Winter Wonderland in Brighton.

I'm not a skater, nor am I ever likely to be. However if I was, I'd be off to The Pavilion at once.

The Royal Pavilion is home to an annual temporary ice rink. If you're thinking of coming, it costs £11 per 45 mins, or £9 if you're under 12.

But what a back-drop! The location is stunning, it must be the most beautiful ice rink in the UK.

I have only tried to ice skate once, and that was with just one skate. I very soon landed on my backside, and felt the pain for several weeks. I must have been about 7 or 8, our rink was a frozen river.

I notice that there is a Café/Bar for observers at The Pavilion; how very sensible. 

I have a very long bucket list of things I never want to do; ice skating is very high up!

 

Question

This young lady is called Jaelynn Chaney, and as you can see she's quite large.

She is currently running a campaign against airlines that charge her for TWO seats, if she occupies TWO seats. She thinks she should only be charged for ONE.

What do you think?

 

Bakkwa

Whilst my son, Kimbo, was in Singapore on business recently, I asked him to bring back some of these strange little vacuum-packed meaty strips that you see below.

He had brought some back the last time he was there, and I loved them.

They are known as 'Bakkwa', and are slightly sweet meaty strips of pork. They also go by the name of MINI EZ. In the photo above, the one on the right is actually out of its packet, and shows how they look when eaten.

I suppose the nearest equivalent must be a sweet version of Biltong, but really the comparison is nowhere near. It is also known as Chinese Pork Jerky, which probably gives a better idea of its flavour.

Bakkwa is nothing like anything we know of in the UK, and a big pack from Kimbo was extremely welcome. 

He never lets me down!

 

Our Deputy Prime Minister.

Angela Rayner is the UK's Deputy Prime Minister. No, she really is!

She doesn't have any of the classic attributes of a senior British politician, in fact she left school aged 16 (whilst 'with child'), and with no qualifications. She later became a Trade Union representative with the powerful Unison Union, before deciding to enter politics. Amazingly she found enough people to vote for her, and she became an MP. 

A video has recently surfaced of her discussing certain English school children.

She described them collectively as a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, banana republic, pile of scum. I'm not quite sure what she meant by 'banana republic'.

The children she was referring to attend one of Britain's most exclusive schools. Everything about Eton College spells 'excellence'. Entry requirements are possibly the most rigorous in the country, and anything other than constant hard work, and good behaviour, is rewarded by expulsion. Many of our most eminent politicians, military personnel, and businessmen, are alumni. Yet Rayner describes them all as SCUM.

I'm sure that none of them would describe HER as scum, they are too well educated, but Ms Rayner seems to think that anyone who didn't follow in her own lowly footsteps is fair game for her particular form of bile.

One doesn't wish to be too harsh on Ms Rayner. Most of us understand that her upbringing wasn't perfect, so we can forgive her much of her mindlessness. But to attack people because they are 'bright' is appalling; even for a Labour Deputy Prime Minister. Frankly, after such revelations as we saw in the video, I'm astounded that she hasn't resigned. But I suppose 'doing the decent thing' isn't something you'd associate with Ms Rayner.

Can you imagine a senior Tory politician describing all Comprehensive School children as 'scum'? It simply would never happen!

 

The wee small hours.

I get up at 5 am. Never 4.30 am, or 5.30 am, but at 5 am.

This gives me about 30 mins to make myself a cup of something hot, and to have a small amount of breakfast, such as these Anchovies on toast below.

I then take a few pills to keep myself alive, before sitting down in front of my laptop at 5.30 am.

Like all bloggers, I then carry-out a list of essential tasks. I post the day's wisdom, answer comments from the previous day, then go to the list of other blogs I follow, and make some witty remarks. Then it's down to business.

I answer all my incoming Emails, send a few of my own, and delete all the spam that has accumulated over night. I look at the Weather Forecast, and read a few News articles from the MSN selection. If I still have the time, and I have nothing better to do, I might even have a quick look at my Facebook page, but only in desperation. 

By this time Billy has started to give me 'knowing looks', and if it's light enough (about 7.30 am) we will head-off together to the 'Rest Garden' by the church; about 200 yards away, for his first emptying walk of the day.

