A Day in the Life of Cro.

 

We needed a different sitting room coffee table.

Our existing table was a 1940's Lloyd Loom monstrosity that Lady M thought was stylish, but I simply thought ugly and impractical.

Here in Brighton & Hove we have a wonderful Hospice called The Martlets (Martlets, or Swifts, are the symbol of Sussex). The hospice is a highly regarded and treasured local institution, and everyone supports them as much as possible.

So, looking for a new (second hand) coffee table my first thought was to visit The Martlets Charity Shop, which just happens to be en route to my out-of-town supermarket; Lady M accompanied me.

It was my first visit to their shop, and after a good look around I finally came across a table which was exactly what we were looking for. Plain, simple, and made from knotty Pine.

The price tag said £35, so I wasn't arguing. A new one would have cost well over £100.

It may not be the most elegant or stylish table, but it does what's asked of it (other than having a lower shelf), and has even already had seal of approval.

The Turkish rug beneath it came back with us from France recently. It's one of those things we really didn't want to have stolen!

Oh dear.

 

Oh dear. Again I don't want to be too critical of Labour because I'm quite 'middle of the road' when it comes to politics, but we've only just returned to our New Socialist Republic, and the first thing I read (and saw on PMQ's) was that the UK is withholding certain armament export licenses to Israel.

The UK has always rightly been a staunch supporter of democratic Israel, and the world has always known that if you mess with Israel, you mess with Britain. Now it seems, not so!  I can't imagine that the US will be too happy with new boy Starmer over his decisions.

The Socialists have now re-joined the Hamas-lovies, and are weakening their ties with Israel. On the very day when six hostages were found brutally murdered by Hamas (Corbyn's friends), they returned to the bad-old-days of Labour Party antisemitism. What message does this give to Hamas, and the international world of terrorism? 

Starmer previously spoke quite vehemently about sweeping away the traditional anti-Jewish sentiment that his party was known for, and we all supported him, but now that he's our new PM, it looks as if he's given-in to pressure.

Personally I believe that you're either pro Israel's right to exist, and you support them 100%, or you don't. You can't sit on the fence.

So, now that the poor UK pensioners have been clobbered, and the wealthy railway Union members given massive pay rises, what we all need to ask is WHEN are those Socialist good times going to start rolling? As the fragrant Ms Rayner wrote during the 2017 election 'Labour will maintain the winter fuel payment and bus passes for pensioners'. Well, of course you will. Are bus passes the next to go?

Rumours are already circulating that there will be a new 'Mansion Tax' (a 'mansion' being any nice home in southern England) where someone having worked hard enough to buy a home worth around £3 Million would pay an extra £10,000 p.a. Inheritance Tax will probably also rise, hitting those same hard-working savers. Petrol Tax is bound to rise, as is tax on Junk-Food. I've even heard that they will be taxing GLASS BOTTLES.  

And let us not forget all those criminals who have now been let loose onto our streets. What could possibly go wrong??? Who voted for all this shit?

Possibly most importantly and worrying for the UK in general, they intend to create a 100% politicised, and age-limited, Upper House (The House of Lords). No longer will random politically-unaffiliated peers from the shires take their rightful seats (and vote however they see best), now they will be elected by whatever political party is in power, and will take the party whip. A very sad day for democracy. If they really did want to make sensible changes to The Lords, they should get rid of all those bloody Bishops.

Oh dear...... 4 more years of Socialism. 

Festival of Slowth - 2024 - Wales

Whilst down here in Sussex, 'The Festival of Speed' was taking place at Goodwood, up in Wales 'The Festival of Slowth' was in full swing.

I've always rather fancied owning some simple old sporty 'banger', but I'm afraid that my mechanical knowledge is zero. I leave it to others.

The cost of Motoring

I have never previously calculated the annual cost of my car ownership. 

On returning to the UK recently, all my annual payments for The Compact Royce (Debi) arrived either by post or by Email. They have now all been paid.

Road Tax: £190

Insurance: £631.05

Annual Service and MOT: £255

Total: £1,076.05 (To which I should add another £230 for my recent pothole damage)

I hadn't realised that it cost so much. Add to that the cost of petrol, and any incidental repairs, and it becomes quite an expensive pleasure.

As long as I can afford it, I don't really mind; I would hate to be without my car.

In absentia

Typical; as soon as we get back to Brighton, Kimbo, Susie, and Suave-Harve swan off to Venice. 

We have cyber-spoken, and they have sent photos of their 'fine-dining', but it's not like seeing them again in person. They'll be back quite soon.

They could have waited a while, and maybe even taken us with them!

They haven't missed much here, it's been raining most of the time.

 

Re-Stocking.

I love getting back to Blighty just as much as I love going out to France.

My first big task this week was to go shopping, to re-stock the house with essentials and not-such-essentials. The kitchen cupboards were totally EMPTY.

I did bring back a lot of things from France. Tins of Paté, Confit, certain types of Pasta, canned Fish, etc, which are mostly unavailable here, but things such as butter, meat, eggs, vegetables, and fruit, all have to be re-stocked. Small treats also have to be bought; Black Pudding, Bacon, Haggis, etc. As you might see, my kitchen cupboard is now groaning (above). I shall soon now have to start on the freezer.

We still eat soup every day for lunch, so all my favourite ingredients needed to be bought; Potatoes, Leeks, Cauli, Pak choi, etc. I also always keep an Aubergine and a few Courgettes handy.

