Glass Onion (part F)

Quick cheap and easy stuff...

Bubble & Squeak

Most people know of this or have their own variation; but it is essentially a mixture of potatoes and greens fried in a big pan. You can use cabbage, sprouts or even sprouting broccoli; some people I know throw stuff like leftover carrots, peas, green beans in. It has always been a leftovers mishmash.

I tend to make it as a fresh thing. I never ever cook too many potatoes or sprouts, so it's something I prepare, especially when I really fancy it. Over the years I've refined my version slightly and therefore there isn't a hard and fast amount of ingredients.

What I do if I'm having it for myself is prepare about 4 medium sized spuds and about 9 or 10 brussels. These are cooked, remembering to leave some bite on the sprouts. I then chop up some mushrooms and a small onion; maybe even a bit of pepper, if I'm feeling extravagant. I then chuck these into a hot pan and flash fry them, before tipping in my spud and sprout mixture, which I've attacked with a sharp knife. I then fry the hell out of it so there is a mixture of soft and crispy textures. Goes well with veggie sausages, fried duck eggs, even a hearty veggie pie; but the truth is it goes well with whatever you fancy it with, or even on its own with lashings of brown sauce!

***

There is no specific name for this, I've sort of christened it...

Mushroom Gloop

This is one of those things that utilises all kinds of ready prepared or packet stuff and I make no apologies.

You need:

1 onion

½ lb of mushrooms

1 pepper or 2 halves of different coloured peppers

1 tin of cream of mushroom soup

some quorn chicken style pieces (or a determinate number of quorn fillets)

1 tsp paprika

salt and pepper

Fry the onion, add the peppers and the quorn and fry until the quorn starts to brown. Then add the mushrooms and fry until these are cooked. Then add your paprika and fry, adding a little liquid if necessary - sometimes a drop of white wine works if you have any to hand; a drop of veggie stock or even some plain old water. Open your tin of soup and add that stir fried mess in your pan - remember to do this in a large frying pan or you'll come unstuck. Mix together, season and serve with mashed potatoes and I think it goes very well with cauliflower - especially if you tip the sauce over the florets - or broccoli.

This obviously works with both chicken and pork; in fact, I invented it with pork chops way back and it was one of the few things I did that my mum adopted!

***

No Chicken Noodle Soup

There are some Swiss bouillons out there that offer low salt versions or even low salt organic versions. They double up as a veggie Bovril styled hot drink alternative, but I always find them just a little too... intense. Not enough water and they are too in yer face; too much water and they become wishy washy.

I always miss chicken noodle soup; it was my favourite 'snack' food and I would get to the point where I'd buy vermicelli and add extra handfuls to the soup and this was years before super or pot noodles came into being. Since becoming a veggie it is the thing I miss the most, despite people telling me that there is so little chicken in them I should eat them. that isn't the point.

Over the years I finally developed this odd concoction that will never be the real thing, but has found a way into my stomach heart...

2 spring onions - chopped

1 red chilli - chopped finely and deseeded

1 heaped tsp bouillon powder

1 pint of water

4 vermicelli nests crushed

seasoning

Add the onions and the chilli to a saucepan and fry. Add the stock mix to a jug and pour on a pint of boiling water, mix and throw into the pan, mixing it with your onion and chilli. Crush your noodles into the broth and cook for 2-3 minutes on a slow simmer, stirring and checking to make sure there's enough seasoning - normally white pepper. Sometimes if you feel the stock soup is a bit harsh, try adding a tablespoon of sweetish soy sauce and cooking out.

Sometimes, if you fancy a sort of Chinese flavour you can add a small amount of grated ginger and even some crushed garlic, but make sure both are well cooked before adding the stock and noodles.

***

Turkey Soup

Yes, a meat dish...

Take 1 turkey carcass (take off any obvious good meat and make sure you get under the bird and get a lot of the below meat off - this works brilliantly well in a soup) and stick it in a big pan with 2 pints of water, a carrot, a turnip, a leek and any other root vegetable and cook for about 2 hours with a sealed lid - you don't want the liquid to boil off as steam. You can also put a cup of white dry wine in this, it won't hurt!

With the stock left, place it in a large bowl and allow to cool down - you're going to skim off the excess fat.

Prepare a bag full of veg - carrots, onions, spuds, beans, swede, turnip, leeks - anything you have that works well in a soup; but remember that they all cook at different speeds, so when you start preparing this be prepared to add gradually unless you want a turkey splot rather than a soup.

You also want a couple of good vegetable stock cubes - not chicken ones, they're full of salt. A couple of bay leaves, a whole dried chilli and a whole potato.

You start with your hearty veg - carrots, onions etc., and put in some of the turkey fat you've skimmed off; just a couple of tablespoons, you can dump the rest. Fry these for a while, then add some mushrooms, leeks and other hard veggies; then dump your stock into the pan, add your stock cubes, green beans, peppers (these add flavour so it doesn't matter if they get over cooked and remember green peppers add more flavour to soups than other peppers) and any other veg gradually, depending on how long they take to cook. taste, see if it needs some more water and add appropriately. Leave to simmer for between 1 and 2 hours; add some parsley, chives and a little bit of sage and thyme - but not a huge amount, this is a turkey soup not a herby turkey soup.

