frozen pie.

I just pop it into the oven – a rather nice chicken pie today, although we’re just as partial to a well-made steak and kidney, or even something fishy.

I insist, though, that our choices are well-made, not just those cheap, weak and watery things you can sometimes get at “bargain” prices.

If I could, I’d make my own pies and freeze them, ready for Sunday use, but unfortunately I don’t do pastry – I don’t have the hands for it.

My Good Lady has – cold hands – and she does excellent pastry, and sometime I do prevail on her to rustle us up some tasty Cornish pasties, or a succulent chicken and vegetable pastry.

For some reason, for me, the art of pastry-making doesn’t really appeal, so I shall continue to stock the freezer up with good-quality shop-bought treats to enjoy on our quick-cook Sundays.

Revisiting Lawrence

2011-07-07T02:51:00.000+01:00

I’M JUST reading some of D. H. Lawrence’s shorter fiction, a fat volume of which has sat on our bookshelves for nearly twenty years.

I’m familiar, of course, with some of Lawrence’s novels – indeed, I had to study Sons and Lovers for my A-Levels.

I’m also acquainted with a handful of his short stories, with Fanny and Annie being, in my view, in the top ten of the finest stories ever written in the English language and one that I personally found deeply influential on my own writing.

This is not to say that I’m an unadulterated fan of Lawrence’s work – at times he irritates me as much as he fills me with admiration.

But I suppose, on the whole, the latter emotion is uppermost in me as I read his dissection of German militarism in The Prussian Officer, or the conflict between love and class consciousness in Daughters of the Vicar.

But what has prompted this interest in a long-dead writer and poet? I’m certainly not planning to sit any more exams in English lit, while my literary aspirations have dried up in recent years.

No, maybe it’s because we visited Vence last year, the town in the south of France where Lawrence died.

Or maybe it’s simply because this big book of stories has sat there so long unread and if I’m ever going to revisit Lawrence's work, it’s time I did it.

Either way, it should keep me out of trouble for a while.

Getting acquainted with Big Ears

2011-06-24T02:45:00.002+01:00

SO FAR all the recipes I’ve attempted on my slow cooker, Big Ears, have been fairly basic ones – the ones that accompanied the cooker itself.

I suppose their purpose is to familiarise me with the cooker’s uses.

The simple beef stew I made, for example, was to acquaint me with the browning/sealing function of the cooker, as much as anything else.

Then the chicken and white wine casserole demonstrated the need to cook poultry for the shortest time.

Today, I did the simplest dish of all – a boiled ham, a gammon joint cooked in water on low for ten hours.

And oh yes, it was beautifully tender – if fact, it fell apart as I was trying to lift it out of cooking pan.

And yes, it was very tasty, although I think cooking the ham in cider might have made it bit richer.

The trouble is, though, I don’t really feel these recipes are exactly stretching my culinary abilities.

We do have a couple of slow cook books with recipes aplenty, but My Good Lady is insisting that I continue with the included dishes, so that I become fully conversant with all of Big Ears’ little quirks.

Looking ahead, though, I see some more interesting ideas coming up: a Bolognese sauce for example, a Sausage Pot, a Thai beef curry…

There are some dessert ideas, too – but neither MGL nor I are really pudding people, so I might just skip these.

Adventures in cooking

2011-06-16T03:07:00.001+01:00

SOME SMALL health concerns on my part don’t preclude me from attempting an experimental cook yesterday.

I do us spicy prawns with chorizo – it’s intended to be a tapas type dish, but I put some sautéed Jersey Royal potatoes with it to turn it into a main course.

It’s simplicity itself to do.

Thinly slice a clove of garlic, deseed and chop a red chilli, finely dice a goodly length  of chorizo sausage, then chuck them all into some pre-heated olive oil and fry them up for a couple of minutes.

Then toss in a good handful of cooked, peeled prawns – I use the frozen ones, already thawed – and a splash of red wine.

Another three or four minutes of pan frying is all it takes: and you have one of the most delicious ways of serving prawns that I have yet encountered.

Absolutely gorgeous – we have to eat them slowly to prolong the pleasure.

A crusty bread roll mops up the delicious juices.

I’m intending to cook again tomorrow – this time using “big ears”, my slow cooker – so-called because of the large handles on either side of the pot.

It’s a full four-hour job, this – chicken breasts cooked in white wine and stock with cream and mushrooms.

Should be interesting.

Weekend celebratory

2011-06-13T02:48:00.001+01:00

THE HOTEL is one of these modern, characterless places designed for economy and for the attentions of commercial travellers.

The whole chain of such establishments have identical rooms in size and layout, so that no matter in which one you stay, you feel as of you’re in a home away from seedy home.

The bed proves to be reasonably comfortable at least - and that’s about the most positive thing I can say about the room.

The bathroom is lit by what seems like a twenty watt light bulb, and it casts more of a pallid gloom than a light!

Never mind, we tell ourselves, it’s only for three nights!

We’re visiting Stoke-on-Trent to help celebrate My Good Lady’s cousin’s golden wedding anniversary, and a couple of birthdays to boot.

It proves to be a great weekend for food and for general conviviality.

I enjoy one of the best steak and kidney pies I have ever tasted at a cosy country inn in the company of three of MGL’s cousins and their husbands.

We indulge in another splendid spread of food at a party the following evening where we also toast the happy couple whose fiftieth anniversary this is.

Yes, a very pleasant weekend, then - satisfying, if, for me, a little tiring – it is the longest journey I’ve done since my stroke and it proves to be rather taxing.

Never mind. Even the dismalness of the hotel doesn’t spoil the pleasure of this family do.

Foody contest

2011-06-02T01:07:00.001+01:00

WE’RE SITTING in the Geriatrics’ Corner of the Pub when conversation turns to the subject of the Great British Menu (BBC 2) – the competition for professional chefs for an opportunity to cook at the prestigious People’s Banquet.

Now, naturally enough, we’re all rooting for the North West finalist, Lisa Allen – if for no other reason than because Lisa began her career at this very pub kitchen, and has been guest chef here a couple of times.

Memorably, we went to one of her “special” evenings here, and very good it was too – not surprisingly she is now working at a Michelin-stared restaurant down Blackburn way.

Anyhow, we are all impressed, indeed amazed, by the lengths to which some of the chefs go to to wow the judges – from antique copper fish kettles to bales of hay on which the judges are expected to sit.

One chap brought a charcoal barbeque into the kitchen to give some of his pork that extra bite – and filled the whole kitchen with smoke and ash!

Another chef dished up his dessert in a bouquet of flowers and spiked it with lit sparklers in order to make the judges sit up.

It makes the beef stew I’m slow cooking today seem a bit limp; if I can find a couple of little union jack flags I might just stick them into the jacket spuds I’m serving the stew with – just for fun!

Love doves

2011-06-01T02:33:00.000+01:00

I AM sitting at the kitchen table, looking out onto the garden.

We’ve just finished My Good Lady’s crab gratin – not an unqualified success I’m sorry to say – and we’re now supping the last of the wine.

Meanwhile, outside, a couple of collared doves are billing and cooing at one another, perched as they are on our old, rather ramshackle trellis.

A favourite spot for birds is this trellis – we sometimes have a dozen or more on it, diving at the feeders and back again.

Anyhow, as I watch, our randy pair of doves suddenly decide the big moment has come – and in a wild flutter of feathers one pounces on the other.

It’s all over in matter of seconds, almost in the blink of an eye.

And then, there they sit, clearly satiated and content – I can almost imagine them lighting up their post-exertion cigarettes!

And with a smile on my face I think to myself, “Ah, happy days”!

Review

2011-05-12T02:32:00.000+01:00

ACCORDING to the latest medical opinion, it seems I have a 1 in 5 chance of suffering another stroke in the future – which, I’m reassured to hear, is quite low.

The new medication seems to be working as prescribed.

My blood pressure is normal; my cholesterol count is under control; none of the scans show much that’s untoward – a little clogging in the arteries of my throat, but not unduly worryingly so.

So, it seems, I’m a hoppy bunny again.

Except, of course, that I actually have had a stroke, and I’m not fully recovered from it yet.

And whether I ever shall fully recuperate is something of an unanswerable question.

But still, I come away from the review today feeling a little more optimistic about my future health prospects.

Slow cooker quandary

2011-05-05T04:02:00.000+01:00

I’VE BEEN reviewing slow cookers with the thought of maybe purchasing one.

I rather fancy doing stews and casseroles and soups and the like, and I’m told slow cookers are just the ticket for such things.

And like everything, the more you pay, the more bells and whistles you seem to get – the problem is to decide which ones I’m genuinely likely to find useful and which not.

The variations are quite staggering, though. Price-wise, there are the cheap and cheerful types for under £20, to the so-called “professional” models costing more than £100. Feature-wise, too, I have to decide do I need a timer? Do I require rice-steamers, chicken roasters and keep-warm devices?

Suddenly, the simple idea of a slow cooker takes on head-scratching proportions.

Why, oh why, does life have to be so complicated?

A spot of Indian alchemy

2011-04-23T03:12:00.001+01:00

SO HERE I am indulging in a spot of gastronomic alchemy again, putting together an experimental spicy prawn stir-fry.

Actually, this dish is such a quick one to do, we’re literally dining within minutes of starting it – the rice and naan bread accompaniments are the longest things to cook.

What I really love, though, is the mixing up of the various spices – turmeric, cayenne pepper, cumin, coriander all mixed up with the raw prawns. The aromas are simply marvellous and demonstrate the genius of Indian cuisine in putting together these amazing blends.

I heat up a spoonful of groundnut oil in my trusty wok, and when it’s smoking-hot, I toss in some mustard and cumin seeds and a splodge of garlic purée and cook until the seeds start popping – about 1 minute in total.

I then drop in my spiced prawns and cook them until they turn bright pink – about 2 minutes in total!

And there I am, ready to serve up. This particular combination of spices gives the meal a delightfully sour edge to the heat.

My only criticism of my effort is in the boiled rice, which I feel is a little bland; a crisp, green salad I think would have gone better with these prawns. But still, no worries, we both manage to clean our plates, and we finish off the meal with a little French Brie afterwards.

Yes, on the whole, quite nice!

Revivals

2011-04-20T02:50:00.000+01:00

IN THE time while my stroke has rendered me somewhat hors de combat, it seems there have been changes taking place.

First, most noticeably, spring has arrived in a torrent of colour and new growth; it’s as if I’ve suddenly woken up after a very long sleep and I’m seeing the world with fresh eyes.

I had hoped to grow some more of my own vegetables this year, but my incapacity has put something of a damper on such physical exertion. Even now, although I feel much like my old self again, I’m not sure if I dare to put myself to it – I still do tire rather easily, and my leg is still a little leaden.