As I was going around my local BIG Sainsbury's, I suddenly realised what a 'creature of habit' I am. I literally went from shelf to shelf in exactly the same way as I always do. Nothing varied at all.

I shall buy some Lamb for the weekend, and make a Greek-style Kleftiko. We're already back into the regular swing of things.

p.s. I'm now seeing all the things I missed, so I will need to return this morning. After that we should be OK for the coming week.

Oh my god; just look at that!

 

Having been involved in the world of Art & Design for most of my life, I have come across all sorts of people who design anything from children's clothes, huge Dubai hotels, and even fireplaces. Some of them were far better than others. 

I suppose that most of us who've been through the Art College system were 'indoctrinated' into believing that The Bauhaus was the epitome of good 20th century design. Well, not only do I disagree, but I also think they paved the way to more cheap and shoddy design than they could ever have imagined.

To make any utilitarian object by using a minimum of material, and then make it space-saving, by making it 'stack', is to me the opposite of good design. I want my design to be beautiful and practical, not made from old scaffolding poles, and specifically designed to take-up as little space as possible in the corner of a room. Of course I don't entirely blame The Bauhaus for all such design, but they certainly led the way.

Recently whilst staying at our 'staging post' hotel in Orléans, I noticed this absolutely dreadful piece of 'furniture' (above), and was outraged that anyone had thought it good enough to sell,  buy, or offer to clients of the hotel to use. I suppose it epitomises exactly my attitude towards post-Bauhaus design work. It is cheaply made with no attempt whatsoever at 'beauty', and in my opinion is probably the UGLIEST thing I've seen for decades. I didn't study it too closely, but I wouldn't be surprised if it 'stacked' as well.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, they go and paint in PINK.

If there was a prize for 'The Worst Design of the 21st Century', I think this would win hands down!

Charlie Drake - My Boomerang Won't Come Back - 1962

Who needs Taylor Swift or Oasis, when you can have Charlie Drake!

This record stayed in the Top 20 in the UK for 11 weeks in 1962; it even reached No 3 in Canada.

I also see it was produced by George Martin, more often associated with producing The Beatles. 

Do you remember it? I can hardly believe that we used to enjoy such things!

Back 'home'.

 

So, here we are, back in Brighton after a very tiring but reasonably uneventful trip. Billy is as pleased to be back 'home' as we are. I think the trip must be more arduous for him than it is for us, but at least he can sleep for most of the time. He has already met-up with several old chums in the park; as have we. How lovely to be greeted warmly again wherever we go.

Both Lady M and I will now relax for a few days. We've both been suffering from the usual old-age aches and pains, and it'll be good to allow our bodies to revive; we had far too much to do before leaving France, and were both exhausted; even before the journey. Kimbo and Susie are away in Italy for a while!

With my mobility problems I shan't be doing too much, but I shall still be driving to the shops, village pubs, and maybe to sit by the sea. I shan't be doing much walking around town for a while.

We drove into central Brighton at around 9.45 pm yesterday, and the whole place was BUZZING with activity. Loads of young people everywhere, all enjoying a reasonably warm and dry evening. What a difference to where we live in France, where our nearby 'Bastide Town' is dead by about 8.30 pm.

So, I shall be off to my favourite 'out of town' supermarket tomorrow, to buy lots of vegetables, fruit, a pork pie, and a BIG JOINT OF BEEF. I have a real craving for Beef at the moment; I haven't had any for ages. 

I must admit; it's very good (particularly this year) to be back home.

Departure

It's that time of year again. Time to pack our bags and return to Blighty.

The three months seem to have flown by. Unfortunately I haven't been able to do as much as I'd wanted on account of some developing health issues, but it's still been a wonderful break. I'm now left wondering if I'll ever return? If my mobility becomes worse, and I lose my ability to drive, I shall have to remain in Brighton whilst the others head south without me.

I shan't really mind. I've had over 50 years in France and they have all been filled with wonderful memories.

So, time now to return to a simpler life in England. To pints of bitter at my local, to shopping at Sainsbury's and Waitrose, to Pork Pies, a Chinese takeaway maybe, to the friendliness of our neighbours and acquaintances, and of course to family.

It's a strange feeling, having lived in a foreign country for so long, spoken their language, and adopted their ways, to return to the home of my birth once and for all. To know that never again will I stop to chat with my oldest friends here; José and Jean-Claude. Nor to head off to the woods each morning to gather wild mushrooms. Or even take the road each week to the supermarket where I've shopped once a week for decades. Of course none of this is certain, but I'm not over optimistic.

Ours is a pretty little house, built from stone and topped with ancient clay 'Roman' tiles; I shall miss it terribly. We've added to the original one derelict room quite extensively; keeping the local artisans, and myself, busy over the years. I'm very proud to say that I've rescued a 300 year old house from certain ruin, and created a comfortable and charming home. Had it been bought by a Frenchman, it would either have been demolished, or made into a 'modern featureless bungalow'. They still rarely see the beauty in ancient stones.

Other than the bare-bones of the single room cottage, there had been just one very old Pear tree, leaning perilously towards the house, that had to come down. Everything growing there now was planted by us!

So, goodbye little house. Goodbye pool. And goodbye to the little tower built by Lady M and myself. I've loved every minute of my life here (other than welcoming a few unpleasant new neighbours), and I genuinely hope that I've made some lasting contribution to our tiny community.

