Goodbyes of 2024.

Annie Nightingale, radical radio DJ. 

Dave Myers, well-loved hairy biker (above). 

David Soul, 'Hutch'.

Rob Burrow, battling Rugby League player. 

Glynis Johns, lovely actress.

Ian Lavender, Dad's Army star.

O J Simpson, robber, kidnapper, and alleged murderer.

Dr Michael Mosley, health guru.

Francoise Hardy, French singer of 1962 hit Tous les garcons et les filles.

Arthur 'Gaps' Hendrickson, Ska singer with 'The Selector'.

Donald Sutherland, M*A*S*H

John Mayall, Blues man.

Bebe 6, Elsie 7, and Alice 9, three small girls murdered in Southport.

Graham Thorpe, Cricketer.

Alan Delon, French heart-throb.

Sven-Goran Eriksson, England football manager.

Peter Jay, Diplomat, journalist, and intellectual.

Dame Maggie Smith, actress and national treasure.

Liam Payne, teenage idol.

Alex Salmond, Caledonian independence crusader.

Geoff Capes. Strongman.

Ron Ely. Tarzan.

Sir John Nott. Astute politician.

Trevor Sorbie. Barber/Hairdresser.

John Prescott. Pugnacious, Jag loving, politician.

And finally (it should really have been firstly), last year I failed to mention the lovely Annabel Giles who died here in Brighton at the end of 2023. I heard about her death too late to include in my 2023 list. So RIP Annabel, albeit one year late!

Women, Don't Drive

I am not promoting the message in this video. I'm posting it just for the comedy angle. No, really I am; honest!

Wot, no furry dice?

In the months before Christmas, my late Swedish Mother-in-Law (MorMor) used to knit Socks for her grandchildren.

They were pleasant enough, but not what one might call 'fashionable'. They were made of grey wool, and had a coloured stripe around the top. Her three grandchildren all received a pair, and all wore them; usually hidden behind gumboots.

Unfortunately they didn't wear well, and usually developed holes in the heels after a very short while.

So she decided to change tack, and make miniature versions instead.

In the absence of Furry Dice, we have always hung them in the car from the rearview mirror. Alternatively they have been hung on the Christmas Tree.

I must say, I do love MorMor's mini-socks. They make me smile, and remind me of her at the same time.

The old gal had a good sense of humour.

p.s. Today is Lady M's birthday. 27 again!

 

Rite of Passage

There are certain things we all hopefully remember. Our first kiss, passing one's driving test, or even our first day at work.

We had a pre-Christmas extravaganza with all family who just happened to be in Brighton, and I decided that it was the perfect occasion for my oldest Grandson, Suave Harve, to carve his very first joint.

I had roasted a Leg of Lamb, and it was just crying-out for Harve to show his ability.

The knife was sharpened, the method explained, and he set to work.

I must say, he was very cautious and precise, and he did a fabulous job. I don't remember when I carved my first Leg of Lamb, but I must have been a lot older than Harve.

I hope he remembers the occasion. Sadly he wasn't with us for Christmas, otherwise I would have got him to carve the Turkey too.

 

Almeria

Greenhouses as far as the eye can see!

This, unfortunately, is where most of our fruit and vegetables comes from these days. Everything is grown under an ocean of plastic. The manual work involved is carried out mostly by illegal immigrants from N Africa.

Almeria is on the south-eastern tip of S Spain; just a short Mediterranean swim from both Algeria and Morocco. It has a climate that is perfect for growing almost anything.

The very worst Almeria-grown product that I've ever tasted was Asparagus. It was totally devoid of any flavour whatsoever. As you can imagine, I bought it without having read the country of origin.

I suspect we'll be seeing a lot more Almeria-grown products on our supermarket shelves before too long. With our farmers facing politically imposed difficulties, less will be home-grown, and more imported.

Back in 1985 (I think), Brussels were paying English Apple growers to 'grub-up' their orchards, and huge acreages were lost; the result being all those tasteless Apples coming from Spain.

We do seem to be shooting ourselves in the foot here in the UK, I would have thought it far more sensible for our government to encourage fruit and veg' growing on home soil, rather than forcing farmers to leave their farms. It just doesn't make sense.

