Cake.

Not only does Lady Magnon make a very good Tarte Tatin, and exceptionally good Mince Pies, but she is also a dab-hand at making Mary Berry's 'Banana and Honey Tea Bread' (cake).

I've never been a cake-maker myself, but I was once so impressed by a cake recipe in Elle a Table magazine, that I had to have a go. It was an olive and bacon cake (savoury cake), and not only did it come-out perfect in every sense, but it was also delicious. If you can find the recipe, I would recommend it.

We do enjoy a bit of cake with our afternoon cup of Lapsang, and this Banana Cake is perfect. It's not too sweet, it is very tasty, and one cake usually lasts for about 4 days. I believe it takes just TWO ripe Bananas, and a few store-cupboard essentials.

She also makes a very good Lemon Drizzle cake, and the occasional Cheesecake; although Cheesecake can hardly be called a 'Cake'.

 

Houses of Parliament Sauce.

I never liked HP Sauce. I last tasted it in the 70's (or even before), and found it far too acidic and overbearing.

I've also always associated it with people such as Harold Wilson; so you can imagine my aversion.

Kimbo and I have breakfast together once a week, and he has brought his own bottle of HP which he keeps here. He cannot have his full-English-breakfast without it.

So, I thought I'd give it a second chance, and I must admit that I quite liked it. I'm sure that they must have changed their recipe as it wasn't at all acidic.

If it was my own bottle I would add some sugar or honey to sweeten it a bit, but even as it is, it's OK.

Looking at the list of ingredients in HP there are many similarities to Worcestershire Sauce, but it's a very different product. It's a thick sauce (a bit the texture of ketchup), rather than a liquid sauce.

It won't be replacing my Lea and Perrins, but in times of emergency I certainly wouldn't say no to HP.

Will I be buying any in the near future? I think not, but I shall reflect on the idea!

Kimbo will be here any minute for our weekly breakfast together. I must put his HP on the table.

 

Morning Routine.

I suppose most of us live by 'routine'; I know I certainly do.

I am the current guardian of 'The Family Clock'. Made for the family in 1735, it has remained with us ever since. 

It's not a grand clock. It has a very simple wooden case, and it has no frills. It's a simple country-made affair that has been telling the time for nearly three hundred years.

My Father knew his time was limited when he asked me to drive him down to visit his cousin in Hendon; London. Having given us an uncooked Chicken for lunch, she suddenly pronounced that I was to be the family clock's next guardian; there was no-one else. I was neither pleased nor upset; I simply accepted the duty, and loaded it into the car, along with an antique corner cupboard that she also said I should look after.

Luckily the clock has not needed too much maintenance. I did have it 'serviced' once, but it needed no repairs; just a small amount of internal cleaning of the mechanism. It was the repair man who told me its date.

I 'wind' the clock every morning. It works on a pully system, and requires a lead weight to be delicately lifted. It would keep going for two days, but I 'wind' it every day.

Sometimes I sit and listen to its tick, just as my ancestors must have done. In the days before radio and TV, the only sound in the house, other than a crackling fire, would have been the constant ticking of the long-case clock. Its time would have been set against the more accurate clock on the village church tower. Who the church would have used to check that their clock was telling the right time, I have no idea. 

The clock does have a chime, but I have 'disabled' it for the moment.

The clock will go to Kimbo, and then to his oldest son Suave Harve. It is never to be sold; just handed-on to the next family custodian. There is no reason why it shouldn't continue to tell the time for another 300 years.

 

Phoebe Hessel; a True Heroine.

One of the more distinguished graves in our churchyard, is that of Phoebe Hessel (above).

Hessel was a TRUE HEROINE. She followed her lover into the army (dressed as a man) and they served together in many battles. Eventually both she and her lover were wounded at The Battle of Fontenoy in 1745. Later, when her wounds were being dressed by the Colonel's wife, her secret was revealed. 

After her Service Career, she became a fish-seller in Brighton, and was a well-loved local character. Even The Prince Regent (later King George IV) appreciated her and her exploits, and he granted her a generous pension.

Hessel died in 1821 aged 108, and I walk past her grave twice daily.

If you have a moment it's worth looking at her Wiki page, to see her full exploits. An amazing woman!

 

Solar Panels

Recent news that China has secretly included a cut-off system in their exported Solar Panels is worrying to say the least.

They apparently have the ability to close down most of the world's major solar farms at the click of a switch. How on earth did we allow this to happen?