This is not a definitive 'adieu' to my little cottage (or to France), because medical science might suddenly find a miracle cure for my ailing back, hips, knee, and legs, but I'm not holding my breath.

On verra bien!  

The car is packed, and I shall be on the road for a couple of days, so I won't be able to reply to comments. See you again soon!

Hoodies and Masks.

Do YOU feel obliged to cover your face every time you go outside? No, nor do I; but many do!

The simple question must be, why do so many young people, usually (but not exclusively) males from ethnic minority groups, seem to find this face-covering essential even at the height of summer? I think we all probably know the answer!

Back in the UK I often come across gangs of young men in the churchyard or in the twitten behind my garage, smoking a bit of dope, drinking from cans of beer, and always all wearing black hoodies, and/or masks. Personally I'm not intimidated by them; no-one who's played Rugby against Croydon RC would find them intimidating. Billy and I just say hello, and walk past.

But, of course, many ARE intimidated; especially lone young women. And I often find myself warning them that such a group are 'just around the corner', and suggest that they might prefer to take a slightly different route to avoid any hassle.

I really do think it's about time that the government took some action about such people, they do appear very threatening to many. For a start they could BAN the wearing of face masks and balaclavas in public. If they wish to wear them at home, OK; but not in public. I'm not sure how they could ban hoodies, but there must be an answer.

Ireland is proposing such a ban, so why not the UK?

They should also bring in some new form of 'National Service' for all those nearly ONE MILLION 16 to 24 year old's who are neither in full-time education or work, and are living 'on the dole'. It should be made to be interesting, fun, informative, and hopefully also teach them a trade. Shaved heads, stylish uniforms, and no hoodies would be mandatory. They should be able to leave after a year or so with pride at having been through such an experience; and with a ruminative trade under their belts. Maybe they could even be taught how to fill potholes; that would be a good start!

Rishi Sunak promised a scheme, and Sir Keir Starmer is currently being encouraged. We now just have to wait and see.

I think the events of the recent months suggest that such discipline and training for young men is desperately needed. I can't see anything against the idea.

 

Where to Retire?

When my people retired, they decided to leave their lovely thatched Sussex home, and move up to Shropshire, where my mother had family.

I loved their Sussex home in the beautiful village of West Chiltington, but they'd made their decision, and that was that. Father was from Sussex; mother from Shropshire. Mother won!

This (above) is where they moved. A Victorian house in a small village, not too far from Shrewsbury. It was about twice the size that it appears to be in the photo, with a coach house, other buildings, a greenhouse, a fabulous ancient 44 tree orchard, and good-sized gardens. The village had a pub', a church, a shop, and a garage. The nearest good shopping town of Ellesmere was about 4 miles away.

Mother became ill almost as soon as they'd moved, and I was summoned to help-out. I ended-up spending about four years looking after them. Sadly mother soon died, and I was left looking after father who was by that time a wheelchair-bound double amputee. For someone with no experience of such things, I found it all quite 'challenging'.

However, I quite enjoyed village life, and soon took over the running of the Youth Club, as well as re-introducing the annual village Horticultural Show. I also managed to raise enough 'charity' money to send 8 members of the Youth Club on an adventure holiday to the Bavarian Alps in Germany, which was a huge success. I did my bit. 

It wasn't long before father also died, and I moved back to Sussex in 1985. My new home in Brighton could not have been more different. Newhaven, and the ferry to France, was just 20 minutes away, and we soon re-established our two location life. In France 100% bucolic, and in Brighton 100% urban.

These days we live that same two location life. Since Brexit our French stay is limited by Brussels, but the pleasure is still much the same. Brighton makes a great contrast to the peace and quiet of the French countryside, and offers just about everything one could ever imagine, or hope for.

I do still wonder if my people made the right decision about moving to Shropshire. Their home in Sussex was really lovely, and in many ways was the perfect retirement home; all that hassle of moving could have been avoided. It might even have prolonged their lives a bit.

Even so, Shropshire was very beautiful.

Tax and Spend.

I really don't wish to start attacking Starmer & Co after such a short time in office, but all those who voted FOR our new Labour government, and all those who voted AGAINST, knew one thing; that Labour's Trades Union paymasters would need to be rewarded, and that those who work hard, motorists, and the elderly would be the one's to pay. 

So far, handouts to Union members are costing taxpayers about £14 Billion; and this is just the beginning. They've handed-out generous salary increases to train drivers who were already some of the highest Union earners, earning in excess of £65,000; and they've taken away the small 'Winter Fuel Payments' from 10 Million old age pensioners who scrape-by on about £12,000. We still have the Autumn Budget to come; and we have been told to expect more horrors. They're not making themselves popular, even amongst their own supporters. Believe it or not, some 'pensioners' did actually vote for them!

Even after the generous offer to the train drivers that I mentioned above, a second rail Union has been threatening to strike as well (that may now have been halted); along with Passport Control workers, doctors, and many others. 

It looks like we'll be having a serious 'Autumn/Winter of Discontent'. The Unions have paid their dues; now they want the blood! 

People are already suggesting that Sir Keir Starmer's honeymoon period is over, he has told the UK that times will be tough. Frankly, don't earn a decent living, or you'll be stung. Don't go to the Pub' if you're a smoker. Don't drive your car. Don't save any money. And probably worst of all; don't leave any money in your will.

It isn't surprising that they didn't tell us about their policies before the election; they simply said that the country needed a CHANGE, and that's what we've got. The 'Labour Party' was founded and funded by the Trades Union movement, and they have to be rewarded; or else!