My interest in cooking has revived with my appetite though, and I’m back at my experimental cook sessions – today I do us a quick and delicious spaghetti alla carbonara, using up some pancetta bacon and a heap of grated parmesan cheese, all tossed in an eggy mixture. We wash it down with delightful Italian rosé wine – very nice indeed.

I’ve even started scanning photos again, this time of our first visit to Cyprus in 2004 – and my goodness me, I’m staggered by how sunny the island looks, such a contrast to our visit this year!

So, yes, I’m pleased to report that I seem to be reviving with the springtime.

A disconcerting feeling

2011-04-05T03:14:00.004+01:00

IT’S TAKING the needle-bruises on my arms longer to vanish than the symptoms of my stroke.

Not that the symptoms have completely gone, you understand; I still have a little deadness in my left leg, although I’m no longer dragging it around like something extraneous to me.

All tingling sensations in both arm and leg have disappeared, though, and generally I seem to have come out of the other side a bad week – of stomach upsets and loss of appetite, of searing leg cramps and the dead hand of lethargy.

Oh, I still tire easily, of course – that’s probably going to take weeks, maybe months, more to overcome – but on the whole, I have to consider myself very lucky indeed to have got off so lightly!

Anyhow, today we ignore the dreadful weather and decide to visit the Pub, the Geriatrics’ Corner, and it seems ages since we last were here. It’s the normality of the place that I can’t get over. There’s Liam, behind the bar, greeting me with a quiet smile, as always; there’s the Times puzzle pages ready for our attention, there’s Al, our gardener and handyman, on his usual stool by the wall, there’s the clock over his head ticking away – all as if nothing had happened.

And it seems that, for the Pub, its staff and most of its customers nothing has happened; they’ve barely been aware of my absence, still less of everything I’ve been through.

For a moment, it seems as if time and space have somehow been bent out of shape. Can it really be that so much can have happened to one person, while leaving everyone else untouched?

It's a disconcerting feeling, I can tell you!

Stroke

2011-03-27T02:41:00.001+01:00

I’M SITTING on the trolley-bed in the Accident & Emergency department of Lancaster hospital, awaiting the ministrations of the medics, and I’m wondering to myself if, now that I’m getting older, I can expect more of the same of this type of experience.

I suppose it’s inevitable, really.

It begins last night. I am viewing the late movie on the box, when suddenly my foot begins to tingle with what I take to be pins and needles. It quickly spreads to the rest of my leg – a kind of tingling numbness – from foot to upper leg.

I try to walk it off, but already it’s clear this is something very different.

I wonder weather to wake My Good Lady, but decide against it – no sense in disturbing her for what I hope might still be nothing. Maybe by tomorrow it might be back to normal…

In fact it isn’t, it's worse. The tingling feeling has actually spread to my left hand. I can prevaricate no longer. I get up and as gently as I can I tell MGL that I think I’ve suffered a stroke.

She immediately rings NHS Direct, and they soon dispatch a paramedic unit to check me over.

They aren’t absolutely sure, but they think I should be taken to the A&E unit of the hospital, to be more thoroughly examined.

It’s the beginning of a very long day, of being hooked up to monitors and of being generally scanned and probed and x-rayed, with long, long spells of tedium in between during which nothing seems to be happening.

Finally, finally! – the result that I’ve now steeled myself to expect: it is indeed a stroke, albeit a mini one, and with some luck, the symptoms might clear up completely. On the other hand, maybe not. We’ll have to wait and see.

After spending nearly nine hours in the place – with only a sandwich and a belated cup of tea by way of refreshment – my discharge paper is drawn up and I’m allowed to go home.

I have to go back on Monday for further scans, and the boring part is that I’m not allowed to drive for twenty-eight days in case I have a sudden further attack – a common occurrence, it seems.

A friend comes and collects us and takes us home, and also provides us with some homemade vegetable soup and a piece of shepherd’s pie – both of which we devour as if we hadn’t eaten for a week!

LATER: I’m please to note that already some of the numbness has begun to fade and that I’m no longer walking about like lame duck. Here’s hoping for the best, fingers crossed!

Relief, at last

2011-03-26T02:43:00.001Z

WELL, IT’S all over bar the shouting. The bathroom, I mean.

And, lord, what job it’s been! I thought having a new kitchen installed was going to be an upheaval, but that was as nothing compared to the bathroom!

The floor alone took four days to lay, and the ceiling had to be done twice.

But when the fitter finally departed, there was our gleaming new shower-room, ready for the use of…

The OT even came today, and prescribed a perching stool for My Good Lady – we duly went off this afternoon and collected it.

She can now look forward to her first shower – and I can affirm that it is like a semi-religious experience!

There are just the Venetian blinds to be fitted at the window, and of course the small matter of payment…

But it’s done! Complete! Finished!

Oh, the sheer overwhelming relief that that thought brings…

Cyprus wine

2011-03-24T01:31:00.001Z

WE TAKE in a delivery of wine today, to stock up on our sadly depleted cellar – actually, the garage.

They are quite a hotch potch of different styles and grape varieties, from the fruity excitement of the New World to the sophistication of the Rhône Valley.

But the one thing we don’t have is anything from Cyprus – which seems a rather odd omission when you think how much is coming in from Eastern Europe these days.

Yet for centuries, Cyprus wines were famous; while as for their sherry - my parents always had a Christmas bottle of Emva Cream on the sideboard…

During our holiday there, My Good Lady and I visited the Cyprus Museum of Wine, just outside Limossol, to learn (and to sample) something of the island’s wines.

The main red grape, we discovered, is Mavro, producing a surprisingly light, softly tannic and fruity red, while the white grape, Xinisetri, makes for a rather lovely and refreshing white, quite a change from the ubiquitous Chardonnays and Sauvignon blancs that you find almost everywhere.

I must say we developed a bit of a taste for Xinisteri.

The third wine we tasted was the sweet red, Commandaria – a bottle of which we brought back from the duty free shop at Paphos airport. It makes for a delightful aperitif or as an after-dinner tot to go with the coffee.

Cyprus wines seem to have fallen into disfavour in recent years and I think this is rather a pity – they really are something a little different.

Not sorry

2011-03-18T02:00:00.001Z

IT’S BEEN ONE of our odder holidays.

For nearly a week, Cyprus was hit by some of the worst weather in living memory – with snow flurries in Larnaca and Paphos, with torrential downpours that turned major roads into fast flowing rivers, and with bitingly cold gales that howled around us continually.

So, our holiday consisted of eating a lot and sleeping a lot. And maybe that’s just what we needed.

We did get out some of the time, trying to dodge the worst of the weather; I even managed to get some sunburn when I fell asleep in a chair on one of brighter days.

But still, overall, I’d have to say that, as holidays go, this one was mixed.

Maybe the most exciting day was when we drove over the snowy Troodos Mountains to Cedar Valley and the famous Kykkos monastery, then around, under the shoulder of Mount Olympos, to the mining village of Kaminaria and to see the Venetian bridges at Treis Elies – altogether a journey of well over a hundred kilometres, much of it over winding, mountain roads.

Quite an exhilarating experience!

But still, we’re not sorry to be home…

Almost ready

2011-02-28T01:11:00.000Z

SO, ONCE again, our bags are packed and we’re waiting to set off on our travels.

Cyprus again. Not one of my favourite holiday destinations and certainly not one I thought we’d be seeing again.

But at least it will get us out from underfoot of the workmen, ripping out our old bathroom and putting in our new wet room.

And although feel as if I’m being compelled to go on this trip rather than being desirous of it, my general sense of not coping too well with our health problems and my moods of despondency that have been surrounding me lately, suggest that perhaps a break away from it all may not be such a bad thing.

My Good Lady tells me that once I’m actually there I shall feel a lot better; I hope she’s right.

Anyhow, we’re more or less ready.

Roaring returns

2011-02-25T03:45:00.000Z

MY TINNITUS has returned with a vengeance!

Not that it’s ever really gone away, it just became a quiet roaring for a time that I could on the whole ignore.

No ignoring it now, though – it’s driving me potty!

Still, soldiering on… We visit the farmers’ market today and purchase the belly pork for Saturday’s dinner, as well as couple of small pieces of tasty Lancashire cheese.

Surprises me just how the cost of this one-time cheap cut of meat has soared in recent years – reflecting its increasing popularity, I suppose.

I next whisk My Good Lady off for a spot of lunch at our local hostelry; we both opt for jacket potatoes with a tuna/mayo filling. Actually, the place is surprisingly busy with mid-term families, out enjoying today’s bright weather.

Returning home, we wander off for post-lunchtime snooze, before I get down, this evening, with my experimental cook session – a chicken and egg sauté, with potatoes (we’re certainly doing well with the carbohydrates today!) onions and peppers. A tasty treat and something a little novel.

We settle to watch a little telly this evening, viewing a recorded episode of Foyle’s War – one of my favourite detective dramas, and an episode we’d somehow managed to miss when it was first shown in 2004.

But as the evening progresses the tinnitus seems to get worse and worse. By the time I pack MGL into bed, it’s as if my head is bursting with the noise inside it. I feel a little dizzy on account of it.

I put on Question Time (BBC1) but such is the ringing in my ears I simply don’t have the patience to concentrate on the programme.

I close my eyes and put my head back on the sofa, but that just makes things even worse.

I can see if it doesn’t ease up soon, I’m going to need to see the hospital specialist again – I have an appointment with him in a few months time anyway.

A mundane contentment

2011-02-12T03:41:00.000Z

MUCH AS we enjoy our friends’ company, I always look forward to the weekends and the knowledge that we will not be seeing them for a couple of days.

And this weekend, it’s my experimental cook day tomorrow – my first since the cold –and I’m keen to try a new, one-pot recipe for a Brazilian pork and rice casserole, with its lengthy 3 to 4 hour marinade in a mix of white wine, lemon juice and chilli.

I’m also looking forward to doing my Sunday chores – I’ve let my dusting and vacuuming slip for the last couple of weeks, and the dust is becoming an offense to both my eye and my nose!

Sunday, too, I shall be cooking an old favourite for dinner, a kipper and egg kedgeree – always very welcome.

And then, on Monday, as a bit of a Valentine’s Day treat, we shall be dining out at our favourite Cantonese restaurant, and afterwards, hopefully, returning home to the bottle of champagne we’ll have waiting for us in the fridge door.

No doubt all this sounds a bit mundane – we really are a rather boring couple in our contentment.

But quietly content indeed we are!

Sniffles, sex shops and schooldays

2011-02-08T01:54:00.001Z

I’M FINALLY thinking that I’ve managed to shake off the worst of this wretched cold; for me it’s been a tedious, uncomfortable week of sniffles and sneezes, of blocked sinuses and a hacking cough.

For My Good Lady it’s been a tiring week, too, trying to balance my demands with her need to keep fairly quiet, not always successfully. There was a point when I feared we might need to call on Social Services for help.