The success of the Chinese economy is based on The West's greater earnings and spending-power. We send our money over to China, whilst our own industries go to the wall. People are now even buying CHINESE CARS for heaven's sake!

This new possible problem with solar panels (which could bring us and other Western countries to our knees) is all of our own making. Why are we not producing our own panels? Potential UK manufacturers are being priced out of manufacturing, whilst China keeps production prices down and swamps international markets. Who are the fools?

I am always very conscious of where things are made, and sadly we cannot escape 'everything' that comes from China. Perhaps ALL British made products should exhibit a small Union Flag telling us as much.

The world is blindly walking towards 'renewable energy', and Net-Zero, as if it's the Saviour of the Planet, but may I suggest that we continue to exploit 'fossil fuels' as well. If the Chinese block all our solar power, at least we'd still have oil, hydro, natural gas, and maybe even some coal (although finding anyone to dig it out would be a problem).

I recently looked on Wiki to discover who makes those huge windmills we now see everywhere. Well, it'll come as no surprise that the majority of them are made in China. If they control both our solar and our wind production of electricity; we really could end-up in the 'ess aitch eye tea'. 

Who would have imagined that 'Eco solar and wind power' could hide such sinister secrets?

RIP Alan Yentob

 

I was very shocked and saddened to hear of my friend Alan's death yesterday. It was the opening subject of yesterday's lunchtime news on BBC1.

Alan and I were at school together. We were contemporaries, and both being southerners we naturally tended to stick together.

In the above photo Alan is third from the right in the top row, and I am third from the left in the middle row. Alan's brother Robert is on the far right of the top row. Between the two brothers is my other very good friend, Aubrey 'Po' Powell, who found fame designing album covers, etc.

We both entered our upper school in 1960, and left together in 1964. Alan went on to study at The Sorbonne, and I went into The City. We kept in touch for several years, then, when I moved to France in 1973, that rather dwindled to just Christmas cards, etc.

Alan had an illustrious career with the BBC, being both Controller of BBC1 and BBC2, he was even in line for the job as Director General at one time. His arts programmes, especially 'Arena' and 'Imagine', were ground-breaking, and brought a new aspect of the arts to the viewing public, he will also be remembered for commissioning many well loved dramas and sit-coms. He made a huge contribution to our more 'serious' TV viewing.

He has been described as 'One of British culture's defining figures'.

I was really shocked to hear of his death. I send my condolences to his family and his brothers.

Potatoes

I love potatoes. Like eggs; what WOULD we do without them?

I love them roasted, chipped, mashed, sautéed, on a cottage pie, in brandade, as bubble and squeak, in an Irish stew, and especially baked in the ash-tray of our wood burner. 

I'm not a great connoisseur of the different varieties of potato, but frankly I've not yet met a variety that I didn't like. 

I rarely buy fancy varieties, but once a year (around now) I do buy one small bag of Jersey Royals. Otherwise, I never buy coloured or strange shaped varieties, as I think you are paying extra for 'novelty'.

What could be more comforting than a big 'dollop' of smooth mashed potato, topped with a generous amount of butter and some freshly chopped parsley. I would serve that to The King, and I know that he'd love it.

If I was asked what I would save from my burning house; the rice, the spaghetti, or the potatoes, there is no question, it would have to be that bag of glorious spuds.

I regularly grew my own potatoes at Haddock's, and the excitement of digging-up fresh tubers never diminished. I just wish I was still growing them today.

So, long live the glorious potato. May they never be blighted!

 

Community.

 

Billy and I left the house, as usual, by the back gate. A lady I know waved as soon as we appeared; she was heading in the other direction, so we didn't talk.

Around the corner we met 'Bluebeard'. He has 'gardenified' the twitten behind our garages (above), with flower-filled planters. I call him 'Bluebeard' because he dyes his beard different colours (possibly according to his mood), and more often than not it's blue. He calls me 'darling', and we chat about his one Potato plant that he's mixed-in with all his flowers. He does a really great job. He was watering as we spoke.

Up by the church, I see Father Dominic rushing towards the vestry door, He waves and says a cheery 'Hello'; I reply with my usual 'Hello Father'.

Once in the 'Rest Garden' I release Billy from his lead and he rushes off to play with his friends. I chat to a few fellow dog-walkers, mostly women, then bask in the warm sunshine as I slowly walk my usual circuit.

Half way round I meet John and his skateboarding Black Lab'. He tells me of doing Shakespeare in New York, and some other thespian pursuits. He's quite a character.