They inherited falling inflation, and the strongest economical growth in the G7. They are already doing their best, not only to deny it, but to turn the tide.  

Give to the rich, and take from the poor. I can understand the lower echelons voting for them, but is this what the mainstream Labour supporters really voted for?

I didn't vote.

Cro and Lord Byron.

 

There is no question that Lord Byron was a pretty strange character.

Born with a 'Club Foot', nothing could hold him back; either romantically or sportingly.

I was recently reminded that he always claimed his greatest achievement to have been to swim The Dardanelles aged 22. The 5 km swim being notoriously difficult on occasions.

Personally I have never been a great distance swimmer, but I did once swim between Brighton's two piers; so we almost have something in common. These days, 10 lengths of our pool is enough.

I'm afraid that I couldn't find a photo that shows the distance between the two piers (one now defunct), so the above will have to suffice. The old West Pier, at the bottom of the picture, was burnt down in 'suspicious circumstances' back in 2003; only a few bare bones now exist out at sea.

The swim is about 1 km in distance, and if I remember correctly was against the tide. My mother was there on the prom to watch and follow with my towel and clothes, although what she could have done had I got into trouble, I don't know.

I was probably no more that 30 metres out from the beach, and I swam breaststroke all the way. I began my swim underneath the old West Pier, and finished just on the other side of a stone jetty in front of the Palace Pier.

I don't remember it being particularly arduous, but did (like Byron) consider it a great achievement. I must have been about 15 or 16 years old. I really can't remember, but it must have taken me about 20 mins. We lived just up the coast behind Worthing at the time.

There, I'm afraid, is where any link between myself and Lord Byron ends. We both enjoyed swimming; FULL STOP.

Hearts and Minds

I have just read in the paper that Waitrose (a high-end UK food store) it to start selling Lamb's Hearts again, after having previously stopped in 2016.

I must have been born an 'adventurous eater'. As a small child nothing was more delicious to me than chewing on a lump of raw Beef, and/or my mother's roasted stuffed Lambs hearts. 

As my mother prepared her Sunday roasts, she would always give me pieces of raw Beef to eat, which I absolutely loved. 

I think the Lamb's hearts were probably a particular post-war dish, and very cheap; you don't see them these days (until now at Waitrose). I absolutely loved them, and had forgotten all about them until recently. I expect these days they've mostly gone into the making of Haggis.

I was born in 1946, and in those post-war years we ate 'different' things. Food was still rationed, and you survived on what was available. We were lucky, my people had a large garden with fruit, vegs, and poultry. For some reason Lambs hearts must have been amongst the readily 'available' meats at the village butcher's.

They were stuffed with a standard Sage-n-Onion stuffing, and roasted. I wonder what I would make of them today? Somehow they no longer really appeal, but I might buy some anyway, just to see! I think plenty of Olive oil, salt, and ground cumin would make them really delicious.

I remember them as being a real treat. 

 

Figs.

They are annoying little fruits, they always begin to ripen just as we're packing-up to head back to Blighty.

However, there are always a few early ripenings, but the majority hang-on until we've gone. I'm already eating a few each day, but there aren't enough to preserve, or make a Fig Tatin.

There is a large Fig tree in our street back home, and last year we ate quite a few, but I'm not sure if the weather has been kind enough to ripen them this year. We shall see.

Here I have FOUR very large Fig trees, and have previously bottled plenty for winter. I buy packs of commercially dried Figs through the year, and love them. Maybe we need to shift our French sojourn forwards by a month, then we would have more fruit, more mushrooms, and probably Chestnuts too.

Figs are a much derided fruit; if you don't have any they are always sought after, if you have loads they tend to be ignored.

 

Sons, daughters, and grandchildren.

For me, the worst thing about dying will be not knowing what happens to my children and grandchildren. I will probably be worrying about them on my death bed!

Will they live long and healthy lives? Will all 6 of my grandsons achieve their dreams and earn reasonable livings? Will they all live their lives free from warfare?

So far the younger members of the family are all showing signs of being good, law-abiding, members of society. They have all been raised by certain standards, and I believe will wish that to continue. They are healthy, reasonably intelligent, and have ambition. I have to thank their parents for making sure that that was so.

Personally I also find them all reasonably good-looking, which is never a bad thing.

I would like to believe in some form of 'life after death', just so that I could keep an eye on them, but I'm not kidding myself. I'll just have to rely on their own good judgement to do what's best.

Above is Kimbo with his two strapping lads.

 

Pukka Tomatoes.

These days, with no Haddock's under cultivation, I have to rely on my best friend, and neighbour, José to grow a few extra Tomatoes on my behalf; which he is always happy to do.

His vegetable garden always seems to grow just two things; Tomatoes and Beans. Both are eaten fresh, but both are also bottled for the Winter months. No Courgettes, no Aubergines, no Onions, or even Potatoes; just Toms and Beans.

There is no comparison between shop bought and outdoor sun-ripened Tomatoes. People do say that all home-grown vegs are always much tastier than bought, but this isn't always the case. However, when it comes to Tomatoes it is 100% true.

The ribbed Tomato on the left (above) weighed-in at 700 gms.

Phew; wot a wopper, and totally delicious too!

 

Foie gras

You only have to mention the words FOIE GRAS and the world suddenly divides into two.

There are those who throw-up their arms in horror, and there are the others who start salivating and become overcome with gastronomic delight. I happen to be of the latter persuasion.

