Us versus Them (part 4)

At this point of the football season, last year, I was crowing about my ability to be a prophet of football forecasting genius. This season, I have been brought down to Earth with a thundering crash. Not only have some of my predictions been wrong, some have been laughable bad.

For starters; for Blackpool to finish bottom of the table; they're going to have to lose the next 24 matches and frankly that looks unlikely. In fact, of my bottom three forecast only Wolves look like saving my blushes and even they arguably don't deserve to be there, having played some great football and yet only have 9 points after 14 games.

Then, I forecast that Bolton would narrowly avoid the drop, finishing in 17th place. Yesterday, Owen Coyle's team recorded their 4th straight win (which included a 4-2 thumping of my beloved Spurs) with a dismantling of Newcastle by 5-1. They are prolific scorers and were 4th until Citeh thumped Fulham today.

I forecast that west Ham would have a better season and finish 14th; at the moment they're bottom on 9 points, with a marginally worse goal difference than Wolves and look really crap. They're going to have to do a lot to avoid the drop and Avram Grant will probably get the sack in the next few weeks.

Sunderland are doing better than I forecast, Fulham doing much worse. The top 7 however could have been forecast with me extremely drunk. For starters, I believed that Roy Hodgson was going to transform the fortunes of the Red Shite. He has. Liverpool are worse this season than they were under the Fat Spanish Waiter. However, as crap as they are, they're still only 9th and even without their talisman Gerard, who is injured, they are holding their own in a league that is as crazy as a nun with a pick axe.

I also forecast that Man U would drop out of the top 4 and flounder. At this point - over a third of the season gone - they are unbeaten and level on points with Chelsea, who are there by virtue of having won lots and drawn hardly any. They have lost 4 times, which shows you how many times SAF's team have drawn games.

As for my belief that the Arse would win the league... Heh... Heh heh. They got beaten by Spurs at the Emirates yesterday after leading 2-0. It's the third time they lost at home and that isn't the form of champions; but saying that, some commentators are suggesting if Spurs play like they did in the second half of that game and with everyone else dropping points everywhere else, they could be a surprise package for champions. This is my team and they are the only team to have lost to West Ham this season. The Hammers made Spurs look ordinary. Bolton made Spurs look poor last week. However, if spurs continue to upset the odds and win a few more games they shouldn't (on paper) then a top 4 finish isn't out of the question. Even if they are performing beyond everyone's expectations in the Champions League. The defeat of Arsenal was brilliant, but thumping Inter at the Lane and wiping that fat twat Rafa Benitez's smug smile off his face was still my highlight of the season by far!

Enough of the Premier League for the time being - more in March.

My gut feeling for the League cup - Everton - are out. Man U, my tip, are still in it and I think this will be their only trophy this season.

My tips for the Championship - QPR and Cardiff are 1st and 2nd. My powers of prophecy appear to have slipped down a division or three. I also said Northampton would struggle at the bottom of League 2 and they aren't disappointing (well, actually, they are really disappointing, but it isn't unexpected, especially when you dismantle the team that finished so well last season and replace it with 70% of a new, untested, team. Stevenage's season is panning out exactly as I forecast.

I also wrote this at the beginning of August: As for England and the new squad. Ho-hum. ... I'm not dramatically hopeful of any kind of improvement. The future is bereft of English talent at the moment.

It would appear that I still have the power of prophecy when it comes to guessing the 'kin obvious!

What Have We Sown?

I'm going to delve into something highly controversial and decidedly inflammatory. I'm going to risk the wrath of some good friends and I'm going to ridicule people I wouldn't dream of doing it to in person. Sorry, but I was once known as 'Phil the cunt' ...

I have this pad on my desk; I write down stuff that I want to extrapolate on in my blog. Sometimes its a couple of words, normally its a sentence or two, so that I know what kind of tack I'm taking with the extrapolation.

There is a growing phenomenon, especially with a specific social networking site, that is slowly killing the art of real time conversation. This weird anomaly is people who live with each other having conversations on Facebook - in public.

I was first alerted to this strange behaviour by a good friend, who mentioned that two people close to his heart were holding a conversation in Facebook chat while sitting on the same sofa. He rightly pointed out that what took about ten minutes could have been achieved in seconds had these two people bothered to speak to each other!

So over the last couple of months I've seen all manner of things on Facebook that has just made me go, 'Wha..?' A few examples: two married people sending each other wall posts; people living together making comments in each others status updates - and I'm not talking about witty or amusing bon mots here, I'm talking about bland and boring shit that could be kept between the two of them in the frigging kitchen. Or how about the profession of love between two people; yeah they might think its great to profess undying love for each other in front of all their mutual friends, but it really is just sick inducing. If you want to get all lovey dovey, then do it in the bedroom with the curtains drawn, for God's sake!