I chat to a few more dog owners as I finish my circuit. Just small-talk, but very pleasant.

I leave the Rest Garden, cross the road, and enter the churchyard near where the German Messerschmidt crashed 82 years ago. I spot two soberly dressed men by the church tower, and see Father Dominic heading their way. 'Funeral?' I ask. He nods.

As I head for the exit of the churchyard, I spot my black friend with his nose stuck in his phone (as usual). He waves and I go over for a chat. He tells me that he used to live in Glasgow, and said what lovely people they are up there. We natter about the state of the world, and I leave the churchyard with Billy back on his lead.

On the other side of the road are a bunch of workmen sitting on the steps of the house they're working on. They all stroke Billy, and make light conversation. 

I head a few metres further down the hill then turn left into my road. One of my neighbours who is working on The Bishop's house stops for a chat, then I'm home; by the front door.

I sit down indoors and feel very contented. Our little community has come-up trumps. I'm very happy with where I live. 

Water, water, everywhere...

I watched The News on TV, almost in disbelief. They were warning us (yet again) of a water shortage this Summer.

Yes, I know it's hardly rained down here this year, but generally the UK is not short of rain. In parts of the country it usually rains 360 days a year, but not this year. 

This recent drastic mains burst (above) was near Gloucester, and is not too uncommon.

I remember reading some time ago that a staggering 40% of our water is lost through small underground burst pipes; apparently too many for the Water Co's to do anything about. So it's hardly surprising that we are short of a few gallons!

Whilst the bosses of the Water Co's take home HUGE salaries, the rest of us are threatened with ever-higher bills, and dried-up taps. We are being told to shower for shorter periods, and not to let the tap run whilst brushing our teeth, etc. Maybe not to drink too much either!

So, will someone in authority please pull your bloody finger out. We need Water just as much as we need Farmers.

What is more important than good clean drinking water (and home grown food)?

 

Protection

This must be one of the saddest and most disturbing things I've seen for many years.

UK school-children are being invited on 'social media' to buy stab-proof vests. The situation in many inner city schools is now so bad that children not only go to school armed, but are also being advised to go with protection against being attacked. 

Certain communities seem to stab each other as a first resort. They see their hero 'rap singers' doing it, so they blindly imitate.

How on earth have we come to such a situation? People have always stabbed each other, but not children, and not in such numbers.

Unfortunately one cannot rid the country of knives; every kitchen contains dozens. I suppose the only solution is to have all children walk through metal detectors when they arrive at school every morning.

What a very sad state of affairs. 

 

Chelsea Pensioners.

One of the most popular sights in London, especially around the Chelsea area, are the Chelsea Pensioners in their bright red uniforms and tricorn hats. It's always a pleasure to see them. The Pensioners are all OAP British War Veterans.

They live at The Royal Chelsea Hospital, but wander around The Kings Road like the rest of us.

I worked in Chelsea, and lived for a while in Bramerton Street, just off the Kings Road, where the pensioners were a regular sight. One would always greet them when they passed by, and if they came into a Pub' where one was drinking, it was traditional to buy them their pints; which I did on several occasions.

It was accepted that they would only have one free pint, so they would move-on to another Pub' and have another free one there. Their thirsts were endless, and they took full advantage.

So, if you should meet one in a London Pub'; buy him a pint. He'll appreciate it.

 

Biba, Biba.

 

Anyone of around my age or a tad younger (who lived in London in the late 60's and early 70's) would know not only know the clothes shop 'Biba', but also know of its influence over the UK fashion business.

The shop's founder, Barbara Hulanicki, had studied at the Brighton Art College (as did Lady M), and in 1965 she opened her very first clothes shop not far from where we live. They had teething problems and after a couple of years they moved to London.

I haplessly became quite a regular visitor to the new Church Street Ken shop. Girlfriends always wanted to go there (usually on Saturdays) and I often found myself forking-out for dresses.

One of the benefits of my Biba visits was meeting-up with 'The Twins' (above). They had been at the Brighton shop, and moved up to London in 1967 (?). They became an integral part of the shop's ambiance. I didn't get to know them socially, but we always had a chat, and were pleased to see each other.

Biba was quite a remarkable shop. It was always filled with crowds of beautiful girls, all trying on dresses, and creating havoc. There were half naked girls everywhere, with clothes all over the floor and elsewhere. The twins had their work cut-out just trying to keep the place tidy, and under control.