There are usually a few other stalwarts around, and we always greet each other. Billy chases Pigeons, Seagulls, and Squirrels, as we do our single circuit of the park before going around the church itself on our way home again.

It's a really lovely time of day (as long as it's not raining). I do like the dusky look about early mornings, and people seem friendlier too. There's a mutual understanding between those who share the quiet of the pre-rush hours. I have become friends with road sweepers, bin-men, postmen, paper-boys, and various cats.

Then back home to a cup of freshly ground coffee, and to the rest of the morning spent wandering aimlessly (unless I have tasks to do). 

It's a great life.

 

Stone

I suppose it's because I worked briefly as a stone-cutter, that I like to have bits of old stone carving around me. I first studied stone-cutting under Hilary Stratton, who worked with Eric Gill.

For a while I worked 'commercially' stone-cutting for my friend FB in France. He installed stone windows, doorways, fireplaces etc; mostly in medieval styles. We had to fetch the stone, cut it, and install it. It was back-breaking work, which is why I didn't continue for too long. Our methods were quite primitive too; he didn't believe in machinery.

I began colleting bits and pieces of old cut stone about 50 years ago. I have bits all over the place, both here and in France.

I'll let you into a secret. If you find a small ancient walled cemetery out in the French countryside, rather than walking around the cemetery itself, walk around the OUTSIDE of the wall. The French like many other  nationalities, believe in the notion of 'Out of sight, out of mind', and they throw all their unwanted funereal rubbish over the wall. This makes for wonderful scavenging. You would be amazed at what you'll find.

One such find was this Corinthian capital that I later made into the lamp you see. The smaller pinnacle beside it is a souvenir of the Great 1987 storm, here in Brighton. Bits of old monuments were broken off by falling branches, this was one small bit.

When I look at bits of old carved stone, it always makes me think of the people who carved them. Even that capital probably took quite a few hours to cut, whilst constantly checking measurements, checking pattern, and making sure it will fit perfectly into its place. Not as easy as it looks. Then someone throws it over a wall, like rubbish.

Charming!

 

Benefits claimants under attack.

Over this past weekend we read that Sir Keir 'freebie' Starmer has added those who live on benefits to his list of those he intends to clobber. He wants to stop the scroungers (who he describes as a blight) from visiting their Spanish villas, and restrict their car ownership to just TWO (or at a push, three).  For heaven's sake Starmer; these are your core supporters; the very people who voted you in!!!

I now hear that just like the Farmers (who they may join-up with) they will soon leave their comfortable Surrey or Cotswold homes, Jump in their Land Rovers (see the subtle link?), and parade around Westminster shouting "Free money for anyone who demands it", and "Hands off my comfortable lifestyle", etc. 

It's difficult to see who he can add next to his list of Labour Party deserters, there are only the powerful Union members left, and he can't touch their inflated salaries (other than to add to them).

He thinks he can save £137 Billion by being beastly to the scroungers. Well, maybe he can, but he'll lose £137 Billion worth of his supporters at the same time.

So; he's had a go at pensioners, at businessmen, at the people who grow our food, and now he's having a go at his hard core LABOUR VOTERS. The only people he's helped so far have been wealthy Rail Union members who've been given a huge pay rise.

p.s. I also now see that an online petition demanding a re-run of the recent election gained over 1.800,000 signatures on the first days of opening, and is gaining 100,000 per hour. 

He's not making himself popular, is he!

Men Behaving Badly Sailing

An evening 'down the pub'.

Padron.

Strangely, I had just been thinking of writing to the manager of my 'hypermarket' to ask him/her to stock Padron Peppers. I tend to do that sort of thing!

Then, almost as if in answer to my prayers, there they were in amongst the more common Peppers. A very familiar looking pack, not unlike the ones I buy in France.

I buy these often in France, but I'd never seen them sold here. Anyone who has visited a Spanish Tapas bar will know these well.

They are simply fried in Olive Oil until they blister (about 5 mins), then are sprinkled with coarse sea salt, and left to cool a bit. They are NOT spicy hot, but mild and almost sweet. They are eaten tepid.

                                           

If you're tempted, try the larger Sainsbury's. Just say Cro sent you!

Black Pudding.

