The Glenn Miller Story.

                                 

A few days ago it was filthy outside, so I watched the above film; I must have seen it at least 10 times previously.

It always reminds me of an event at school that still makes me smile to this day.

A poster went up advertising a very tedious-sounding upcoming concert by some USA military big band. My school was situated not too far from an East Anglian US air force base, so this was no surprise.

No-one really wanted to go, this was the era of The Beatles, The Stones, etc, and air force band music was not our bag. The school's lack of enthusiasm soon reached those in authority who'd organised the show, so they made it 'compulsory' to attend.

The concert was held in a huge military gymnasium not far from the school, and when we entered the band's chairs, music stands, and instruments, were all set-up in situ. We waited for about 15 minutes (all wishing we were elsewhere), then in they came; about 50 crisply uniformed Yanks. The applause was less than encouraging.

The band opened with Chattanooga Choo Choo, and we were all instantly spellbound. The sound was amazing, the music wonderful, and the whole atmosphere superb. The musicians stood-up, sat-down, and partook in synchronised instrument swinging; the applause after their first number was an altogether different matter to a few minutes earlier, and the whole audience became increasingly appreciative.

It was later explained by the 'spokesman/conductor' that the band was the continuation of The Glenn Miller outfit (which I believe still exists today), and I must say that their concert was without question one of the most exciting I'd ever been to. How grateful I was that it had been made obligatory to attend; I would have missed a really great show.

Easter Sproutings

It doesn't always pay to be over tidy in the veg' garden.

At Haddock's I am now harvesting three types of sproutings; The pukka purple sprouting (centre), Cavolo Nero sproutings (left), and Curly Kale sproutings (right).

Many gardeners have already grubbed-up their old plants by this time of year, depriving themselves of these delicious little gifts from otherwise spent plants. Even those old Brussels Sprouts plants will send out sproutings, and they're delicious.

So, don't be too quick to tidy-up before your Spring planting. Let nature take its course, and benefit from her bounty. You'll be pleased you did.

Personally I always cook twice the amount I need for my evening meal, and have the rest as a salad for lunch the following day. Lovely Jubbly.

re Haddock's. Yesterday was a perfect gardening day. I rotovated, raked, and planted. The first to go in were the Red Onions (always an easy crop), a few Red Cabbages, and some Caulis. The 2015 campaign has begun! 

I also had the first few sticks of forced Rhubarb. Heaven!

Sissinghurst.

                               

Of all the 7 deadly sins, my favourite must be Envy.

I have no shame in occasionally being envious of others, especially when it comes to architecture.

There are several periods of English architecture which count amongst my, and most Englishmen's, favourites.... Tudor, Elizabethan, and probably the most popular, Georgian.

My own preference is for Elizabethan architecture (1550-1600 aprox), with Sissinghurst being one of the best domestic examples.

                               

Sissinghurst was famously bought in 1930 by gardener Vita Sackville-West and her diplomat husband Harold Nicholson. It was almost in ruin when they purchased the house, and they spent years restoring and redesigning both it, and the garden.

The stone mullioned windows, coupled with mellow bricks and tiles, give the house (castle) a warmth that has never since been paralleled in English architecture.

Inside every (well, almost every) Englishman/woman lies dreams of an Elizabethan manor/farmhouse. There are two problems here; there probably aren't enough to go round, and most of us couldn't afford them anyway. Still, we can always dream.

Home alone again.

Lady M's off gallivanting again in London, so I have the run of the house for a few weeks. I also have loads of work to do, but recently it's been bloody non-stop raining, making life difficult.

Rain ruins everything when one lives out in The Styx, so much so that I've found myself Hoovering, putting that annoying duvet back into its cover correctly, and even oiling the hot plate of our poor-man's Aga. I can't mow, dig, or plant; outdoor life has come to a standstill. It's a nightmare.

My current major job is wall building up at the barn, but even though it's indoors work, I need to use an electric angle grinder to cut blocks/bricks, and there's no way I'm going to do that outside in this bloody rain!

So, I wrap myself in my leaky Barbour and take Bok for plenty of short walks, I watch old DVD's of Rick Stein, I sit by the fire and read pamphlets about bathroom fittings and kitchen taps, and I also eat things that otherwise would be banished from the Magnon kitchen (e.g. Whelks, Snails, etc).

I've just checked the weather forecast, and it looks to be getting better. Thank goodness!

The Dalai Lama meets Rick Stein.

Recent bad weather has allowed me time to watch some old Rick Stein DVD's (Stein is a fish cook in the UK).

In one particular episode of his Indian series he meets the religious leader The Dalai Lama. Rick, of course, quizzes him about food.

The DL admitted that as a student they were forbidden to eat eggs, pork, or fish, but his father adored pork, and his mother adored eggs, so when visiting his parents he partook of both. Naughty boy.

He also stated that when he eventually became a fully fledged Buddhist monk, eating after lunch was forbidden, but he divulged that when hunger overcame him he would munch on a few biscuits; his excuse being that Buddha would understand that a healthy body was more important than breaking a tiny rule. Naughty boy.

His interview reminded me of those strict vegans and orthodox Jews who can't resist a bacon sandwich when no-one's looking; and who could blame them. Naughty, naughty.

The DL also stressed that 'Oneness of Humanity' is his mantra. Who could argue with that.

Billy-boy-Badger

Bok disappeared on our walk yesterday morning, then later called me over to see what he'd found. Poor Billy Badger wasn't too happy and he growled like a dog; Bok just wanted to play with him.

Also, on our walk, I heard the first Cuckoo of the year, and the first Hoopoe.



I returned to where we'd found the Baby Bill Badger about three hours later; he'd gone home. I quite expect his Mum gave him a good ticking off.

In two minds about Amaryllis.

We were given this Amaryllis several years ago by our friend Terry (St Theresa of the Floral Tribute), and every year, just before Easter, it throws up these extraordinary flowers.

The flowers are gaudy yet spectacular; and although in some ways I quite like them, they look completely alien in our cottage.

They're not at all sympathetic to our rustic cluttered environment, nor are they suited to our unsophisticated life-styles. But there they are, performing like Spanish Flamenco dancers every Easter, and demanding our attention.

                             

The enormous bulb has been in the same small ugly black plastic pot since it arrived. Should it now be re-potted, or do I follow my own advice of 'if it ain't broke don't try to fix it'?

Any Amaryllis advice warmly welcomed.