Later, Biba became 'a bit too big for their boots', and they moved into the vast old Derry and Toms shop on High Street Ken, where they branched out into household goods, a café, and even a restaurant. I remember thinking that the name 'Biba' had lost its 'original edge'. The only things I bought there were some Indian bedspreads, which we still have, and now use as dustsheets.

I'm not sure what happened after that but Barbara lost control of the company, and it eventually closed.

But what a real sensation it had once been! Great memories.

His one and only joke!

 

Something recently reminded me of my father, and his somewhat serious demeanor.

My late Father was quite 'stiff upper lip'. He had been 'traditionally' educated, and had studied accountancy (to a basic level) before working in The City for a major clothing manufacturer of the pre and wartime era.

He was a hard worker, and didn't go in for much in the way of frippery. He wasn't the most gregarious person, but he was well liked and highly respected. His idea of fun was climbing hills and mountains with his best friend, and best man, JS.

Father didn't play games or do anything that he considered infra dig, so you can imagine my surprise when he suddenly came out with a JOKE, one Sunday, at the dinner table...... viz

Enoch drove the horse and trap to pick-up his employer Lady Constance at the railway station. On the way home the horse let off an enormous fart. "I'm sorry about that your Ladyship" said Enoch apologetically. "Oh that's all right, Enoch" said Lady Constance "Actually I'd thought it was the horse".

That was it. Father's one and only joke; but a good one, I hope you agree!

I've heard it many times since; always in slightly different forms.

Crash

On 18th May 1943, exactly 82 years ago, this German Messerschmitt 410A crashed into our nearby churchyard. It was returning from having killed people in London, and (I presume) was shot down before crossing The Channel, and heading for home.

The pilot was found hanging from a tree; dead. And his co-pilot landed in the sea and drowned. No-one from Brighton was injured. The church is about 500 metres from the sea, so how they managed to be found so far apart is a mystery.

This (below) is the very spot today. You can see the Stone Archway (top right) into the Rest Garden in both photos. It's the entrance to where I walk with Billy twice a day.

It certainly looks a lot more peaceful now than it did in 1943.

Veggie Wednesday.

We always eat 'veggie' at least once or twice a week, but I had abandoned my strict adherence to 'Veggie Wednesday'. But like Fish on Fridays, it is a ritual worth keeping.

I have mentioned several times about my favourite 'Compost Fry-up'. I never tire of it. It may not look so wonderful, but I can assure you that it is!

I usually take a mix of mostly-ready-cooked Aubergine, Courgette, Potato, Pepper, Cauliflower (and usually some Haricot Beans) cut into chunks, then fry in plenty of Olive Oil and Butter, before sprinkling with a good spoonful of ground Cumin and a little Salt. I serve with a topping of Cumin Seeds.

The Cumin changes what would otherwise have been an ordinary vegetable mixture into something very special. 

Lady M agrees with me that we should have more 'meatless' days. Perhaps we'll instigate a 'Meatless Monday' as well.

 

THE ROLY POLYS - Tap Dance "Anything Goes"

Can you believe it. Once upon a time we were allowed to laugh at 'Mother-in-Law' jokes, and overweight female dancers of a 'certain age'.

These days there would be several hundred, banner-waving, shaven-headed, dungaree-wearing, woke protesters, outside the theatre all demanding compensation.

I think I prefer it how things used to be! Here are 'The Roly Polys'; Les Dawson's wonderful answer to The Tiller Girls.

Fit for a Bishop.

Our newest (currently absent) neighbour, The Bishop, is having his home totally gutted and re-worked whilst he's away galivanting; the work has been going-on for several weeks. Apparently the house hadn't been up-dated since it was built back in the early 70's (?).

I may be guilty of being nosey, but I did notice that he is having 'Ecclesiastical Purple' carpets laid. His open garage was full of offcuts (below).

The Bishop is on his international travels, and I believe will return to the UK in order to move-in in mid-July. So, I shall have to wait to meet him until we return in September. 

I did ask the workmen if he was having a copy of the Sistine Chapel ceiling painted in his sitting room; but apparently not.

However, he IS creating a tiny chapel somewhere. A first in our little road.

 

House for sale.

As you might imagine, we have more than our fair share of 'celebs' living here in Brighton & Hove. We are only an hour from central London, we're by the sea, and our weather is arguably the best in the UK. Perfect for those celebs who are looking for an out of town retreat, where they are not pestered.