I do understand that Black Pudding is not to everyone's taste; more for the thought of it than for the actual flavour.

I've had great difficulty finding decent Black Pudding here in the South of England. Even versions that claim to have been made in Bury (the home of English Black Pudding) have been extremely disappointing. I still occasionally buy it anyway.

Back in France I have no problem finding really good Boudin. My current favourite is the above; Boudin Landais from Leclerc. It has just the right amount of each ingredient. Delicious.

Being a Southern boy, I had never encountered Black Pudding; it simply didn't exist down here when I was young. My first introduction was on the Shropshire/Wales border, in a 'greasy spoon café'. I had ordered a 'Full English' and found amongst the delights were some strange looking black discs. I had to to ask what they were, which prompted some strange looks; as if I was some bizarre alien.

Anyway, I loved it, and so started my continued search for a better and better product. I need to visit more Black Pudding shops; if I can find any!

 

Canine Therapy.

 

If you are feeling depressed, unwanted, unloved, alone, permanently miserable, invisible, and/or useless, I have the solution. GET A DOG.

I'm out-n-about twice a day with Billy, and I have noticed one glaringly obvious fact; dog owners are 99% extremely friendly. Non-dog people simply point their faces either at the ground or at their phones. They walk around with giant earphones on (or are they giant ear-muffs?), as if the rest of the world doesn't exist. They never greet you. Dog walkers, on the other hand, always smile and say a cheery 'Good Morning', and possibly chat for a while. It's like being a member of a 'Friendly Club', with all non members looking as miserable as sin (most of them, anyway).

I'd noticed this way back in the early 70's when my first son was still in a buggy, and our dog, Hamlet, was still a puppy. When we went into town on market days we could hardly walk a few yards without someone saying Koochy-Koo to the tiny Kimbo, or stooping to stroke Hamlet. Again, it was like suddenly being admitted to a secret club.

The next question must be, what type of dog should you have.

The three friendliest dogs that attract the most attention must be Golden Retrievers, Black Labs, and Yellow Labs. Coming in at a close 2nd place must be Border Collies, and most shaggy Terriers. But be warned, if you have any of these expect your days to be very different.

Walk down your High Street with any of these dogs and you will be assailed by fellow dog lovers who will recognise you as a fellow 'Nice Person'. Expect delays.

We've all heard of people taking Therapy Dogs into care homes or hospices. It is quite amazing the effect of stroking a Golden Retriever can have on the elderly or infirm. Faces light-up, and they become more animated. The effect is instantaneous.

So, there you are. Get a Dog; preferably a Golden Retriever.

A few pictures of Brighton.

There was some frost on top of the nearby cars yesterday morning, so it was out with the 'Polar Fleece' and gloves. Here are a few photos of Brighton in warmer times, for those who may not know my lovely city.

Above is the beautiful Bandstand on the beach. Built in 1884, it's a focal point along the promenade, and very popular with newlyweds for their wedding pix.

The Brighton Pavilion doesn't need much introduction. Built very centrally in town, it was the seaside second-home of The Prince of Wales, The Prince Regent, who late became King George IV. It dates from 1787. Simply gorgeous.

And here is just a tiny section of 'The Lanes'. The old fishing village area of Brighton now filled with cafés, restaurants, antique shops, pubs, jewelers, etc. The perfect spot for a leisurely stroll on a warm Summer's day.

There's so much more, but I'll leave that for another day.

Fashion?

I have always thought (maybe mistakenly) that fashion should enhance the look of either the women or men who wear stylish clothes. Traditionally women are supposed to look the shape of an hour-glass, and men the shape of a carrot or parsnip. The clothes they wear should normally enhance that.

But these days, all that seems to have been waylaid. In these days of gender fluidity, one is more likely to see the promotion of men's clothes for women, and women's clothes for men.

Figure hugging, sexual stereotyping, and flattery is despised by many of the new wave of Woke trans designers. They like to see androgenous models, and his-n-hers styles. Good old fashioned male/female delimitation is frowned-upon.   

I have to say that if I invited a young lady out for the evening, and she turned-up looking like the above; I'd head for home. No thanks!

What are these people thinking???

 

UK Farming.

 

Dear UK Farmers.