Is Facebook destroying the art of conversation more than television ever could? Well;, you could argue that it's stimulating conversation. These people are communicating with each other - after a fashion - so it all can't be bad. Can it?

You could argue that status updates, like Joe Public tweets, are only interesting to the person who writes it and maybe, very occasionally, others who feel the need to make a witty comment about it. I'm just as guilty of putting banal bollocks in my "What's on your mind" box; but I know for sure that if my wife (you remember her) had a Facebook account I would avoid responding to anything she said because she spends 50% of her life with me anyway!

Can you imagine me shouting this at you in an incredulous way? Good, because that's how strongly I feel about it! Maybe not as strongly as the fuck up the ConDems are making of my country, or the fact the BBC are a bunch of worthless twats who rival News International in their own self-serving way, but enough for me to wonder if most of my friends and acquaintances all need a good boot up the arse!

***

I did something yesterday and this morning that I've never ever done before and it didn't involve any form of strange or degrading sexual activity!

I listened to an audiobook.

I listened to UR by Stephen King, read by some geeza called Holter Graham. I downloaded the audio version because I wasn't about to buy a Kindle to read it.

I can even review this story in a really succinct way. Here goes: Meh.

***

Incidentally, speaking of Mr King. I also read Blockade Billy. I don't really understand baseball, therefore most of the 81 pages of it were meaningless. I can also review this very short story in a very succinct way. Here goes: Shit.

I want his new book of four novellas for Christmas. The words: For, Glutton and Punishment seem to spring to mind.

***

I've been trying to get Roger to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer for years. He normally takes my recommendations on board and 99% of the time thoroughly enjoys them; but he's constantly resisted this series.

I watched the finale of season two the other day and while it has to be said that the special effects are no longer special and some of the set pieces have a definite whiff about them; it is still a thoroughly brilliant TV series, one that deals with issues in a superb way and a series that still to this day has my favourite single episode of television in its canon. For those who would be interested, that is The Body, which, even today, has me laughing, crying and remembering that even superheroes have to face the reality of sudden death.

***

Nostalgia, eh? It's not what it used to be...

***

Right. That's enough of that. I'm being taken down the pub by Ex-wonky Finger Man and One Ell. So I'll leave you this with this thought: Bollocks!

Hard Day's Night

Let's lighten things up a bit...

The picture to my left is edited. I can't get the original anywhere apart from inside today's G2 (The Guardian's tabloid shaped daily insert). It's a good picture of the woman who will be queen. However, I'm confused. You see the full version of this picture of Kate Middleton outside Blenheim Palace in 2004 shows off her ample thighs and one wonders if there has been a block put on the full picture because they make her look like she has legs that could crush ol' jug Ears' first son's cranium should he delve anywhere near them during bedroom antics; if you catch my drift! There is also the fact that it's one of the few pictures - in its entirety - that makes Ms Middleton look a bit horsey and possibly likes nothing better than to go orf on a hunt or sit around on a horse with a shotgun slung over one arm and a bloodied fox over t'other.

I know someone who went to school with William's mother. The big issue back in the early 1980s was whether or not she was a virgin; I mean, you couldn't have the future King of England getting married to some old tart who'd had more pricks in her than a second hand dart board, could you? I'm betting that Kate and Wills have been making the beast with two backs for over 8 years; either that or he's got a really cramped right hand and she's going into the wedding as a frustrated would be spinster!

Good luck to her; she needs it.

***

While searching for the previously mentioned picture, I found a picture of Rush's lead singer and bass guitarist, Geddy Lee amongst the 'Kate Middleton Getty images Blenheim Palace' search. Yes, it threw me a little as well; so I clicked on it and saw that some Canadian news agency was canvassing famous Canadians for their reaction to the Royal Engagement (have you noticed how its all proper nouns now?). Unfortunately for all of us I couldn't find Geddy's comments. I know how gutted you all must be...

***

So, yeah, in case you hadn't noticed there's going to be an austerity Royal Wedding; just to cheer us all up a bit when everything else is shit in a handbasket with an express ticket to Hell. Call me cynical, but I just had this vision of Dave calling up the Queen and saying, "What ho, old gal, we're in a bit of a pickle and those blasted socialists will be back in power before you can say tax evasion, unless we do something to take their minds orf it. I can't very well start a war, no money in the old coffers you see and besides that woman you didn't like has already tried that. Any chance of a royal wedding? What? What?"

What does it all mean for us? Possibly a paid day orf work? Lots of worthless memorabilia? 24/7 televisual bollocks? Lots of faked Kate Middleton porn cropping up on the net? I just hope the latter is done with a semblance of originality - she hasn't got whacking great norks (but she does have thunderous thighs!).