Anyhow, we risk a trip down to the Pub this afternoon and meet up with some of our chums there, including Mr P, the music teacher. He’s busy at the moment rehearsing this year’s school musical, Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret – a rather risqué choice for his youngsters as I point out.

“They’re really enjoying it,” he says. “They’re very bright kids.” And he adds that he’s got to take the girls down to Ann Summers sometime.

“What, the sex shop?” I ask.

“Yes, for their costumes.” He grins at my shocked look. “Seriously. They need thongs and brassieres and things like that. The musical is set in a sleazy German nightclub.”

“I know, but - ” I shake my head, for once stumped for words.

Schooldays have certainly changed since my time!

Bit of an outing

2011-02-03T03:18:00.000Z

I’VE BEEN somewhat under a cloud just lately, under a heavy, chesty cold.

Necessity today forces me crawl out from under my comfort blanket and go and do some shopping – supplies are running uncomfortably low; the effort almost kills me!

But still, returning home and having a bit of post-shop zizz, I’m feeling quite a bit brighter this evening, well enough to share a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc with My Good Lady, and well enough, even, to come along here to say hello and to apologise for my absence.

I shan’t stay long, though, I’m still feeling a little heady and I’m still coughing up a storm from time to time.

But it’s been nice to have a bit of an outing.

Big bird day

2011-01-23T03:08:00.000Z

I’M FEELING uncomfortably stuffed this evening, and it’s entirely my own fault.

Actually, it’s one of the major cooking days chez nous today; we are doing our annual turkey.

It’s always a full-day turn, roasting this bird. In the morning My Good Lady is busy preparing the stuffing and the flavoured butter, and the whole of the afternoon is taken up with the roasting and basting, Then, after the meal, we are occupied with slicing the meat off the carcass, bagging it up and taking it out to the freezer, not to mention all the washing up that needs doing...

The highlight of the day, though, is the long-waited-for turkey feast, our belated Christmas day treat.

This year, for once, we are trying one of these “bronze” turkeys, free-range, of course, and organic. It cost a bit more, but my goodness me, it’s certainly tasty – especially the dark meat.

And as usual we end up having far too much of it – a leg each and a fair portion of one breast. And the trimmings of course, the Brussels sprouts and roast spuds, plus a good slice of the minced pork stuffing. All very yummy! And unfortunately all too moreish!

I confess it, we overdo it a bit – so much so, I have to suffer for my gluttony, but when we have our annual big bird day a little self-indulgence is almost obligatory!

I consol myself with the thought that we shall be back to having our more abstemious portions of fish fingers tomorrow.

Light show

2011-01-22T01:49:00.000Z

I SEE THAT My Good Lady has already reported on the joys of seeing a bright, frosty, winter morning.

I’m here to sing of the glorious twilight this evening.

We’re driving home from the Pub, where we have just had an amusing session with many of the Friday crowd.

We drop PD off at home, then we turn onto Marine Drive and it’s there we have to catch our breaths at the spectacle that presents itself.

The sun has just gone down over Morecambe Bay, but has left behind the most dazzling of light shows over the wet sands.

Bands of gleaming colour, from gold to orange to red, then yellow again to green to pale blue and then to the vast darker blue of the sky.

The silhouette of the little fishing boats and then, as we drive round the Bay, of Morecambe town itself, stands out in an enchanting relief.

One of these days I’m going to splash out on one of those dinky little portable phones that have a camera built into them, just for snapping sights such as this.

Truly wonderful!

Searching for the sun

2011-01-17T01:23:00.000Z

IS IT just me, or has the winter seemed a long one?

What, with all the snow and ice earlier, and now with weeks of unrelenting grey skies and rain… and it’s still only mid January!

All the more reason, then, to see if we can spend a little time in the sun.

Despite her best attempts, My Good Lady has not been able to find a suitable holiday for us online, and my efforts too have proved fruitless and frustrating.

So, we’re off to our friendly local travel agent who, in the past, has come up trumps for us with ideas we may not have thought of.

The point is, we have to move out of our home in March for ten days or so – the disruptions of workmen knocking six bells out of our bathroom is more than either of us can endure.

And we might as well make the best of the necessity and take a late winter/early spring break.

So, where to go? Somewhere sunny, but not too far away – the Canaries perhaps.

We shall see.

Sore feet

2011-01-13T01:39:00.000Z

WE VISIT the recently opened branch of Sainsbury’s on the site of Morecambe’s old football ground at Christie Park.

It strikes me right away as a poor choice of location for a supermarket: the place is cavernous, with wide aisles and what seems like endless rows of shelves in which one can so easily get lost and bewildered.

We only have about half a dozen items to buy but they take nearly an hour to locate in this overly-spaced and unfamiliar environment.

I seem to do a lot of walking today, I’m not sorry to get home and sit down over a nice cup of tea.

Evening. It’s my turn to be chief cook and bottle-washer today, so I set about making us a leftover beef curry.

The kitchen worktop seems covered in a variety of jars and containers, and I feel like an alchemist mixing up my concoction of spices.

It all has to plop away for a good hour and the aromas only serve to make My Good Lady and I even more ready to taste to result.

And very good it is too, though I say so myself.

Reflecting on our shop, though, we decide to revert to our regular supermarket, if only to spare my poor old sore feet!

A reassuring Bolognese

2011-01-03T02:55:00.001Z

FOR MY first culinary effort of the year I do us a spicy spaghetti Bolognese – something of an old favourite, and an attempt to move away from this festive season to something a little more like normality.

Actually, I’m trying to brace myself for all these nasty cuts that are coming our way – I’m dreading what they may entail for My Good Lady and myself, and indeed for all of us.

We’ve already had a couple of shocks: the cost of petrol seems to have suddenly shot up and we’ve been notified by our energy supplier of a near doubling of the electricity price – and this latter, too, has been back-dated to 1 December 2010!

I know I still have much to be grateful for, whatever comes our way, I just wish I could feel a little more positive about life in general.

Too many bad things have happened in the last couple of years – not least all the friends we’ve lost – and I fear that somehow still worse is to come.

So yes, my spag Bol is something in the nature of a reassurance, a sort of clinging to the wreckage of tasty times past.

And so...

2010-12-25T02:08:00.001Z

"And so, as Tiny Tim observed,

God bless Us, Every One!"

- CHARLES DICKENS, A Christmas Carol

Festive season anxieties

2010-12-22T01:13:00.001Z

SOMEHOW, our resident domestic jinx is determined that we shall not enjoy any of the season’s cheer.

A second – brand new – set of tree lights has now partially failed and we shall have to return it to our local branch of Focus from which it was bought only on Monday.

I appear to have mislaid the receipt, however, so I just hope I don’t get any grief in exchanging it.

Between that and My Good Lady's dental problem – she lost part of a tooth – and has to get it seen to tomorrow, while I have some blood pressure issues that need addressing on the morrow’s pm.

And now, one of our car’s warning lights tells me that a headlight bulb is on the blink.

It just seems to one thing after another.

I’ve expressed before in these blogs my general sense of the other shoe syndrome that haunts me at this time of year – I’m just waiting for the next disaster to strike.

And I peer around me like a man beset by anxiety – what will it be? Still more health problems? More domestic upset? Some weather-related misfortune?

To be honest I shall not be sorry when this so-called “festive season” is over and we can all get back to a more normal life.

Recipe cards

2010-12-18T03:32:00.000Z

THE “QUICK and easy” bit of yesterday’s tikka masala was the carton of cream I was instructed to pour into it – and that’s where I think it went wrong.

It was okay on first taste – the bite of the chilli in contrast to the smoothness of the cream – but by about halfway through the meal it got too much for us, too unrelentingly creamy.

Moreover, it was an odd mixture – for a masala, I’d expect to use yogurt and peppers and maybe some tomatoes. None of these were present in this “quick and easy” version of this Indian classic.

I must admit to having certain reservations about these supermarket recipe cards – you know, the ones you find in slots around the store walls.

They are there not so much designed to instruct you on how to cook certain dishes, but to sell you more of their produce.

And this applies to the recipes of some TV celebrity chefs like Delia and Heston and Jamie.

I sometimes think these people forget for whom they are writing – that’s to say, they seem to have professional cooks in mind rather than domestic amateurs like me.

The spurious authority that their names provide just helps to flog the supermarkets’ slower moving lines.

Anyhow, I shall from now on take these cards with a very large pinch of (sea) salt.

Of Chrismas telly and talk of food

2010-12-15T02:30:00.000Z

I’M FLICKING through the Christmas double-issue of the Radio Times, looking for highlights to mark up.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when there’d be a good movie premier for Christmas Day evening, and maybe another for Boxing Day. Not so these days.

I suppose with so many channels to choose from, and with recording so easy to do, fixed schedules must seem something of an anachronism to most broadcasters, and no doubt to many viewers.

Still, I do miss a good film on the big day; it was just something to look forward to.

WE STOP by our favourite butcher to pick up a couple of chicken breasts for tomorrow’s dinner – I’m planning to do us a quick and easy tikka masala. I’m intending to make up the sauce myself.

Actually, food is the main topic of conversation at the Pub, what with reporting on Monday’s excellent Christmas dinner there and with Mr P, the music teacher, setting himself up in a catering business.

He’s literally counting the days to his retirement. He’s already getting more orders for his services that he can comfortably cope with – by all accounts he’s a very good cook indeed.

He’s planning to remodel his home kitchen to accommodate his new venture, but he’s miffed about a new EU regulation stating that every catering establishment must have a blast chiller.

“What’s a blast chiller?” I ask him.

“It’s a chill box that reduces hot food to cold in a matter of minutes to prevent bacteria forming.”

What annoys Mr P, though, is that we Brits are the only ones to take these European health regulations seriously; “The Spanish and the French just ignore them!”

I’ve no doubt that’s true. I know from experience that the French just shrug and pay lip-service to such foolishness. As if a little bacteria ever hurt anybody…

Shame about the crackling

2010-12-12T01:46:00.001Z

THE ROAST loin of pork we have for dinner this evening is excellent; it’s just a shame about the crackling.

It goes all peculiar on us – soggy, flavourless and really disappointing.

My Good Lady and I are great fans of crackling, it’s the best part of the pork in our view.

We can even reminisce about great crackling we’ve enjoyed in the past – like the wonderful stuff we had at an eco-lodge we stayed at in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. So good was it, MGL lost a filling in her tooth in the eating of it and its replacement cost us £100. But we still reckon it was worth it.

So what’s gone wrong with today’s?

MGL blames the recipe, and the additional margarine she was instructed to coat the joint with. “Too much excess fat,” she decides.

(Actually, the recipe calls for butter to be rubbed onto the pork, but she thought soft tub margarine would be easier to spread.)

Anyhow, we feel a little cheated, although the meat itself was very tasty along with the roast potatoes and the carrots. The roasted apples would have been better as plain apple sauce, but that’s a minor quibble.