I simply want to let you know that I am 100% behind your actions.

I wish you all the best, Cro xx

Jean-Louis Aubert - Merveille (Live)

One of the biggest French bands of the mid to late 70's (that you've never heard of) was called Téléphone.

The oldest son of my next door neighbours (FR) was their manager, and the Téléphone lads, and lass, would come down from Paris for weekends in the countryside. They became part of the scene of our tiny 3 house hamlet.

FR later went on to manage Marianne Faithful, who also used to visit, which is why she came to my 50th birthday Party. Oh yes!

Téléphone were as big a French pop band as they could possibly get, they were France's very own version of The Beatles; but without the same talent.

The band broke-up in 1985 or 86 (I think), and the singer Jean-Louis Aubert went his own way with a very successful solo career. He became France's version of Mick Jagger.

This is one of his better songs (give it time).

I was very surprised to hear this track on English radio recently. It was chosen by Celia Imrie on the short Radio 4 Extra programme called 'Inheritance Tracks'. Imrie, like me, is a serious Francophile, and the track brought back wonderful memories for her.

I only saw Téléphone live once, and frankly I wasn't too impressed. For an Englishman it was all very tame and a tad dull. Of course, the French LOVED them.

Hives of Activity.

 

You can imagine my surprise when I encountered a man in full Bee-Keepers outfit coming out from behind the church. The hives are in a fenced-off area, I don't know if you can see them, it's a terrible photo. 

I'm used to encountering hives in France, in amongst the Chestnut trees, but I'd not known them to be placed behind the church before; especially at this time of year.

I wouldn't have thought that there was much pollen out there at the moment for the bees, but whatever there is; they'll find it.

I wonder if they'll be selling 'St Nicholas Church Honey' at some time later? I will definitely buy some if they do. I shall have a word with Father D.

Winter Pickles.

It's that time of year again.  I need to begin making my pickles for Christmas.

I always do my Onions reasonably early. They benefit from being in vinegar for at least a month.

I use a very simple, hit-n-miss, method. I almost fill with vinegar, add a few dried chili flakes, a couple of good soup-spoons of Sugar, then top-up the final few milliliters with water (2%).  

                                    

I shall do my Pickled Red Cabbage about a week before Christmas. Unlike the Onions, they don't require the same amount of 'maturing'. 

Nearer the big day I will also prepare some Onion and Cucumber Pickle. This is sliced onion layered with sliced Cucumber, then semi-preserved in a sweet pickle mix. It doesn't last, so it is prepared one or two days before needed.

I'm getting there!

Haddock's End (a.k.a. 'Haddock's)

My old veg' patch went through many changes over the years. Here is an old drawing from 2007 showing all the varieties of the fruit trees, etc. Haddock's is on the extreme left, showing its original three section layout. I originally used the whole area of the little plot.

Over the years it changed into a more manageable four section plot, which made annual rotation much easier.

                             

It stayed like this right through to when I was forced to abandon my growing. Something happened, and my plants began to die, I have a feeling that poisons were seeping through from a new building detritus dump on my 'builder' neighbour's side of the wall. Nothing would grow as before, and I was eventually forced to abandon it.

The same neighbour's dogs killed all my hens as well.

I really miss Haddock's. It provided all our vegetables, both fresh and preserved. It was highly productive, and I loved it. There was never a day, in either Summer or Winter, when there wasn't something to eat.

These days it is simply home to several fruit trees, lots of grape vines, and a few Artichoke plants. I am still thinking about what we'll do with the small area. My favourite current idea is to create a party area, with a summerhouse and BBQ; plus a few more Peach trees. I even planned to take some electricity down there for night-time lighting. But, somehow, I doubt if it'll ever happen.

Comrade Putin.

In terms of the world's most evil people, this man must currently be securely placed at No 1.

His illegal invasion of Ukraine, and all the subsequent killing and destruction, has ensured his place amongst the most evil tyrants the world has ever known.

Latest figures from the war front suggest that Russia is losing 1,500 soldiers EVERY DAY as they advance metre by metre. On one recent day the toll rose to 1,770. The death-count is appalling, yet he seems untroubled. The total Russian loss of life so far during this war is over 710,000. When he runs out, he simply gets more cannon-fodder in from other countries, such as N Korea.

