Scaffolding.

 

Firstly I must say that I HATE scaffolding, and ours will be taken down as soon as possible. Scaffolding makes the whole area look scruffy.

We finally decided to paint the front and back of our bijou residence. We are the last to do so in our row of four houses, and we were beginning to look a tad scruffy. The painted surfaces are quite small, so we decided to do the job ourselves; with the help of grandson Suave Harve. In doing so we have saved a considerable amount of dosh; and Harve's Beer Fund has benefitted.

There was a small amount of preparatory filling to be done, which I undertook myself, otherwise it was a simple paint job.

All tradesmen charge a fortune these days. A professional painter would probably have charged anything up to £5,000. We ordered the scaffolding ourselves (£900), and bought all the paint etc (£70), so it made sense to clamber up the scaffolding with brush and a pot of paint, and to do it ourselves. The saving was enough for a Caribbean Cruise, a crate of Bollinger, and a month's stay at The Savoy.

This past Summer I fell off ladders TWICE, and I still have a sore head as a souvenir. So I wasn't really looking forward to going up to do too much, but I'm a foolhardy soul and I couldn't resist. In fact I could hardly wait to do some climbing and view the house from a totally new viewpoint.

The filling of tiny cracks was child's-play, and was almost a pleasure to do. The weather was perfect, and the filler I'd bought was very user-friendly. The two walls, front and back, were ready to paint in less than a couple of hours. At the same time I squirted some clear silicone into the joins between some parapet tiles. As I was busy atop the scaffold, my neighbour 'The Bishop' went past and we had a few words. I felt blessed and much safer.

Many years ago when I owned a big classic Brighton Victorian terraced house, it was painted white back and front. We employed a business called 'University Painters' to do the painting job. They were a couple of female students, who earned themselves a pretty penny painting houses at weekends, by just using ladders. No scaffolding for these intrepid erstwhile wall-artists. They had no qualms about climbing-up three stories of ladders, and did a great job.

No doubt with Elf-n-Safety rules these days, such enterprise would be BANNED.

Our present work took just one relaxed day, and the finished job looks great. We used 'Sandtex' Paint, which is slightly textured, and is very forgiving. The finish is very smooth.

Well done Harve; job done! 

p.s. I am now wondering what my left-wing trolls will find to insult me about. I'm sure they'll find something. 

Full-ish Engl-ish

Friday mornings mean just one thing; breakfast with Kimbo at 7 am (on the dot).

Kimbo (like me) is a very good time-keeper. I can prepare everything in advance so that when he walks through the door, he makes us both a coffee (his job), and we immediately sit down to eat.

Yesterday's breakfast was a tad meagre; sadly there was no Haggis or Black Pudding on offer.

I do try to make changes. We recently enjoyed a Cheese and Ham Omelette together, and just occasionally we have a French breakfast of Croissants with Apricot Jam.

However, yesterday we had Baked Beans on Luxury Toast (the crusts were cut off), fried Egg, Bacon, and a single sausage. Not my usual gut-buster; but very nice even so.

Over the coming week I will experiment with different methods of Poaching Eggs, so that next Friday we will hopefully enjoy our Eggs not fried, but perfectly poached.

 

Stray Cats

In France we not only have a lot of stray Dogs, but over the years we've also welcomed several stray Cats.

Korky (below) was just a kitten when I adopted her. In May of 1990 I was visiting nearby friends and she suddenly appeared from under their car, and they didn't want her. She was quite a nice Cat, but something had happened to the end of her tail; it was raw and red. She (I presume that all cats are female) stayed with me for quite a while, then one night she disappeared. I looked everywhere, but I have no idea what happened to her.

I had several others turn-up over the years. Some just came to be fed and watered, others stayed for a bit longer. One, that I called 'Crocket', was a HORRIBLE Cat, but I looked after her anyway. She was named Crocket because I (unkindly) thought she might make quite a good hat (!!!!!).

My good friend Jock also had a string of strays who ended-up living with him. The most notable amongst them he called Gustave, who would drape himself around Jock's shoulders like a scarf. They were inseparable.

All these Cats were roughly drawn, and appeared in my scrapbook of 'silly sketches' that I kept for many years.

This below was Crocket. She really was awful. I think it shows!!!