One such resident is musician David Gilmour who has this house, above, on the seafront in Hove. Not my cup-of-tea architecturally, but it's right next door to our favourite Ice Cream Parlour; Marrocco's.

Gilmour is selling-up. He originally wanted £15 Million for it back in 2022, then he dropped the price to £10 Million, and I now hear it's for sale at the bargain price of £8,950,000. So, any sensible offer might be accepted! The house is just a few metres from the beach (across a quiet road), and has perfect sea views. 

A major selling point is that occasionally Dolphins, and illegal-immigrant-filled-rubber-boats, can be viewed from the house with a good pair of Binoculars.

 

The Sunday Times.

We always buy The Sunday Times, but I really think it's about time we stopped.

This last Sunday it contained FIVE FULL PAGES of adverts. TWO for Rolex watches, ONE for British Gas, ONE for JPMorgan Chase, and ONE more for Louis Vuitton.

FIVE full pages out of a total of 27 is 18.5%. Which is roughly 90 pence of the £4.50 cost of the paper. And that is just for the FULL pages; there are plenty of half and quarter pages as well, making up another at least TWO more whole pages. So in all there are SEVEN whole pages out of 27 devoted to advertising, for which WE PAY.

All the other sections; sport, finance, homes, travel, etc, are also filled with advertising. It seems as if we are willingly funding being bombarded with adverts, when I feel that they should be paying us as recipients.

Imagine a shop that simply shows adverts rather than selling anything, and you are charged £4.50 to enter! That's how I feel about The Sunday Times. 

Am I being unreasonable?

 

60's heroes.

The above photo shows (left to right) Billy Fury, Jess Conrad, Gene Vincent, Joe Brown, Eddie Cochran, Adam Faith, and Marty Wilde. All 60's Rock-n-Roll legends.

My own attempt at becoming a rock-star was very short lived. I played bass in a band called 'The Darktown Strutters' (silly name), where we covered songs by Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran, and Buddy Holly. I have to admit that we weren't very good, and we soon focused our ambitions on other things.

The songs we chose to perform had all been big hits, and the amount of chords required to play them were minimal. Unfortunately our singer was rubbish, our drummer couldn't drum, and the bass player (me) didn't really know what he was doing. Our only decent musician was the rhythm guitarist who knew at least 7 chords, and usually managed to play them roughly in the right order.

Three steps to heaven, Summertime blues, Raining in my heart, and Maybe baby were amongst our very limited play-list. I expect we slaughtered all of them too!

It was a great era for music and it led the way for The Beatles. It was an era of good tunes and memorable lyrics. I always used to say that if The Beatles or The Stones had sung about the declension of Latin verbs, everyone would have learned them by heart.  

Traditional Morris Dancing

It's Morris Dancing season, when you might find 'sides' outside pubs, in town squares, or around the village pond. They add glamour to any Spring or Early Summer event.

If you've never seen them, this video is very typical of their dancing.

Morris dancing is a 'normal' event in England, and not done for tourism purposes. It is a part of our annual seasonal celebrations. The dancers tend to just 'turn-up' unannounced, so it's not always easy to plan where to see them in advance; however, if you've never seen them do look out for them around May 1st, which is known here as Beltane.

Stephen Francis Lester Lowe M.B CH.B M.R.C.P (uk) F.R.C.P (can).1942-1977

I can remember the day as if it was yesterday, when I received that terrible telegram telling me of my cousin's murder in Canada.

It was on this day in 1977. I was in my kitchen in France when a yellow post office van pulled-up outside the gates. The telegram said that he had been shot; in fact he had been stabbed 15 times.

Stephen was a 'Genius'; I have no qualms in using that word. He was an exceptionably 'clever' person. His loss was a serious blow to medicine in Canada, and elsewhere.

His next door neighbour's son had broken into his house looking for drugs; he was unlucky enough to have discovered him. Stephen was a hospital doctor, there were no drugs in the house.

Stephen was my first cousin, and I still miss him. I loved him like a big brother. What a terrible waste of a life. He was someone who did only good for the world. He was just 35 when he died; he left a wife and three daughters. I wonder what happened to the little scumbag who murdered him?

p.s. The letters after his name (above) are just a selected few. His accolades were extraordinary. RIP.

 

 

Oh to be in England now that Asparagus is here!

The season is so short that one has to take advantage when one can. Traditionally Asparagus should only be eaten between St George's Day on April 23rd and the Summer Solstice on June 21st.