I am not a huge consumer of foie gras; I buy just one jar a year for Christmas. The small 180 gm jar above cost me about £15, so it's not something I buy too often.

There's a lot of nonsense talked about the production of foie gras. My area of France was known for its foie gras; almost every small farm produced it as a by-product of fattening Ducks or Geese for 'Confit'. This tradition has now mostly disappeared.

Yes, the ducks/geese are force fed with dry crushed Maize, but they actually queue-up for the feeding process. There really is very little mistreatment involved. You need to treat the animals well, or they wouldn't comply.

The final product itself is one of the world's finest gastronomic treats. It is the essence of luxurious dining. In the days when I made my own Paté, I would always pop a walnut-sized piece of foie gras in the middle of each jar, but if you're thinking of buying foie gras for a special occasion, I recommend that you go the whole-hog and buy a small jar of 'Entier'. Yes, it's expensive (It may even be banned where you live), but it's worth every penny.

Life is for living. Don't be vegan, don't deprive yourselves of wonderful eating, and consume just a little foie gras once a year!

 

Why one should always keep a camera handy.

 

Oh how I wish I'd had my camera (phone) with me yesterday evening.

For the second night running a small baby Roe Deer came up to eat fallen Pears from a tree about 20 yards from where we were sitting. It was the cutest creature imaginable. 

It munched away, as Billy ran up and down chasing tennis balls, he was totally oblivious to the fact that the Deer was just a few yards away.

Eventually Billy spotted it and ran over to where it was eating. They chased each other around the tree for a while and played together, then, amazingly, they both came over to where we were sitting and sat looking at each other for a while. The baby Deer came right up to me, and I held out my hand to stroke it; but this was being a bit too familiar, and it ran off. Billy simply stayed where he was.

I don't know if they were already friends, but it did seem so. I'm sure they knew each other. We're now waiting to see if it comes back again for more fallen Pears. I quite expect it will, and with any luck I'll get a photo of them playing together. Lady M has left him a bucket of water, it hasn't rained here for ages.

Watch this space!

M*I*C*E!

Firstly I must say that I have nothing against Mice, or any other wildlife. But in certain circumstances they HAVE to be removed.

Lady M spotted one scuttling behind the kitchen sink recently, and (of course) called for my assistance.

It used to be said that if you shouted at them, they would leave the house, but French Mice have yet to understand this. They seem only to understand more brutal methods. A classic mousetrap and some Peanut Butter being my method of choice (above).

We are just beginning to get things in order for when we leave, and that includes ridding the house of any MICE.

It's at this time of year when they start to look for autumn/winter quarters, and that means heading for chez nous.

Well, I'm sorry mice, but you ain't staying here, and if you don't leave willingly, it'll be by my methods instead. So far I have caught two and the trap is set in case there are any more around.

The one above must have died instantaneously. I don't like to kill them, but leaving them in the house is not an option. We do leave mouse poison around, but with a trap I know exactly what's what.

If there's no mouse in the trap for 2 or 3 days, then I know they've gone!

At this time of year the doors are usually left open all day, and all sorts of birds and creatures come inside. Lizards, small birds, butterflies, dragonflies, and plenty of things that sting, all come to have a look round, and usually leave after a short while. It's only the mice that visit with the intention of setting-up home. 

You'll have to imagine Mrs Thatcher saying this. No, No, No!

 

A tiny autobiography.

 

I'm proud to say that I've lived parallel to, if not in any contact with, Winston Churchill, Queen Elisabeth II (my Queen), and Sir David Attenborough. All giants of the 20th and 21st C's.

However, I have met a few notables including Paul McCartney, Brigitte Bardot, David Hockney, Igor Stravinsky, and Twiggy, to name but a few; and Marianne Faithful came to my 50th birthday party. None of this is really surprising as I lived in central London during the second half of the 60's; when London was 'swinging'. Celebs, from A to Z, were ten-a-penny, and bumping into them was almost obligatory.

I've been extremely privileged to have lived through a long period of relative 'peacetime'. I had some basic military officer training, but have never been asked to enlist; and at my advanced age I doubt if I now ever will. There were not many Englishman of my age, previously, who had NOT been asked to go and kill Johnny-Foreigner.

I have never experienced poverty, and any very rare medical needs have been met without too much difficulty, and without payment. I've lived through an era of post-war Rationing, Heath's three day week, the Falklands war, the Miners strike, Computers, Covid, the Internet, and even Mini Skirts. None of which has really had any truly negative effect on my life.

I somehow managed to be awarded a Classics Scholarship (bursary) at the age of 14, a 1st class Hons degree at 23, and I was offered a couple of prestigious teaching positions before moving to France at the age of 25. France has proved a total delight over the past 50 years; which is slightly fading at the moment. And, of course, my greatest pleasures is that I have three wonderfully inspiring, intelligent, and charming children, thanks to their lovely Mama (Lady M). 

I cannot claim to have been a great success in my chosen profession, but that was probably my own silly fault. Two of my closest school friends became very well known, whilst I remained a nobody, but that was only to be expected having turned down a provisional place at the RCA, then moving out to the wilds of S W France.

I do admit to being a bit of a hermit. I'm not over-keen on crowds, and I keep my circle of friends to a select few. 

I sadly became an orphan in the mid 80's, and my sister and I now live at opposite ends of the earth. I have very few other family members; just a couple of male cousins that I never see.