Poached Eggs

I do like Poached Eggs, but I hardly ever prepare them. I have a dedicated 4 Egg stainless steel Poaching pan in France, which doesn't get much use; I don't know why.

A while back I heard of a poaching method that sounded quick and easy. You half-filled a mug with boiling water, dropped the Egg into it, and microwaved for a minute. It worked but was slightly over-cooked. 40 seconds would probably have been enough. There was also a slight explosion.

Someone later gave me these two silicone poachers (below), that float on boiling water whilst the Eggs are cooking; I put some butter in the bottom. They work well, but take much longer; about 5 minutes.

Recently another method kept cropping-up on my Facebook page. I was very taken by its simplicity, and guaranteed success, so I ordered TWO. They arrived almost at once.

Yesterday morning I was very eager to try my new purchase (below). One puts a small amount of water in each section, pops in the Eggs, and microwaves for one minute; having first pricked the Eggs all over with a toothpick.

At about 45 seconds there was an almighty explosion, and the interior of the microwave was completely pebble-dashed with half-cooked Egg. It then took me about half an hour to clean the interior of the bloody oven.

The two brand new Egg poachers went directly to the dustbin.

My advice is, if they appear on your Facebook page, and you are tempted; DON'T BUY THEM.

They are lethal.

Confucius

I first heard this tune on a 'Focus' album, and I was immediately hooked. 

This version is a joint effort between the Out of Control Army and the Melbourne Ska Orchestra. Lots of brass; wonderful.

 

Sheeran.

I know absolutely nothing about Ed Sheeran's music, but if I was him, I'd stick two fingers up at the music industry, take the money, and RUN.

It's an interesting 21st Century bit of nonsense. On his current tour of the USA, Sheeran had an opening act called Macklemore, who was using Sheeran's name to further his career, and who spent most of his time on stage praising terrorism and damning Israel. It became so bad that the Stadium owner, Robert Kraft, insisted that Sheeran got rid of him. Then, in a very bizarre move, dozens of Macklemore's friends pulled-out of the show in his support, leaving Sheeran himself as the only person on stage (I'm hoping this resumé is roughly correct).

I was interested enough to follow-up the story concerning some Free-Palestine protesters who later made a nuisance of themselves outside the stadium in Philadelphia.

I looked through a swathe of pictures of the flag-waving, slogan-shouting, lovies, but failed to find one single woman wearing a hijab. If this demonstration had taken place in their beloved 'Palestine', they would all now be very bruised, and/or in prison.

That is the REALITY of what they wish for. Not the freedoms offered by Israel, but the endemic repression of Islam.

Sheeran is a very popular singer and must have made several £Millions by now. If I was him, I'd retire to somewhere pleasant and have nothing more to do with the whole music industry, and especially with those who use their music as a political platform. Other singers, as we all know, use the platform for racism, and even for class warfare. 

When radical Woke politics enters the entertainment business, and affects your work in this way, it's time to call it a day.

 

Piddington.

Piddington is a small attractive Oxfordshire village with a population of under 360 residents.

The villagers are not happy. They are being told that they must receive 1,250 young male illegal immigrants, to be housed in an old village army barracks. They have said "NO" to the scheme in no uncertain terms; even to the extent of holding an Independence Vote to leave the UK. The vote was won almost unanimously. They now claim to no longer be a part of the UK, but are The Principality of Piddington; but to which Prince this refers I'm not sure.

They have written to Government Ministers, and their fears have fallen on deaf ears. Women's groups have made special appeals to all female MP's fearing their safety, but no-one is listening to them.

I have one simple solution to suggest. The old Barracks should be securely fenced-in with electrified razor wire, to keep all the criminals inside. If they weren't able to wander around, I'm sure the people would feel much safer. If, in exceptional cases, they HAD to leave their compound, they should be made to wear very distinctive Orange Jumpsuits.

I really hate it when our elected representatives ignore the wishes of the electorate. This is a classic example. The good folk of Piddington DON'T WANT 1,250 ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS dumped on their doorstep by a government who says that 'we all need to share the load'. 

Well, Mr Burnham; the people of Piddington don't feel they need to share your load! But how about a huge open camp in your beloved Manchester instead?