I'm afraid that on Monday I grabbed a pack of Sprouts, whilst trying to avoid the crowds, never imagining that they would NOT be English-grown. When preparing them on Christmas morning I noticed that they came from The Netherlands. Oh dear! I really must pay more attention.

Meanwhile those horticulturists in Almeria must be rubbing their hands in glee; their futures look very rosy indeed!

Yesterday

I am showing this picture of my roasted Turkey simply to illustrate how tender it was. 

I tried to transfer the bird from its roasting dish onto a serving dish, and it literally fell apart. I have never known a Turkey to be that tender before.

Of course, we all ate and drank far too much, but it was all good!

And as for that hamper (laundry basket) from a well-known Knightsbridge store, It was jam-packed with goodies. I may not need to go shopping for six months!

 

Cro's Christmas Greeting 2024.

Doesn't it come around quickly. Another year, another Christmas.

May I wish you all an extremely happy day. xxx

Prezzies

We made one very firm decision about Christmas this year. We would not go crazy about presents. One each and nothing over a tenner!

Looking under the tree yesterday evening, I could see at once that we'd failed. It does look as if there are probably even more than usual.

It may not look excessive from the photo, but let me assure you that there are possibly 100 presents there! The one's in stripes are all from me, and there are more to come; they're not all wrapped yet.

We really did try to be a bit more frugal this year, but it simply hasn't worked. But at least, we haven't spent a fortune.

And, of course, Santa hasn't even been by with all the gifts he's bringing us too.

Best wishes.

Harry Hill TV Burp - Brown Sauce Is For Puffs

Just recently I met a Scottish man whilst out walking with Billy, and I'm afraid to say I couldn't understand a single word he said. I had to simply nod, and made an excuse to escape.

Strong accents aren't a major problem in the UK, but occasionally they can be 'troublesome'. I hate having to ask people to repeat themselves, but when I do, I simply pretend to be a bit deaf; which usually solves the problem.

Of course, it's not only accents that can be a problem, lack of diction is probably even worse. I fear that with little 'Drama' or 'Public Speaking' taught in our schools, the problem will only get worse.

I was listening to Radio 4 Extra recently, and I could hardly understand what anyone was saying, then David Attenborough came on with one of his 15 minute talks, and I could understand him perfectly. What a difference!

Just last night we went to our nearby church for a candle-lit service of Carols and six Lessons. I'm sorry to say that only ONE of the lessons was spoken with any diction; all the others were mumbled. I enjoyed the singing!

I don't think I'm alone in not understanding what people say. Maybe this is something that needs to be addressed in our schools. Communication is all about being understood, and that is important. It should, and can, be TAUGHT.

That Annual Letter!

Dear Santa,

It's been a pretty horrible year, so I hope you're going to be kind to me.

After our French burglary, my mobility problems, and our recent bouts of illness, we need something more pleasant in our lives.

So, there'll be some Rum and Christmas Cake for you when you visit on the 24th/25th; provided, of course, that you come up trumps with a few requests!

I have only three requests this year. 

I really would like some workable legs. The old ones are worn-out, and a refurbished pair would be much appreciated.

I would also much appreciate someone who would pop in to clean the house a bit. Preferably an attractive young lady who would come once a week to do a spot of hoovering, dusting, and polishing. It would also be good if she was experienced in providing Tea and dark chocolate digestives at 10.30 am.

And thirdly I would like a regular supply of Beef Ribs. Once a month I would like a 4 Rib joint of Beef delivered, just like the ones I used to eat as a child. It must be of good quality, and very tender. I am capable of the roasting, but not the choosing; my knowledge of the best roasting joints is sorely lacking.

So there we are old pal. Three simple requests. I know you won't let me down.

Your faithful friend, Cro xx

West Chiltington.

This quintessentially English thatched house was my parents' last Sussex home before moving up to Shropshire in the mid to late 1970's (I think).

I loved this house. It was situated in the beautiful village of West Chiltington in West Sussex, and had all that one could need; a veg' patch, an orchard, two small ponds, and some woodland. It looks much older, but in fact it was built in the 1920's (?). It was part of a development of several similar houses, known as 'Wells Cottages', situated well spaced apart in woodland.