The whole potato is to draw any excess salt out of it and you need to make sure its a waxy spud, a floury one will just dissolve. You can add chopped up potato an hour before you serve and a floury one will do as it will add just a touch of thickness to the soup. You can also add some pasta - uncooked - to bulk it up a bit. Season and eat with crusty bread.

Now, it's been 15 years since I made this and I might have forgotten a few things, but essentially that will be a great use for the turkey carcass and it will taste like heaven!

Fuck You

The other day, my mate Mark was sitting in a car park when something happens. Mark takes up the story: "I'm sat in the back seat talking to [my daughter] and a Mercedes pulls up and parks badly next to me. His driver door opens and he tries to wrestle a small child from the back seat to the front seat. His door hits my car. I breathe deeply and count to ten. Well, I get to eight and *bang*bang* another two hits.
Me: Mind the door please mate, it's a brand new car and I don't need scratches already.
Him: (Gets out and rubs my car) Sorry mate, it's not marked.
(I close door and continue talking to [my daughter])
His wife: We've all got new cars, what's his problem Blah blah blah
I see red and get out.
Me: What's your fucking problem?
Her: I was just saying...
Me: Well don't bother. You're in the wrong. Just shut up.
Him: Don't speak to her like that!
Me: OR WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

By now I'm cringing inside because I'm like an extra from Jeremy Kyle, but I'm so sick of dealing with people in the wrong who seem to think they can do what they want.

Him: (silence)
Me to her: He apologised. It was done and dusted. You should've kept your mouth shut.
They walk off with their child."

Now, Mark felt really badly about this when he relayed the story to me a few days later. Me? I was fucking furious. I wouldn't have let the cheeky bitch get away with it. I would have been in her husband's face like a case of genital warts suggesting he keeps his wife's mouth shut or I'll have some fun rearranging her features with a spoon. But that's just me...

My mate Will loves going into Starbucks. I can't understand the attraction, especially as I drink a lot of good coffee at home; but he's far more sociable than me. This morning he's in one of his local branches and... let's let Will fill us in: I just think it's incredibly rude for someone to take all the crap from the table they want to sit at and dump it on the table you're sitting at. Why would I want that filthy shit more than you, asshole?

Will is a lovely bloke and rarely gets flustered by people. My response was: You should have punched them or pissed in their coffee then told them you have the pox.

Now, I think that's quite restrained for me.

The thing is I'm not a violent person, far from it. I haven't had anything like a physical confrontation in 30 years (unless you count punching the JW); but I have had some verbally violent ones; most often with neighbours or neighbours' relatives. You see, I have my grandmother's temper, but fortunately I haven't really got her psychopathic streak, otherwise I'd be doing time about now and worrying about how frayed my sphincter is going to get, either that or priding myself in my prison nickname of Pig Pen because of my refusal to go near the showers... But the point here is simple, why are there so many cunts out there?

I think we build up this expectation that we're going to meet an arsehole somewhere on our travels, so we prepare ourselves for the inevitable confrontation. I sometimes wish we could just pull a fucking Uzi out and machine gun these twats into oblivion; but that is a wee bit irrational and I could end up in a lot of trouble for suggesting it.

A few years ago, some guy cut me up really badly round the corner from where I live. He basically figured if he pulled out on me I'd stop or slow down and he took serious umbrage when i flashed him and called him a wanker with a nifty little hand gesture. The next thing I knew, he'd stopped his car and was banging on my window. I was so taken aback I refused to move. He screams at me through the window that he did nothing wrong and if I had to slow down I was obviously going too fast, so I should go fuck myself and if I didn't like that he'd help me with the aid of a baseball bat he keeps in the back of his car...

Oddly enough, the first thing that went through my mind was, "We live in England, why the fuck has he got a baseball bat in the boot of his car?"

I was telling my brother Steve about this a few weeks later and told him that I had made my mind up that any confrontation I get involved in from now on I was going to smile and walk away, to which he said, "Don't do that. A few months ago, I was involved in a fender bender. Some guy ran into the back of my car at the traffic lights. I got out of the car, saw he was twice my size and thought, 'I'm going to be very civil'. so I smiled at him and said, 'accidents happen mate.' to which the guy said, 'are you taking the piss, mate? And I'd take the fucking smile off of your face before I wipe it off.'"

The other day, I was taking the dogs for a walk down Morrisons on the Kettering Road. There's a little cut in where people park by the entrance to Bradlaugh Fields. It was getting close to chucking out time at the local schools, but I got there early, parked up and took the dogs out. When I got back there was a host of cars parked there; basically wherever they could squeeze in. they were all there to pick up their children from school, because the little darlings legs would obviously wear out if they walked and they couldn't possibly catch a bus because of the filthy perverts that use buses. One woman had parked directly in front of me and there was no way I could possibly get past her. I would have struggled on a push bike.

