Wine from The Red Sea.

 

I've drunk wine from many parts of the world.

France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Australia, the USA, Argentina, Greece, Chile, Peru, Portugal, Morocco, S Africa, and a few other places that I've probably forgotten. But I'd never tasted an Egyptian wine.

With Kimbo and Suzie just back from their short jaunt in Egypt, I was presented with a bottle of 'Shahrazade' Cabernet/Merlot wine. 

On the back label it promises that the wine is 'Rich with the blessings of the ancient Nile terraces'; whatever that means.

It's a light red at 12.5% alc, and offers 'A flavour of red berries and spices, mingled with jammy ripe fruits; complimented by silky smooth tannins'.

As you know, I do like to assess new tastes and flavours, so I put on my sommelier's hat, and went to work.

Verdict: 2/10 (they lied)

If you have always wondered why Egyptian Wine isn't more popular; I suggest you try 'Shahrazade'.

Jack Hargreaves

Many people these days will NOT know the name Jack Hargreaves, but when I was a wee Whipper-Snapper he was one of my great heroes.

He had a TV programme called 'Out of Town', where he sat in a garden shed, and talked about all things bucolic. It was one of those very relaxed programmes that taught you so much, without really trying.

He didn't dress-up, he sucked on an old pipe, spoke with a country drawl, and he fiddled with bits of string. He was the epitome of an easy-going countryman. Here he is driving his Horse and Trap; not unlike the one we had as children in my native Surrey village of Lingfield.

Many years later, here I am (in about 1975) outside my original Farmhouse in S W France (below), driving a very similar Horse and Trap.

The Trap was mine, but the Horse (Joe) belonged to some friends who were visiting in an old Gypsy Caravan. They were travelling from the North to the South of France; an eco-trip.

When our friends reached the South Coast of France, after SIX months on the road, they sold both Horse and Caravan. If I'd known they were going to sell, I would have made an offer.

The Caravan had been bought in Ireland, and was of the type knows as 'An Open Lot', the Horse came from London, and had been working as a Rag-n-Bone-Man's Horse. He was a Welsh Cob, and behaved perfectly.

This below is the Caravan that Joe pulled, with me and our first two small children. Jack Hargreaves would have approved!

Still proclaiming.

I recently heard this song being used as the backing for some BBC Radio play (I can't remember what it was).

The Proclaimers were a strange phenomenon on the music scene. Scottish twin brothers, Craig and Charlie Reid from Auchtermuchty, sand alluringly old fashioned songs that became huge hits. Their songs 'Letter from America', and 'I'm gonna be' (I would walk 500 miles), took them to the top of the UK charts.  

This particular song 'Beautiful truth' is amongst their best. A beautiful relaxing melody.

 

The Cancelling of a National Hero

It's a sad day. Churchill's portrait is to be removed from our £5 banknotes. Instead we are to have some more acceptable cute cuddly Woke animals.

They (?) are chipping away, and airbrushing our history, bit by bit. They topple statues, detest Remembrance Day Poppies, ban certain history books, throw their hands in horror at any mention of 'Empire', spray over important monuments, and re-name offending streets; all in the name of Woke-ism. 

Most countries celebrate and cherish their history, but not us. The heroic past of our nation, our greatest achievements, and our history, is being slowly 'cancelled'. Our current crop of Woke Lovies see much of Britain's past as unacceptable, and they work hard to remove anything that offends their Woke credentials.

Anyway, there's nothing we can do about it. We have to accept what they do without complaining. We are powerless, and must wait for a different government with more backbone to reverse matters.

However, just for fun, I'm showing this delightful photo again (below) of a very young Lady Magnon (bottom left) sitting patiently listening to Winston Churchill at our Embassy in Washington. The great man will NEVER be whitewashed in this house!

Making it someone else's problem!

I don't get into town much these days even though the main shopping area is only a few hundred yards away. Brighton is also quite 'hilly', which I find a problem. It's easier for me to go out of town by car, and do all I need there!

As such I don't see much of any homelessness there may be, although I have mentioned previously about a few people who lived in tents in the Park.

However, having seen this headline (above) in my Msn News Feed, I am presuming that there is still a problem. Usually at this cold time of year, the 'homeless' stay at home; one is more likely to see them in Summer when the weather is better.

Unlike our Government who dither over everything (except raising taxes), our Labour Council is grasping the nettle, and dealing with the 'homelessness' problem by sending Brighton's nomads over to Eastbourne; known everywhere as 'God's Waiting Room'.  

I'm not sure what the elderly population of Eastbourne will make of this. They are used to their quiet, uneventful, OAP-filled, seaside town; NOT having a bunch of drugged-up scruffy individuals, sitting on the pavements with their hands out.

No doubt they'll soon all walk back along the coast to the town they love, and which offers them a much more pleasant lifestyle.

Good try Council, but don't start celebrating too soon.

 

DRUGS

I'm not a drug user, and never have been. As an Art Student, in the late 60's, I did once smoke some Hashish, but it sent me to sleep, so I didn't bother again.

On my early dog-walk yesterday morning, I noticed a small, suspicious looking, plastic bag on the ground in the Twitten behind my garage; an area often used by local crack-heads. It was a small plastic Ziploc packet that contained a number of even smaller packs. It looked very suspicious, so I picked it up (not wanting any small children to find it), and took it home.

Above, is what it contained. About a dozen very small packets containing white powder.

I have no idea what it is, and have no desire to find out. I presume it is either Fentanyl or Cocaine or something similar.

So, what does one do with such a find? I don't know if the Police will be interested, and I don't want to dispose of it in it's present condition. Do I flush it down the loo? Do I incinerate it? Do I bury it in the garden?

Some dealer must be as 'Sick as a Parrot' this morning, and no doubt he'll be seen scouring the area, over the next few days!

Now I have to decide what I'll do with it.

(Some time later). I contacted the Police, and in no time a couple of very attractive and friendly young female PC's knocked at the door, and the offending stupefiants were taken into custody. They seemed very grateful.

Do not be surprised if my name appears in King Charles's Birthday Honours List, for services to the community above and beyond the call of duty. Cro Magnon OBE.

Never a dull moment !!!

Product Test.

I fancied some Fish Fingers for supper, but there were only TWO left in my freezer. Not enough!

Inside the freezer cabinet at Sainsbury's there were two very similar looking packets, which I'd not noticed before. One was for Cod Fish Fingers (the type I had at home), and the other was for Pollock (which I'd never previously tried). They could easily have been confused.

As I'd heard Rick Stein going on about how we should all be buying Pollock rather than Cod (to save Cod fish stocks), I plumped for the Pollock, which were also considerably cheaper; I think less than half the price.

I fried them in the same pan, but kept them apart. As above; the Cod was on the left and the Pollock on the right.

Frankly, taste-wise, I could hardly tell them apart, I had to really concentrate on finding any difference. If anything, I found the Cod to be very slightly 'sweeter', but overall they were much the same. Both very nice.

I served them with some simply fried 'Little Gem' lettuce.

Verdict: Pollock Fish Fingers, 10/10. I shall certainly be buying them in future! 

I'll leave the Cod to swim another day.