Thursday 28 February 2013

I am the Litter Lady

Day 1 of usefulness went well. I had the following two instructions.

Un-litter the land - take a trash bag to the local playground or park and pick up litter.
(The Difference A Day Makes by Karen M. Jones)

Separate your rubbish - keep aside things that need recycling and, once a week, take it to your local recycling bins.
(Going Green by Simon Gear)

The second one requires nothing of me as I am fortunate enough to live in an area where the council provides each individual home with three recycling bins - one for food, one for paper and one for everything else. So I already have that covered. That box is ticked.

The first one I did when I got in from work yesterday afternoon. I got a recycle-able paper bag and walked to my favourite park. Along the way, however, I noticed three things.

The first was that there was rubbish on the ground that I was passing to get to the park. So I started picking that up on my way and filling my bag.

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The second was that walking with my head down looking at the ground gives me a bit of a bad back as I tend to look up when I walk. I felt a bit Hunchback Of Notre Dame-esque.

The third was that I had left my Crocs on after work which, Danda says, makes me look 'like a tramp.'

So there I was, hunched over, in my best tramp get-up, collecting rubbish in a bag. I dread to think what people thought I was doing. Getting padding for my pretend mattress made of old newspapers and plastic bags, probably.

Anyway, despite my Hunchback and bad Crocs, I soldiered on until, at the end of the road into the park, I found a load of recycling bins. I recycled all I could, emptied the unrecyclables into a bin and then recycled the bag.

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I then straightened up and treated myself to a long walk around the park.

I no longer had my hunchback or my bag of rubbish but I did still have my Crocs on....

Wednesday 27 February 2013

Trying to be useful

Ok, everyone. It's time for me to admit something. I've been living selfishly. It is the first time I have done so since deciding a while ago, that I was going to live unselfishly. I did my undergraduate degree in Human Rights and officially have letters that I can put after my name to prove I have some knowledge in this area. I became very interested in the issue of capital punishment and went to law school with this in mind.

...And then the law degree was long... And difficult.... And dry.... And not so interesting.... Which took me by surprise. I also wasn't very good at it. No matter how much I studied and prepared and did masses of extra reading, I'd go to tutorials and the tutors would ask a question. As the excitable student I am, I'd be there, hand in the air going "Me! Me! Pick me! I know!" Then I'd say something like, "Fisher v Bell." And the tutor would go, "No."

....Ah. Um. Ok.

My exams last May were tough. My brain almost caved in. I needed a break. I liked people and I wanted to do good things with my life. But I needed to retreat and recoup.

My operation midway through the degree also didn't help. I know it's illogical and I know there is no answer to it but I felt annoyed and wanted to know why. Why had it happened to me? I wasn't annoyed actually, I was pissed off. Really pissed off. Retreating and recovering was a way for me to also process what had happened. There's nothing like a brush with death to clarify the important things in life!

So since May I have been doing things I like, to kind of shake everything off and make myself a blank page again. To start from scratch and remember what it is want to do. So I have been blogging, baking, eating, writing, reading, walking, seeing friends. And it is lovely. I like my life and I like how I spend my time.

But now I'm ready to get involved again. I want to do useful things with my time again. I watched Cloud Atlas tonight and someone said there is no point joining a cause you believe in as it will just be a drop in the ocean. The reply was that yes, it is just a drop in the ocean but the ocean is made up of drops.

I'm going to do an experiment for a while. I've downloaded two books about small daily actions which can make a little difference. One is about trying to live a more environmentally friendly life. The other is about anything and everything. I'll post the tips from both books and try to do whichever is most feasible, or both if I can.

Let's see how being nice goes....

Wish me luck.

Tuesday 26 February 2013

Things I did yesterday

1. Giggle with glee at a programme about little fluffy baby penguins.

2. Fall asleep for about half an hour in the bath... Oops.

3. See a man have a new willy built for him out of his forearm skin and muscle on Embarrassing Bodies.

4. Get home from work to find one of my lovely neighbours had left cake on the doorstep. Mmm.

5. Read a story about ferrets getting married (yes, married) in Chat. Where else?

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6. Make a beautiful soya latte. It I might say so myself.