I'd noticed at Sainsbury's that they had some ENGLISH Organic Asparagus. I always check the 'country of origin' as, in the past, I'd bought some Spanish spears by mistake (in France), and they were tasteless.

Yesterday's Asparagus came from the amusingly named 'Bedlam Farm' in Cambridgeshire, and was totally delicious. I noticed that I'd bought it on its sell-by date, which was why it was reduced to £1.90 for 6 fat spears. It was perfect.

What could be nicer in early May than a simple Asparagus lunchtime salad.

VE Day. 80 years on! 8th May 2025.

Yes, it was on this day 80 years ago that Germany finally raised her white flag to end their WW2. The cowardly Hitler shot himself, and the horrendous concentration camps were liberated; sadly far too late for so many. They had already lost WW1, so why they started WW2 is a mystery.

Germany's unparalleled aggression caused deaths estimated at between 50 and 85 Million; and for what? What did Germany gain? The BAD people lost, because the world can never allow BAD people to win.

Some 'random country' did join in the scrap towards the end, but they were of little help overall (isn't that so Mr Vance?).

WW2 saw some of the most disgraceful wartime behaviour known to mankind from the Germans, almost on a par with the brutality of the Japanese.

Germany committed mass murder on an unprecedented scale killing over SIX MILLION JEWS, simply because of their religion. Something the world will NEVER forgive; or forget. So, I pay homage to all those soldiers who fought for freedom and decency, and managed to defeat the vile Hitler. Thank you.

It was said to be 'The War to end all Wars', but as we all know, more Hitlers have recently appeared in the form of Hamas and Hezbollah (and their supporters).  And Putin, of course, is mirroring Hitler's invasion of Poland, with his attack on Ukraine.

Will we never learn? It seems not.

So finally, Alphonse is sitting in our front bay window, in memory of all those who lost their lives, and in gratitude to all those who returned.

p.s. I don't know if you saw the VE Day special edition of The Repair Shop last night on BBC1.  A lady I know, and chat with occasionally, was on the show with her small broken Doll. She's a lovely lady, and it was really nice seeing her.

My Egg Cup.

Having spoken on Monday about White Eggs, I thought I would show you my lovely 'antique' Egg Cup.

A hard, or soft, boiled egg is a pretty uninteresting thing, but when served in this egg cup, on a small Cornish-ware plate, it takes on a whole new personality.

I was given this one by my very dear friend, Sami, and I've made a point of trying to find more similar ones; unfortunately to no avail. 

Every time I visit a Boot Sale, or an Antique Centre, the first thing on my mind is to find nice old Egg Cups. Where are they all???

p.s. I've now just looked on Etsy, and have found a set of four replicas, exactly the same as my one above, for £83.92. It seems that they come from Portugal. Over £20 each, that's far too expensive for me!

 

Lawn

Trying to find someone to do simple gardening work around our cottage has been a nightmare. No-one seemed to want to do any work.

Our village is typical of many small isolated locations, where unemployment is endemic. One really would have thought that a very small investment to meet a much sought-after service would have been jumped-at; but no. They prefer to sit at home and do nothing.

Luckily we have now found someone, and he's excellent. He's very conscientious, sending photos of his work, etc. No longer will we arrive home to find metre-high grass. He makes sure that everything is pristine.

We still have plenty of other gardening work to do, but nothing compared to trying to convert an overgrown hay-field into a lawn. 

I don't know how much grass we have to mow; about an acre I suppose. But with 'Rory', my ride-on mower, now in perfect condition, it is a pleasure mowing. The whole job takes about 20 minutes.

Most of the garden looks after itself, but there is always pruning, clipping, and titivating to be done. And before we leave in early Autumn there's some serious cutting-back of Hedges, Fig trees, and Vines to be completed.

These days our biggest problem is what to do with all the detritus! I must sort-out some new disposal system.

 

Jeremy Clarkson.

He was a TV Car Show presenter, became a journalist, and bought a farm and a pub; I'm not sure if it's in that order.

During his career he has also been voted the man most people wanted to see as the UK's Prime Minister.

He is one of those rare people who speaks the truth, and has the power of common sense to find solutions. Not surprising then, that people wanted to see him at No 10.

We only buy one newspaper a week; The Sunday Times. Clarkson has a weekly article, where he dishes the dirt on all manner of silliness both in the UK and abroad. He deciphers, analyses, and solves; all in a 'laugh-out-loud' style of writing reminiscent of Wilde or Woodhouse. His last Sunday's offering concerned SCAMMERS, one example of which was buying a £60 bottle of wine in a Paris bistro, then finding that it was a 40p blend of Ribena and vinegar (and seeing the waiter trying to keep a straight face). Below was his closing paragraph!