Over the past 50 years the lay-out has changed a bit. The drive looks wider, the garden better organised, and one of the ponds is missing. The bit sticking out on the left used to be a garage, but I see they have done what I wanted to do, and they've changed it into another room. 

I must admit to having been a bit disappointed when they decided to move to Shropshire. The house they bought was pleasant, but Shropshire just ain't Sussex. Being a Surrey/Sussex boy, I would say that wouldn't I.

On a country house hunting programme I occasionally watch, people often wince at the thought of a thatched house. Goodness knows why. Personally I find them very attractive.

The lawn in front of the house was 99% moss, and was lovely to walk over bare-footed.

When my people bought the house, the previous owner had just died, and his son had been given the task of emptying, and selling it. Frankly he was not the sort of person I'd want as a son; he piled everything burnable on the front lawn, and lit it. We found antique hinges amongst the ashes. Goodness knows what he'd burned. Later I found a book of National Savings certificates in the garage. They had a nominal value of about £200, but were probably worth about £2,000. I sent them to him, but received no reply. What a charming individual.

I'm thinking a lot about Christmases past at the moment. This was a great Christmas house.

I'm sorry they sold up. Father was a Sussex man; Mother was from Shropshire. Mother won!

p.s. Their gardener (for a while) was Norman Wisdom's son. NW lived in the village.

 

Parmesan Biscuits.

I was just attaching Billy's lead for his afternoon walk, when I looked around to see Lady M with her face, hair, and tiara, covered with a light dusting of flour; she was baking.

When I returned some time later, the house was filled with a delicious, and familiar, aroma. She had made some of 'Julie New's fabulous Parmesan Biscuits.

Julie is a friend who first gave us the recipe about 20 years ago, and we've been using it ever since. I'm using an old photo that I have used before, because I can't do better.

The biscuits are made by combining 100 gms flour, 100 gms butter, and 100 gms of freshly grated parmesan (don't use ready grated), one egg yolk, a quarter teaspoon of chili powder, and half a teaspoon of cumin seeds. Wizz into a ball, and refrigerate for a while.

Roll out to about 1 cm thickness, and cut into rounds, Bake for about 10 mins at 200 C. Watch very carefully that they don't burn. 

I cannot think of a better savoury biscuit to accompany a glass of red wine in the evening. 

Just delicious. Thank you Julie.

 

The wheels of change turn mighty slow.

We have just been sent a photo that proves that behind our house in France it appears that not much has changed since the beginning of June. There is still a temporary electrical meter box on the ground, and cables still lie on the surface; just as they did FIVE YEARS AGO.

However, over Summer, I did manage to arrange that the neighbour whose house it feeds, now has buried cables up to his front door, and a new meter installed on his own land, whether they are being used or not is another question; we simply don't know. Other than that I'm really not sure why all the cables are still all over the ground, or even if they're still 'live'. It doesn't make any sense.

I really went out of my way to help the man get his permanent electricity connection; I made phone calls, spoke to the Mayor, and welcomed about five different lots of EDF workers who came to fiddle with things. I didn't mind giving a helping hand, as the current situation remained extremely dangerous, and I really didn't want to see a repeat of when a local man was very nearly killed by mowing over the hidden grass-covered wires. 

Regardless of all this, the situation remains much the same, and I'd put a tenner on it being no different in 12 months time!!!

In between time, our own telephone/internet wires were still left trailing on the ground. I have attached them to the brand new post, just so I don't mow over them. I believe that a new Fibre Optic connection will arrive this winter, so maybe those wheels are beginning to turn. I hope I get to see, and use, it. Our current internet connection in France is appalling.

 

More Stumbling from Starmer & Co

 

Spot the anomaly from 2019 (above) to now! I don't think any of those women would be posing in front of the red banners after today's announcements!

Our new Socialist government never misses an opportunity to tell us that The Tories left a 'Black Hole' in the economy of £20 Billion; a figure much contended by several official government bodies.

If they really do wish to make-up the missing Billions, there is no easier way than by stopping the money we give away annually to foreign countries. We give away over £15 Billion, often with no noticeable benefit to either them or us. A yearly percentage has been established, (0.5% of gross national income) and governments stick to it doggedly. I think it's time to say 'NO', until our own books are in order.

