Dieting for Dummies.

BEFORE (Genuine authenticated photo)

AFTER: (2 Weeks later: Genuine authenticated photo)

I have a glut of spectacular cabbages up at Haddock's, and we've been eating them regularly in our lunchtime soup. It reminded me that a while back there was a fad for a 'Cabbage Soup Diet', so I asked Lady Magnon if we were both suddenly to become extremely slim as a result of our lunches; surprisingly she replied 'No'.

Dieting, and dieting books, are lucrative buisness. Therefore I would like to announce the publication of the following.....

Cro Magnon's 'Stop Stuffing Your Face With Pies, Easy Diet Book'. And it's sister book Cro Magnon's 'The Eat Far Less Fat and You'll Lose Weight Diet'.

As you can see by the GENUINE illustrations above, I have myself tested these revolutionary diets, and these GENUINE photos prove that they are effective.

So, if you are morbidly obese, send as much money as you can afford, and the 2 above mentioned MIRACLE (easy to follow) diet books will be forwarded to you asap under plain cover.

GENUINE photos courtesy of Dr Lady Magnon.

The Sunday Story: Sara Leighton.

When I was living in London I met some really interesting people; as one does . Over the next two sundays I'm going to highlight a couple of them. Neither is particularly well known, so this is not a 'name dropping' exercise, but both were painters and both left their indelible marks.

I can't remember quite how I met portrait painter/writer Ms Leighton, other than we were close neighbours in Chelsea. Sara (quite naturally dwarling) had a beautiful house and studio in fashionable Glebe Place, whilst the penniless Cro lived in an oversized broom cupboard in Bramerton Street; the next street up.

It was probably in 1965 or 6 when, completely out of the blue, she asked me if I would go to Archie Nathan's (the London theatrical costumier) to pick up a suit of armour. She was painting the portrait of a well-known actress (can't remember which one), who was playing St Joan in The West End, and she needed the armour 'pronto'.

Sara wasn't the sort of woman to whom one would refuse a request. She was beautiful and statuesque, and her Maureen O'Hara style red hair demanded to be taken very seriously!

The suit of armour was waiting for me when I got to Nathan's. I stuffed it into the taxi, and a short while later delivered it to her studio where I spent another hour or so setting it up in the right pose; complete with waving tricolore flag.

By way of a thank you, Sara invited me to dinner at a local restaurant (235; remember it?). She arrived just a short while after me, wearing a pale beige, detective style, trench coat. When I asked if I could take it for her, I was a little surprised when she replied that I'd better not, as she had absolutely nothing on underneath. Ahem...

The last I heard of Sara was that she'd bought some huge old monastry in Tuscany that she was running as an artists colony/hotel. I suppose she'd be in her 70's now (very indescreet Cro!) and is no doubt still causing a rumpus somewhere in Italy. She was quite a lass.

The English Obsession.

The English are obsessed with CLASS. Their politics are class based, education is class based, and even employment is class based.

At present the 'lower classes' have (in many areas) the upper hand. We are told that England's top universities, for example, will now give preference to a 'lower class' applicant who has poor exam grades, over an 'upper class' applicant with traditionally good grades.

A 'lower class' person may insult or make disparaging remarks about the 'upper classes', but visa versa is strictly verboten.

TV reality shows/talent shows/soaps are all exclusively 'lower class'. The get-rich-quick notion of celebrity is designed to demonstrate that ANYONE can be famous/rich/a star overnight. No brains brawn or breeding is required!

So how would a foreigner tell these classes apart? Certainly not by wealth, nor by what car one drives, and not even by the cut of one's twenty-first century cloth.

I'm told that one should try to find someone who holds their knife like a pencil, and calls the letter H, haitch and not aitch, and you've probably discovered your 'lower class' citizen. But watch out; the 'upper classes' will soon be imitating him or her 'just for fun'. "Oh Harry, just look how I'm holding my knife; and does one spell Harry with a haitch?" Guffaw, guffaw.

Will aristocracy ever be replaced by meritocracy? I doubt it; not in ye olde England.

Robbie.

Let me introduce you to Robbie Baskerville. Robbie's a big boy, and in his hey-day looked as if he'd have your arm off just for a light morning snack. Nowadays he's getting old; he's greying around the muzzle, his bones ache, and the younger whipper-snapper local dogs like to taunt him.

He belongs to my friend and neighbour José, and he's the boss of three farm dogs; the other two being Jimbo (who has a broken ear), and Robbie's young and inseperable side-kick; the hooligan Duke.

Robbie is very independent, he walks about a mile to see me at least once a day. He tidies up all the scraps, does a couple of tours around the garden, then pisses on anything previously un-pissed-upon.

I've known Robbie all his life, and we have a sort of mutual understanding about dog/human relationships. He looks (or did look) totally ferocious, but is a complete softy. I don't suppose he's got many more years (or even months) in him, so I'm presenting him to you before it's too late.

A wonderful dog is our Robbie; a real local character and a really great friend.

Fat Fair?

We receive an inordinate amount of advertising stuff through the post. Supermarket special offers, local fetes, political handouts; you name it, we get it. I could of course put a little 'No Schmuck Thanks' sticker on my letter box, but in fact I rather like the stuff.

Take this 'poster' for example. South West France is renowned for its gastronomy, and in particular its Duck and Goose products. At this time of year all the supermarkets compete with each other to offer the very best, and most reasonably priced, products for us to prepare our own gastronomic conserves. Duck breasts, legs, hearts and gizzards, are all there; as well as Foie Gras in various qualities.

Personally I buy all my Duck products ready prepared (they're excellent), but I do make a large amount of Pork based Paté each year, into which I put Foie Gras. Any day now we'll start to receive special offer adverts for Pork products as well, but with Lady M about to go away to Blighty, I'll have to restrain myself until she returns; she's become as addicted to the Paté making process as me.

p.s. The only thing I actually bought from amongst these offers was a pack of Duck Sausages (bottom right, upper picture)...... Unfortunately they were NOT as good as expected.

Rat's Teeth Anyone?

Yesterday morning I went out to gather a few late variety Chestnuts (Montagne), that I particularly enjoy. Unlike most Chestnuts they completely soften after about 8/10 mins boiling. Delicious.

Whilst out, I also found these Dents de Rat mushrooms. Also known here as Pieds de Biche, they are mildly flavoured, slightly sweet, but very substantial. We tend to use them in stews where they absorb the more important flavours around them. I shall cook them with a large bacon joint with carrots, butter beans, spuds, etc.

With these mushrooms, when you find one, you usually find a bag-full. They can grow in long lines of 20 metres or more, so well worth scratching around. Called The Hedgehog Mushroom in the UK, it's a good one to learn to identify, as, other than the Saffron Milk Cap, there isn't much else around at this time of year.

I have to add that the Dents de Rat is one of Lady Magnon's real favourites. She accompanied me on another forage yesterday afternoon, and we returned with loads.

My Neck of the Autumn Woods.

OK. I promise that this will be my final mention of AUTUMN. But just look at what's no more than 50 metres from my front door.

I just popped out for a spot of early morning foraging (see tomorrow), and was simply amazed by the beauty of it all.

My childhood was spent in the company of Rupert Bear, in and around the woods of his Nutwood village, and these scenes remind me of there. I almost expect Rupert and his chums to appear at any moment.