Harry Hill TV Burp - Brown Sauce Is For Puffs

Just recently I met a Scottish man whilst out walking with Billy, and I'm afraid to say I couldn't understand a single word he said. I had to simply nod, and made an excuse to escape.

Strong accents aren't a major problem in the UK, but occasionally they can be 'troublesome'. I hate having to ask people to repeat themselves, but when I do, I simply pretend to be a bit deaf; which usually solves the problem.

Of course, it's not only accents that can be a problem, lack of diction is probably even worse. I fear that with little 'Drama' or 'Public Speaking' taught in our schools, the problem will only get worse.

I was listening to Radio 4 Extra recently, and I could hardly understand what anyone was saying, then David Attenborough came on with one of his 15 minute talks, and I could understand him perfectly. What a difference!

Just last night we went to our nearby church for a candle-lit service of Carols and six Lessons. I'm sorry to say that only ONE of the lessons was spoken with any diction; all the others were mumbled. I enjoyed the singing!

I don't think I'm alone in not understanding what people say. Maybe this is something that needs to be addressed in our schools. Communication is all about being understood, and that is important. It should, and can, be TAUGHT.

That Annual Letter!

Dear Santa,

It's been a pretty horrible year, so I hope you're going to be kind to me.

After our French burglary, my mobility problems, and our recent bouts of illness, we need something more pleasant in our lives.

So, there'll be some Rum and Christmas Cake for you when you visit on the 24th/25th; provided, of course, that you come up trumps with a few requests!

I have only three requests this year. 

I really would like some workable legs. The old ones are worn-out, and a refurbished pair would be much appreciated.

I would also much appreciate someone who would pop in to clean the house a bit. Preferably an attractive young lady who would come once a week to do a spot of hoovering, dusting, and polishing. It would also be good if she was experienced in providing Tea and dark chocolate digestives at 10.30 am.

And thirdly I would like a regular supply of Beef Ribs. Once a month I would like a 4 Rib joint of Beef delivered, just like the ones I used to eat as a child. It must be of good quality, and very tender. I am capable of the roasting, but not the choosing; my knowledge of the best roasting joints is sorely lacking.

So there we are old pal. Three simple requests. I know you won't let me down.

Your faithful friend, Cro xx

West Chiltington.

This quintessentially English thatched house was my parents' last Sussex home before moving up to Shropshire in the mid to late 1970's (I think).

I loved this house. It was situated in the beautiful village of West Chiltington in West Sussex, and had all that one could need; a veg' patch, an orchard, two small ponds, and some woodland. It looks much older, but in fact it was built in the 1920's (?). It was part of a development of several similar houses, known as 'Wells Cottages', situated well spaced apart in woodland.

Over the past 50 years the lay-out has changed a bit. The drive looks wider, the garden better organised, and one of the ponds is missing. The bit sticking out on the left used to be a garage, but I see they have done what I wanted to do, and they've changed it into another room. 

I must admit to having been a bit disappointed when they decided to move to Shropshire. The house they bought was pleasant, but Shropshire just ain't Sussex. Being a Surrey/Sussex boy, I would say that wouldn't I.

On a country house hunting programme I occasionally watch, people often wince at the thought of a thatched house. Goodness knows why. Personally I find them very attractive.

The lawn in front of the house was 99% moss, and was lovely to walk over bare-footed.

When my people bought the house, the previous owner had just died, and his son had been given the task of emptying, and selling it. Frankly he was not the sort of person I'd want as a son; he piled everything burnable on the front lawn, and lit it. We found antique hinges amongst the ashes. Goodness knows what he'd burned. Later I found a book of National Savings certificates in the garage. They had a nominal value of about £200, but were probably worth about £2,000. I sent them to him, but received no reply. What a charming individual.

I'm thinking a lot about Christmases past at the moment. This was a great Christmas house.

I'm sorry they sold up. Father was a Sussex man; Mother was from Shropshire. Mother won!

p.s. Their gardener (for a while) was Norman Wisdom's son. NW lived in the village.

 

Parmesan Biscuits.

I was just attaching Billy's lead for his afternoon walk, when I looked around to see Lady M with her face, hair, and tiara, covered with a light dusting of flour; she was baking.

When I returned some time later, the house was filled with a delicious, and familiar, aroma. She had made some of 'Julie New's fabulous Parmesan Biscuits.

Julie is a friend who first gave us the recipe about 20 years ago, and we've been using it ever since. I'm using an old photo that I have used before, because I can't do better.

The biscuits are made by combining 100 gms flour, 100 gms butter, and 100 gms of freshly grated parmesan (don't use ready grated), one egg yolk, a quarter teaspoon of chili powder, and half a teaspoon of cumin seeds. Wizz into a ball, and refrigerate for a while.