Clarkson attended Repton School, where he described his life there as follows.

"I suffered many terrible things. I was thrown on an hourly basis into the ice plunge pool, dragged from my bed in the middle of the night and beaten, made to lick the lavatories clean and all the usual humiliations that... turn a small boy into a gibbering, sobbing, suicidal wreck... they glued my records together, snapped my compass, ate my biscuits, defecated in my tuck box and they cut my trousers in half".

He then spent most of his time smoking, drinking, and making a nuisance of himself. He left with no discernable qualifications, which doesn't seem to have held him back.

I like Clarkson, and if he stood for parliament in Brighton, I'd definitely vote for him.

Eggs

Like most people (I imagine), I always open boxes of eggs to make sure none is broken before forking-out my hard earned cash. 

Imagine, therefore, the surprise I've had recently finding that the eggs in the box were all WHITE, and not that delicious-looking warm brown that we've come to expect. This has happened to me twice in recent times.

Of course, there is no difference in the eggs themselves, but the appearance does count. When one is used to brown eggs; white comes as something of a shock.

I remember being very surprised by a small 'mountain' of hard-boiled WHITE eggs on a breakfast buffet table in Marrakech.

As strange, or even as logical, as it may sound, the difference is quite simple. Brown eggs tend to come from Brown Hens, and white eggs come from White ones; although this isn't always the case.

Unscrupulous producers can use pigment-infused feed to colour the shells, and a choice of colour can be selected from a 'catalogue'.

As far as nutritional content of different coloured eggs is concerned; there is no difference at all. However, certain breeds of Hen can produce 'superior' eggs.

Having been told for years that we shouldn't eat more than two or three eggs a week, we are now assured that a couple every day is OK as part of a healthy diet. They contain protein, vitamins, and minerals; all good for a healthy lifestyle.

So, eat your eggs, brown or white, as you will. Personally I'm on a diet, and am only eating breakfast once a week with Kimbo, and that ALWAYS involves a fried egg; usually brown!
 

This Last Week.

 

We are reliably informed that the recent Spanish and Portuguese power failures were due to their illogical obsession with 'Net Zero'. Miliband (above) is trying to do the same in the UK, and he HAS to be stopped. My advice to government is to have a bit of everything; wind, solar, nuclear, coal, hydro, etc. That way the reliance isn't on just one or two things. Miliband could bring the UK to its knees, just as they did in Spain; people are quite naturally calling for him to be sacked.

Here in the UK, we have now exceeded 10,000 illegal immigrants this year. Whatever plans they have in mind to solve this problem (and I include the Tories); they ain't working! Perhaps it's time to look across The Pond to see how Tr*ump's simple plan is doing.

It's looking like 'trouble ahead'. The Unions representing Nurses, Teachers, and Council staff, are all threatening to strike. Rachel from Accounts has told them "Any inflation-busting pay rises must be met by cuts to services". As you might imagine, the Unions aren't happy! 

Socialist MP, Clive Lewis, has been in the poo. He posted criticism of Keir Starmer on X, accusing him of 'Taking Israel's money and orders'. The post showed a destressing photo of a 'Palestinian' child 'trying to smile and show love'.  In fact the photo was of a Turkish child with a rare skin disease, and nothing to do with either Israel or Gaza. Lewis has been severely reprimanded. That antisemitic label just won't go away. 

Poor old M & S have been under cyber attack this week. A group of hackers have infiltrated their online system and caused havoc. The group known as 'Scattered Spider' is thought to be made-up of over 1,000 young men in both the UK and USA, and they demand sums of up to £10 Million to return things to normal. Scotland Yard (Plod) is on the case!

The last remaining of the well-loved High Street stores, BEALES, is to close on May 31st. The stores had been running for 144 years, and they are now holding their final 'Rachel Reeves Closing Down Sale'. Our poor old High Streets will never be the same again. She has done so much damage to businesses, and many can no longer survive. I wonder if she's worried about it at all? We also hear that the well-loved 100 year old Moorcroft Pottery Company is to close down; they were one of our late Queen's favourite pottery companies. Sadly they could no longer cope with Reeves's punitive costs increases. One has to wonder who or what will be next!