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7. Get mega involved with an episode of Crystal Maze and get a bit shouty at the woman who was flapping around trying to the puzzle in the Aztec zone and getting it all wrong.

8. Sign up for a local stag beetle conservation project thing.

9. Daydream about taking a city break to Amsterdam.

10. Have a really vivid dream about a friend who lives in Australia and her telling me she'll never move back to England and that I should move to Australia too. In the same dream I was trying to work out how to reheat fried eggs and scrambled eggs without overcooking them.

Monday 25 February 2013

Special pigeons

We're mixing it up this week and having the guest blogger's contribution on Monday, instead of Wednesday. Enjoy!

I recently visited a place in England which was very top secret during WW2. It was where the government set up a special department for breaking codes used by its enemies: Bletchley Park. Wartime communications, especially military, were normally sent in some coded fashion. This has been the way for many hundreds of years; a way of trying to prevent your enemies knowing what you are planning either defensively or against them directly.

We’re all familiar with the idea of a code: something which changes the letters of normal words into something which hopefully is hard to decipher if the message falls into enemy hands. A simple code would be like this: nwpf usppqt up uif csjehf. It means “move troops to the bridge”. You can probably see it’s just a transposing of the normal letter by one to the next letter in the alphabet. Nothing else has been done so the same number of letters appear in each word once it is coded. A slightly harder version might be npw fus ppq tup uif csj ehf where the letters are grouped into threes and it is much harder to see how the words are made up. Of course there are much more complex versions of coding and ones based on some mathematical formula. During WW2 the Germans had invented a machine which produced one of the most complicated forms of coding. It needed three wheels to be placed into the coding machine each set to a certain letter of the alphabet. Once in place when the operator pressed say the letter “a” out would come “t” and then after “b” was pressed out would come “m” say and so on. The receiver of the message then put the same three wheels in at the same positions and typed the coded letter and out would come the real one. The only way you could fathom it out would be if you know which wheel settings had been used and in which of the three slots. Anyway the job of the folks at Bletchley Park was to try and figure out how the wheels altered the normal letter into the coded one. There’s too much detail to go into here but here is a picture of the front of the machine they built to try and duplicate what the German coding machine was doing.

 

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Alan Turing was the man in charge of the project and the machine was called a “bombe”. (The word bombe came from anglicising the name of an earlier simpler machine used by Polish code breakers. They had called theirs bomba kryptologiczna). Although it looks like something sat on a table it is big - it actually reaches to the floor and is taller than a person.

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It’s amazing seeing all the wires making the connections to wonder how Turing’s team could have possibly been able to work out how to make it.

 

Bletchley Park is a very big site and if you wanted to read all the info boards you’d need a whole day. I couldn’t spend the whole day but I was there about 5 hours. A number of the huts that were used during the war have been made into exhibition areas on different subjects. One in particular was very interesting because it was on a subject which many people know little or nothing about – how pigeons were used in the war. If you read my post from 18.7.12 about bird droppings you will remember I was not very complimentary about pigeons because of the mess they make on our cars, houses and washing. However, one of the films I saw showed how during the war there were times when homing pigeons were essential: when radio silence had to be maintained. Agents on the Continent would use them to send messages back to England with information about troop movements and requirements for the resistance organisations. The use of them was taken so seriously that the occupying forces used snipers to try and shoot down pigeons flying over the area. Anyone keeping pigeons would of course be under suspicion. Paratroopers sometimes carried them in their uniform to release when they had landed. I was surprised to learn that flying relatively short distances over The Channel back to England they could fly at speeds of 60mph.