***

I remember embarrassing the wife at an art gallery in Cumbria many years ago by declaring that modern art is well and truly just a load of arse. I haven't changed my mind. I mean, face it, anyone can cut a cow in half and dunk it in formaldehyde; even I could do an installation based on what my bedroom looks like after a few days of not tidying it up (I can also dress up in drag and look like an old dog); we could design some pots and dress up in woman's clothing and look like we've just escaped from a mental institution. Or alternatively, you can hire ex number of thousand Chinese labourers to work for bugger all painting little porcelain seed shaped things to look like half a million sunflower seeds that you can then tip over the floor of the Tate Modern and pass it off as art.

Some modern art isn't even art. It's just pretentious bollocks presented by loud and extroverted wankers who believe their own hype and are blessed with other wankers believing them. Because, if you want to be in the In Crowd then you have to appreciate this kind of wanky jizzum.

But, saying that; there's a new ballet coming out that's set during the blitz. I want to say something, but I think I'll just settle for ?????

***

Part one of my 17th of November health day is over. It would have been a health trilogy, but my physio assessment has been cancelled until December 22nd. Yes, after waiting 3 weeks, I got a call yesterday saying the person I had to see was off sick (I could see the irony) and the next available appointment is 3 days before that thing that happens the week before New Year.

So, the dentist is really pleased that I've stopped smoking and now wants to give me teeth and gums a good deep cleaning. I can see my fear of dentists returning, I really can...

Part two is in an hour. There might be an addendum to this.

***

Good pal Roger has had one of his wonky fingers hacked about by a mad surgeon. He just sent me a picture of his heavily bandaged hand sticking out of his brightly coloured dressing gown with the word 'ouch' accompanying it. I could see what looked like blood on the bandage.

I am squeamish.

***

I have the utmost respect for Aung San Suu Kyi; she's been under house arrest for best part of her adult life; she's campaigned tirelessly for pro-democracy in Burma and lives in a country where us Brits have no comprehension of how bad it must be if we don't agree with the ruling Junta.

But seriously, you would have thought she would have had a day off. She gets released from her imposed arrest and what's the first thing she does? She's back on the same political schpiel that got her locked up in the first place. Advocating peaceful revolution is one way of getting right up the Burmese government's nose. You would have thought she would have taken a day off, gone and visited some relatives; had a day at the beach, gone and looked around all the new shops in her local city. But no, there she is holding interviews with every news agency that is prepared to shove a camera up her nose. I really hope she doesn't get into trouble, but one can't help think that if she does get stuck back under house arrest, she's the only person to blame...

***

We're a week away from The Ashes - the periodical cricket series between England (with a lot of ex-South Africans) and Australia. The betting has it swinging backwards and forwards between who is fancied to win this test of cricketing notoriety. We haven't beaten the Aussies on their own turf for a long time, nearly 30 years I believe and they are allegedly in decline, while we're ahead of them in the cricket world rankings for the first time since WG Grace played test cricket (or so you'd think).

Everybody's bigging up our chances of causing an upset and coming home with the replica urn of burnt stump ashes, of which the real one stays at the MCC in Lords in perpetuity unless Prince Charles goes to Sydney for some cottaging. Personally, I think we're going to lose, simply because every one thinks we're going to win, so by the time the 4th test on Boxing Day comes along, we're all going to be crying into our mulled wine and wondering what we have to do. Meanwhile Ricky Ponting will have crept even higher up the Death Wish List of anyone who knows owt about crickit!

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In case you've forgotten; there's going to be a Royal Wedding next year. Are you sick of it yet?

***

New bits - added extra addendum!

I have spondylosis, which is a problem that will never go away but with proper management will be kept at bay. I have also been suffering from a prolapsed disc, which has been fucking up my sciatic nerve and causing me all this pain and differing it to other places. This is a relief, even if I'm not getting that much pain relief. Have an appointment at the spinal injuries clinic next month and they will assess whether or not I'll need surgery!

***

Monster mash!

I had a really colourful dinner, the recipe of which I will put up in Glass Onion (part F), but the upshot was it was the most colourful meal I've ever had. Yellow for sweetcorn, green for broccoli, red for peppers, white for cauliflower, a brownish gloop with various other vegetables in it and purple mash...

Purple mash?

Oh yes. Majesty potatoes make very nice mashed potatoes. The only thing is they come out a dark lilac colour. It's quite off putting really; you don't expect actual purple food. yeah, you can get purple sprouting broccoli and purple dwarf beans but they lose that colour and revert to green. only aubergines stay their colour and you sort of expect that. having bright purple mash is disconcerting. very nice, but disconcerting!

Judas Cradle

The day I started to 'go out' with my wife was January 29th, 1983. It almost didn't happen. I was a whisker away from moving to Maidstone with my parents, who had just accepted a new job running a social club at a big nut house in the Kent town. I had all but packed my stuff, when I suddenly had a change of heart. My folks were actually okay about me staying in their house; they were going to rent it out.