I got the dogs in the car and then debated with myself how to deal with this scenario. In the end, I figured calm and collected would suffice. I walked to her car; she could see me walking towards her in her rear view mirror, but made no effort to acknowledge me or that I was walking to her. I tapped on her window and she looked at me through the closed window. She made no effort to open the window, so I tapped again and made a winding down motion with my hand. The window opened to about a half an inch. "Do you think you could move your car please, I need to get out, thanks." She looked at me like I'd spoken in a foreign language and made no effort to move. "That isn't a problem, is it?"

"My daughter will be here in a few minutes, could you wait?"

"Not really, I need to get home."

"Oh, so you've collected your daughter and want to go straight away causing me a load of grief and that's okay is it?" I looked at her and did a double take at her rather irrational outburst.

"I've just taken my dogs for as walk; I haven't got a daughter to pick up and if I did, she could walk home. Now would you please move your car. You can park it where I'm moving from once I've gone." She looked at me really hurt, like I'd just told her that I was going to murder her mother if she didn't move.

"There's no need to get arsey with me!" She announces and for a second I could feel the bile rising. I wanted to say, "Arsey? You think I'm being arsey? Just sit there and do nothing you fucking ignorant bitch and I'll really show you what arsey is." But, I just smiled and said 'thank you'.

I swear she didn't look at anything else but me while she was moving her car. I could see her burning holes in me in her rear view mirror and when I pulled along side her to drive past, there she was, staring at me like I'd called her all the miserable cunts under the sun. I'd suggest it was possibly a very hormonal time of the month, but I'd probably be accused of being sexist; but, please. What was that all about? It also wasn't the first time I've seen people expect others to just sit patiently while they do things that cause untold aggravation for those behind them.

If I had a T-shirt made up with 'Most People Are Cunts' written on it, I'd get done for being offensive, despite the fact it is actually a statement of fact rather than an insult.

***

Bad vibes came my way at 3.30pm today. Can't discuss it at the moment, but if its as bad as people are saying then... Happy fucking Christmas :(

***

Listening to the Cee Lo Green album at the moment. I hate to admit it, but it's fucking excellent!

Albedo 0.39

It's not that I don't have an opinion about Wikileaks, I just haven't had much to say about it. I think it's quite ironic that Time magazine should suggest that Julian Assange was Man of the Year in December 2009 and by December 2010 the country that publishes Time thinks he is public enemy #1. Whatever Wikileaks has been doing, not a huge amount of it has been that remarkable. Sheiks all are in agreement that Iran is too big for its boots; the US secret service didn't think Dave Blackadder and Lord Snooty were experienced enough to run this country, Prince Andrew is a pompous arse. Pakistan is more of a threat than we realise and China has slowly been distancing itself from those mad crazy bastards in North Korea. Of the 250,000+ leaked documents and communications, very few will have had any serious political watchers going, 'well, stap me!'.

Since the massive file dump was announced I've been expecting some form of American led backlash against Assange. It was always going to be obvious that the only way he was going to reappear in the USA was in handcuffs. You got the impression that someone, somewhere in the US government would have found a way to exempt him from any of the amendments that allow freedom of speech, etc. But, whatever they came up with it was obvious that every body and their aunts would say, 'Fix! Stitch Up! Sore Losers! Fascists!' America knew it couldn't win this one and Assange probably knew that he'd have a majority of public support.

I have no doubt someone high up in the CIA or FBI figured the only thing Assange could be stitched up for is something heinous that the general public would have no sympathy for. I'm 99.9% sure that the sudden appearance of sexual molestation, rape and coercion allegations by Swedish prosecutors is someone cashing in a favour with the Scandinavians or offering something they need in exchange for wheeling out someone who is prepared to purger themselves so that some form of extradition can be arranged or some prison sentence can be manufactured to put the Australian behind bars for long enough so that the powers that be can smile into their morning coffee and mutter quietly under their breaths 'Game, set and match you bastard; you don't fuck with the US of A.'

Or in other words, I think the allegations against Assange are about as truthful as me saying that I had sex with Lady Gaga in person last night, while my wife videotaped it and the aforementioned Gaga had so many orgasms it made her ears bleed and her meat dress become instantly cured...

Rape is bad, sexual molestation offers up images of Assange being a filthy paedophile - idiots will believe it and while this is going on the US government exerts pressure on companies such as Paypal and Amazon, effectively preventing the man from existing. We only have ourselves to blame; we, the people of the free world, have allowed these paranoid control freaks to run our countries.

***

When BMJ or Big Martin Jol was in charge of my beloved Spurs, he transformed the team from a joke into serious challengers for a Champions League spot. Spurs' chairman decided after a bad start to the 2007 season that he didn't have the required ability to take us that step further and rather backhandedly screwed him over in favour of a Spaniard with a really dodgy voice who took my club backwards so fast we could have gone from nearly men to relegated big club in just 9 months.