It ain't over quite yet, but it's been a pretty good life. Not a lot has happened, and I haven't achieved all that I'd intended, but overall we've had a lot of fun, and I hope that I've passed-on my love of 'good things' to my children; it does seem so! I certainly intend that the fun continues for as long as possible.

I'm writing this just out of view to the left of the room in the photo above, in our rather primitive 300 year old stone cottage. This is probably the most friendly, and smallest, home I've ever owned. All our dogs and the cat have lived here and (like us) have loved every minute. It has a very special place in my heart.

I shall finish by repeating that some of my mobility has recently gone, and how that will pan-out for the future remains to be seen.

So, there we are; I've been banging my own very small drum. I promise I won't do it again.

kiss on the lips - The dualers

I am lucky to live in an English town where buskers are very much a part of weekend life.

We have everything from S American pan-pipe bands, skiffle groups, and individual guitar players. Most are excellent musicians, and I imagine, earn good money from their day's work. I always make a point of contributing something to the best of them.

This video (below) always reminds me of Summer in Brighton. The Duelers are a band from S London, originally formed by brothers Si and Tyber Cranstoun. I believe they are now a full 10 piece band, and attract huge crowds wherever they play.

Here they are singing 'Kiss on the Lips'; inviting a couple of girls to dance with them. Wonderful.

Lost In Space- Jupiter 2 Landing

Things used to be so much simpler.

In space you wore nice 'onesies', and the pilots didn't bother with seat belts, you let-off fireworks in the cockpit, and of course you took your pet monkeys with you. 

You may have looked slightly anxious about landing on some unknown distant planet, but usually all went well; the doors would open, and you'd wander around looking for alien life.

You probably also had a pocket full of stringed beads to exchange for precious stones, metals, etc!

In search of the perfect Spaghetti Sauce.

 

I must have spent about 50 years looking for that perfect sauce to accompany Spaghetti; my favourite pasta.

The only ingredients that are a MUST are good Olive Oil, Garlic, Chili flakes, freshly grated Parmesan, and possibly Capers. After that it's a minefield.

Really good fresh outdoor-sun-grown Tomatoes will usually make a good sauce, and a single filet of Anchovy can work wonders in a Tomato based sauce. Another favourite is finely sliced slithers of bacon with a splash of cream added to 'loosen'. The cream makes all the difference, but I avoid all pastas that are 'swimming' in sauce.

I have become extremely bored with heavy Tomato/Beef sauces; the type we usually refer to as 'Bolognese'. These days I much prefer subtlety, with as few ingredients as possible. Olio e Aglio is a good example of this; being the classic Italian student dish that can be made in a few seconds. Students are never wrong

If I was to have to choose a current favourite it would be a simplified combination of an Olio e Aglio and a slightly creamy Carbonara (without the egg); served with plenty of freshly grated Parmesan. It should look something like my illustration above, and not be overpowering.

Like food everywhere, Italian dishes depend very heavily on the quality of the ingredients. It is always worth splashing-out on ONE bottle of really good 'unrefined' Olive oil; the flavour changes everything. Otherwise one should always buy the best one can afford, and use it sparingly. I recently made an Olio e Aglio with a bog-standard Olive oil, and it was disastrous. 

Of course pasta sauces are a matter of individual taste. Some love their Spaghetti swimming in buckets of heavy tomato, beef, and red wine sauces; others like their spaghetti tossed with just a few fresh clams. I don't think my search will ever end, but I feel as if I'm getting close to understanding what I really like, and what I don't. In all cases, for me a minimum of sauce is preferable.

Every time I make a new sauce, I never quite know if it'll 'be the one', but I live in hope. I'm getting there, but it's taken a very long time.

A Very Rare Photo.

Two boys, no phones, and a TV covered over with a swimming towel. This is a scene almost unknown in today's world.

Boo Boo (not looking too happy) and The Cherub playing a board game quietly together at home. 

Maybe in Thailand things are different, but here in 'Yerp' one hardly ever sees anyone without their nose glued to a phone. They follow them, talk to them, and are told what to think by them. And if 'influencers' really do influence; they are also influenced by them. Very little in Gen Z lives happens without their phones being involved.

I am aware that the world is changing, and that life for our children and grandchildren will be very different than it was for us, but I still don't like to see fellow humans living their entire lives through a small hand-held device. Personally I don't even wear a watch, and haven't for about 30 years.

If predictions are correct, and AI really does begin to replace human endeavor, then we must expect more machines, more technology, and less human effort. Money will be replaced by 'credit', shops will be replaced by giant warehouses that deliver by drone, and mankind will exist solely to eat and be entertained.

Life could easily become pretty pointless.

 

Who doesn't love St Trinian's

 

We all know about the St Trinian's school; those dreadful adults who run it, and the girls who attend it. But where did the original name 'St Trinian's' come from; and who was this mysterious Saint?

Ronald Searle's original strip cartoon came from the early 1940's, and was published again in 1946 after he returned from Japanese Prisoner of War Camp (where he'd been building the Kwai railway) and they continued up until the 50's. Later, of course, the school became the subject of the infamous films.

Searle got his original idea from an Edinburgh school that had been evacuated to Galashiels during the war; who's original name had been St Trinnean's. St Trinnean was another name for St Ninean.

I believe that Searle originally drew some cartoons to amuse some of the evacuee girls.