On the evening of the 29th, I had just got back from helping them move. I was alone in my own little bachelor pad. I had this idea in my head that it was going to become a Shag Palace.

Several weeks earlier, I had gotten involved in a drama group at Lings Theatre - it was this, er, theatre that was attached to my old school and I was asked by a guy called Stuart Blake (who had been one of the community workers based at my old school, when I went there) if I wanted to help with the formation of this youth group. I had little to do, so I accepted. It was here that I met the woman who would become my wife.

[Now, this preamble isn't the beginning of a history of my marriage, it was however important for a couple of things. Firstly the date and secondly the location. Below is a map and on the map are two white boxes with the letters A and B in them. I will explain all as this blog entry is revealed.]

I don't think it was the party at Kevin Benstead's house that convinced me to stay in Northampton, but it was the thing I intended to go to on my first night in my own place. I had my motorbike and nothing else planned; so at about 8pm - after having a takeaway from round the corner - I set off to try and find this place (which is shown by the A in the white box at the top right of the picture).

The rest, they say, is history...

On January 29, 1998, a full 15 years after I met my wife and on the dreaded Dryden Ward at Northampton General Hospital, my mother died. It was one of the worst days of my life and it should have been one of the happiest. Patricia Hall (nee Rodway) was a tremendous woman (yeah, I know, you expect me to say that, but the thing was most people thought my mum was a bit of an angel; in fact, she was one half of a truly angelic double act). She died far too early; she was 64, and it was all down to the fact that she smoked about 40 cigarettes a day and had been smoking since she was 6. yes, 6. It was her only vice and she loved a fag; she'd wake up twice in the night just to have one...

My mum is buried in Kingsthorpe Cemetary, right underneath the little white box with a B in it. It wasn't for a couple of years that I realised that she was buried less than 200 yards from where I effectively started my marriage.

Now, coincidences don't finish there. My folks were married on September 13, 1952 and had celebrated 45 years of marriage a few months before mum died. They had a by and large very happy marriage; the biggest headache for them was undoubtedly... um... me.

The wife and I got married on September 13, 1986. We figured that if my parents (who my wife adored) could have a long and happy marriage, then we would try and emulate them and so, we got married on the same day. We will celebrate 25 years of marriage next September. Oddly enough, I remember my parents' Silver Wedding anniversary very well; it was a low key affair at their house in Boothville. Their three sons were there and my godparents. If my godparents are well enough to travel next September, I'd like them to come to our party next year. They were, after all, my folks' best friends and they're my godparents.

Anyhow, my dad lasted five years without the love of his life. He spent five pretty miserable years existing. There was no better way of describing it. He was never the same man again; not after she died. On October 1st, 2003, he passed away from a massive aneurysm. It was again one of those devastating things you live to forget about.

Unlike my mother's death, which is imprinted on my memory and will never, ever, go away. I wasn't at the Southport hospital when dad died. I had been there a week earlier, a few days after he came out of surgery and in a coma. I intended to go and see him again when he started to pull out of it. I mean, he was as strong as an ox and if any man in his 60s could pull through a life threatening surgery it was Ron Hall senior.

He didn't...

I got the call from my brother the day before he died. He wasn't going to pull through. In fact, he was slipping away. Ron junior told me that Steve, my middle brother would pick me up. I said, 'No.' I couldn't do it. I'd been told that the 8 days he'd been in a coma had ravaged his body and he looked bad. I had visions imprinted on my mind about how bad my mum had deteriorated during her last few days alive and I couldn't face it. I'd seen him a week earlier; kissed him goodbye then. I couldn't do it again...

My dad had stopped smoking after my mum died; like her he loved his cigs; but he'd had a heart attack and while he wanted nothing more than to join his love, he wasn't going to encourage it. He still had 3 sons, 4 grandchildren and at least two daughter-in-laws who cared for him more than he felt he deserved. He did the lottery every week, even after mum died. He always said, if he won he could make sure all of us were financially stable. The last words he said to my brother Ron as he was being wheeled into surgery were, "Bloody hell, Ronnie, I forget to get my lottery tickets."

I tried to give up smoking in 1998. I failed miserably. My brother Steve tried and he's been stopped for 12½ years. I tried to pack up after Dad died. I actually managed to do it for 18 months. No nicotine based products passed my lips for a year and a half (although, to be fair, I didn't really stop smoking, if you know what I mean). During this 18 months, I started to dream again and on one night I had this dream where me, the wife, our two old dogs and my parents were in our old house in Wellingborough. We were sitting there, not doing a lot. I woke up and felt like a million dollars.