What’s more I’m looking forward to the next few weeks. Friends will tell you how much I appreciate a weekend roast and to come, in short order, are roast goose, roast turkey (on Christmas Day) and roast belly pork for the New Year. All washed down with copious amounts of good red wine.

Oh yes, my cup runneth over indeed!

Waiting game

2010-12-11T03:22:00.001Z

THEY MOVE you from one waiting area to another – and sometimes back again; each department you visit seems to have its own.

Anyhow, for an appointment which I thought might take fifteen to twenty minutes ends up being most of the morning.

First I’m seen by a rather pleasant chap, the specialist in the hearing department, and he gives me a preliminary examination.

I’m then sent to have my ears cleaned by a device that might have come out of a James Bond movie – a nozzle attached to machine that wheezes and groans and de-gunges my ears of their heavy wax build-up.

Next – after a suitable wait – I’m despatched to the other side of the clinic to have my hearing tested and measured, and once again I’m attached to a machine which sends faint tones into my ears and at each tone I’m to press a button on a handset I’m holding.

Trouble is, the tones are so faint, I’m not sure if I’m hearing them or if I’m just imaging doing so.

Eventually, the machine next to me cranks into life and prints out a long stream of results. Looking at this now, I get a sinking feeling that my fate is now sealed.

Back to the Ear, Nose and Throat Department and my specialist again: my tinnitus, it seems, is due to a loss of hearing in the higher frequencies and as a result I’m now listening to some of my own body’s functions – electrical currents passing to my brain, maybe the circulation of my blood, and so on.

A normal consequence of growing older, I’m told.

There’s mention of my needing a hearing aid, perhaps, in the not too distant future, and I’m suddenly feeling ten years older! Did I ever think, in my youth, that I would ever be likely to need such a thing? I didn’t even think so this morning!

They are holding off for the moment, in the hope that things might now settle on their own account; I’m to make another appointment in six months time to re-evaluate my circumstances.

More waiting! Meanwhile, I’m to continue putting in the drops.

More computer frustrations

2010-12-10T01:31:00.000Z

I’M HAVING problems with one of our computers again.

A little while ago, I installed the full version of the security suite from AVG, a replacement to the free edition I’d been using up until then.

To begin with it worked fine, the anti-virus and firewall software doing their jobs a treat.

Then, suddenly – nothing! The program completely ceased working.

It’s still there, in the installed programs list; but my computer refuses to recognise it or to run it.

My attempts to uninstall it have come to nought – logically enough, the computer cannot remove something that doesn’t exist.

I’ve loaded the remove program from AVG, but that too refuses to recognise the security suite’s presence on my hard drive.

So here I am, stuck with a program that put me in a real double-bind. It’s like having a mouthful of food that you can neither swallow nor spit out.

Of course, I’ve sent AVG an email of complaint but so far the only response is an automated reply telling me to go the faq section of their help site.

There really are times when I’d like to pick this whole machine up and drop it into the deepest quicksand pool in Morecambe Bay!

Twilight

2010-11-20T02:07:00.002Z

I SEEM TO have been a little delinquent with my blog for the last few days; my only excuse is that my own routines have been somewhat upset, as well as my sleeping hours.

My Good Lady has been a bit out of kilter, too – so much so, that I seem to have done quite a lot of the cooking this week.

On a more positive note, we’ve finally got our hi-fi unit repaired and returned – it’s taken nearly a month, mainly because Curry’s right hand doesn’t know what their left hand is doing.

Anyhow, we stop by the Pub coming out of town, and we find there, in the Geriatrics’ Corner, a character I always dread to see.

We call him “Twilight”.

He must be in his late sixties or early seventies by now, a crumple-faced, hollow cheeked man with long, thinning, untidy grey hair and who, I’m convinced, always wears the same clothes – mainly shades of grey in all their dreadful, crumpled familiarity.

He somehow seems to think that I enjoy his company; whenever he sees me he makes a beeline for yours truly and parks himself next to me.

In fact, I tolerate his presence, and not always with the best of grace: I mean he’s not a bad man, he’s just such a bore!

He’s full of endless, long-winded stories which he fondly believes are of consuming interest to me. Often he’ll start a tale and half-way through it he’ll have forgotten the beginning. Nor does he believe in sparing me any tortuous details – not for Twilight is the virtue of cutting a long story short, oh no!

But that’s not the worst. He has an annoying habit of interrupting my conversation with someone else, and insisting that I pay him exclusive attention. If I try to ignore him, he’ll tug at my sleeve or my trouser leg until he has my full concentration again.

And he just will not let me go!

Now I hate being rude or making a scene, but I’m really biting my tongue today with this deeply irritating – if unconscious – rudeness.

I’m quite convinced he’s not “all there”, and no doubt he is a lonely man – but why, oh why, does he have to pick on me!

The view across the Bay

2010-11-11T02:33:00.001Z

WE’RE DRIVING along Morecambe’s Marine Drive and the view across to the far shore takes our breaths away.

Across the vast expanse of the Bay, over the wet, gleaming sands and mudflats, the Lakeland fells stand out clear and pin sharp in the golden light of the late afternoon.

The higher peaks have already got the first winter snows on them.

There was a time when I never left home without a camera bag on the back seat, but not so in these, my post-photographic days; for once, though, I really wish I’d brought the camera with me.

It’s one of those rare days when the view is quite simply spectacular.

Makes me realise afresh how lucky we are to be living on the edge of Morecambe Bay.

Foody fads

2010-11-02T03:25:00.003Z

OUR DINNER this evening is home-made sweet and sour pork, and it seems strange to say that it’s the first time I’ve attempted this Chinese classic.

The pork fillet is cut into chunks and marinated in dry sherry and light soy sauce.

My Good Lady has already made up the batter – a simple flour and egg goo; we dunk the pork into seasoned flour then into the batter and fry it, in batches, for a few minutes and set it aside.

Next I stir-fry some cubed pepper and sliced spring onions, then return the cooked pork along with some pineapple chunks and sliced red chillies into the wok and let it all warm through.

Finally, I pour in the sauce mixture – a blend of pineapple juice, brown sugar, tomato ketchup, light soy sauce and white wine vinegar.

As the blend is looking a little runny, MGL makes up a cornflour mixture to thicken it up a bit.

We serve it on plain, boiled long-grain rice, and wash it down with a German Riesling.

Oh yes!

Over dinner we discuss some of our friends’ odd attitudes towards food.

Take PD for example. Every weekend he has a roast, but then for days afterwards he has the leftover meat in sandwiches and salads and such like until it’s all gone.

It doesn’t seem to occur to him to freeze the stuff and vary it with other things.

It would keep for weeks, if not months, and he could enjoy it over a period.

Pre-freezer days, yes, we would have had to eat the meat before it went off, but today…?

And then there’s Steve, who always buys his vegetables prepared, and ready for the pot.

Not for him the chore of peeling and slicing – to us this is part of the fun of cooking; it doesn’t take but a few minutes and it costs a fraction of the price.

Odd, as I say.

But then, when we tell people about having two ounces of minced beef in a meal, or half a tin of sardines in a flan, no doubt they think of us as odd.

There’s nowt so strange as folk, is there?

The domestic jinx strikes again!

2010-10-25T03:08:00.005+01:00

WE’RE GOING through one of our domestic appliances hiccup sessions, when not one, not two, not even three things go wrong, but four!

First it’s our Sony micro hi-fi system which packs up – still under warranty I’m glad to say, but I just hope Curry’s don’t give me any grief over it – their customer service, I know from experience, has much need of improvement.

Next, it’s our flame effect gas fire that’s packed up – just about a month after its annual service. The fire’s got one of these “lifetime” guarantees, but with enough small print and exclusions attached to it that I wonder if it’s actually worth anything. We shall see.

Not to be outdone, our new central heating boiler is behaving a little oddly, too. I’ve set the timer to some hours convenient for us, only to find it’s coming on outside those hours! It’s as if the thing has got a mind and will of its own. I won’t call anybody in yet, for this – I’ll play around with the timer for a bit and see if it’s some error in programming on my part, but I’m beginning to feel a little frayed.

Last, but not necessarily the least, a light bulb blows in one of our table lamps – the globe part of it literally pops out of it’s mount, and the screw fitting gets wedged in so tightly it takes me nearly an our to prise it out…

I’m convinced there’s a domestic jinx haunting us…

Vinous bit of business

2010-10-19T04:53:00.003+01:00

“WOULD anyone want to buy five bottles of Riesling for twenty pounds?” asks Big Robert, the manager/chef at the Pub.

Five bottles for twenty pounds? Sounds tempting. Depending what sort of Riesling it is, of course.

“What sort is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” says Robert. “I found it at the back of our wine store. I’ve had it on special offer for ages, but no one is buying. So, for today only, five bottles, twenty quid. I’m losing money, but what the hell!”

I tell him I’m interested, but I need to know what it is. “I’m not buying some Austrian tractor fuel,” I say.

Rob waddles off – he waddles rather than walks, so big a man is he – and comes back with two different labels, both German. One of them he opens, and pops it into an ice bucket.

“Birthday present for PD!” he announces, dropping it on our table, along with three glasses. “Cheers!” he says, waddling off.

We sup the wine – and it’s excellent. We can’t decipher the label, unfortunately – our knowledge of German wines is somewhat limited – but our interest is definitely awakened.

I glance at My Good Lady and she gives me the nod.

“Okay, I’ll buy!” I say.

And so, we bring home our spoils. We open a bottle this evening – a Valckenberg Riesling 2005. Well-chilled, it quite sup-able, although we find it’s a little tired as white wines go.

Still for the price we’ve paid… As I say to Rob: “Nice doing business with you!”

Of wasp stings and TV shows

2010-10-17T02:56:00.008+01:00

THE GERIATRIC’S Corner is fuller than it has been of late – one or two of the Pub’s Friday crowd have reappeared.

Mr P, the music teacher, comes over to tell us he had to go to A & E at the local hospital this morning. “A wasp flew into my mouth and stung me on the inner lip!”

The result was a dramatic allergic reaction – first the side of his face swelled up, then his neck and part of his shoulder!

A colleague of his at school took a photo of him: PD remarks, “My God! You look just like the Botox man!”

“It felt like it,” says Mr P. “They rushed me straight through A & E and gave me an injection to counter the effects of the wasp sting. It was a close call, though. I could have died!”

On a more positive note, though, Mr P is off to buy a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream for Sunday evening, and I can guess the reason – the new season of Desperate Housewives is due to begin on C4 on Sunday.

This is a little ritual with Mr P and his wife – they sup Baileys while watching their favourite TV show.

Mr P cannot praise the programme highly enough: “I have all the first six seasons on DVD – I’ve only seen half of them yet. But it’s really wonderful,” he insists, “you ought to try it!”

Maybe we will, although without the Baileys.