Pigeons have been used for carrying messages for hundreds of years (different ones of course as they don’t live for hundreds of years individually!). One ancient ruler actually set up a regular messenger service using carrier pigeons between Baghdad & Syria. They’ve been used at various times throughout history for carrying valuable information; and scientists still don’t really know how they find their directions. A number of theories have been postulated: inbuilt compass, using invisible magnetic lines & using physical geographical features like roads or rivers. Some appear to follow roads or rivers when trying to get their bearings. Anyway however they do it, it seems to work.

The usefulness of carrier pigeons led to a number of measures being taken by both sides in WW2. Look at this poster headed “Defence of the Realm”.

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You could get 6 months in prison or £100 fine for shooting one according to this poster issued in Leeds. Also the government offered a reward of £5 for info leading to a person being convicted of shooting a homing pigeon.

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This poster I assume was done for publicity purposes to frighten the local community. This man as you can see was shot the day before the notice was put up. He was shot because they believed he had released a pigeon with a message for England. Pigeons’ abilities were taken very seriously by both sides. However the film mentioned that there were horrendous numbers of casualties & birds which didn’t make it home. Some may have been shot; some may have been killed by natural predators; some may just have not found their way back. Despite this they clearly supplied enough good intelligence to keep the idea going and homing birds have continued to be used even in conflicts of recent times.

Sunday 24 February 2013

A day in Bath

Yesterday, Danda and I went to Bath for the day. I had a day off work and neither of us have ever been so it seemed like a fun day out. We had a minor panic when one of the tube lines we needed to use wasn't operating but we found another way without a problem.

After arriving in Bath, we just kind of wandered up a road in front of us, looking at stuff. There is lovely Georgian brickwork on all the buildings and there are an awful lot of shops. We stopped off briefly to get me a hat as it was pretty cold then came unexpectedly across this....

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It is the building containing the new outdoor pool which uses the hot water from the thermal springs. It reminded me a bit of being in Rome, where the buildings and streets are beautiful and grand and you stumble upon fabulous things round every corner.

We decided to come back to the Thermae Bath Spa, which was opposite the outdoor pool, in the afternoon. For now, we wanted breakfast, which we found nearby, and the Roman Baths. We knew the Roman Baths were near Bath Abbey so we wandered down some side roads looking for the Abbey. After a little while, we found a tourist map and spent a few minutes looking on it trying to work out where we were and where the Abbey was.

"It's just up the road," declared Danda, having used his manly skills to deduce the correct direction. Then we looked out from behind the map and realised...

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...we were practically standing in front of the rather large Abbey, looking at a map, trying to work out how to get to the Abbey ... Fail.

Inside Bath Abbey is spectacular.

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It is large and covered in carved stones memorialising Bath's lost loved ones. Some were young men leading Indian regiments into battle against opposition in Afghanistan. It's quite an odd concept to get my head around, these young men dying in such far flung corners of the worlds in wars that are long forgotten now.

Then there was this stone which challenged my existing ideas about what makes love so special...

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As we left, I saw a sign saying the Abbey coats £2000 a day to run! Crazy.

Second stop, Roman Baths. Amazing amazing amazing. They are the UK's only natural spa and literally steamed as we watched them.....

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It was a work of engineering genius to see. My awe at the achievements of these people grows with each new thing I learn. The stones and coins and carvings on display here are fantastic. So many and so well explained. There was even a skeleton of a Syrian man found here.

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Whilst at the main pool, I had a little feel of the water for a photo ..

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...then noticed a sign sternly informing visitors that touching of the water is not allowed! Don't tell!

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After dawdling about here for ages being amazed, we decided to head for the spa and have a dip. On the way we stopped to watch a street performer display possibly the strongest arms I have ever seen.