As someone recently said, "If we can afford to give away so much money, we must all be paying too much tax".

The Socialists don't seem to be managing the economy too well. Inflation is up, businesses are closing, farmers are furious, OAP's aren't happy, all those lady pensioners born in the 1950's (WASPI's) are up in arms. I haven't seen any unemployment figures recently, but they are bound to be up as well.

The usual Socialist suspects are now reneging on their promise to these female pensioners. Having given 100% support to the WASPI women whilst in opposition, they have now turned around to tell them they'll get NOTHING; and to stop moaning! 

We are no longer surprised by such U Turns, they are becoming the norm. 

The build-up to Christmas Lunch.

 

All I really need to buy now, are the Sprouts.

I suppose like most households, on the big day we have a glass of fizz and some small things to eat before we tackle the main event. We spoil ourselves with a bottle of good Champagne (Canard Duchenne) with some Foie Gras, Caviar, and Smoked Salmon, on Ritz crackers. Then we relax whilst opening a few unwanted presents, before the roasted beast comes out of the oven to rest, and the Sprouts are put on. By this time all the extras (stuffing, pigs, etc) are already done!

We've done the exact same thing on Christmas Day since I was born.

One of my most memorable Christmases was when I was about 6. My mother had bought, or maybe had made herself, a HUGE cracker that hung from the ceiling. Inside were sweets, toys, and fruits. It was magical, I can still remember being allowed into the drawing room, and seeing it hanging there. It must have been about 4 feet long, although at the time it seemed like 10.

For several years we used to go to our Welsh hilltop cottage for Christmas. My mother had family up there and it was a wonderful time to all get together. The cottage was on the very top of a hill overlooking Wales, by the side of Offa's Dyke. Drifting snow was often a problem; and there was no proper road to the house. We loved it.

Many Christmases were later spent in France, where Christmas itself, and roasted Turkeys, were not on the French radar. We ate Duck or Goose until around the late 1990's when Turkey became more available. The French themselves still prefer Capons.

I do like Christmas, but I don't like that the hype seems to start right after Easter these days; only giving way to a month of Black Friday shopping in between.

It's now not long before the big day, and we have the tree, a wreath, and twinkling lights all setting the scene for the biggest food-fest of the year. I can hardly wait.

We will only be four at table this year, but, luckily, they're four of my very favourite people (of course)!

Boys and dogs

Some people have all the luck.

My daughter is spending a pre-Christmas break in Bali (they live in Oz). 

Imagine a thatched cottage, with shady terrace overlooking swaying palms and crystal clear sea. You know the sort of thing.

Grandson Finn (below) is obviously missing his dogs, and has struck-up a relationship with a local puppy.

Once a dog lover, always a dog lover. He will search-out a stray and befriend it at once. He has obviously inherited my love of dogs.

Good boy!

 

Ready Meals.

I've been a bit incapacitated recently, and as such have not been able to prepare meals in my usual way. I haven't been able to go out shopping either, so Lady M has kindly, and happily, taken over responsibilities.

Ready meals can occasionally be very good. For example I often buy a Sainsbury's 'Butter Chicken Curry', that after some 'tweaking' become totally delicious. I've even seen an Indian man buying several packs. We also occasionally have an M & S Lasagna, or a Fish Pie. Both very good.

Recently Lady M couldn't resist an M & S Lamb Moussaka. I don't think I'd had a ready made Moussaka before, so I was very interested to see how it compared to home made.

Firstly I have to say that it was nothing like any Moussaka I'd eaten before. The Aubergine was very present and delicious, but the Lamb could almost have been anything. However, overall it was very tasty, but probably should have been sold under a different name.

Would we buy it again? Well, yes we would. It's a great stand-by to have in your freezer, and would never disappoint.

Verdict: 8/10 as a nice meal, but possibly not if you were expecting a genuine 'Moussaka'.

Christmas has begun.

We have, of course, been buying presents for others; all the usual things, gloves, scarves, chocolates, etc. But with 10 days still to go, we hadn't expected to actually receive anything for ourselves quite yet.

So, you can imagine our surprise when a dark green horse-drawn carriage pulled up outside (well, not quite) and a liveried flunky delivered this huge parcel from a well-known Knightsbridge Store. 