Last night, I dreamt about them both again. Dreams about them are as rare as rocking horse shit and I don't know what prompted it. I mean, I think about them every day and I still love and miss them both so much it hurts (after writing the paragraph above the last one, I was blubbing like a 5 year old). I miss my mum more, because she was my best friend; yet I get more upset when I think about my dad - weird that. Anyhow, last night's dream was very much like my life with my folks. It was a travel dream. I have a lot of travel dreams; they're brought on by anxiety. I have to be honest, I've been thinking that perhaps I have something serious wrong with me. It's been 6 weeks since my back went and while it is better, the affects of it haven't really got any better. I still limp like I've hurt my leg; my joints ache like a bastard - everything from my fingers to my ankles (but I haven't got arthritis - a blood test proved that) and I still don't feel well. It might all be to do with being incapacitated for so long; it might have something to do with having stopped smoking substances that I've ingested for 31 years; or it might be something wrong...

The details of the dream aren't staying. It involved driving and getting somewhere. My mum was far more prominent in it than my dad; she seemed to have a lot to say and while I can't remember any of it, I remember that she was trying to tell me not to worry. She was, after all, the woman who could do wonders for me in times of genuine stress. She was my safety net and I never really let her know how much I depended on her. I could talk to her about things that I'd never dream of discussing with my dad, so having her in this dream was apt.

Someone asked me a long time ago if dreaming about my parents wasn't upsetting. I looked at them totally incredulously. Upsetting? Never. They're both dead and I'm not a religious person; so I don't believe I will ever see them again, unless its in my dreams. So when I see them in the land of nod, it is something to celebrate, to be happy about. They're the same as they always were in my dreams and that makes me happy.

Glass Onion (part E)

Before anything else. Majesty. They're potatoes and they're purple. Not just skins, but all the way through. Totally purple spuds. Sainsbury's sell them and they're produced by Bartletts, the same people who produce Roosters - the red spuds that are allegedly good for most things. We had a couple of Majesty with dinner last night and they taste like potatoes, have a slightly floury texture and are apparently very good mashed. How weird would that be - bright purple mashed potatoes!

Anyhow...

Leek and (not purple) Potato soup

Although, one wonders what this would be like if you used purple spuds...

2 big leeks - sliced and chopped up into quarters - so small bits of leek

6 medium potatoes - now the one I'm doing today has 6 Anya and 2 Red Duke of York - the Anya are small to medium and essentially a salad spud, the RDofY are a floury spud that will slowly dissolve the longer its cooked for; but you could use Maris Pipers, King Edwards, Kestrel, basically whatever left over spuds you might have apart from the likes of Cara or Osprey which are both really crappy.

1 onion - chopped finely

4 bay leaves

One 2" round of butternut squash, chopped into small cubes

1 ltr vegetable stock

Freshly ground pepper

1tsp coriander powder

3 tbsp fresh cream (optional)

Sweat the leeks and onion down, add the spuds, add the coriander powder, bay leaves and squash, add the stock and pepper, leave to simmer for about an hour. The longer you let it cook for the richer it gets. When finished, get a potato masher and mash the soup. I used to blend it, but this way you keep some lumpy bits in it, making it more of a country styled soup. Add the cream if you want it rich and creamy.

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Quorn Spag Bol

Obviously this isn't a spag bol at all, it's really a sort of bastardised version of savoury mince and some kind of half-arsed spaghetti dish. It's also one of those things that I throw together rather than 'measure'; so all the ingredients are mainly guess work and depends on what you have in the freezer.

Some quorn mince

1 medium onion

3 cloves of garlic

some diced mixed peppers

some mushrooms

1 tin of tomatoes - blitzed

a stick of celery - diced

1 small carrot - diced

some fresh or dried basil

splash of red wine

a tsp vegetable stock powder

some diced quorn bacon bits

This is really lazy, but once I've fried the onions, celery, carrot and quorn mince for a while, I just chuck the rest in the pan and stick the lid on for about 45 minutes until about half an hour before I serve it, then I throw the quorn bacon bits in and check the seasoning. If its light on taste I might put a dollop of Marmite in it, which occasionally gives it some depth. Like my chilli, it's essentially a throw everything in and forget about it dish.

***

Vegetable hotpot

This is something I created because it was something that I missed from when I was a meat eater and like many soups it'll never quite compare but it's still a fave in this house.

I do two versions of this. One is more like the old standard hotpot I used to have, which I prefer and the other is more like a casserole, which the wife prefers. You need an oven proof Pyrex styled dish, small to large sized, depending on how many you're doing it for. You also need something that I no longer see for sale anywhere and that's dried chestnuts. We picked loads of them this year - English ones - and dried them out in the bottom of the oven for about 6 hours, but they work and they add a real depth to this dish - without them it's a bit meh. vacuum packed ones are okay, but the problem is this is something that needs to be in the oven for a minimum of 2½ hours and by the end of cooking the vacuum chestnuts get obliterated and you want them to remain there, not just for flavour but for texture too.

The recipe for 1 is as follows - just increase it accordingly if you're cooking it for more.