Much to Kim Yong Un's annoyance, many of his loaned troupes were wiped out recently whilst advancing towards Alaya Loknya.

In the Middle East the Israeli's had little problem locating, and killing, the leaders of Hamas and Hezbollah. One really would have thought that something similar could be done in Russia.

This man is single-handedly dragging his country into the mire; and for what?

Surely the Russian people must soon turn against him. The death toll is horrific, and all in the name of occupying a country that they're doing their best to reduce to rubble.

In my book that amounts to complete and utter evil and stupidity.

Bloody roads!

Here in the UK we're all used to potholes, roadworks, and weeds growing all over our roads and pavements.

We pay £190 per annum in Road Tax for our cars, plus of course Tax on Petrol/Diesel. With around 41 Million cars on our UK roads, the Road Tax alone brings in nearly £8 Billion.

This sign (below) was seen here in Brighton. Some scallywag has made his opinion very clear.

Regardless of all this money going into the coffers, they seem unable to look after our roads properly.

Maybe we should ALL refuse to pay our Road Taxes, buy a few bags of DIY Tarmac from B & Q, and go fill in all the potholes ourselves. We could have the country pothole-free after just a day or so.

There are simply too many cars and too many people living on this small island. I am still avoiding potholes that I've been avoiding for several years. 

They simply do not care!

 

Gap Year

 

It's been 30 years to the day since my daughter, Tenpin, flew off to Bangkok with her friend Karen to begin their gap year tour of the world.

I don't know how many countries she visited, but it was lots. She was away for about a year.

Like all young gap year travelers, she worked her way as she went. Picking Tomatoes here, and Baby Sitting there. She did whatever came her way to pay her passage. Not once did she write home for funds.

She recently posted a load of photos on Facebook from her trip, amongst which was her passport photo (above) from the time.

She loved Australia so much that she now lives there, and has done for over 20 years.

THAT Single Malt.

 

I've decided that I will grit my teeth and finish the dreadful tar-flavoured bottle of Single Malt that I bought about a year ago. There's not a lot left, but in my constant battle against waste, I see it as my duty to finish it, and not use it as drain cleaner.

My daughter-in-Law, Suzie, was here the other evening and I asked her to taste it. She was as shocked as I was that such things were actually on sale; and at a serious price.

Anyway, I'm holding my nose and having a few sips every evening before bed. I'm treating it as medicine, although I have no idea what ailment it could possibly treat.

I've decided NOT to buy my annual bottle of Single Malt this winter, instead I've bought myself a bottle of Rum, a bottle of Tawny Port, and a bottle of Amontillado Sherry; none of which has yet been broached.

The Aerstone Single Malt hasn't improved over the past few months, it still tastes of tar. However, I'm determined not to tip it down the sink, and will endure the pain. It should be all gone well before Christmas.

Our animals.

I love this photo. I'd been trying for years to get the dogs to be friendly with our cat.

Bok (the dog) was OK with Freddie (the cat), but Freddie wasn't too keen on either Bok, or our Lab' Monty. Fred had been with us prior to the dogs' arrivals, and he considered himself 'The Boss'. The dogs were interlopers.

I have always liked the idea of a cat snuggling-up with the dogs to keep warm (or just for friendship), but this was never to be. They tolerated each other, but no more.

We don't realise how much our pets mean to us until they are no longer there. Poor Bok died on the operating table after a huge tumour was found on his Spleen. The Vet' decided not to revive him. It came as a huge shock, and I missed him terribly.

I knew Freddie wasn't well. He'd stopped eating, and was drinking a lot more than usual. One evening he curled-up on the sofa by my side, and went to sleep. Somehow I knew that I would never see him either awake or alive again. I stayed with him for an hour or so as he slept, then the next morning I found him dead.  I think it was how he wanted it to be.

I can't imagine living without either a dog or cat in the house; preferably both. However, losing them is dreadful. 

Luckily Billy is well, and at just 6 years old I'm hoping there's plenty of life in him yet.

 

Puffin.

 

This (below) is a bench dedicated to the memory of my old friend Puffin. I go past it twice every day whilst walking with Billy. Occasionally I sit and reminisce.