Lady M was tempted, but I persuaded her to wait till the big day.

I just hope it's not a pair of Black Lab' puppies, or a haunch of Venison. If it's starts either making a noise or begins to smell, we'll know that we should have opened it earlier. We are assured from Thailand that "Nothing should hatch for at least a week".

We are both very excited. It's not every day one receives such a lovely looking parcel.

 

House Building.

It may sound all very logical in the Student Common Room, but is the fragrant Ms Rayner's plan to build 1.5 Million new homes such a good idea? It has now become the flag-waving policy of the Labour Party.

It's been calculated that the area of 'Green Belt' land required to build these one and a half million new homes would cover an area the size of Surrey. In other words, about 640 Square Miles. 

Of course we need more housing, especially reasonably priced homes; but do we really need 1.5 million of them?

'Green Belt' areas were originally designed to halt the spread of Urban Sprawl, and to enhance the lives of town dwellers. Presumably the new Socialist dream is to encourage Urban Sprawl, and to devalue the quality of lives of those townies. I certainly haven't heard any townies cheering!

It may sound all very noble to say that we need these new houses, but the truth of the matter is that we really need a smaller population. We also need fewer power-crazy bureaucrats who refuse planning permission on perfectly viable non-green-belt sites.

In a recent interview with Laura Kuenssberg on BBC TV, Rayner stated that she 'dislikes' private landlords, and she wants to see people renting 'social housing' instead. So, is she expecting local councils to buy/build many of these 1.5 million new homes to let as council houses? What would then happen to all those empty privately owned houses and flats?

Perhaps The Government should buy all the closed-down Pontins Holiday Camps to house both the homeless, and our illegal immigrants. They're already built, they're empty, and there'll probably be more to come! They would probably also be very cheap.

Currently, just under 4,000 'rough sleepers' have nowhere to call home in the UK. I'm sure they could be accommodated without building 1.5 Million new homes. The illegal immigrant population are already housed in nice comfy hotels. And there are just over 300,000 others, representing about 85,000 families, who are classified as 'homeless', but they all have somewhere to live; albeit in possibly unsuitable accommodation.

So, who is going to buy, or rent, all these expensive new homes?

Look what I made!

I never bake, I never make pastry, and I never handle sugar.

However, yesterday I managed to make some Mince Pies. The urge got to me, and I threw caution to the winds.

I bought the pastry, I bought the mincemeat, and I bought two new sets of cutters; circular and star-shaped. The only bit I really did was to 'assemble', but even so I'm quite proud of myself.

Verdict: Well, the pastry was a bit hard, and the filling much too sweet. So, 4/10 (I'm being generous).

However for enthusiasm, expectation, appearance, and seasonal effort, I give myself 10/10.

 

SIX.

It's the twelfth of December; Billy's birthday. 

Billy hails from just outside Toulouse; he's a Toulousain. Border Collies are not breeds that one immediately associates with France, but he is an exception. I believe he was one of 7 siblings; and was 'headhunted' by Kimbo.

I'd been in an awful state. My previous dog, Bok, had just died, and I'd been alone at the house to cope with it all. I'd had a few really horrible weeks.

Then Lady M returned, accompanied by Kimbo holding a shoe box. The box contained an ugly little black and white puppy with a pink nose. It was Billy.

That was just six years ago, and he's not left my side since.

He no longer has that pink nose, and he's no longer ugly. In fact I would say he's grown into a very handsome young dog. 

So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY my darling Billy, and bonne anniversaire. I have a lunchtime treat for you. Let's both hope we have many more years together.

 

My Uncle Reg'.

Uncle Reg' was my father's older brother. I think he was the family 'Black Sheep'. He had a rakish, playboy look about him, and was eventually sent off to 'The Colonies' (Ceylon) to grow, and send back, Tea. I heard nothing of the Tea itself, but I do know that he sent back furs and jewels to my father in London, to sell on his behalf.

He was a natty dresser, took real pride in his appearance, and (I imagine) saw himself as a 'Lord of the Manor' type of character. My father said that he actually used to buy clothes just for specific photos of himself.

Here he is (below) in Ceylon on the tea estate. He is front row, second from left, with two tone shoes and nice white suit.