Some of the others pooh-pooh any American import, though – they just won’t give anything from across the Atlantic a chance. “It’s all rubbish!” says Aircraft Steve dismissively. “All those shows are full of Yanks in their glossy lifestyles.”

I have to take issue with him there; “Did you never watch M*A*S*H?” I ask.

Steve admits he did, and we spend a happy few moments reminiscing over some of the wonderful characters of this truly ground-breaking TV series, by turns comic and dark in its portrayal of the realities of serving in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital during the Korean war. Hawkeye, BJ, Radar, Colonel Potter, Hot Lips, Clinger… we still remember these people with genuine affection.

“Yeah, you’re right,” admits Steve finally, “maybe it isn’t all rubbish."

A special place for Christmas

2010-10-08T04:13:00.004+01:00

YOU CAN tell Christmas is on its way by the slew of leaflets and posters advertising festive meals that are appearing in pubs and restaurants all over the place.

We’ve got our own little collection, in preparation for our Christmas Day lunch out.

No question about it, you have to book early for the big day – the better places get filled up months in advance, leaving only the more dubious or indifferent available.

We’re determined to try and find something a little better than last year’s venue.

I’m not a difficult man to please, generally; roast turkey with the trimmings does me very nicely.

Not exactly rocket science, you would think, yet it amazes me how many so-called professional cooks can’t get it right.

Which reminds me, have you been watching Masterchef: the Professionals (BBC 2) this week?

Amazing how many can’t even get basic culinary skills right.

All right maybe you don’t expect the standards of Michel Roux Jr., one of the judges, from these contenders, but some level of competence at least is surely required.

I watch these professionals open-mouthed with disbelief.

Errors in the preparation of simple vegetables, serious faults in the making of such basic sources that even a first year student ought to know how to do, and presentations that end up looking more like car crashes than elegantly served dishes…

I hope never to dine in one of their establishments.

All the more reason to find that special place for Xmas early!

Wok triumphant

2010-10-05T03:16:00.003+01:00

IT’S ANOTHER stir-fry day. And of course, as champion stirrer, it falls to me to sweat over the wok.

I do us Ken Hom’s recipe for egg fried rice – oddly, something I’ve never tried before.

My Good Lady has already boiled up some long-grain white rice and we’ve allowed it to go cold.

I beat an egg into some sesame oil, then stir-fry some roughly chopped onions in smoking-hot groundnut oil. I toss in the egg mixture, and then tip in the rice and stir the whole lot vigorously for about 3 minutes.

Finally, I add some diced cucumber, peeled and seeded, a good spoonful of sweetcorn and a splash of chilli oil.

Five minutes later, I’m serving up, to accompany a ready-meal of tomato marinated chicken which MGL has warmed up the microwave.

Not at all bad: we both attack it with gusto!

Another triumph for my trusty old wok!

Harvest time

2010-10-03T02:12:00.004+01:00

WITH THE vegetable harvest safely gathered in – indeed, most of it now safely consumed – I take the opportunity of a dry day to go out and uproot our tomato plants.

I’ve still got some purple sprouting broccoli in my patio containers – but they shall be out for the winter, ready for harvesting next spring.

I feared I might end up with a glut of tomatoes, but except for a few late-ripening ones, most of them have gone, with my Black Russians definitely being top of the tomato pops.

I’ve still got a few green Moneymakers, wrapped up in bags with rotting bananas – the bananas, as I understand, give off a gas which helps the toms to ripen.

Anyhow, it’s my experimental cook session later, and I do us one of my stir-fries, a beef Penang, using up some spare rump steak and some left-over coconut milk, all cooked quickly with Thai red curry paste, fish sauce and brown sugar.

Most enjoyable.

This evening, My Good Lady suggests opening a bottle of Riesling, a small consolation for winning nothing on the National Lottery again!

Ah, well…

Enjoyable evening

2010-10-01T01:49:00.001+01:00

THE FOUR of us are enjoying a Cantonese meal at Ricky’s.

It’s Lyn’s birthday treat, and PD invited us to come and help celebrate the evening with them.

The food, as usual, is excellent: My Good Lady and I both select a chicken and mushroom dish along with some plain boiled rice.

Our technique with the chop sticks is much admired; “If I tried to use them,” says PD, “I’d still be here at midnight!”

And he goes on to tell of how our friend, Dick Gobble, insists on using sticks, with the result that the front of his white shirts end up covered with food by the end of the evening.

After the meal, the restaurant brings out a surprise birthday cake – a tiny chocolate one, topped with six candles – one for each decade.

The waiters then join us is a spirited rendition of “happy birthday to you” – and we make sure that Lyn is well and truly embarrassed!

An enjoyable evening for one and all.

A little education...

2010-09-25T02:30:00.006+01:00

I’VE BEEN a bit under the weather lately, with some flu-like symptoms compounding a gippy tum.

I do manage to make – and enjoy – a shepherd’s pie yesterday, using some leftover salt marsh lamb, and today I give My Good Lady a hand in cooking up some sautéed new potatoes and some of my very own, and very delicious, tomatoes to accompany her floddies, her little Rösti bacon patties.

I even manage to get us to the farmers’ market where we stock up on locally sourced beef and pork for the month – including our favourite Cumberland and black pudding sausages.

And yes, I have to admit, despite reservations, I manage to drag myself to the last of my weekly carers’ meetings – this time learning to communicate.

I have to say I listen to the theories of how to use words effectively with some distraction, and not a little awe.

Clearly, this session isn’t intended for the likes of me.

I have, after all, been a sometime writer of both fiction and non-fiction, of plays and stories; I’m aware that whole branches of both philosophy and psychology are devoted to the use of words.

I can look up from this computer and see well-thumbed copies of Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations and the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus – classics, both, in the field of language and logic.

At one point I’m distracted by being reminded of Gregory Bateson’s theories of the double-bind and its influence on the onset of mental illness, especially schizophrenia.

And I’m longing to point out that some of the illustrations they are making have been brilliantly demonstrated by R.D. Laing in his little book, Knots.

And I know I have to remain – painfully – silent.

This is not an academic seminar, it’s intended as a practical session, designed to give ordinary carers a chance to express themselves with precision and effect, and to understand how to use simple logical techniques to be assertive without falling prey to aggression.

There are times, though, when I feel that having had a little education is a seriously frustrating thing…

Saintly reflections

2010-09-17T05:54:00.001+01:00

I USED to enjoy the Saint.

Not the television series – with Roger Moore in his pre-James Bond days – still repeated over and over on ITV 4.

No, I’m talking about the books.

Leslie Charteris – a much better writer, in my opinion, than Ian Fleming – wrote about thirty of them, novels, novellas, collections of short stories, all featuring his dashing, eponymous hero.

And great fun they were too.

I’ve still got a couple of the novels – and I’m revisiting them…

Oh dear…

It’s said that you should never go back to where you’ve been before – first impressions can never be revived.

Sadly, true.

A cardboard character, against a cardboard background.

Not that it’s badly written – as I say, I still think Charteris is a good, entertaining writer; but I get the feeling that Simon Templar became something of an industry with him –Charteris had to produce.

And it shows.

All right, I can forgive the rather dated plots – many of these books were written in 1930s and 40s.

But the lack of any change, any transition; the Saint even in his old age never actually ages.

All right, yes, he stops smoking in one of the later books, but that’s about it.

He’s still as debonair, as handsome in the 1980s as he was in the 1920s.

Maybe I’m asking too much from a fictional character, but if you’re keeping the character alive, a little change is welcome.

Even in someone as iconic as the Saint.

Hey, just a thought – what about a new Saint, a new Simon Templar for our age? One who goes after corrupt politicians and crooked bankers?

Actually, maybe the stories aren’t as dated as I thought….

Breakfasts long gone by

2010-09-10T03:39:00.003+01:00

THE Black Russians in the tomato patch are coming along nicely.

We had the pleasure of trying them the other day – and very excellent they were too, just the kind of flavour I remember from when I was nowt but a nipper.

My father used to grow his own tomatoes of course – most working men did in those days in our little town in darkest, industrtrial Lancashire.

And we were lucky to live on a corner terrace of two-up, two-down houses, and so our back garden was considerably larger than most of the others adjoining us.

I remember one of the meals my father used to make for himself and for me was fried breakfast; consisting of crispy rashers of bacon bought from the grocers across the road from us, and sliced to our exact requirements.

Eggs spitting in fat – no nonsense about using oil in those days – and my dad’s freshly picked tomatoes sizzling in the pan with a piece of bread.

Oh yes, I can hear those breakfasts now!

They were a real treat once in a while; my mother never approved of fried breakfast for some reason, so my father and I used to behave like a pair of conspirators behind her back.

Above all, though, were the wonderful flavours of bacon, eggs and fried tomatoes – just the sort of flavour my Black Russians have.

Not fried of course in these more health-conscious days – baked, rather, but still just as delicious!

Numbers

2010-09-05T03:44:00.001+01:00

NOW I’m the first to admit I’m no great shakes when it comes to maths.

Some people have a talent for numbers, others don’t – and I don’t!

The advent of the pocket calculator was a great boon to me, for a spot of everyday counting, but when it comes to doing our annual accounts it becomes a bit of a longwinded chore.

Which is why I’ve decided to learn to use a spreadsheet program.

Windows Excel is said to make doing things like household accounts a snip!

This software is said to make the calculator a thing of the past.

Forget paper and pencil, they say, it can all be done on computer…

Yes, well…

Unfortunately, if you visit Microsoft’s website dealing with Excel and its uses, you find rather large blocks of information missing.

Such as how to set up the program for your needs; my first try ends up so muddled I have to scrap it and start again.

Then there are the curious idiosyncrasies of the program itself, such as why it sometimes insists on putting a dollar sign into the data cell. Every time you enter a number in the cell, up pops the blasted $ again.

So here I am, laboriously typing out long lines of numbers into the rows and columns and by the time I’ve checked and double checked each bit of data and somehow got the thing to cough up an answer, I’m wondering whether it wasn’t easier and quicker to stick with the old pocket calculator after all.

Evening celebratory

2010-08-31T04:24:00.003+01:00

OUR big 35^th wedding anniversary has passed off in quiet pleasure and great contentment.

The meal at Ricky’s Cantonese restaurant is excellent as usual: after our starters of prawn balls and crab and sweet corn soup, we both opt for the pork and duck Cantonese style – a specialty of the house.

To the clack of chop sticks all you can hear is the umm-ing noises of enjoyment and appreciation from both of us.

Back at home the champagne is nicely chilling away for us in the fridge.

To the sounds of Andy Williams – the king of easy listening (although his rendition of Schubert’s Ave Maria is one of the most moving I’ve ever heard) – we toast our great good fortune in getting hitched all those years ago.

At one point I ask My Good Lady if she regrets not having gone to the Great Barrier Reef, as we’d half planned for this occasion (our coral wedding, you understand!).

Her answer is a definite “No!”