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We then headed to the spa and got in the queue. It was 3.15pm. We were still in the queue at half three and had our hearts set on a relaxing swim and sauna. 3.45pm arrived. 4pm. We were getting closer but veeerrry slowly. 4.15pm. We'd been in the queue an hour. It suddenly sped up and we had hope. Then it slowed and we lost hope. But we were so close by this point. It would have been silly to give up. 4.30pm. 4.45pm. Slowly. Slowly. Then suddenly a little flurry and it was our turn. Finally. At 4.50pm. An hour and 35 minutes after joining the queue. My toes were extremely cold by now and I just needed some hot water to defrost them.

We practically ran in, threw our clothes at the lockers and ran off to the rooftop pool. Plunging into it, the icy toes and nose and fingers melted immediately. Although we were outside, on the top of a four storey building, with a view of Bath for miles around, we were in a huge lovely hot bath. It was awesome. We swam to the edges and looked through the glass sides at the town and the beautiful Georgian architecture and the hills behind. It was surreal.

We had to run out of here as the fresh cold air hit us and we descended the stairs to the steam rooms. Inside there was a massive forceful power shower in the centre and four round glass rooms. You could enter any one of them and sit on the benches inside. They each had a different smell in the steam. There was lemongrass and ginger, lotus flower, eucalyptus and mint and sandalwood. I liked the lemongrass the best. In between each room, we power showered to wake ourselves up. Lastly, we went down to a pool where the water was warm and welcoming and had a jacuzzi in one corner and a little corridor with power jets pushing you through from one end to other. It was a little crowded but still lovely. After a second visit to the steam room, we then had to change out of our swimming gear and into outdoor clothes as our train was leaving in half an hour, hence the massive rush.

We got to the station in plenty I'd time and I finished the day sitting by the cafe drinking lemon and ginger tea, eating a flapjack and reading Wonderpedia, my new favourite magazine.
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All in all, a wonderful day. I can fully recommend it.

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Saturday 23 February 2013

Off on a day out!

Today, Danda and I are going to Bath. I'm not just informing you of my plan to stay clean. For those of you not based in the UK and perhaps unaware of this fact, there is in fact a town called Bath Spa in England. It is where the Romans built lots of baths, once upon a time. Hence the name. (The Romans called it aqua sulis. Don't ask me what that means.) There are also, predictably, lots of spa retreat type places to visit.

The plan for the day is as follows:

Arrive
Have breakfast
Find some Roman bath ruins to look at
Have lunch
Find the thermal spa place we looked up online and spent some time swimming and lolling about in the warm spring water plunge pools
Have dinner
Get the train home

So as you can see, it is a day of baths in Bath. The weather is chilly and I probably don't have enough layers on. I have a chai latte warming my cold fingers and Danda is looking out the window all hyped cause he loves trains and planes and engines and boys things. He's just said, "They're amazing, trains. Aren't they? Absolutely amazing."

And so, to Bath! I will report back tomorrow. 

Friday 22 February 2013

Things I have learned whilst hiding from Danda

1. I do not fit behind the bath. Not even if I take out the end panel and crawl in backwards. My shoulders and head still stick out.

2. Make sure it's actually Danda you can hear parking outside the house. Twenty minutes of hiding by the outside toilet in winter is not fun if it's not even him.

3. Between the sofa and the bookshelf is probably the best place so far but it is quite uncomfortable and I get foot cramp if I am not found in the first two minutes.

4. Panic-hiding does not work. Despite my best hopes, Danda is not to be fooled by a girl standing in the middle of a room with a hastily arranged duvet over her head.

5. Positioning pillows over my body and laying on the bed would have worked, had Danda not been actively looking for a hidden Laura.

6. If you want to hide behind a door, make sure Danda cannot spot you through the gap next to the hinges.

7. Don't accidentally press play on the audiobook on your phone just as Danda approaches to look for you.

8. Pre-plan hiding places. Some things really are worth the effort.

9. Don't look out from your hiding place to check if you are being looked for. The likelihood is that you are being looked for and have just given your hiding place away.