Sadly he contacted para-typhoid whilst out in Ceylon, and had to be repatriated. I believe that my grandfather had to send a doctor out specifically to accompany him back to England.

It's good to have at least one controversial family member. It gives us something interesting to discuss over the Port. I'm just sorry I didn't get to know him.

Bizarrely, he was named Reginald Ernest Terenzio; where on earth the 'Terenzio' came from I have no idea!!! I've tried to find if there was a famous 'Terenzio' around at the time, but I can't find anything. Perhaps my grandmother had a 'Terenzio' in her distant family. It will always remain a mystery; there's no-one left to ask.

 

Parlenka.

There must be hundreds of Cookery Journalists permanently scouring the world for new and exotic foods that we simply cannot live without. The dishes must come from somewhere inaccessible, with an exotic name, and usually be made by travelling nomads who speak an unknown language.

I come across such foods regularly in various publications. I look at them, consider their value, then usually dismiss them as a waste of time.

The latest such 'Super Food' I found is Parlenka (below). I was told that this fabulous Balkan dish will take the Western World by storm. I await anxiously! 

So, what is Parlenka? Well, it's a bit of flatbread with grated cheese on top. No more, no less.

Verdict: I haven't tasted it, I don't think I need to. 0/10

 

Assad

Generally speaking, artistic people mix with fellow artistic people, steel workers probably mix with fellow steel workers, and criminals certainly mix with fellow criminals.

So it's not surprising to see that evil tyrants tend to mix together too. If you are a recently deposed evil bast*rd dictator, where else would you go, but into the arms of an equally evil bastard who helped sustain your reign. 

Assad's time was up. He had to go; and it appears that he's headed for 'friendly' Russia.

No doubt, like so many dictators, he has filled his coffers in some Swiss bank account, and will be able to live a life of luxury; unless Putin manages to get his hands on it.

I only know one Syrian. A very nice man who runs a convenience store quite nearby. He has family in Aleppo, so I hope they are all OK. I must pop down to see him a.s.a.p.

But let's not kid ourselves about Syria, we must cross our fingers and hope that the 'rebel fighters' install a democratic system, and not replace repression with repression. With so many differing factions vying for power, it won't be easy.

I wish them luck.

 

Men Behaving Badly - Pub Rave

The 'Pub' watchdog' CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale) has said that after Labour's recent disaster budget, about 1,200 pubs will close this year. In fact it may well be many more.

I used to go to my local about once a week for a couple of pints, but these days the cost is prohibitive; unless, of course, you're a Train driver, Plumber, or Electrician.

A Pint of Bitter costs over £5 these days; that's the price of a bottle of wine. This is why so many people (like me) prefer to stay indoors, and shout at the TV.

Wild Swans

I first read Jung Chang's 'Wild Swans' back in the mid-90's. It was essential reading at the time, and its revelations shocked me.

Lady M recently bought another (brand new) copy from a Charity Shop, which I am now reading for the second time.

The book covers the lives of three generations of Chinese women from the beginning of the last century to the end.

It describes atrocities committed by The Chinese, The Japanese, and The Russians, in the western Sichuan province. It is an extraordinary insight into life in 'modern' China; half of which took place during my own lifetime. It is a damning resumé of chaos, extortion, murder, torture, and the sexual inequalities of life under the different factions of communism.

I don't imagine that the book is sold in China; but it should be.

I see the book in the same light as Solzhenitsyn's 'The Gulag Archipelago'. Essential reading if one wants to understand much about Communist Russia. My late Father-in-Law was 'our man' in Moscow for a while, and much of what he experienced confirmed Solzhenitsyn's accounts. Not a lot has changed.

It's a long time since I read Wild Swans, and I'm being as shocked as I was previously. It begins with tales of 'foot binding', and ends with success at university and a visit to England; unimaginable at the beginning of the century. One chapter is entitled 'Daughter for Sale for 10 Kilos of Rice', which gives an inkling into the state of the nation.

It's a lengthy read, but if you have the time I recommend. But be prepared to be shocked.

 

Inappropriate behaviour.

 

If you live in the UK, you will have been bombarded with tales about the 'Masterchef' presenter, Gregg Wallace's inappropriate behaviour.