The downturn in our financial circumstances due to the credit crunch and the uncertainty of MGL’s disability benefits due to the renewal of her DLA would have made the trip impossible at this time.

Anyhow, thanks to Ricky, thanks to Mr Williams, thanks to Mr (Piper) Heidsieck’s bubbly we’ve had a very agreeable evening indeed.

Long may they continue!

A ringing in the head

2010-08-26T03:31:00.001+01:00

THE RINGING in my ears is back again with a vengeance, after a couple of days’ respite.

And so bad is it, I’m actually feeling dizzy; I drag my way around our supermarket shop today with the world spinning around me.

I’m to do us a prawn curry for dinner this evening, but I have to own up that I’m not in a fit state.

My Good Lady and I decide to go along to our village local for dinner and this proves to be a bit of a disaster.

We order the plaice fillets with boiled new potatoes and a salad.

After a 45 minute wait the dinner arrives, with the fish badly overcooked and the lemon butter sauce too sharp by half.

All very disappointing because usually, the food here is good.

To cheer ourselves up, I open the bottle of wine we’ve been chilling for the dinner we didn’t have at home, and to some cool sounds of a Fifties compilation CD, we enjoy our tipple of Argentinean Torrontes – a rather intriguing grape variety.

If only the ringing in my head would stop!

Light bulbs, fry-ups and plans

2010-08-24T02:48:00.003+01:00

WHY IS IT that, when light bulbs blow, they go two or even three at a time?

Anyhow, after a rummage in the shed, I discover I have no replacements.

Oh yes, lots of others – I generally buy them by the half dozen – but no 60 watt ES energy saving bulbs, the second to go this week.

So, we’ve got a few things to do today: the public library for renewal of My Good Lady’s parking badges, then to the dentist for our bi-annual check-up, then to pick up PD and to take him along to the Pub for an hour or so, and last but not least, stop off at our branch of Focus to pick up said bulbs.

Back home, I do this evening’s dinner, a stir fry, an old favourite: a sauté of par-boiled, cubed potatoes, cooked gammon finely chopped, sliced onions and diced peppers, all done in my trusty wok. I serve this with a couple of poached eggs and some baked beans.

A basic fry-up in other words, and very tasty it turns out to be.

Evening. We open a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and to the sound of the divine Ella doing her Rodgers and Hart Songbook we discuss our immediate and near future plans.

With MGL’s successful award of her disability benefit, we are free to make such plans, but oddly, neither of us have much appetite for travel. With our excellent stay in the south of France last May, and our long warm summer spell in which we dined outdoors so often, we really don’t feel much need for another holiday.

Maybe a short drive over to Harrogate to visit some old chums, and yes maybe we’ll book a table for Christmas Day lunch to save us the hassle of cooking. But that aside, we’re happy just to stay at home and watch my tomatoes ripen.

Even for our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary this Monday the most we’re thinking of doing is dining our favourite Cantonese restaurant (and okay, yes, maybe we’ll open nice a bottle of bubbly when we get home).

Oh dear, what sad little lives we do lead!

Experimental cook day

2010-08-20T03:06:00.000+01:00

IT’S MY experimental cook day, and I’m having a bash at a venison in beer casserole.

I’m a little nervous because I know that game of any sort can end up a little tough and dry if overcooked – the meat tends to a degree of fatless solidity unusual in more common cuts.

I also dig up another grow bag of my new spuds – a better harvest this time, the extra couple weeks having done wonders for their growth.

I begin by browning off the meat in a mix of oil and butter; then I add the finely diced onion, the liqueur – ale and chicken stock – a good dash of seasoning, a little brown sugar, pinch of allspice, a couple of bay leaves and some cloves, and then I let the mixture gently plop away for an hour or so.

The potatoes I just serve boiled – new spuds only really need a knob of butter on them.

And though I do say so myself, the end result is pretty scummy, with the venison being just about spot on.

The only kitchen accident is in opening the wine – the neck of the bottle cracks under the waiter’s friend, and I end up with a bloody finger.

Doesn’t stop us enjoying the contents, though.

Carers

2010-08-16T03:12:00.003+01:00

THE CARERS’ course on Friday raises a couple of interesting points.

“When did you first start thinking of yourself as a carer?” the Facilitator asks.

Now at first I think this a rather silly question – after all, carers don’t stop being husbands and wives, sons and daughters to the people they care for. It’s just an extension of what they already do.

But the more I think about, the more I begin to see that it isn’t such silly a question; the carer’s role is something a bit different from that of a loving spouse or family member.

A carer subsumes his or her interests to that of the demands of the caree – his or her needs inevitably take priority.

Disability, whether physical or mental, cannot just be put on hold, the demands require constant vigilance and attention, sometimes immediate action.

And I think it’s true to say that the main reason why carers don’t consider themselves “professionals” is quite simply because they’re not paid.

One of the statistics to come out of the meeting on Friday is that if carers were to be paid the going market rate, it would cost the NHS an estimated £87 billion a year.

Obviously, this isn’t going to happen!

But until carers start to take their roles a little more seriously, and acknowledge that they too have needs, they will always keep on thinking of themselves as mere family and friends.

Speaking personally, I find my caring role one of the most demanding jobs I have ever done.

I’m on call more or less 24/7; and even when I can squeeze in a little time for myself, it’s always with one ear cocked to listen out for the summons, for the demand for assistance.

And if we are talking about the “profession” of caring – how many people work without at least a couple of weeks of paid holiday?

Yet many carers don’t have a choice about this, even when a little respite is granted in the form of vouchers, or sheltered holiday accommodation, it doesn’t give respite from the feelings of guilt, of the sense of evading your responsibilities.

Now, I’m very lucky to be a carer for My Good Lady, in many ways it’s a joy and a privilege to look after her; not only is she my lady, she’s also my best friend.

Yet even here, the demands of the job can sometimes be quite taxing, but if I have a problem I know I can discuss it with her.

That was not the case with the dementia that my parents’ suffered from, or the complete physical dependence that results from diseases like motor neurone.

At least, the course has given me something to think about and if I can arrange another sitter for MGL I shall continue with it a bit longer.

(Sneaky...)

2010-08-13T03:57:00.002+01:00

IT’S BEEN a wearisome week, this, what with the workmen knocking six bells out of the place, and the general upheaval such activity always entails.

Moreover, I’ve got it into my head that it’s been Friday for the last three days and I’ve been looking forward to the end of the week, with us, maybe, enjoying a weekend roast for Saturday.

My Good Lady disabuses me of this idea – it seems she has no roast of any sort planned for us.

Somehow the weekend is never quite the same without a nice roast chicken or a tasty bit of salt marsh lamb.

I admit I bear my disappointment with a certain amount of ill-grace – what use are Saturdays, after all, if not for a succulent roast dinner with a hearty bottle of red wine?

(I’m being sneaky here, you see; I’m hoping MGL will read this and change her mind!)

Anyhow, on a more positive note, the work is more or less completed, and yes, I must admit I’m reasonably pleased with the job they’ve done. The new boiler will take a little time to settle in, I understand, and I hope that all the excess steam from the flue doesn’t freeze if we have another hard winter this year.

But it should cost us less to run, I’m told, and the built-on insulation on the new hot water cylinder should be a lot more efficient than the old boiler with its red jacket lagging.

Best of all, though, it’s cost us not a penny piece to have done – one of the bonuses of an environmentally friendly government and our good fortune to have found our way through the maze of grants and regulations they've imposed.

In fact, the savings we’ve made and which we are going to continue to make will easily pay for the occasional roast on a Saturday…

(More Tom Sawyer-like sneakiness, you see!)

Unavailable

2010-08-10T02:48:00.002+01:00

A DAY OF sunshine and showers.

PD rings at one point, demanding to know if we’re playing out this afternoon, and he’s somewhat miffed to discover that no, we can’t come up to the Pub, because My Good Lady has got an appointment. Her bi-annual blood pressure check.

It turns out to be okay, but PD rather gracelessly complains that we should have made the appointment for some other time.

He’ll no doubt be even more put out when he learns that we have other appointments this week.

On Wednesday, for instance, we have workmen coming to replace our old central heating boiler with something more efficient and up-to-date. The young chap who came to inspect the thing last week exclaimed that our boiler was older than he was!

On Friday I’ve got a carer’s meeting which I’d like to go to if I can arrange for someone to come and sit with MGL for the afternoon.

Meanwhile, too, the tree man comes along to inspect a couple of trees that have rampantly overgrown their place in the back garden. We’ll need to stay at home for that, too!

It seems for a while we may be unavailable to keep our friend company – much, I know, to his disconcertion.

Swimming with sharks

2010-08-09T03:17:00.003+01:00

IT HAS BEEN a worrying business, watching My Good Lady slowly recovering from the mauling she received by the so-called “doctor” at the medical review for the DLA.

But recovering she slowly is, I’m pleased to see – with something of her normal openness and warmth beginning to re-emerge.

But there’s no two ways about it, applying for benefits is a bit like getting into the water with sharks.

The medical exams are almost universally dreaded.

Unless you have an obvious and easily diagnosed disability – something like Parkinson’s or motor neurone – you are treated with a degree of sneering scepticism that borders on abuse.

The questions that they ask ignore any context in which any meaningful answers can be made.

They like all the answers to be either yes or no, all the boxes neatly ticked.

The actual physical examination is so perfunctory as to be virtually unrevealing even to an expert, let alone to a common-or-garden benefits agency medic.

Hardly a surprise, then, that MGL came away feeling that nothing she had tried to say had been taken into account – we were both trembling, she with despair, me with futile anger.

We are both slowly recovering – although we’re still dreading what the result of this “medical” will be.

Preparation

2010-08-03T02:35:00.002+01:00

WE’RE TRYING to get ourselves mentally prepared for My Good Lady’s benefits medical on Wednesday.

The trouble is the medical services don’t always play fair with disabled people.

Nothing novel in this, of course, but with the new government demanding cuts, cuts, cuts – we’re dreading the worst.

We’ve had to fight, in the past, for MGL’s rights as a disabled person, once to the point of taking it up to the Lord Chancellor’s office.

And yes, we’ve won every single time, but it really is a hard slog, especially to one who is already in considerable physical discomfort and in a certain state of mental vulnerability.

Nothing for it, though, we just have to turn up at the appointed hour and hope for the best.

The taste of childhood

2010-07-27T02:59:00.001+01:00

I’M SUDDENLY reminded of my mother sitting on the back step of our house in Atherton, Lancashire, scrubbing the new potatoes that my father has just dug up from his vegetable patch.

I’m aware of it because, like him, I’ve just dug up the first of our potato harvest and My Good Lady, with brush in hand, and bowl of water before her, is ready to scrub away in preparation for our dinner.

And very good they turn out to be, too, although the quantity is a tad disappointing – but maybe I’m just jumping the gun and harvesting them a bit too soon; I’ll leave the rest for another week or two, give them a chance to fill out a bit more.