I managed a small London Art Gallery in 1966/7-ish. The Fine Art Gallery in Devonshire St, W1, held an exclusive annual sale of original cartoons from all the major newspaper cartoonists of the day. I was given the task of going to Paris to see Ronald Searle, to bring back a good selection of his recent work. Right at the last moment Searle decided not to sell his work, and my visit was cancelled. I had really been looking forward to meeting him.

The original film, The Belles of St Trinian's was from 1954, and featured the wonderful Alastair Sim, George Cole, Joyce Grenfell, and Beryl Reid; amongst others. If you haven't seen it I recommend that you do so AT ONCE!

I would loved to have known what Searle himself thought of the films.

How dare he!!!

That nasty man Putin has a bloody cheek to admonish the Ukrainian Military for making incursions into the Russian territory of Kursk.

War isn't one-sided. If you kill, then expect to be killed. If you invade territory, then expect to be invaded in return. The only thing I cannot understand is how Moscow and/or St Petersburg hasn't been targeted. After some serious bombing, Putin could have been given the opportunity to halt his aggression or lose more cities, and I'm certain he would have waved a white flag at once.

From Kursk, Moscow doesn't seem too far away, surely a volley of hefty Cruise missiles could hit The Kremlin?

I know there's no comparison but in August of 1945 the Japanese were given the option to surrender or suffer more devastation; 6 days later they capitulated.

p.s. On a lighter note, I was very pleased to see that some Honey that Susie bought before she returned to Blighty came all the way from Ukraine. And very delicious it is too!

Thank you Ukraine, and thank you to the Ukrainian Bees.

Orléans

Kimbo is now back in Blighty. Like us, he decided to split his journey home, and stay overnight in a hotel in Orléans. Although the way he does things, and the way I do things, couldn't be further apart.

Here he is reading Le Figaro yesterday morning, and enjoying a simple French breakfast in his rather fancy hotel.

I don't know the name of his hotel, but it's a very different tasse de thé than the one we stay in. Ours is a cheapish chain hotel, and although we HAVE several times, you really wouldn't want to eat in their restaurant. However, breakfast is always OK.

On the plus side, Billy is welcome, and sleeps on the floor in our room, and we have now managed to locate the hotel quite easily (it's hidden away). It has a pleasant outdoor bar, and the beds are comfortable. It also has a secure parking area. I suppose we must have stayed there about 8 times.

If we could find a better, easily located hotel, somewhere else (not too expensive), I think our loyalty would be tested. But until that time we'll continue to stay where we do. Orléans is about half way between our home and the north coast ferry.

 

What happened to Respect.

 

When I was young we respected those 'in authority'; especially our Teachers and the Police.

These days, sadly, both these occupations are viewed very differently.

It is not uncommon to hear of Teachers being verbally and/or physically abused in our State Schools, leading to many leaving the profession. This abuse at an early age then seems to lead naturally to a lack of respect for authority in general; ending with the behaviour that we've recently seen by rioting thugs on our streets.

The Police who were defending Muslims, Mosques, and properties from the stone throwing mobs (above), then became targets themselves, with people of all ages throwing bricks and Molotov cocktails at them, as if they were the subject of their original anger. One child of 12 has already been prosecuted!!

There really is no excuse for such behaviour, but the origins begin at home, and at school, where discipline has been outlawed by the trendy liberal woke brigade. A parent can be prosecuted these days for giving a child a smack on the back of the legs. No discipline at home means no discipline in later life.

But, as all Brit's are aware, it's not only Teachers and Police who are the target of hatred on our streets, Fireman and Ambulance drivers often come under attack when they attend emergencies.

It's difficult to comprehend what goes through the minds of such hooligans, but I suppose it's no different to the terraces at Football matches, or outside bars on the 'Costas' in Spain. There is an inbuilt violence inside many people that they simply cannot wait to externalise.

I'm pleased to see that Sir Keir Starmer is coming down hard on these thugs, and they're appearing in court very quickly. I just hope he comes down equally hard on those criminals who have prompted the troubles, and not simply let them go free, as he did with the 50 Jamaican criminals that he saved from deportation back in 2020.

I'm afraid that our Police need to be tougher. We need Water Cannons, Zero tolerance, and 100% consistency. What we don't need is a brutal force such as the French CRS, but if this goes on I expect that's what we'll eventually end-up with.

The End is Nigh

Every time the Electricity men (EDF) arrive, I stupidly imagine that they will complete the job that one of my neighbours (BB) demanded of them about 5 years ago; a simple new electrical connection to the house he'd bought about 200 metres away.

First he had a 'temporary connection' which was for a maximum of 6 months. That 6 months has lasted nearly 5 years.

Since we got back in early June we've had about six different visits. They've looked at it, played with it, dug it up, and taken photos. They've also confirmed my discovery that the meter wasn't working, so it looks as if BB has possibly had free electricity for years. They simply shrugged their shoulders and laughed.

Since I took the above photo a couple of days ago, another couple of guys came to connect wires. I'd thought that this was their final visit, but they left with wires still all over the place. But at least the actual cables are now underground up to BB's house, so we can't be far from the Finish Line. That big red plastic conduit (above) with the two hefty black wires protruding has now gone.

It really has been an uphill struggle. I've tried to help BB as much as possible, but as his Electricity Account has nothing to do with me, there's only so much I can do.

Having live cables lying on top of the ground for several years has been a constant worry, and one man (who mowed over it) is lucky to be alive. It will be a real weight off my mind when all is complete and invisible. I'm sure that BB will also be pleased to have his simple request finally completed.