You may find it difficult to believe this next piece of news; but it's 100% TRUE. The English Football Association have banned men, or transgender men, from playing in women's football teams. Logically, one has to presume that previously they HAD NOT been banned. Of course the Lesbian/Gay community are up in arms about it, calling the decision 'Trans Apartheid'. Did anyone know that men had been playing in our Women's teams; representing England even? I certainly didn't!

And finally some VERY GOOD NEWS to end the week. The Ginger Winger has lost his silly court case. He will NOT be receiving Full-Tax-Payer-Funded Police Protection when (or even if) he visits the UK again. His court fees allegedly amount to £1.5 Million; enough to have paid for hundreds of private security guards. I imagine that back in Monty-cheato, there will be some black-looks across the breakfast table!  The Winger has responded by making a truly ridiculous interview with the BBC. As usual, everyone is to blame except him and 'Me-Me'. 

Have a good week.

Farage.

 

Our Nigel is happy. One of his successful by-election candidates (Runcorn) won his seat by 6 votes; 12,645 against 12,639, a close call.  

I don't know if it is just dissatisfaction with The Socialists and The Tories, or his wonderful policies, but Nigel Farage (above) and his 'Reform UK' party, seems to be gaining popularity in the UK. If they made a coalition with The Tories, they would probably win the next election.

Farage came to prominence during the EU Referendum with his UKIP party, and as an outspoken MEP.

He was educated at Dulwich, then went directly into The City. He worked in Commodity trading; mostly in metals (I think). I don't think he has any graduate degree.

His straight-forward approach has caused him several problems over the years, as he has locked horns with fellow MEP's and UK politicians alike. He is no stranger to conflict, and I feel he rather revels in it.

He takes a somewhat Tr*mpian approach to politics; shooting from the hip! Many will remember that he was a serious Tr*ump supporter.

He is known as a beer-drinking, smoking, right-winger; and he says what he thinks people want to hear. His association with Tr*mp in the past has given him a no-nonsense aura. Starmer's wooly political approach is getting on people's nerves, and Farage is taking full advantage.

I cannot tell what he'd be like as a future PM. Personally I would never vote for him as I really have no idea what he stands for. I would like to see a return to one-nation, middle of the road, intelligent, politics, that would get us back to 'normality' again, but I don't see Farage in that role. I see him as a radical, when what EVERY COUNTRY really needs are accountability, diplomacy, and calm.

Perhaps a coalition would calm him a bit.

Pure Vandalism.

 

We really do have some scumbags here in Brighton, but I suppose everywhere does!

Some idiot had set light to this (once) yellow plastic Winter Salt box, which was used to salt the roads when it's frosty (but was never used). When I saw it this morning (below) I simply despaired. 

Not only has it made a nasty black mark over the newly painted wall, but it has also cracked it.

The previous owner of the house, Michelle (her wot's on telly; Design Masters), had only just repainted the wall after some equally dimwitted plonker has sprayed something illegible all over it. We had a long chat about Brighton's 'Squiggle Merchants' and we both despaired as usual. The new owners of her lovely house must be very upset, as well as furious. 

I haven't met the new owners yet, but a few of us locals gathered around the blackened pile this morning in disbelief.

Cannot someone catch these idiotic children and give them a bloody good thrashing?

Not long to go.

It's not that far away now; our little hide-away cottage is calling us, and we're 'champing at the bit' ready to go.

Our gardener will have made sure that everything is in good order, so it remains for us to open the pool, dust-down the BBQ, and once we've visited our nearest Leclerc supermarket to re-stock, we'll be ready to relax and enjoy ourselves (which we do back in Brighton as well).

I love our little cottage, it has everything I want in a home. It is very old, built of stone, and still contains all those features from when it was built 300 years ago. It overlooks beautiful open countryside, and the woods are home to plenty of delicious mushrooms. Lovely.

Sadly we have some very annoying new neighbours but we shall do our best to ignore them. That wonderful feeling of camaraderie that we knew for over 50 years has now gone, and has been replaced by a feeling of tension. These people should not have left their urban homes. They have no idea about country life. We were warned about the worst of them before he arrived; those warnings have proved to be correct.

I do have some concerns about our visit. My mobility problems have not gone away, and although I finding driving OK, I'm not sure how it will be over 700 kms. We shall see. 

Rory, our ride-on mower, has been serviced and is ready to go. The drive belt was slipping at the end of last summer but now is fixed, and the cutter blades have been replaced. I can hardly wait; my big toy is ready and waiting for me.