BMJ's assistant was a former Spurs defender called Chris Hughton - a team man through and through. A nice guy - the sort of bloke you wanted as your #2. He got shafted by Spurs and ended up working for the barking mad Kevin Keegan at Newcastle united, or the Bar Codes as we like to call them. Eventually, because the Bar Codes were the laughing stock of English football and their owner, one Mike Ashley was the biggest twat ever to own a sports retail chain - even bigger than Dave Whelan of Wigan Athletic - they got relegated and everyone outside of Newcastle laughed like drains.

No one wanted the job of manager; they were doomed you see. Once you get unceremoniously dumped out of the English Premier League, the only way is down. Young Chris Hughton took the job on in a Caretaker capacity and after a few weeks was offered the job full time. He had managed to steer the team into top spot in the Championship; they were playing good football and the smiles were reappearing on Geordies' faces again. Even Mike Ashley had decided not to try and sell his club, but stick with it. At the end of last season, the Bar Codes had won the Championship title; they were back in the top league after just one season away and Chris was lauded as an honorary Geordie and all round Canny Top Blerk.

Yet despite all of this, he was still favourite to get the sack. Few people saw Newcastle doing much else but struggle and after creditable draws against Chelsea and Everton and wins at Arsenal's Emirates fortress and a 5-1 thrashing of local rivals Sunderland; Hughton had steered the club to a very reasonable and respectable 11th. He'd suffered two bad defeats in the last 8 days; a 5-1 humbling by 6th place Bolton and a 3-1 away defeat to the club they pipped to the Championship last season. Not good, but in this topsy turvy season, they were doing okay; they had even managed to reach the dizzying heights of 7th a couple of weeks ago, just 2 points off of a Champions League spot.

Today, Mike Ashley sacked Chris Hughton because he felt the club needed a more experienced manager to take them further and to survive in the Premiership. He gets to do it really cheaply as the former Spurs man's contract is up at the end of the year or 25 days as we like to say.

The most incredible thing about this is the widespread and universal condemnation for Ashley from just about every corner of the football world. Even Sunderland and Middlesbrough fans are united with the Bar Codes on a decision that makes no sense at all. I have scoured the Internet and I have found 3 people/posts that support the decision and literally thousands that think it is the most stupid decision football has seen since FIFA were given control of world footballing matters. It is a cowardly and despicable decision made by a man who is as popular as pubic lice.

I like Newcastle; they're, in general, like a crap version of Spurs. I hope that they get relegated and the man who has undoubtedly accepted Hughton's position - because they must have someone already lined up or they wouldn't have taken this ridiculous step - discovers that all of his children are gay, his wife has been sleeping with a dirty vagrant and his penis has fallen off and been replaced with a plastic egg whisk - whoever takes the job deserves no more. Ashley should just contract an incurable disease and die, slowly, alone in his own shit and with no dignity ...

***

By the time this gets put up, England will either have won the 2nd test or the monsoon that has been hitting Australia will have reprieved the home nation, in the same way our weather helped us to win the Ashes in 2005 and 2009. It's not fair, but if the shoe was on the other foot we'd be praying for the same outcome.

Bad news about Stuart Broad; he could have proved to be decisive.

***

The Walking Dead finished it's first season with a bit of a bang and a Bob Dylan song. It broke records on cable TV and comes back next year for a full season. It was great expectant TV, but frankly it needs to speed up a touch (and improve its CGI).

***

I have had some great fun scanning in loads of old pictures in the last week and at some point in the next couple of weeks I shall be scanning not just the pictures from my wedding, but also many of the pictures from my folks' collection - a selection of pictures from a 1000+ library ranging from the 1950s to the late 1980s. I imagine I won't be the only embarrassed soul...

Nowhere Again

Rassum frassum mother fudging rah rah rah...

I woke up this morning aching like the proverbial bastard and in a mood that can only be described as not terribly good. I wouldn't have minded the aching had I been shagging like a rabbit or doing copious amounts of exercise at the weekend; but I wasn't and I'm wondering if my fear of exerting myself too much is the root of the majority of my aches and pains. I also know that while the previous statement has some truth in it - I don't need to talk to a doctor or a physiotherapist to have that confirmed - there are obviously other factors involved. My leg - the left one - hasn't been right since the disc prolapsed. The pressure on my sciatic nerve has meant that it feels like all my tendons have shrunk and it isn't helped by the muscle wastage from lack of use. My left leg is excess baggage most of the time; although it is better than it was and I have stopped limping 75% of the time. in fact, I threw the walking stick away!

I must ask my friend Bendy, (who isn't any longer, sadly) because she has the same debilitating problem I have, if she suffers from pains in other joints or just a general feeling of having been dropped out of a very tall building, most of the time...