½ an onion

½ stick of celery

1 small carrot

½ dozen dried chestnuts

8 or 9 chunks of quorn chicken or beef styled chunks, that has been marinated in

½ pint of vegetable stock with extra white pepper (you can also put the dried chestnuts in this or use more chestnuts and leave the quorn out)

2 bay leaves

3 mushrooms diced - and a few dried ones, if you have them. this is all about flavour and I have loads of dried varieties this year.

½ diced ripe tomato (optional)

½ tsp mixed herbs or a bouquet garni

some floury spuds, peeled and then cut into half at the thinnest point.

Chuck all the ingredients into your dish and leave for a while to stew; when you're ready to stick them in the oven, put your cut spuds on the top, arranging them so that the majority of the contents is covered. because this is going in the oven for a long time, I advise against having sliced spuds; they'll dry out too quick and go crunchy and what you want is spuds that have soaked up all the excess liquid and have a nice hard, crunchy top. Bung this in the pre-heated oven at about 150 for about 2 hours, checking to make sure the liquid hasn't disappeared; if it gets low top it up, normally just some warm water will do. For the last 45 minutes, turn the temp up to 200 so it gets a nice crunchy spud outer topping.

For the casserole version, use the tomato and add a heaped tbsp of tomato puree to the liquid mixture, cook it at a slightly higher temperature, say 160 and then give it an hour at 200, so that the liquid turns into a thick gloopy sauce.

***

Mushrooms and Gruyère on Ciabatta

This is something I put together for a dinner party and ended up as a really nice lunch time snack. It's great with wild mushrooms, but as most of you wouldn't know an edible wild mushroom from a hole in the ground, you might have to make do with whatever you can get from the supermarket. A mix of ordinary buttons, chestnut, oyster types work nicely - I'd avoid shiitake and Enoki mushrooms - too tough or inconsequential.

A load of mushrooms

some butter & oil

a couple of cloves of crushed garlic

some chives

seasoning - maybe a splash of white wine or some brandy

Chuck all of this into a pan and fry quickly - you don't want to stew them, so make sure the butter/oil is as hot as you can get it without burning the butter.

While that is flash frying, slice your ciabatta in half and grate your cheese. When the mushrooms are cooked, pile them on your bread, carefully spooning the liquid onto the top so that it soaks into the ciabatta. Put a handful of cheese (doesn't have to be Gruyère, but it's tasty and stringy) and then shove it either in a very hot oven (my preference) or under a hot grill.

Eat with your hands!

***

I will get around to meat at some point. I've been asked for my Chicken/Turkey soup recipe - which, even if I say so myself has become legendary (I haven't had it for over 15 years, so it might not be as I remember it). I've also got this really interesting variation of Toad in the Hole which my mum invented and I rather miss because there really isn't a veggie alternative and there's an interesting thing with Turkey livers that beats other liver dishes hands down (which, to be fair I have recreated as a veggie dish, but like hotpot sometimes meat dopes make things taste so much better!)

Compositions For The Young And Old

Poncey - my word of the day.

Sunday mornings seem full of cookery programmes; from Nigella's unbelievably fake kitchen - today she went 'hunter gathering' not in the woods or the fields, but bloody Waitrose! To some shit on Channel 5 where a cook was showing off his nice gadget that allows him to put creamed onions on a plate in a perfect rectangle - gah! Actually, that wasn't the worst thing about this programme; twice they referred to seasonal things - wild mushrooms (which have just about finished now, unless you want overblown field blewitts) and asparagus!!! Well, it's in season if you live in Peru.

Seriously, don't we want cooking programmes that actually apply to the majority of people watching?

***

This morning, The Observer has a column, from one of its more serious columnists, about how Strictly Come Dancing has lost its credibility... Duh... Apparently (I don't know as I've never watched it and never will) it has a panel of judges who determine who is best and worst at dancing, but then this panel of judges is ignored in favour of the British public's own voting preference; which means that regardless of how much Ann Widdicombe is dragged around the floor as a kind of sentient floor mop, she's now in with a chance of winning the show because people are voting for her to stay. I wasn't aware that SCD was a comedy show. Anyhow, what is the point of having a panel of judges if the bottom line is decided by a public that paradoxically watches this shit in the first place and thinks it would be cool to allow a fat, unfuckable, fascist to remain while allegedly talented people get kicked off?

Also in the Observer was their Picture of the Week: from the new Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part 1). It has, as you can see, our three heroes all grown up. Now keep this image in your head, because I'm going to seem like I'm digressing...

On Friday, on the Graham Norton Show, there were four guests; Colin Farrell, Rhianna, Rhod Gilbert and hot from the premiere of the above film, one Daniel Radcliffe. Apart from being a really tiny fella, Radcliffe looked totally overwhelmed. It was like he couldn't believe he was in the presence of Rhod Gilbert, let alone the two A listers. He was self-effacing, slightly embarrassed and totally human. You can't help like the bloke. He was even prepared to make a tit of himself and yet he was treated by the 3 fellow guests like he was the true A list celebrity there.