Puffin (a.k.a Peter Powell-Stevens) worked in the realm of 'The Arts'. I never asked him exactly what he did, but I think it was something to do with photography.

Sadly his marriage came to a sudden end and he quit the family home, which was at the end of our street. He wandered 'aimlessly' around Brighton, and to all intents he became a homeless tramp. On one occasion he even asked me for a few quid, which I was happy to provide.

To keep warm and comfortable he would often travel on busses; his favourites being the ones that went on a continuous circuit around Brighton, where he could hide away in a corner and go round and round all day long.

On one such excursion he died. No-one noticed; they simply thought he was sleeping.

Yes, poor old Puffin died on the No 7 bus, and no-one noticed.

RIP Puffin.

Uggs

I'd forgotten all about my Ugg boots.

I recently found this photo (below) and showed it to Lady M.

"I wonder whatever happened to my Uggs?" I asked.

"They're in your Shoe Cupboard" she replied; with a 'What a Plonker' look on her face.

Five minutes later she came downstairs holding my Uggs. "There you are" she said in frustration " they were where you left them after last Winter!".

Right. Roll on cold weather, I'm now prepared for whatever Mother Nature may throw at me.

I have warm jumpers, my silly Russian style 'Ushanka' hat, and now I have my cosy Uggs. It's already feeling cooler, and I'm almost looking forward to it getting cold.  

How could I have possibly forgotten my Uggs?

 

Is there any such thing as a 'Free Lunch'?

I know that there are still 7 weeks to go, but I thought I'd preempt a 'Bird Flu' shortage, and buy my (frozen) Turkey in advance. 

As you can probably see, it's just under 4 kilos, will feed up to ten people, and it's a Free Range Bronze turkey; just the type I like.

I think we'll be SIX for Christmas Dinner this year, so this will be perfect; with plenty left over for curry, sandwiches, and stock. A good sensibly sized bird.

I can remember my mother once buying a 27 lb bird that was so big it wouldn't fit into our oven; she had to cut its back off. I don't see any point in huge birds; three days of Turkey is enough for anyone.

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the Turkey, roast Spuds, and a few Sprouts. The wonderful aroma of a roasting Turkey accompanying our present opening, takes me back to my earliest Christmas memories, and has remained the same ever since. 

My Sainsbury's Loyalty card (Nectar) had amassed £25, and the bird cost exactly £25. In my book that's a free lunch. Thank you Mr Sainsbury; we shall eat/drink to your health on the big day!

p.s. I notice that Christmas adverts have started appearing on TV; far too early! Despite my recent purchase above, I think all commercialisation of Christmas should be banned until at the earliest, Dec' 15th.

 

Trump wins!

 

I have to say that I was not at all surprised at Trump's electoral success; Lady M, however, was shocked.

I cannot claim to have any insight into US politics, but elections are won and lost on TRUST, and it does seem very strange that (even with a convicted felon candidate) the electorate still found Trump more trustworthy than Harris.

With the help of all those celebs and dancing girls, Harris couldn't convince the people that she would make a decent President. Trump may be arrogant and megalomanic, but I presume that he says what Americans want to hear. I very much doubt if he'll manage to expel all those foreign criminals he talks of, much as we over here can't stop illegal immigrants sailing across the Channel in rubber boats. Some things trip easily off the tongue, but in practice it's not so easy.

So what can the world look forward to? Trump has made many promises. He is anti-Abortion, he wishes to install serious protective tariffs on imports; especially from China. He wants to finish building his infamous wall, stop immigrants eating cats, reorganise the Health System, he wants to cut taxes, to stop the Russia/Ukraine war, and re-introduce Patriotism into state schools; amongst many other things. He has promised to 'Fix Everything'.

All this sounds perfectly laudable, and no doubt Harris would agree with a few of his aims. It now remains to be seen how much of his manifesto gets put into action.

Our new Foreign secretary, David Lammy, has been insulting Trump in the most forceful manner over the past few years, so our relations with the USA are off to a jolly good start. Well done Lammy!

The population of the USA is roughly 346 Million, you really would have thought that there would have been a few better candidates around; but who am I to criticise!

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.