Fog

Yesterday morning the fog was so dense that the sound of the 8am church bells, from just 2 kms away, was muffled and dull-sounding.

Regardless, I prefer this type of weather to extreme cold, or wretched snow.

So far our winter has been reasonably kind. We've had just a couple of sub-zero nights, plenty of rain, and plenty of the above; cool misty mornings.

Snow drops are in flower, Daffs are coming up, and Daylilies are sprouting all over. In the orchard, the Peach and Cherry trees are already showing their fruiting buds.

I recently had to buy new gumboots, as my last pair were leaking badly; so, with ancient Barbour, waterproof wellies, 'Hunter' socks, thermal gloves, silly Russian style hat, and a sort of puffer waistcoat thingy (is that what they're called?), I'm now prepared for whatever nature can throw at the fan. It can even bloody snow if it likes; I shall remain warm and dry, even if I can't see much further than beyond the big Pear tree.

p.s. It may be of interest. Princess Anne's first husband, Cap't Mark Phillips, was given the name 'Fog' by Prince Charles. He was viewed as 'thick and wet'; the name stuck, and it was used by the whole royal family. They were pleased to be shot of him!

Another 10 favourite foods.

Way back in April of 2016, I posted a list of my 10 favourite foods; see here......

 http://magnonsmeanderings.blogspot.fr/2016/04/cros-10-most-delicious-foods.html

Having looked at it again, I realise that I need to expand, and add another 10.

                           

1. Lamb chops (cooked outdoors on BBQ)
2. Licorice wheels (spirals)
3. Hummus (homemade)
4. Whelks
5. Marmite
6. Squid
7. Lemon (in all forms)
8. Chorizo
9. Bananas
10 Mature Cheddar cheese.

There could well be another 10 yet to come; watch this space.

A Question of Timing. Eggs again!

                             

I have mentioned previously that Saint Delia of Norfolk's aunt used to sing three verses of 'Onward Christian Soldiers', to Arthur Sullivan's famous tune, to time her perfectly cooked boiled Hen's eggs. I imagine this must depend somewhat on how quickly one sings.

My oldest son is partial to Goose eggs, and he assures me that nine and a half minutes boiling are required for that perfectly cooked white, and reasonably soft yolk that he insists upon. The season for these starts soon after mid-February.

A Duck egg is somewhat smaller than a Goose egg, and requires between six and seven minutes. I find them very rich.

My people used to keep a variety of fowl, amongst which were Bantams. One of their eggs took about three and a quarter minutes to boil, and was delicious. The perfect boiled egg for small children.

Quails eggs are not only very attractive, they are also tiny; hard-boiled they make a delicious topping for a summer salad, and it will require two and a half minutes to have them just right.

I have eaten all of these different eggs, and have enjoyed all of them. But if I was to choose just one amongst them, I would have to plump for the good old Hen's egg. Perfect size, cooking time (or singing time) not excessive, and just how an egg should taste.

I had a couple again for my breakfast yesterday, and without any interruptions (damp patches, spiders in bath, dog being sick, etc), they were perfectly cooked!

The Sunday Story: Pope John XXIII

                            

Pope John was the first Vatican incumbent of whom I was properly aware. He was a world figure who seemed to be as much head of the Protestant church as that of Islam or Buddhism. He seemed to glean admiration from all religions, without prejudice from any direction.

I remember that I liked his face, and always tried to imagine him in a dark, wide lapeled, pin-striped suit, sucking on a fat cigar. He could just as easily have played the part of Mafia Godfather, as that of Moral Godfather. He had the right countenance for either rôle.

John got up to his popery between 1958 and 1963; the end of my time as a Prep' schoolboy, and for the first 3 years at my upper school.

Stories about this pleasant Pope are legendary, and most of them are probably also invented. I do, though, remember one tale that always comes to mind when I think of any Pope, but it was attributed to Johnny.

Apparently it was traditional for all Popes to eat alone, and our particular Pope John didn't like this one bit. His dining room looked out onto the Vatican gardens, and he decided, surreptitiously, to invite the gardener to dine with him.

It is said that they talked of football, women, hunting, and the day's news; anything but religion.

I think John may have been one of the wisest ever Popes. I think I would have enjoyed a plate of pasta in his company (which I would have prepared for us myself, of course).

Waving, not cursing.

The School Bus arrives in our tiny hamlet at 8.00 am every morning; there are three small girls (one of whom is my neighbour Sara) who await it. It then does a short tour of the village before dropping off its load in the nearby small 'town' where their school is situated.

At the moment it is still only semi daylight when the bus comes by.

One of my early morning dog walks takes me for 100 metres off grass, and along a road, and I often see the bus as it continues on its route.

Yesterday, for some reason, the driver had left the interior lights on, so as they went past (and I was walking beside the road, with Bok on his lead) I could see all the children on board.

I always wave to them, and yesterday I noticed that they were all wildly waving back. Normally without the interior being lit, I see nothing of this.

No doubt 10 year old Sara has told them all about her favourite dog, Bok, and has encouraged everyone to wave at him. It was a very heartwarming sight.

Sometimes I just love my little hamlet.

p.s. The recently planted, and ridiculously unnecessary 'School Bus Stop' sign is a an expensive blot on the landscape. A total waste of money, and very ugly; the children always knew exactly where to wait for the bus before they planted the stupid thing.

Fartichokes.

Seeing as Jerusalem is in the news again (thanks to Trump), I thought I'd sing the praises of the wonderful Jerusalem Artichoke. Above is the last of my 2017 crop.

Known as Fartichokes for good reason, they are an essential crop in the Veg' patch; usually confined to a disused corner where they can do no harm.

Their most enduring quality is that they never really need re-sowing; there are always a few stragglers left in the ground for them to reproduce themselves for the following year..... and for ever after.

Personally I use them in just two ways; in soups, and roasted. Both ways are delicious.

I have been searching for years for a non-knobbly variety of JA, but I don't think it exists. I'm moving my Artichoke plot this year, and, regardless of what I wrote above, I have just bought a few new tubers (above) from my usual supermarket.  

I shall sow them in some well composted sandy soil; not only should they grow extremely well, but hopefully they will also be easily brushed clean, to save all that time-consuming peeling.

And don't forget; keep your windows open after eating!

N.B. The weather has been so good over the past couple of days that I've actually started DIGGING. It's great to be back on the soil.

What was 'Air Mail' Grandad?

I can't remember when I last used this stamp; no doubt the very day before Air Mail was abandoned.

I still have my collection of useless old-fashioned rubber stamps, as well as the red and black ink pads that accompany them. My 'Private and Confidential', 'First Class', 'Ex Libris', and Personal Monogram stamps now lie at the back of a rarely opened drawer; memories of a bygone age. 

Even letters themselves are gradually becoming rare; soon to become as rare as telegrams or faxes. Mail now flies around in cyber space, and arrives 'free' in a nano-second; unlike an expensive 'first class' stamped paper letter.

                                  

I can hardly remember when I last bought one of these thin blue lightweight air mail letters (aerogrammes?), that always seemed so exotic. They were very exciting to receive, but you had to be careful opening them; or they'd fall into four pieces.

It might be fun to reminisce about old fashioned letter writing and sending, but, frankly, thank goodness for Email. 

No trees were felled in the writing of this page.