I have no idea how bad it has been, but I expect it's all based on cheeky East End banter, as used to be the standard fare of builders and market traders everywhere. As far as I've seen he's not being accused of rape or any form of sexual violence. One has to remember that Wallace was an East End grocer; not unknown for their 'cheeky quips'.

He didn't make himself popular by saying that his accusers were all middle-class women of a certain age. He should have kept his silly mouth closed.

Well, I shall now reveal that I too have been the recipient of 'inappropriate behaviour'.

Back in about 1971, I was teaching at a prestigious Girl's Boarding School in Shropshire, we even had the daughter of a Prime Minister there. As a young Art Master, one of only two male teachers (the other was much older), I became the object of much giggling and teasing; some of which was very suggestive in a none too sophisticated double entendre fashion. I didn't mind too much, but had I been female, and the pupils male, it might have been very different.

A few years later, again in Shropshire, I became the Chairman of my village Youth Club. Again I became the object of some curiosity; a sports car driving, young man, living in the big house, I attracted some bizarre attention from some of the female club members. Youngish girls would phone me in the evenings and make strange sexual suggestions. They were only having a bit of fun, so again I didn't really mind, and tried to ignore it.

I only mention these two incidents because they are my only experience.

You will probably think that it's very different for a man to receive such attention, and I would agree with you to an extent, but it did give me an insight into unwanted behaviour.

I don't know the extent of Gregg Wallace's behaviour, but I quite expect it was not dis-similar to the girls at the school where I taught. Probably harmless; but unwarranted. However if it proves to be much more serious then he must pay the price, just like everyone else.

I'd never thought anything about Wallace previously, but he sounds like a total plonker.

Wander lust

Here he is, the old vagrant. Sitting on the steps of an Irish 'Open Lot' wagon. On my knee is young Kimbo, and trying to climb up to join us is Tenpin. I only had two children at the time. The picture was taken behind our huge stone barn in France.

The wagon belonged to Wedgie-Benn's niece and her boyfriend. They had taken a year off from teaching, and were travelling the back roads of France, heading south. They stayed with us for a couple of months. Their horse was called Joe, their dog was Mumper, and their two hens were Henny Penny and Penny Henny.

Joe was a Welsh Cob, an ex London Rag-n-Bone man's horse. We had a very old two-wheeled trap at the farm, and he pulled it as beautifully as he did the wagon. Here I am (below) heading off somewhere, with dog Dart (Dartagnon) in tow. The trap was dumped in the barn when I bought the farm in 1973 (in the background), along with all sorts of other treasures.

Our guests eventually moved on and headed to the south coast, where they sold the wagon and Joe with it. I'm rather sorry they didn't offer it to me first, I might well have taken to the road, and changed my name to Cro Petulengro.

 

Winters Past.

It hasn't been particularly cold here yet this winter. 

Our previous winters in France were very different to our winters today.

We lived in a 300 year old stone cottage, with no central heating. The only heating we had came from our own hard work, which always began at one of the log piles. This one below was the Oak pile.

Our wood, both Oak and Chestnut, was delivered in one metre length logs. As both our kitchen stove (George), and our sitting room wood-burner (Gilbert) both took 33 cm length logs, there was sawing to be done every day.

Of course I always kept a few days worth of cut logs in store, just in case of bad weather, otherwise it was out every morning with the chainsaw and wheelbarrows, to top-up reserves. We needed about two filled wheelbarrows per day to run both stoves.

In fact I rather enjoyed this task. It was 'real', and kept me in touch with life's essentials. These days we live with push-button heating; no dust, no smoke, no exercise, and no focus point to the room.

                              

It wasn't only us who appreciated the heat. Here are Monty and Bok showing their absolute pleasure, lying on the rug in front of the blazing wood-burner. They loved it.

Of course we didn't always have our Godin wood-burner. Previously we had a huge open fire with antique Fire Dogs, and a cast iron Fire Back, both of which you can still see to the left of the burner. Sadly the metre length logs would spit, and we worried that our nice rugs and sofas would catch fire. I regret the decision to install the more sensible wood-burner to this day, but it possibly saved the cottage from burning down. These days we can light-up, go away for several hours, and the burner will still be going strong when we return.

Central heating is all very convenient, but there is no romance in it.