I’ve been thinking about my father quite a lot lately; each time I pass the mirror I almost catch a glimpse of him in my own reflection.

I’m aware of how much like him I’m becoming. Of course, when he was my age now, he was, to me, an old man.

And talking to Den this evening, at our last-Monday-of-month dinner, I’m reminded of my father again, when Den describes his attempts at farming. “It’s a twenty-four hour a day job,” he says, “seven days a week.”

My father was a farm boy, but he turned his back on the life, and went his own way.

Yet I think he had some soil in his blood, like all of his family before him. I remember the fruit and vegetables he used to grow in his own plot – wonderful. Flavours and textures that no shop-bought veg could hope to have.

And when I bite into my own home-grown spuds, suddenly the years fly away back to my childhood, and the taste I enjoyed then.

It’s like they say, what goes around comes around.

Talking of education

2010-07-20T02:54:00.002+01:00

LITTLE ROB, the chef/manager of the Pub, is moonlighting as a cookery teacher at the local college of education.

“How’s the teaching going, Rob?” I enquire.

He slumps down onto the stool next to me, and grimly shakes his head. For a moment he seems to be struggling to find the words to express himself. “Awful,” he says finally. “Just awful.”

And he goes on, “Have you any idea about what the real state of education is in this country?”

“Oh dear,” I murmur. “Is it that bad?”

“Oh, the kids don’t actually learn anything. They aren’t there long enough, for one thing. I mean full-time vocational courses run now for just two and a half days a week. The rest of the time is allocated to what they call ‘private study’. And when they do come to exam time it’s all multiple choice questions. They can just guess and tick the box and they’ve got one chance in three of getting it right.”

PD agrees, himself a former geography teacher. “Yeah, I always used to tell my kids don’t worry if you don’t know the answer. Just use a bit of common sense to get the obvious wrong answers, then make a guess at the right one.”

“It’s a Mickey Mouse course,” Rob goes on. “It’s got no real educational value. Even at university these days a lot of exams are in the form of multiple choice. As for GCSEs – well, providing you’ve got a pulse you’ll almost certainly get your certificate. They dish them out like confetti. And all so that some politician can stand up in the House of Commons and boast how good his party’s policies are.” Rob shakes his head. “It’s really depressing.”

And he adds, “It’s a relief to get back here and fry a few chips!”

Reflecting on this conversation, I’m struck by how much things have changed since I was in education. In my day, as a student, you had to actually write essays – and to do that you actually had to know something, either from lectures or books or whatever.

And although I never worked as a teacher in a schoolroom setting, I was on the educational side of the museum service, as a schools guide and administrator. Dealing with the kids was a joy – I tried to make learning fun, and I always made sure that they went away sharing something of my enthusiasm.

And from the follow-up letters I used to get from both children and teachers, clearly I was doing something right.

Such a pity that our children’s education has become a object of league tables, and statistics and reducing learning to the lowest common denominator.

Oh dear, oh dear! Old fogey or what?

End-of-an-era sort of day

2010-07-13T02:00:00.003+01:00

THE GERIATRICS’ CORNER is quite busy today – a fair few of us have gathered to wish our friend, Gaz, a bon voyage and best wishes for his move tomorrow.

Oddly, the mood isn’t as celebratory as I might have expected – it’s got something of an end of an era feeling to it, as if we’re the parents watching the last of our kids take to wing.

Certainly, the old Corner won’t be the same with his going.

He’s been there for ten years, in all, almost part of the furniture of the place – certainly for all the time we’ve been regulars there.

PD is here, and I suspect he’s even more upset than we are – he hates change or any rearrangement of his routine – although even he accepts that Gaz, as a young man, must look to his future.

Fran and Den are here, too, and even they seem a little subdued. It’s not until Linda appears, well-tanned and refreshed from her holiday in Tenerife, that things pick up – but then Linda really is a bit of a live wire.

So, between her, and Helen, and My Good Lady and the Times crossword, the session ends in moderately cheerful spirits.

We can’t quite settle on what to do for dinner this evening – neither of us really feels like cooking, not even something quick from the freezer. We decide – almost by default – to go to our village local for some of their excellent fish and chips, washed down with a glass of Chardonnay.

By the time we get home, though, we’re both enshrouded with a cloak of weariness. We watch a little telly – University Challenge (BBC 2) – and then MGL decides to call an early night.

So, it’s been a bit of a strange day, a little melancholy, a little joyful, and at the end, a little wearying.

C’est la vie.

Meditation

2010-07-04T02:14:00.004+01:00

DRIFTING…

… Drifting…

… Slow. As if floating on a dark current of inner silence…

It’s an old meditation technique I learned years ago, when I was studying Raja yoga at university.

I used to find it efficacious then, and I’m hoping it’ll be the same now.

The method involves sitting quietly, in subdued-lit room (my preference, not essential), breathing in slow, deep breaths, and keeping my attention focused on just one thing – some music (Bach) that I have playing in the background.

Other things intrude, of course – other thoughts, other sensations… The trick is not the resist them. Just push them gently to one side, and to refocus on the music.

The tinnitus is the main distraction – it makes the music sound as if it’s coming from a badly tuned radio… But still, I persevere.

I’ve been practicing this meditation for about quarter of an hour each day for the last few days.

Slowly, very slowly, I let my consciousness expand to take in everything immediately around me – what the Buddhists call “centring”. And then I try to bring it back to the music…

It’s like clenching your muscles in order all the better to relax them.

And, yes, something like peace does seem to come, not in waves or anything dramatic, but just as a quiet trickle. As the music ends, I’m aware that my state of being has subtly altered, that I’m now a little more relaxed, a little more at ease with myself.

I’m hoping, by this means, that some of the emotional imbalance I’ve been experiencing, might at least be tamed, if not cured.

Whether it’s working it’s far too early to say, but at least I’m trying.

Drifting…

… Drifting…

Losing it

2010-06-28T02:50:00.001+01:00

I SEEM TO be losing my mind…

I’m dragging my way around the housework today, with both the muggy heat and my tinnitus – the continual buzzing in my ear – getting me down.

Then I turn my attention to Sunday dinner – a salmon kedgeree – a dish I’ve made dozens of times. So, why should it have got to me this time?

It’s as if the whole thing, the whole afternoon really, goes pear-shaped on me.

I just lose control, lose patience, and I’m swept with overpowering waves of tedium and weariness.

And of course, things start to go wrong on me; the onion I’m dicing keeps slipping away from my grip, the boiled eggs I’m to chop somehow refuse to allow the shells to come off – at least not without large lumps of egg coming off with them.

And I can’t get the tin of salmon open, the damn thing flies off the tin opener and I gash my finger so that I have to run for a plaster.

Of course, My Good Lady tries to calm me down, tries to be reasonable – but that’s like a red rag to a bull to me by now.

I just completely lose it! I verbally lash out at her and the whole black and bloody business of the day.

After that and for the rest of the evening I’m sunk in a wordless gloom, barely able to say a civil word.

I think, at times, I’m really losing my mind.

Feeling calmer now, but even now I feel I’m not far from the brink, that I could lose it again without warning.

It isn’t the first time this emotional imbalance has affected me – the last time was when we were on holiday, in Nice – and I’m honestly frightened of when it might happen next.

Do you think I ought to go and see a doctor? I am wondering.

Changes

2010-06-22T02:11:00.001+01:00

IT’S ALL CHANGE at the Pub, it seems.

So many of the regulars have already departed the Geriatrics’ Corner – many have passed away, some have moved away… Even My Good Lady and I rarely go, now, more than a couple of times a week, and then only if we know that one or two of our remaining friends will be there.

So very different from those halcyon days when the Corner was regularly full of jollity and laughter.

The latest blow fell today when Gaz, one of the managers, announces to us that he will shortly be moving himself. It seems he’s selling his share in the Pub and he’s got a job at our former local hostelry in the village of Arnside in Cumbria.

His reasons for going are sound enough of course; he’s getting married shortly and he’s looking to put down a deposit on a mortgage and to start a family – not something he can do while living “over the shop” as he is.

But we shall miss him; he’s been a good mate to us over the last ten years or so.

Sad, but c’est la vie…

Doing the Laksa

2010-06-16T01:48:00.003+01:00

I’M STILL REELING from my experimental cooking session today.

I make us a “Quick” Thick Chicken Laksa from a recipe My Good Lady located in some magazine or other.

The recipe states clearly that it’s to serve either 2 children or 1 adult; so, my reasoning says, just double up on the quantities for two adult. Simple, right?

Wrong!

For a start, the recipe calls for 1½ red chillies – doubled up, that’s 3. 3 whole chillies? Okay, I know it’s supposed to be a spicy dish, but 3 chillies, surely, will be fierce enough to blow our heads off?

Next item is 5cm of root ginger – doubled up, that 10cm. Nearly 4 inches. That really will make a heap of ginger!

Then the recipe calls for 100ml of chicken stock and ½ a tin of coconut milk – both to be doubled up; the plate is going to be awash with liquor at this rate. All right, I suppose a laksa is a sort of Malaysian soup but this, surely, is rather a lot?

I decide to make some adjustments.

I double up on some of the ingredients, and I keep to printed recipe – that’s to say, half quantities – on some of the others.

And I have to admit, the old nerves are getting a bit frayed by this time. I feel I’m flying without a safety net.

I serve up the resulting concoction on a bed of egg noodles and nervously take a sip… Much to the surprise of both of us it turns out to be rather delicious, with the balance between the sweet and the sour, the fiery spice and the creaminess just about perfect.

One to keep I think, although retaining my adjustments to the quantities.

Yours truly, out of humour

2010-06-10T02:43:00.002+01:00

MY DRATTED SPUDS are almost growing faster than I can keep up with. Every day I’m having to top up with more compost. At this rate I might end up a bumper crop of potatoes but I shall be a wreck!

Anyhow, I’ve another problem, health-wise, today – my periodically recurring gippy tum. Don’t know what’s set it off this time – I promise I haven’t touched any shellfish. It’s certainly griping up badly; so far I have to use the loo about six times – I even have to dash to the gents’ toilet mid-shop at the supermarket.

Oh, the joys of growing older!

Talking of which, have you noticed how, when you’re treated as a wrinkly, you end up feeling like a wrinkly?

I’ve been sent a form to fill in for my heating allowance for next winter; I’m applying for my bus pass and I can get my prescriptions filled free of charge now.

Honestly, all these perks have made me feel a lot older than I did just a few weeks ago when I was only fifty-nine and eleven months old.

On the other hand, grumpy I’m certainly getting. Glancing at next week’s Radio Times I’m struck by the omnipresence of coverage of some footballing event – almost every channel seems to be carrying some match or other, driving out even the meagre offerings they usually show.

At times I feel I’m the only sane person in a world driven into a stew of collective madness!