10. Taking a phone call whilst hiding will give you away. Even if you're just whispering.

Thursday 21 February 2013

Bugs on plants

It sounds like some kind of cocktail, doesn't it? Or a euphemism for something very exciting. In actual fact, I am just going to show you some pictures of bugs on plants. But stick with me on this one. They're good pictures, trust me. And they'll get me geared up for doing more walks again when the weather warms up...

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See? I told you to stick with me and it would be fun. It was fun, right?

Wednesday 20 February 2013

Falling off my bike whilst moving at high speed

The first time I fell when moving fast, I was cycling along the side of the road through Brompton, on my way into London. I was in the cycle lane and there was a bit of a traffic jam. The cars were stationary but the cycle lane was clear so I was cycling quite fast. I was approaching a section of the road that had a Keep Clear sign, for cars to turn into a car park on my left. As I approached that section, I looked but nothing was turning so I kept cycling. All of a sudden, a big jeep thing swung quickly into the Keep Clear section and across my path into the car park. A millisecond before it would have hit me, I pulled on my brakes and skidded around so I was side on to the car. By the time it had disappeared into the car park, I had fallen sideways off the bike and skidded along the tarmac road, leaving the majority of my leg skin there. As this fall was post-cleats, the sudden pull of my body off the bike had been too fast for the shoes. I stood up, in my socks, and noticed that my cleats were still attached to the pedals on my bike! People rushed over, offering support and cursing the jeep driver. I stalked after him into the car park, in my socks, pushing my bike. I caught up with him and poked my head in the driver's side.

"Are you going to say sorry?" I demanded.

"What's wrong? Are you ok?" The man seemed worried.

"You just pulled in front of me and I had to brake really hard and I came off my bike."

"O god, sorry! I didn't see you."

"EXACTLY!" I said, self righteously.

"But I, I didn't see you."

"Thats not ok. That doesn't excuse you," I ranted. "Why weren't you bloody looking!?"

After a long rant, I mounted my bicycle, awkwardly because of the shoes on pedals and because I now realised that the seat had been shunted out of place, and flounced off, as best I could given the situation at hand.

The next time I fell off my bike whilst moving at speed was a similar situation. The cars were still at a set of traffic lights but the cycle lane was clear so I was cycling quite fast. A lazy mother was dropping her child off at school and instead of driving her into the school car park, she had obviously told her to jump out at the lights. The little girl, not looking of course, opened her car door just as I passed and almost knocked me out. I was thrown clean off my bike and onto the pavement. The edge of the door had ripped the skin between my little finger and ring finger apart and was bleeding all over. My arm felt broken and my leg had taken a bit of a pull in the wrong direction.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I yelled at the little girl. In hindsight, this may not have been the best thing to say to a little girl.

Shell shocked, I struggled to my feet as the Mum came around from the drivers side and asked me if there was anything she could do.

"I think you've done enough!" I snapped, as I got on my bike and gingerly cycled away.

I had a bruise on my arm from shoulder to elbow which was deep purple and yellow and lasted for weeks. It wasn't broken but I couldn't really use it for the next two days.

Bloody kids.

Tuesday 19 February 2013

Falling off my bike whilst barely moving

My first big fall happened whilst moving at almost no miles an hour, on a pavement, with no-one around. My friend Joe and I were cycling to his home in Reading so had just set off on our epic adventure early in the morning. My bike was newish and I was itching to give it a trial run on a long ride. I was having one of those monthly spacially unaware days (women, you know what I mean) and as I cycled around a little bollard thingy on the pavement at a dead end road with no cars or pedestrians, I just went a little too slowly to stay upright. Something about my spacial unawareness made me totally unable to cope with the situation at hand and I just wobbled slowly toward the bollard, crashed the front wheel sideways into it and fell on the ground. The brake was broken for the whole ride and I grazed my leg.