Brighton Fashion (men's)

If there is one item of men's clothing that is 100% de rigueur in 2024 Brighton, it's old and faded French workmen's jackets. The older and more faded the better. 

Someone must be importing them from France by the thousand, and they come in all conditions and states of ageing. Holes and patches are quite acceptable. The French themselves no longer wear them.

I think they were made popular by certain UK TV personalities who always wore them. Gardner Monty Don, and Antiques dealer Drew Pritchard are never seen in anything else. I've even seen a morning TV Show Doctor wearing one. There are others too.

I did have one of these jackets many years ago, but it became lost. These days I have a more 'sophisticated' denim version, that doesn't have at all the same allure.

Brighton is a very left-wing/green party city, and I imagine that locals see a similarity between the fashion style of French workmen, and Mao Zedong (Up the workers, everybody out!). 

I must say, I love these jackets myself too, and am quite jealous every time I see one passing by.

 

Sleaze Season.

 

Seeing as every peccadillo committed by the Tories was classified as 'Sleaze' by the Socialists, I suppose that 'what goes around comes around', and the honour must be reciprocated.

This time it's the fragrant Liz Kendall; the minister for ROBBING pensioners of their £300 winter fuel allowance.

It seems that Ms Kendall, and her Old Etonian city-banker partner, live in a £4 Million Notting Hill mansion, and, guess what; they have their heating bills paid by US THE TAXPAYERS. What a bloody cheek. Super-Sleaze indeed!

It has been revealed that she claimed £3,810 for her 2023/24 heating bill, with the largest monthly payment being £352. A movement is afoot to make her repay the money; she can certainly afford to!

As her partner, James Ind, is an Old Etonian, one also has to wonder if Ms Kendall has had words with Angela Rayner over calling him "A Misogynistic, racist, homophobic, banana republic, pile of Scum". Oh dear! Red faces!

It has also been revealed that Kendall and Ind scrape by on a combined salary of just £760,000. Great work, if you can get it.

The only other Sleaze to hit The Labour Party last week (that I know of) was that of Louise Haigh. The fragrant Ms Haigh was the UK Transport Secretary until she resigned over a fraud conviction involving an Aviva work mobile Phone that she claimed had been stolen. It hadn't, and she was convicted. Naughty naughty!

Meanwhile in the USA there's been even more sleaze. Biden has pardoned his charming son, Hunter, of gun and tax offenses. This must be one of the worst cases of nepotism in the history of America. It really pays to have a father in high office.

Generic Products

I wouldn't mind betting that every one of us has, at some time or other, gone for a cheaper generic product rather than our usual well-loved branded one; and regretted it. Saving a few pence is always appealing.

We have bought Marmotte instead of Marmite, Klogs cornflakes instead of Kelloggs, and Hines ketchup instead of Heinz. Usually to our disappointment.

Normally I'm a Coopers Oxford Vintage (thick cut) Marmalade person. But a few years ago I discovered the above; Duerr's thick cut Seville Orange Marmalade. I opened the jar with trepidation, but it was excellent.

Duerr's was founded in 1881, so they've been around a while. I also see by the label that they are based in Manchester, which I believe is half way between Liverpool and Sheffield. It's in the North of England.

Occasionally a generic product can be as good as, if not better than, the original; but not too often. This one is excellent, and, of course, is considerably cheaper than Coopers. I can recommend. 

Enjoy your breakfast!

 

Confined to Barracks.

 

I've had a pretty awful couple of weeks, and it still ain't over yet!

Having not been ill for about 5 years, I caught a dreadful bloody cold/flu/covid; probably covid, and it's been very nasty.

Then a couple of days ago I somehow managed to twist my left ankle, and I can hardly walk.

I can't go for walks with Billy, and I have no idea how long it'll take to heal.

Of course, I also have to cope with my sciatica, arthritic hips, dodgy right knee, and painful shoulders.

What a bloody mess. Only time will heal, and I hope that time passes swiftly. My life is miserable at the moment.

And to add insult to injury, I have now gone about 98% DEAF. Whatever next!!!!

Gawd, I hate being ill. I'd almost forgotten what it was like!

p.s. My feet are size 10, and not long thin 18's as they appear in the photo.