I think the worst problem has become my left hand. That said, none of the left hand side of my body works particularly well any longer and if this is an indication of what the future holds perhaps I should just kill myself before I bore people to death with tales of my woeful physical prowess. The last 2½ months have been pretty crap even by my standards. Yet, with just 25 days left in 2010, it hasn't been as bad as 2009 or 2008. In fact, 2009 got worse 11 months after it ended with I discovered that yet another good friend of mine from days gone by had died. I've lost count of the amount of people I lost in 2009...

The first 9 months of 2010 were some of the best I've had in ages. The project I was doing for work was extremely successful. I worked with a lot of really, really great people; ranging from the youngsters to the adults all involved in the Generations Together government initiative. I can honestly say that those were some of the happiest months I've ever had in my entire working life and as a result my health seemed to benefit from it. Yeah, I had the usual aches and pains - the ones which would eventually lead to the prolapse - but getting up in the morning was not a chore, it was a pleasure and I doubt I will ever do a job again that had such a positively profound affect on me. It was sad to have to admit, after all the successful outcomes we had, that it wasn't actually the kind of work that my organisation should be doing and in the current financial climate, it is highly unlikely that anyone from any other organisation or department could do it. It was the kind of project that should be statutory for anyone under the age of 18, because even the kids who didn't want to do it ended up loving it and in turn it changed their opinions about older people. I just hope, when I go back to work, that I can muster the same enthusiasm.

Speaking of work; back when I was wrongly diagnosed with spondylitis (not spondylosis - which is completely different); I had to have a medical to determine whether I could continue doing my job. I sailed through it with flying colours and that gave me a real boost - psychologically. I now think because what I have isn't going to go away, that I should maybe have another medical. The main reason is because I have serious doubts as to whether or not I can do my job the way I used to without it impacting on my health or possibly even making me look vulnerable. Now, this could all be to do with me waking up in a foul mood, but I think the truth is that I'm losing confidence in my physical abilities. It's very unusual for me to be this negative...

***

Ha!

***

It has actually gotten foggier since 8:00am this morning and the temperature on the patio is still below freezing. Saturday is beginning to seem like a distant warm spell already... It was quite remarkable that the day we chose for the old pals reunion should end up being an oasis of mild weather in the middle of a cesspool of freezing conditions! I know several born again Christians who would say that God played a hand in it. I'd tell those born again Christians that God is a cunt and so are they for believing in fairy stories...

***

I really dislike my keyboard...

***

I am having purple chips for tea. They are not the best chips in the world, but they freak me out enough to make them worthwhile.

***

The reunion I talked about yesterday was great and I was relieved that an old friend of mine decided not to go. The thing is, she goes to these kind of things, reunions, birthday meals, parties and the like and gets the hump if it doesn't immediately centre around her. In the last 15 years she has repeatedly avoided doing stuff or stormed out of places with the least rational reasons under the sun.

My 10th wedding anniversary was going to be a big friends thing, back in 1996. We invited 15 of our closest friends to join us at the local Indian restaurant, but she cried off using the excuse that a 10th wedding anniversary was a private thing and she wouldn't want to impose... Therefore 13 people turned up and we all had a great night.

The wife's 40th birthday bash was at a Chinese restaurant we all liked, but everything there was wrong, from the food to the service. Gods, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law were there and they are people who would moan about water if it was too wet and even they were gobsmacked by this particular person's attitude and attempts to ruin everyone else's good time.

At Roger's birthday meal a few years back, the conversation between her husband and I got onto something she didn't approve of; so at the end of the meal she excused herself and said she was going outside for a cigarette. She promptly went home. We pulled up level with her in the car, she ignored us and went round her friend's house. When she got back, because her friend had gone out - which probably pissed her off even more - she sat upstairs until the laughter and merriment got the better of her and she came down and proceeded to dominate the rest of the evening with stories about her.

At another friend's 40th birthday bash, held at Lings Forum, she seemed to take umbrage at the fact that we couldn't fit her and her husband into the car without her husband sitting in the back or us telling someone else we were giving a lift to, that they couldn't have a lift after all. So she sat as far away from the rest of us as possible and made snide remarks.

At a barbecue in 2007, she sat there growing more and more angry at the fact no one was talking to her and because she could have been with her son who was attending some football presentation. After about an hour she said, "I can't do this any longer" in a loud voice and flounced out of the garden and walked home. no one batted an eyelid; there were a few derogatory remarks and most people commiserated with her husband. Apparently, the son was mortified by his mum's arrival at what was essentially a young persons' do; but then, she did that so often with her children one of them has moved as far away as possible.

I could go on and on and on. But I'll finish with last year's 50th birthday meal for Roger, when after failing to dominate the show again - no one was taking any notice of her moaning and whinging - she ordered something she knew she wouldn't like; didn't eat it and announced to the 10 people at the table that she wouldn't be coming out with us for a meal ever again because she didn't like the kind of food we liked; she didn't think vegetarians were fair to meat eaters because it limited their - the meat eaters' - choices and unless we went to a carvery that had intravenous wine on tap, she wouldn't be joining us. this was greeted by a few nods, a couple of, yeah, whatevers and general ignorance. Everyone at the table had got used to her ability to try and turn everything around to her.

