The Spy in the Kitchen.

 

It does seem that a lot of what we buy these days comes from China. I know that their economy isn't doing too well at the moment, but that isn't for their want of trying.

When I look at labels, invariably it says 'Made in China', even our beloved MG cars are now Chinese.

But this isn't as innocent as it may appear. For a long time it has been suggested that major Chinese high-tech installations are filled with hidden programming that sends information back to China. It has also been suggested that at the touch of a Chinese button, certain essential services could be totally closed down. 

But it gets even worse. I now read that your innocent looking Chinese made Air Fryer is listening to all your kitchen conversations. These are beamed back to China, listened to, analysed, and information gathered.

So, if you have one, may I suggest that you give your fryer some false information.

Whisper into its ear "I hear that Taiwan is going to attack China", or "Xi Jinping is a UK spy", or "Next week Russia intends to release a new Covid variant over Beijing".

You can't trust anyone these days! 

Scissor Services.

Kimbo doesn't seem to have opened any supermarkets, high-rise apartment blocks, or suspension bridges recently, and I wanted to know why.

Has the supply of ribbon dried up? Are no new supermarkets being built? Are his services simply no longer required? 

He didn't seem to know why either. He always came free of charge, provided his own transport, and didn't even demand a Champagne lunch.

I suspect his lack of scissor work is because he isn't blonde with 'ample assets'. However, I've advised him to put his name on the 'I cut ribbons.com' website, and wait for offers to roll in.  

Anyway, we've just had breakfast together, where he told me all about a recent visit to Berkshire. He apparently gave a lecture to a very large university audience. So, someone still wants him.

Back to the day job Kimbo! He's off to Singapore any day; meetings, meetings, meetings!

How pleased I am to have been a lowly painter.

 

Autumn

We've been back from France for just two months. When we returned the trees were still covered in fresh green leaves, today they are nearly bare.

I do like this time of year, more to look at than to walk in; although our weather is still very mild with above 10 C temperatures, and some sunshine almost every day.

The 'Peace Garden', where I go twice a day, and Billy goes four times a day, is really beautiful in Autumn. I think old graveyards are at their best with fallen leaves and bare trees. There should be an aura of sadness in old graveyards, and Autumn gives us that.

I usually go for our first walk of the day at around 7.30 am, and often the garden is empty. It is so peaceful, with just us, a few Pigeons, and some Squirrels for company. Perfect.

 

Britain's most famous dish.

Ask any foreigner 'What is Britain's most famous dish?', and they will invariably reply 'Fish and chips'.

It's years since I've had pukka chip shop 'Fish-n-chips'. We do have fish and chips every Friday, but it's either fresh Salmon or Fish Fingers with a few oven ready potato wedges.

However, we decided recently to spoil ourselves, and Kimbo picked-up enough for three at our nearest chippie.

It was particularly good. Not too greasy, plenty of chips, and a good sized piece of Cod. Delicious.

I think next weekend we might have a Chinese! I've been really looking forward to a Chinese take-away for ages. I think we've now found the right place.

F*ck Farmers.

Our recent Labour Party's disastrous budget (their first in 14 years), had a number of nasty elements; the worst of which was an attack on our farmers.

Small family owned farms have been the backbone of British food-producing since Adam.

Passing-on the family farm from Father to Son/Daughter, free of inheritance tax, has meant that there has been a continuity in the quality and standard of UK food production.

But now, dear Rachel Reeves (who has probably never visited a family-run farm in her life) has decided that all this must end. All farms valued over £1Million will now attract 20% inheritance tax when passed-on.

Most small farms just about make ends meet, any profit usually goes on new equipment or infrastructure. Most also live with huge amounts of debt. There would be nothing left for a massive tax bill, making it obligatory for the beneficiary to sell-up. The knock-on effect of this tax will be disastrous.

I would like to suggest that the fragrant Ms Reeves watches the BBC TV programme 'This Farming Life' which shows exactly how strenuous life can be. We should be grateful to our farmers, not kick them in the boll*cks.

This Socialist policy is possibly the most disastrous of all their budget horrors. It will effect every one of us. Less food will be grown here, we will need to import more, and those who were doing a really good job for their country will end-up twiddling their thumbs. Smaller farms will, in future, end-up as home to little Penelope's Ponies and Alpacas.

When Labour promised not to tax 'working people', did they really think that farmers don't work? Farming involves skills that are passed from generation to generation, and you take all that away at your peril.

But don't be too depressed. No doubt a different party will reverse this shortly.

What on earth were Labour thinking!

Gin Club

Lady Magnon is a sociable, and gregarious, person. There is nothing she enjoys more than nattering with friends, and making new acquaintances.

As soon as we returned to England last September she immediately took-up her rightful place amongst the other 'Friday Night Club' members who live hereabouts (she was a founding member).

They are all women, and they gather in the house of one member or another, usually on Friday nights. They collectively put the world to rights, and no doubt moan about the men who share their lives (ahem). They also partake of their favourite tipples; I'm sure you get the picture.

These three above are NOT actually members, I believe they are Keith Richards' three younger sisters.

The FNC soon became known as 'The Gin Club'; need I explain why! We menfolk just despair and head for the pub' where we discuss knitting patterns, and admire photographs of Poodles and Yorkies. 

Atomic Mars

Life on Mars. If it's anything like this, I might think of going!