Now, look again at the picture to the left. Look at the poppies the three of them are wearing. Watson and Grint are sporting designer poppies, which I believe retail for about £80 each. Yeah, they might have bought them, but Radcliffe is wearing a bog standard poppy, the kind you buy off the corner of a street from a war veteran.

Don't you think that it looks better on him than the designer ones do on his lesser supporting cast? Would you also agree that it sort of makes him look as though Armistice Day might mean more to him?

***

Just a little mention for a genius. Bob Mould - nuff said.

***

Roger said on the way home from the restaurant last night that he'd seriously considered writing a review of the place before we went; but had opted against it.

The reason was simple; sometimes my favourite food place in the world is a bit of a let down. Pooja, the real Indian restaurant in Wellingborough, is a real haven for great vegetarian food; but once in a while it all seems to go to pot. Last night was one of those rare occasions where they screwed up; yet it all started so well.

I think one of the problems is that we use the place so much we've sort of become like old furniture. There's a familiarity and informality there now that seems to transcend actual service and courtesy. Last night, we got our starters in double quick time - our spouses receiving a plate of potato bhajiya - a wonderful mix of slice spud, gram flour and delicate spices deep fried - and Roger and I our chilli paneer and mogo chips. it was all fresh and piping hot.

However, by the time our main courses arrived something had gone wrong. Roger and the wives had all ordered dosas - which are essentially crispy pancakes filled with a spicy bubble and squeak like mixture. they are quite wonderful; but they really need to be hot. That's hot as in temperature. I was having my favourite meal of all time Kadai Bengun Aloo - or potato and aubergine curry and for a change I opted for a vegetable pilao rather than just plain rice. The dosas were all cold, or lukewarm at best. My curry was okay, but the rice was stone cold.

I rarely complain, but this once I was going to. There is nothing worse at an Indian restaurant than having cold rice. There is nothing worse than the waiter trying to pass it off and attempt to put said cold rice on your plate, insisting that it was hot under the cold top. I stopped him and insisted I had hot rice. He relented, but I wasn't happy. Yes, we eat at this place about 9 times a year and we're friends with the owner and manager; but we also expect good service. Former waiter, Lallis, who went back to Gujarat in 2008 is sorely missed, as his replacement has taken our friendship with his employers as a friendship with him and seems to think we'll expect substandard food because of this relationship.

The manager, Myood, seemed intent on giving us a big bag of Indian sweets as we were leaving; almost as if he was aware we weren't happy. It made me feel slightly embarrassed, because in the 9 years we've been going to this place, he has always been the most cordial of gentlemen. It isn't going to stop us from going, but it has made us a little reluctant about doing it again so soon...

***

The new car has been purchased. It's a bit weird; having a new(ish) car. It takes getting used to. If its a 2nd hand car then there are other things that you worry about. Is that smell normal? Should it do that? Did the guy at the car showroom lie through his teeth about putting a tenner's worth of petrol in it and if he did how come it's all gone in a 22 mile round trip?

Remarkably, it seems the Zafira is actually bigger than the Doblo. Obviously not as boxy or as tall, but a lot longer, which will make parallel parking interesting until we both get used to driving it. I think the wife was amazed at my patience towards her yesterday; I didn't seem (nor feel) to give her a hard time about getting used to driving it. And so it should be!

***

Controversy time:

I'm a bit of a pacifist. I don't believe in the armed forces, therefore Remembrance Sunday means nothing to me at all. People who want to die for their country, especially in butt holes like Iraq and Afghanistan aren't big or clever; they're stupid. The armed forces top brass who feel we should spend more money on this fictional war against terror should all be offered the chance to go and work for country's that actually need generals. Supporting 'our boys' is supporting war and violence and hurt and grief and pain. I'm not being disrespectful, I'm being realistic.

If I was in charge of the country I'd turn our armed forces into the equivalent of Norway's. Just enough to defend our shores, if really necessary and maybe a few extra to bolster the UN's peace corps. I'd scrap all nuclear weapons and actively encourage Muslims to join my nice little defensive army. Not only would it save shit loads of money, but might stop us from being a potential target of fundamentalists.

Obviously it wouldn't work, because we're a belligerent warmongering country. But I can dream.

The Musical Box

Despite watching Never Mind the Buzzcocks for what seems like an eternity. This week's one was quite brilliant and all I can suggest is the guest presenter is kept on forever.

I was only thinking how, maybe, I was getting a wee bit too old for the show; so many people on it that I had no idea who they were and a mentality that appeared to pick on one specific guest every week. However, this week, even the two captains seemed spellbound by the guest presenter. Some bloke called Terry Wogan and by God was he the dog's buzzcocks! I haven't laughed so much at this show for years, but then again I've believed Wogan to be a genius since his days on Blankety Blank. (Plus the comedian Rufus Hound is like a cross between Eddie Izzard and my good pal Jay Eales...) If you can find it on the iPlayer - watch it; it's fecking brilliant!