Roll out to about 1 cm thickness, and cut into rounds, Bake for about 10 mins at 200 C. Watch very carefully that they don't burn. 

I cannot think of a better savoury biscuit to accompany a glass of red wine in the evening. 

Just delicious. Thank you Julie.

 

The wheels of change turn mighty slow.

We have just been sent a photo that proves that behind our house in France it appears that not much has changed since the beginning of June. There is still a temporary electrical meter box on the ground, and cables still lie on the surface; just as they did FIVE YEARS AGO.

However, over Summer, I did manage to arrange that the neighbour whose house it feeds, now has buried cables up to his front door, and a new meter installed on his own land, whether they are being used or not is another question; we simply don't know. Other than that I'm really not sure why all the cables are still all over the ground, or even if they're still 'live'. It doesn't make any sense.

I really went out of my way to help the man get his permanent electricity connection; I made phone calls, spoke to the Mayor, and welcomed about five different lots of EDF workers who came to fiddle with things. I didn't mind giving a helping hand, as the current situation remained extremely dangerous, and I really didn't want to see a repeat of when a local man was very nearly killed by mowing over the hidden grass-covered wires. 

Regardless of all this, the situation remains much the same, and I'd put a tenner on it being no different in 12 months time!!!

In between time, our own telephone/internet wires were still left trailing on the ground. I have attached them to the brand new post, just so I don't mow over them. I believe that a new Fibre Optic connection will arrive this winter, so maybe those wheels are beginning to turn. I hope I get to see, and use, it. Our current internet connection in France is appalling.

 

More Stumbling from Starmer & Co

 

Spot the anomaly from 2019 (above) to now! I don't think any of those women would be posing in front of the red banners after today's announcements!

Our new Socialist government never misses an opportunity to tell us that The Tories left a 'Black Hole' in the economy of £20 Billion; a figure much contended by several official government bodies.

If they really do wish to make-up the missing Billions, there is no easier way than by stopping the money we give away annually to foreign countries. We give away over £15 Billion, often with no noticeable benefit to either them or us. A yearly percentage has been established, (0.5% of gross national income) and governments stick to it doggedly. I think it's time to say 'NO', until our own books are in order.

As someone recently said, "If we can afford to give away so much money, we must all be paying too much tax".

The Socialists don't seem to be managing the economy too well. Inflation is up, businesses are closing, farmers are furious, OAP's aren't happy, all those lady pensioners born in the 1950's (WASPI's) are up in arms. I haven't seen any unemployment figures recently, but they are bound to be up as well.

The usual Socialist suspects are now reneging on their promise to these female pensioners. Having given 100% support to the WASPI women whilst in opposition, they have now turned around to tell them they'll get NOTHING; and to stop moaning! 

We are no longer surprised by such U Turns, they are becoming the norm. 

The build-up to Christmas Lunch.

 

All I really need to buy now, are the Sprouts.

I suppose like most households, on the big day we have a glass of fizz and some small things to eat before we tackle the main event. We spoil ourselves with a bottle of good Champagne (Canard Duchenne) with some Foie Gras, Caviar, and Smoked Salmon, on Ritz crackers. Then we relax whilst opening a few unwanted presents, before the roasted beast comes out of the oven to rest, and the Sprouts are put on. By this time all the extras (stuffing, pigs, etc) are already done!

We've done the exact same thing on Christmas Day since I was born.

One of my most memorable Christmases was when I was about 6. My mother had bought, or maybe had made herself, a HUGE cracker that hung from the ceiling. Inside were sweets, toys, and fruits. It was magical, I can still remember being allowed into the drawing room, and seeing it hanging there. It must have been about 4 feet long, although at the time it seemed like 10.

For several years we used to go to our Welsh hilltop cottage for Christmas. My mother had family up there and it was a wonderful time to all get together. The cottage was on the very top of a hill overlooking Wales, by the side of Offa's Dyke. Drifting snow was often a problem; and there was no proper road to the house. We loved it.

Many Christmases were later spent in France, where Christmas itself, and roasted Turkeys, were not on the French radar. We ate Duck or Goose until around the late 1990's when Turkey became more available. The French themselves still prefer Capons.

I do like Christmas, but I don't like that the hype seems to start right after Easter these days; only giving way to a month of Black Friday shopping in between.

It's now not long before the big day, and we have the tree, a wreath, and twinkling lights all setting the scene for the biggest food-fest of the year. I can hardly wait.

We will only be four at table this year, but, luckily, they're four of my very favourite people (of course)!