So this is how it is as I write (above). The man did join-up plenty of hefty wires, and there is now a lot less sticking out of the ground, but I can't see why they don't simply finish the job once and for all.

It's as if they're enjoying it so much, they don't want it to end. A trip out to the countryside is always preferable to working in town.

 

The Palm Tree.

It was our major project of the year, and below is all that's now left of what was our biggest poolside Palm Tree.

Our 'Tree Surgeon' said it was the first Palm he'd cut down, and he was a bit apprehensive.

The exterior 'matting' could have, he thought, got tangled in his chainsaw blade, and he had no idea how hard, or soft, the actual wood would be. Nor did he know if the interior wood was heavy or light. All was new to him (and us), and he was worried.

As it happened the job went quite well. The exterior 'matting' didn't get tangled, and the wood itself proved to be quite solid and reasonably heavy. Having first cut all the branches, he cut sections of about 50 cms deep, and they came safely crashing down. We had to roll them to their resting place; they were that heavy. 

Our man was a true professional. I had thought of doing the job myself; thank goodness I didn't.

Strangely, even though the tree was very tall, it doesn't seem to have left a void. One really would never have known it was missing. I don't even think we'll bother to replace it with anything.

 

Walnut Oil

I've written previously about Walnut Oil.

Driving around this part of France, you can't help noticing the amount of Walnut trees there are; they are everywhere, both wild and in huge plantations. I imagine that the wild ones are spread by Squirrels burying the nuts, and forgetting them.

There are still several farmyard makers of Walnut Oil around, and it's worth finding them. The 100% pure Oil isn't cheap, but the benefits are huge. Many of the more commercial varieties that one finds in the shops contain other nut oils as well.

I can't guarantee that all this is accurate, but some of the properties of Walnut Oil are as follows.

It reduces inflammation, lowers blood pressure, lowers blood sugar levels, improves cholesterol levels, and is (of course) anti-cancer.

 

For years I drank a spoonful of Oil every morning, but for some reason I stopped. I must start again. Lady M has just bought me this very fine artisanal Oil, so I shall resume my old habit.

Otherwise, the Oil is wonderful on salads, and there is nothing finer on small new potatoes than Walnut Oil and a sprinkling of coarse Sea Salt.

As you can see on the bottle above, it was produced last month, and has a one year use-by date (which is, of course, nonsense). 

 

Being comfortable in the heat.

It's been quite hot recently, with temperatures up to around 38 C, which means that we always eat outside in the shade of our covered Auvent. 

I probably built it a little small, but it was dictated by the size of the original 'uncovered' terrace, which was unusable in Summer. No shade!

I always say to people who buy a home here, that the most important room in the house is the Auvent. It is where they will live in late Spring, Summer, and early Autumn. £ for £ it's the cheapest room to add-on too. Those without one soon regret it, and immediately plan the construction.

We don't go overboard at lunchtime; a simple salad and some Charcuterie is all we require. I don't know who was drinking wine in the above photo, but it certainly wasn't me. I never touch a drop before 6 pm.

The climate here in S W France is generally quite pleasant. A few degrees warmer than Brighton in the Summer, and a few degrees lower in the Winter.

p.s. That Paté in the photo is my favourite 'Jean Haget, Paté Piquante'. Look for the green and yellow tin; it's probably France's best canned Paté, gorgeous.  

 

Old friends

New situations in life bring new friendships. I still have good friends from my Prep' School days, my Upper School days, and from my College days. 

Mostly we eventually lose contact with them; we move around, and unless we are 'facebook' friends we never hear from them again.

I've recently tried to find an old friend from my Prep' School days (aged 6-13). Richard was a very outgoing young man who desperately wanted to be a girl. I've written about him before. As hard as I try to find him; I cannot. Of course he may no longer be with us, I simply don't know.

From my College days I have always kept in contact with one good friend, who also lives in France, but further south. We don't see each other much these days but there's always news at Christmas, etc. Simon and I went through our Fine Art degree courses together, and shared a taste for beer, literature, and the French countryside. 

So, I was extremely happy to have a phone call from him recently. He's more active than I am, and still has projects to keep him busy. Simon (above) is a renowned Watercolour Painter, and you can see his work here.....

Simon Fletcher

Simple things in life can be so rewarding. That recent phone call was to ask after my health, etc, and was really appreciated. We exchanged some news of family, and really enjoyed about 10 mins of chatty conversation. My circle of good friends is dwindling these days; we're all approaching 80, and not many live pain, or illness, free.

So, thank you for your call Simon! My good friends are like 'family'. We must speak again more often.

6 pm.

It's 'High Summer'. Temperatures are rising, it's becoming very dry, and most of the houses that have been closed for months, now have their shutters thrown open, with washing on the line!

We love being here by ourselves, but we much prefer having the company of well-loved family or friends to enjoy it with us.

It's become something of a Summer tradition when Kimbo's around, that we have a glass of 'pukka' fizz at 6 pm. This one was a delicious Canard Duchenne; if it had been me buying, it would have been Prosecco.

So, here we are, glasses of fizz in hands. Susie with a Polish sausage on the end of a pointed stick, Lady M just out of the pool, and Kimbo in charge of the BBQ. The old codger, of course, is me!

To be honest, for us life doesn't get much better than this. We ate big steaks with salad, all served with our favourite local Pécharmant. Simple folk; simple pleasures.

Roll on 6 pm..... What a bunch of reprobates!