Anyhow, my tum seems to have quietened down for the minute – I had a bowl of chicken soup about an hour ago, and that seems to have settled it – so I might just risk a cup tea…

Might put me into a slightly better humour.

Just pottering

2010-06-07T01:06:00.001+01:00

AL, OUR JOBBING gardener, seems impressed with my spuds, and even suggests most of them are big enough to need earthing up.

So I spend a back-aching hour shifting soil and compost into my patio bags yesterday until only the tips of the tubers are showing – and guess what, already by today, most of them have grown an extra inch or so. Just like that, overnight.

My tomatoes are progressing fairly favourably, too – bushing out, with the stems thickening up. Too early for fruit of course, but definitely looking promising.

Only the onions seem a little lackadaisical – doing nothing but just sitting there. Still, I did wonder if I was maybe overdoing it with them.

Anyhow, I’m modestly pleased with my gardening efforts so far, and with all the rain today I don’t even need to get out my watering can. God’s on the job.

For dinner this evening I do us a pie from the freezer – a rather excellent beef in red wine, made with great chunks of meat and a delicious rich gravy. All too often, shop-bought pies can be disappointing – thin, watery efforts, pastry cases filled with a syringe. Not so this one – I would not have been ashamed to have made it myself from scratch.

Sunday evening, after the chores of the day, is basically just telly watching time, recorded episodes of Daily Cooks Challenge (ITV 3) and NCIS (Channel 5). I put My Good Lady to bed about 9 o’clock, then watch a little of the Bafta ceremony (all rather tedious) before going off for my evening shower.

A quiet weekend, then, just pottering around home.

Much to-doing

2010-05-31T01:59:00.002+01:00

WE’VE BEEN HOME for a week now, and a long week it has been.

First, I’m anxious to plant out my potatoes – they are chitting-up nicely during our absence - and I need to visit to a local garden centre for some extra compost and more vegetable plants, to assemble our raised garden and prepare it for our tomatoes and onions… My fingers are growing quite green.

Nor is that all: we have an invitation to a financial presentation and a free lunch at a posh hotel in Grange-over-Sands in Cumbria, which we feel obligated to go to.

Then we have some major shopping to do to top up on all those run-down essentials we used up prior to going off on our travels.

All this, of course, is on top of trying to get the house shipshape and back to normal running order.

Meanwhile, too, most of our friends here want to see us and hear all about our holiday, which entails going along to the Pub most days.

Little wonder, then, that My Good Lady and I still haven’t fully recovered from our trip – MGL in particular has been having some really early nights, and even my sleeping pattern has been more broken than usual.

At least, now, we should have the chance to catch our breath a bit; we’re making no further plans for the moment.

The holiday, and all the to-do it entails, has left us exhausted!

Problems

2010-05-28T04:42:00.002+01:00

EVERY NIGHT this week, just as I crank up the computer, I get a message to say I’m suffering from a Server failure.

What on earth goes on?

Losing my internet connection is a nuisance to say the least of it.

I’ve not even caught up with my email backlog after our holidays.

I can’t do my internet banking, I can’t post my blogs or read other people’s, I can’t listen to the radio on the BBC’s iPlayer.

I’m writing this offline, on Word, and if the connection gets restored – as it sometimes rather arbitrarily does - I shall try to sneak it on.

Meanwhile, I have to apologise to readers and assure them that normal service, I hope, gets restored soon.

Back again, back again

2010-05-24T03:20:00.004+01:00

YUP, WE'RE back!

We survived the French union bureaucracy of Nice airport and even got our flight home more or less on time. (People have been known to miss their flights on account of it - but that's another story and I don't want to be negative.)

It was a good holiday.

Expensive, but good.

But I don't want to talk about our hols - Gordon Bennett, what's happened to the country since we left?

Tories in power, Lib-Dems in second place, Labour nowhere - we leave leave the country for a couple of weeks and it all goes to pot!

Sorry, you want to know about our holiday...

Okay, well, really, it was rain, rain, rain.

We had a lot of rain. Wind and rain.

You probably had it better here.

We still enjoyed it, though - in fact it was one of the best villas we have ever rented. We love Provence - the mountainous area just behind the Riviera - and it certainly didn't disappoint.

Highlights: Nice itself of course - the Cotes d'Azur - the blue coast - is well named; it really is beautiful and glamorous and all that.

Personally, I prefer the area behind it: the ancient Romans called it Provincia Romana, from which we get our word "province", and which, in French pronunciation, we get the wonderful region of Provence.

I swear, when I retire, I would love to live here. It's the Englishman's dream of France - villas perched on impossible mountain slopes, a sea so blue it dazzles the eyes, olive oil flavoured - everything...

Oh yes, this is an area to which we shall be returning.

But it's great to be home.

On the move again

2010-05-05T03:30:00.002+01:00

IT’S ALMOST TIME for us to be off on our travels again – this time to the fabled French Riviera.

Almost all my life I’ve dreamed of going there – even before I saw Hitchcock’s To Catch a Thief.

The very names ring with glamour and sophistication: Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo… Soon we’ll be rubbing shoulders with the ghosts of the likes of Grace Kelly, Scott Fitzgerald, Simone Weil amongst many, many others.

We’ve got our little list of things to see and do – actually, it runs to nearly a page and a half of My Good Lady’s tiny, spidery handwriting.

If we see a quarter of them we’ll be doing well.

Anyhow, since I’m not proposing to take a computer with us, it means we shall be out of touch with this blogsite for at least a couple of weeks.

Fear not, though, we shall be boring you with the tales of our adventures when we get back.

Till then, from us both, au revoir and à bientôt.

Or in the words of the immortal Bertie Wooster, “Pip pip!”

Interesting week

2010-05-02T03:23:00.002+01:00

IT’S BEEN AN interesting week, this, even aside from my passing my 60th milestone.

I’ve pleased our gardener, Al, by announcing that I’m going to have a bash at growing some more vegetables, and the containers for them have arrived this week.

One raised bed and liner for crops like green beans, carrots, peas and maybe some mixed salad and courgettes – if indeed the seeds I’ve ordered from the BBC arrive in time.

I’ve also got three potato patio planters for the spuds I’m hoping to grow; we go along to a local garden centre to buy the actual seed potatoes.

(Unfortunately, the instruction about planting these seem to be somewhat contradictory: you must chit them first in the dark or in the light, you must cut the larger ones in half or not cut them at all, you must then plant them out in two weeks or three weeks – or even five weeks…)

Talking of food, I have to say I’m rather chuffed about my experimental meal this week – another Raymond Blanc recipe, this one for fricassee of wild mushrooms. (I actually can’t find any wild ones in the shops, so I choose a selection of cultivated exotic ones instead.) The recipe is a bit involved, but the results, I have to say, are well worth it – My Good Lady and I thoroughly enjoy them.

But I suppose the highlight of my week has been my birthday. People have been ever so kind and considerate in their expressions of best wishes and to all of them I’d like to offer my sincerest thanks.

It really is great to have friends.

Free at last!

2010-04-27T03:35:00.002+01:00

I THINK TODAY is the first day I feel completely clear of stomach upset since contracting that nasty bout of food poisoning last week. And what a relief it is!

I was fearing that I’d be going off on our holidays next week with a lingering queasiness and a vague sense of nausea.

Previous encounters with bad food have sometimes affected me for months.

(Memo to myself: Avoid the shellfish whilst in France!)

It’s springtime - the time of year when an old man’s fancy turns lightly to thoughts of roast lamb. Unfortunately, it’s still a little early for that.

My Good Lady tells me we have some salt marsh lamb in the freezer – last year’s of course – which she’s happy to do for me for my big six-oh birthday on Wednesday; but on the whole I think I’d rather stay with plan A and go for the salmon en papillote.

By way of consolation, then, this evening, on our last-Monday-of-the-month meal, I opt for the usually excellent lamb henry at our local village hostelry, washed down with a good, honest pint of Lancaster Bomber bitter. Excellent!

(Memo to myself: Look out for agneau henri whilst in France!)

And it’s wonderful to feel I can enjoy my meal without the dreaded churned up sensation in the stomach that’s been my lot for the last week.

Free at last!

Feelin' queasy

2010-04-19T02:53:00.002+01:00

IT’S AN ODD thing, food poisoning.

I mean you know pretty well when you’ve got it, but not necessarily what’s caused it.

My Good Lady and I both seem to have gone down with it – she rather worse off than me.

With me it’s more like a gippy tum; it started on Friday just as we sat down to our evening meal – a Singapore-style oyster omelette – and all weekend I’ve been feeling vaguely unsettled and slightly nauseous.

It hasn’t affected my appetite, though, nor my sense of taste.

Sadly, this is not the case with MGL; she’s gone down with it today (Sunday), suddenly feeling uncomfortable just as she came back from church.

She complains of feeling seriously nauseous, so much so that she even has to go for an afternoon lie down.

She manages little of her dinner, one of my kipper and egg kedgerees, which she usually enjoys. She complains that all she can taste is salt, while the wine, a rather good Sancerre, is just overpoweringly gooseberry-ish. She manages little of either.

And immediately after dinner she goes to bed.

But that’s not the worst, a little later she has to go to the bathroom and there she’s rather violently sick.

I put her back to bed, and she seems settled for the moment.

The question is, though, what’s caused all this. Most of the meals we’ve had in the last few days have seemed innocent enough. The shellfish in the omelette might have been just a little off, but I was already feeling a bit queasy before I ate that.

The only suspect meal we’ve had was the stir-fry I made us last Monday – a fragrant beef with peppers thing, in which I overdid the soy sauces – but that’s nearly a week ago…

Anyhow, if we’re no better in a day or two I think we’re going to have to see the doctor. A serious bout of food poisoning – if indeed that’s what it is – can sometimes last for weeks.

Morecambe

2010-04-11T03:35:00.002+01:00

AS IT’S SUCH a fine spring day, My Good Lady asks me, as a little birthday treat, to take her along for a stroll along Morecambe promenade and especially to see the area around the old Midland Hotel and the stone jetty out to the old lighthouse.

They’ve done it up rather nicely, I must say.

The celebrated hotel has been completely restored, and we’re due to attend a wedding reception here next year.

The Art Deco building in fact looks a bit like a giant folly – a piece of whimsy on the part of its builders – a white concrete ship moored permanently at the edge of Morecambe sands.

Local papers have described the place as Morecambe’s great white hope – the beginning of the old seaside town’s modernisation and renovation.

Morecambe certainly needs it; compared to other such north-west towns like Blackpool and Southport, it really is in a sad pass.

This is a great pity, because Morecambe’s location, overlooking the wide expanse of the bay and the distant views of the Lakeland fells beyond, is really quite wonderful.

They’ve made a good start with the Midland and the stone jetty behind it, but there’s still much to be done with the rest of the town if it’s ever to compete with other English holiday destinations.

I just hope someone’s has the vision – and the money – to pull it off.