WET
VICK
FROM THE MATERNITY WARD
No blog for over a week due to illness. Everyone...
MOTHER`S DAY
HOUND HAVOC Well I did it. A long, long day in a...
YELLOW
So the Spanish got out from under. They simply el...
RED CHARLIE AND THE SNOWMAN
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WHAT I`M READING...LE PAPILLON & LE PHALENE - GRAND COEURS EN PETIT TAILLE - Jean-Marie Vanbutsele
THE LAST FILM I SAW....
" PACIFIC RIM" - great fun. Gojira meets Neon Genesis Evangelion
Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
MY GOURMET PAST
Tied in by the puppies, I find myself spending far too much on eBay. Sometimes it seems that all advances in technology are designed to encourage my spending. Ah for the old days, when you saved for it, went and got it, and carried it home on the bus, usually in the rain. Or the even older days when it was usually unavailable anyway.
Was discussing the heady days of being young during forties Austerity with BF, who declared that the abiding horrors of that experience were Workers Playtime and National Dried Egg. Now I must immediately confess to a weakness for Workers` Playtime - never met anything so resolutely and relentlessly jolly before or since (except perhaps Ian Duncan Smith when cornered......there was a saying going round the dog people when he was Tory leader that a dogs home took in three abandoned dog puppies - they were sad, unwanted and with little hope so they named them Ian and Duncan and Smith.....)
But I digress. National Dried Egg. You made the garish powder up with water and it produced a strange yellow construct with the wobble factor of blancmange and the digestibility of latex. And I had forgotten all about it till BF reminded me, proving that the mind does have its defences. Anyone who thinks war is good for the British People should be force-fed it in large amounts.
Mind you, I don`t conform to all the stereotypes I never ate snoek. Whale twice, occasional horse and above all, endless rabbit. I can still see my mother flouring those rabbit joints. It would take Escoffier come back from the dead to persuade me to attempt another bunny....
It`s spring and the hinds are very evident in the early morning taking a shortcut across my fields to the wood. I can hear my neighbour`s lambs. Ah, the heady joys of lambing! Standing out in the dawn sleet with your arm up to the elbow in a ewe. Possibly with the vet standing looking on holding the box of Lux, saying: "It`s no use me trying - your hand is so much smaller than mine.....". Feeling slippery bits of lamb and wondering which ones to rotate and pull.......How I miss it all!
The hell I do!
Ask me about the Lux some other time.
Was discussing the heady days of being young during forties Austerity with BF, who declared that the abiding horrors of that experience were Workers Playtime and National Dried Egg. Now I must immediately confess to a weakness for Workers` Playtime - never met anything so resolutely and relentlessly jolly before or since (except perhaps Ian Duncan Smith when cornered......there was a saying going round the dog people when he was Tory leader that a dogs home took in three abandoned dog puppies - they were sad, unwanted and with little hope so they named them Ian and Duncan and Smith.....)
But I digress. National Dried Egg. You made the garish powder up with water and it produced a strange yellow construct with the wobble factor of blancmange and the digestibility of latex. And I had forgotten all about it till BF reminded me, proving that the mind does have its defences. Anyone who thinks war is good for the British People should be force-fed it in large amounts.
Mind you, I don`t conform to all the stereotypes I never ate snoek. Whale twice, occasional horse and above all, endless rabbit. I can still see my mother flouring those rabbit joints. It would take Escoffier come back from the dead to persuade me to attempt another bunny....
It`s spring and the hinds are very evident in the early morning taking a shortcut across my fields to the wood. I can hear my neighbour`s lambs. Ah, the heady joys of lambing! Standing out in the dawn sleet with your arm up to the elbow in a ewe. Possibly with the vet standing looking on holding the box of Lux, saying: "It`s no use me trying - your hand is so much smaller than mine.....". Feeling slippery bits of lamb and wondering which ones to rotate and pull.......How I miss it all!
The hell I do!
Ask me about the Lux some other time.