It would be sad if it wasn't so laughable. This is a woman who had systematically missed out on some gloriously great nights because she has either known that she wouldn't be centre of attention or wasn't going to be because it was someone else's night. For many years her husband just went along without her; but he doesn't do that now. After the debacle at Roger's various birthday meals, some wag suggested if she decides to have her own 50th, we should all not bother going. That way, she can entertain herself; much like she has done for the last umpteen years!

I could say she's fat and ugly as well, but that would be being a wee bit too personal (even if she is)...

Judy Do

I got this urge this morning for some Thompson Twins. They were a crap 80s band, but for some reason this morning that didn't matter. The song of which this entry is named after is something I haven't heard in over 20 years; oddly enough some of the people I saw last night I hadn't seen for almost as long...

Getting Geoff, Toby, Colin, Keith, Karen, John, Paula, Rosie, Katy, Roger, Pip, Steve, Zoe, Vince, Royce, Me and a few new faces, such as Barb, Hilda, and Brendan in the same place again for the first time in 20 years was quite remarkable. It was a shame that Claire, Jon, Big Al, Wendy, Jooles, Mitch, Josie and many others were unable to be contacted or unable to come for one reason or another. It was a real shame that Gareth couldn't make it, but as we discovered last night, he died from a massive heart attack last November. He was 44...

I'm sure that I've forgotten some people - guys and gals who were important to the entire social scene back in the 1980s and at a time when the Bold Dragoon was one of the hippest places for young people to be seen in. In fact, in those days, it was as vibrant and youthful as Northampton town's Racehorse pub is today. Now, the Bold is a wannabe gastro pub (and a pretty poor one at that) that seems to cater for people over the age of 60; so even in 2010 a lot of us still felt like we were under age! The wife used to frequent the place when she was 16 and had no idea I existed, but a lot of the names above were her friends before I became her boyfriend.

Kaz Sheridan (nee Farlow) was the main reason for this happening; a conversation between her and Claire Frost (nee Cotton) that grew into me suggesting she got off her arse and arranged it. The fact that 18 people turned up (at varying times) was a testament to the bonds that we forged back in the days when Wham, the Thompson Twins and dodgy haircuts were the Norm (and even she turned up even though it was her work's do). We all played our part; I contacted friends who weren't on Facebook and they contacted others; Keith and Colin did the same and that swelled our numbers by almost half as many again. It was, considering its December, the weather has been shit and we're all older, maybe not so wiser, but all have commitments and consequences of those commitments, a great turn out. It could have been better, but more than likely it could have been a lot worse!

Many of us looked a lot older; while some of us looked fucking fabulous. Age hasn't been kind to many, it has barely touched others. Extra pounds have been put on by some; for a few the extra pounds of 1985 have disappeared. No one was missing noses or limbs; pretty much all of the blokes had grey hair and more than half had beer bellies - which is no surprise considering we all like beer! The men, sadly, outweighed the women - which, I've been reliably informed is an unusual thing for any kind of reunion.

I have been working on a very long piece, focusing on the days between 1983 and 1989; much of it is raking over ground that is best forgotten about. Yeah, some of it I'd like to talk about publicly, as an act of catharsis, but when push comes to shove, it isn't worth it; the people involved don't read this blog and the rest of you would consider it a self-indulgent rant with no real purpose. It hinged on my relationship (platonic) with two people - the guy who was my best man and his then girlfriend. they were both there last night; one looks fabulous... Ultimately, I came out of it all considerably better than the focus of my ire; which means that all I would have been doing is justifying something that many of my other friends all eventually realised. I'm not the kind of person who likes to rub people's noses in things; so it would have been out of character for 2010 Phil (maybe not for 1988 Phil, but a lot of water has flowed under that bridge since then...).

The important thing was that for over 3 hours last night, everything was great again. The time flew past - as it always does when you're having fun - and much beer, wine and spirits (both alcoholic and good) was sampled. The feeling was that we have to do this again and sooner rather than later and I concur; there wasn't really enough time for all of us to catch up with each other. I think Thomas Wolfe was right, you can never go home again, but the occasional visit is definitely a possibility; just so long as we all realise that it has to be occasional, otherwise the novelty and all of our 'real' lives will start to impact on it.

The plan is for it to happen again in the spring; to give the people who couldn't come because of the weather or work commitments the chance to join in. You can never get a date that suits everyone, so the next one may well feature a different bunch of people and a different dynamic; but I expect it will, like this, be a reserved lovefest of nostalgia and wondering why we all drifted apart in the first place. I know why, but like I said, the past is there for a reason and to rake it over is asking for trouble. Life's too short; nights like this make it a little longer.