I miss Terry's morning show on BBC Radio 2. I can't listen to Evans, despite him apparently being more popular than God...

Speaking of bonkers TV; you really need to watch Autumnwatch Unsprung every Thursday. It is, well, bonkers TV. Quite brilliantly made, thoroughly entertaining and who the hell needs Bill Oddie?

Equally entertaining is Giles and Sue do the Good Life also on BBC2. If the rest of the series is as entertaining as the first one then BBC2 are likely to be the channel discerning TV viewers will choose between now and that rather over publicised event that takes place in the week before New Year...

***

Quick health update: Today - Friday - I attempted to go through the entire day, for the first time in 5 weeks, without taking a painkiller. It is now 3 minutes to midnight and I can't really understand why I wanted to do something like that... Perhaps it was the fear that I might be building up a resistance or tolerance to them. trust me; that hasn't happened yet. One thing I did notice was that considering I haven't got arthritis, just about every joint in my body was aching today.

I've now gone 6 weeks without any nicotine or smoke entering my body - I'm a bit chuffed at myself!

***

That was last night; this is now...

Some people have a way of surprising you, while others continue along in the way you want to remember them. During all my years involved in the comics industry, there were, to be fair, very few 'cool' people. Even some of my best friends had an element of nerdism about them. I always claimed that I was the most normal person in comics, which might explain why I did so well considering I was just a half-arsed writer for a tin pot comics magazine.

Two things happened this week that directly link to the above paragraph. The first was discovering that comics inker Jimmy Palmiotti has a blog - http://jimmypalmiotti.blogspot.com/ Nothing unusual about that, I hear you cry. No, but it seems to be a straightforward mix of spotlights on comics artists and soft porn pics.

Once upon a time, I was involved in a highly amusing (I thought so) group of individuals called Spoof Central, who basically wrote comics spoof stories. There was an element of madness about them and unlike the puerile comics humour that still exists, this was a project that attempted to HIGNFY comics magazine and websites - because, let's face it, the comics industry is so far up its own arse it tickles its own epiglottis. Any of you who have any idea how the comics industry and its fan are will know this was an idea guaranteed to fail and miserably. Even in the successful days of Borderline, the World of Heros column, by the mad as a clunge Chris Spicer was constantly attacked for not being funny, or for being too invasive. Comics fans, you see, put their comics and their comics creators on pedestals so high that they look down on clouds. Have a go at these demigods and you will receive death threats or dog shit filled parcels through your door.

The Spoof Central team had a few comics creators who they targeted, all in the name of satire and comedy, and one of them was Jimmy Palmiotti, who, unlike many others, came out of it remarkably well. The reason was The Sopranos was a huge hit at the time and Jimmy was portrayed as this Mafioso styled comics guru who broke your legs (or worse) if you crossed him or his people. In fact, Jimmy was the Tony Soprano of the comics industry and it was one of the running jokes of the columns - check some of them out here: http://www.comicsbulletin.com/spoof/archive.htm but be warned, you probably won't understand any of them!

How about that for a digression? Palmiotti's blog does however seem to be worth visiting, especially if you like comics and tits.

The other comics related story that I heard this week was about the immensely untalented former editor of Comics International, one Mike Conroy. The man responsible for completely destroying a magazine that was already slowly atrophying. Conroy inherited the editorship mantle of the magazine I used to work for and managed in the space of several months to turn it from a moderately well patronised monthly magazine into a totally unpatronised magazine that appeared when there was a Z in the month. I believe he managed to produce 4 issues in 4 years, thus turning it into an annual without really trying (which, I believe was the story of his life).

Apparently, he was at a recent comics thing in London and was spotted by a dear (as in expensive) friend of mine, who reported this: [Conroy] looks like death warmed up and his new CI replacement venture is doomed before it begins - he was wandering around apologising to dealers because the first issue's delayed (thus fucking up a lot of advertisers who are already asking for their money back) due to investors pulling out. Also, the thing looks like a piece of shit.

To say this brightened up a crap week is both spiteful and bloody hilariously true!

The sad truth is that comics magazines are a thing of the past and if you have any hope of making one work you need to be several things - good at what you do, have some design acumen and not be a tortoise in a world of hares - none of the things my former colleague has. The other sad thing is he was once a pretty decent bloke - there are many out there that still believe this -but he did a series of unbelievably c*ntish things over the space of 5 years between 1997 and 2002, which I can only believe has allowed some really bad karma into his life.

Anyhow, moving on...

***

Going to pick up the wife's newish car now. I just hope it proves to be a good buy and gives us the kind of service the old Doblo did.