Gareth, I miss you. You were a great man in your own way; I just wish you were alive to realise that. Rest in peace fella x

Moribund the Burgermeister

It's positively balmy out there at the moment. The fishwife and his family appear to be farting about in the slush. I am keeping my eye on them as they have shovels and spades and are getting close to my car. Fishwife's son has bad eyes and glasses that would look funny in a 1970s Benny Hill show... They do strange things; not as strange or fuckwitted as the other neighbours, but strange enough...

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It was never my intention to go to Stamford yesterday. But I thought that with the weather being really bad and this being Lincolnshire I'd better go with the wife and friends because this was Lincolnshire and the BBC was saying that this county was under 40 feet of snow.

I crawled out of bed at 7.30, leaving the wife to have a wee lie in and because she had, the previous day, had a rather unfortunate accident (more of that later). It was gloomy, cold and the earliest I'd got out of bed for nearly 2 months.

We set off at a little after 9am; the temperature gauge in the Sedici said -3 and it felt like it; yet by the time we hit the North-East corridor of Northants - up by Collyweston and Easton on the Hill - it had dropped to -6 and frankly that's just not very amusing; especially as I'd conspired to leave my woolly hat and scarf on the stairs. Roger didn't have any gloves, so while my ears froze, his ickle dannies were seizing up. -6 is as cold as a dead prossy's clunge, possibly even colder!

Stamford greeted us with a wall of ice, which if you know Roger's blog there is a picture of it, blurred because it was taken while I driving at 200 mph. The town centre was still there and the paths were well cleared, either shovelled clear or salted. I admit, this is a smaller town than Shoesville, but the fact you could safely walk around the entire town without breaking your neck was heart-warming (or almost lukewarm because of the -6 temperatures).

Roger and I spent the best part of our 3½ hours there being surreal and much of the journey there and back doing a rather crude version of Coogan & Brydon's The Trip. For instance, were you aware that Mason Williams' failed follow up to Classical Gas was called Practical Twats? Or that Kingfishers should be renamed Cuntfishers? The reason for this is because every time we got out of the stationary car to take a [picture of the little fucker, he flew off, only to return as soon as we shut the doors. Roger does all of this nonsense better justice than I can at the moment, so I recommend you check his blog out at: http://toysoutofthepram.blogspot.com/ you can also find out why David Bentley should take up a career as a writer. You can't however find out some other things...

It isn't the first time I've been to Stamford. For that check out: http://farkynell2.blogspot.com/2010/09/toccata-and-fugue-in-d-minor.html unless you already have and then it'll be a bit boring, mainly because it only has a small mention of Stamford and the rest is a load of interesting statistics!

***

The wife was walking back to her car on Thursday when she went arse over tits and whacked her head on the frozen and extremely slippery pavement. After my initial worry, it soon turned to anger for our utterly shit Borough council, who, it seems cannot keep our roads or paths clear leading to people slipping and causing themselves potentially serious injuries. I really wanted her to consider suing these bunch of CAUCs, especially as she has her second case of whiplash in two months and has been in considerable pain since.

***

This is an addendum of sorts; I've been working on something big and sprawling and autobiographical since last Wednesday and I might not even use it. It is inflammatory, talks of events that happened over 20 years ago and might piss a few people off. But, it is cathartic and I will finish it, even if it goes into 10,000+ words.

Until that happens I'm going to enjoy the + degree temperatures today (all the snow is almost all gone - hooray); wince as my football team fails to beat a rubbish club after beating the Arse and the Red Shite in subsequent weeks; enjoy my old pub reunion tonight, even if I'm one of the few people who will actually turn up and look after the wife, who is struggling a little. Oh and Sainsbury's; more purple potatoes beckon.

This blog has been brought to you by someone who feels he could have done a better job writing this...

Even Flow

It should come as no surprise to hear a white South African say, "I don't like black people". There are still an enormous amount of bigoted wankers left in the country - there was always going to be. But when one of them is an award-winning writer it leaves you wondering...

Annelie Botes might not be a household name here (she is regarded as the most popular contemporary writer in her homeland), but she's trying her damnedest to become one. She uses the explanation of fear as her reason for her shocking statement. This is a coward's excuse and I'm sure if Iain Banks or Martin Amis were to publicly say that David Cameron or George Osborne were cunts, because they're scary, it would cut no ice. (Yes, I know it would be true, but can you imagine what the Daily Mail would say about it?)

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Speaking of ice (again); it must be weird for people living in Northants and further south and west seeing parts of Britain shrouded in several feet of snow. We all know that Brits are renowned for not dealing with the white stuff, but watching the news its hard to believe that this country, which struggles with ½ an inch of unexpected precipitation is in the grip of what can easily be described as the worst winter weather since 1963 (and it's only December 1st).

I hate winter. But what is worse is shivering in subzero temperatures with as much snow on the floor as icing sugar on a Christmas cake. I've seen harder frosts.

But, it has been cold. I spent nearly 20 minutes breaking the ice on the duck pond this morning and with the thermometer saying -2 at 10:00am, I wouldn't be surprised if I had to go and do it again before the day is out. I have pulled out a dozen bucket loads of ice just to give the poor little quackers the chance to have swim and a drink.

Apparently, the North Sea is about 12 degrees at the moment, about 14 degrees warmer than Newcastle. makes you wonder what it would be like to go for a swim...

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A story in the Guardian yesterday that rattled my cage was that of the RSPCA suing a woman because she had the mendacity to contest her parents will. Christine Gill's parents, specifically her father, opted not to leave their only daughter any money in their will, instead deciding to give it to the RSPCA. It is alleged that Ms Gill's mother wasn't keen on this, but because her husband was a 'stubborn, domineering and self-opinionated man' she didn't do anything about it. Subsequently, when she died, all her money went to the charity.

Ms Gill, obviously thinking that this wasn't right, took the decision to court and won. the judge, quite rightly stating it would not be right for her not to inherit her parents money. So the RSPCA has mounted a legal battle to get the £2.3million back. It has so far cost £1.3million in court costs and the RSPCA says it is 'obliged' to fight.

This is not the first time this charity has done this. in fact, there are a lot of charities out there that do this and I think it is morally abhorrent. I know that charities struggle to survive, especially in the current climate, but, come on. It makes you want to never leave a charity anything in your will; for a number of reasons, but also because there is no guarantee your money is going to be used for the cause you're leaving it to. The charity, for all you know, might be using that money to mount a case against someone who has been shafted by an arsehole parent.

I'm a big supporter of the RSPCA. We give a small donation to them through our bank every month and I'm seriously considering stopping this and sending them a letter explaining that i now believe them all to be a BOC...

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Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark - the musical. Ahem. Apparently it's a lot of shit and there are so many logistical problems it might struggle to achieve what it wants. I know what I want - for producers NOT to try and turn stuff like this into Broadway musicals...

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There was a quiz question last night that I wanted to challenge m'colleague One El on. But I decided against it because we got the question right and knowing him the way I do it would have come to nothing (but rest assured, we will discuss it over a pint tomorrow).

I can't remember the exact wording of the question but it related to the link between perfect eyesight and a limited overs cricket match. The answer being 20/20. The thing is 20/20 vision isn't perfect eyesight. It is normal eyesight. It is what most people who don't use spectacles (or contact lenses) have. 20/10 vision is arguably considerably better (and if you want to be really pedantic 20/8 and 20/2 visions are even better, but there are very few humans who have the eyesight of birds of prey).

The reason I know this is because I used to have 20/10 vision, in fact, my optician thought it was possibly even 20/8 vision. It means, in a succinct way, what most people see clearly at 10 (or 8) feet, you can see at 20 feet. I would argue that my eyesight was even sharper than that. When I was younger I could read things that other people struggled to actually see. I could read bus numbers from nearly a mile away. I could read the small print at the bottom of an opticians chart; in fact, my brilliant eyesight was something of a party piece. I was even accused at times of either memorising things or just being clever enough to work out what things said; so, in my usual fashion, I'd get them to hold something up I've never seen before, about three times the distance that the average person would read it and then proceed to tell them exactly what the print said. I got it wrong a couple of times; but I'm sure a hawk occasionally mistakes a stuffed toy for a mouse.

I still have pretty excellent vision, in fact I can still read things that are really far away. Unfortunately, I can't read things that are quite close...

20/10 vision - Oh how I remember that...

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Prince Andrew is a twat - no surprises there then.

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I was having a quick chat with my mate Will on FB chat the other day; comparing recipes and chewing the fat, as you do, and he got a first hand of why I hate this fucking keyboard so much...

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I have a return to work scheduled for the 16th. I am moving offices to allow me not to be stymied by my back and sciatica problems as driving long distances does have a reaction. So the next two weeks are going to be as energetic as I can manage. I won't find out if I need to have an operation on my back until after Christmas and I have no physio scheduled at the moment, because of the chance I might fuck my disc again. But, the boredom has been digging deep. I ran out of B movies to watch and ironically once I was able to move around a bit, I didn't want to sit in front of the TV all the time. The last couple of weeks, as many of you know, has been filled with cooking, blogging, some dog walking, going to the pub once a week and, er... See? I need to do something constructive over the next fortnight. I probably won't; but at least I'm showing willing.

We're off to Stamford on Friday. I was so impressed with the place back in September that I want to go there again and see if I can buy some Christmassy type stuff for the wife. I also want to check out the Jolly Brewer as I didn't last time we were there and apparently I should have.

Saturday has an old friends reunion at our old haunt The Bold Dragoon. I have a feeling that unless the weather improves dramatically, some of the people coming considerable distances probably won't; but it should be a laugh (for a couple of hours at least).

Looking at the last few paragraphs I'm beginning to regret writing them in a public forum... I am such a sad bastard (and I'm getting fat!).