The next falls were all after I'd had different pedals fitted and had started wearing cleats, shoes that have little blocks on them which click into a space on your pedals. The fall I had whilst cycling in the busy centre of London was because I hadn't yet worked out how to get out of them while moving slowly uphill. It's harder than you think because of your weight being on them. So as I got to a red traffic light, I couldn't unclip and I fell, in front of the dozens of people waiting to cross the road and looking uncertainly at me to see if I'd stop and let them across. I was going no miles an hour. There were no cars. There was no almost-collision. I just went slower, slower, slower, right down to a halt, then fell off on to the ground. The handle bar turned sideways and stabbed me in the boob so I had a bruised boob for weeks afterward. And people really looked strangely at me. Someone hurried over and asked if I needed help but I just brushed her off, rather gruffly and stalked off, pushing the bike, mega embarrassed.

The next fall was similar to this. I was cycling slowly uphill so couldn't unclip and was cycling with a friend who had looked down to adjust his gears and drifted sideways into my path. I braked, a natural reaction to stop the inevitable crash. But I hadn't unclipped. So I fell in the opposite direction and really bashed up my legs, hitting the curb. My friend didn't even realise any of what had happened. He just looked down to change his gear then looked up and I'd fallen on the ground.

Another time I had a plastic bag with some stuff in but I had a new bike with very short handlebars. As I turned a corner, the bag swung into the spokes and stopped my wheel dead. I tried pushing down on the pedals to keep moving but I ground to a halt then fell sideways into the road. To onlookers it must have looked very stupid. I turned a corner, stopped, then crashed to the floor. Again, no-one was around, no cars, no pedestrians. Nothing had jumped into my path. I just fell on the ground.

Maybe this is why I am not the world famous sporting star you probably all expect I should be by now.

Monday 18 February 2013

An imaginary conversation with the star of this week's Chat

Imagine the scene. You're at a pub, let's say, with some friends. It's one of those things where you're all sitting around, you're comfortably tipsy, people start name-dropping, you know the type of thing I mean. One person mentions their brush past a local politician ten years ago and soon everyone's at it.

"Well, yes, of course Brad Pitt's always around town now because he's bought that house down the road."

"O really? You know, I get the same thing when I serve Ian McKellan a coffee every morning. Yes. Didn't I mention? Yes, he gets a cappuccino, no chocolate."

"I totally saw Gary Barlow the other day on the train. I said hi to him. He seemed really lovely."

"Well, my cousin's mum's nan is Cilla Black so we're always seeing celebs. Yeh, totally."

And then.... The claim to beat all claims.... One of your gang pipes up with, "I was in Chat the other week."

Wowzers. Everyone is floored. What better claim to fame is there than that?!

"Amazing! What were you in it for?" you ask.

"O, I was the fat bloke on the front cover with a massive hangy fat section where my skin was all loose and stretchy."

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"O. Ok. And what did you talk about in the story?"

"All about how I had low self confidence so I started to eat more and then I had no-one and nothing and thought 'what's the point' and hated myself and couldn't even look at myself in a mirror. My sister was in the story too, talking about how her boobs are just flaps of skin that she rolls up and puts inside her bra to try and make it look like proper boobs."

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"Great. Uh. So what did you do about it? When you hated yourself and couldn't stand the sight of yourself and felt really self conscious?"

"O, I went straight to Chat, of course. I told them all about it and they printed a really super massive picture of me with no clothes on and told my story."

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"Did that help?"

"I dunno. But that's not the point is it? The point is that Chat is always the place to go with all your woes. And also, now I'm famous. That's my life's work, right there. I am an achiever. I have done things and achieved things. I am The Chat Man."

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"Good one.... *aside to other friend* your Cilla Black story was better."

And now imagine that that man is you. Imagine that's the single interesting thing you have done in your life. Depressing.

Sunday 17 February 2013

Crazy talk

Crosswords. What is with crosswords? Honestly. I remember a time when the most a crossword required from me was the answer to four down, "the colour of grass." O, clever me, I would think, whilst writing the word green into the little boxes. I am a genius, I would often also think, as I filled in the word 'Shrek,' the answer to the next clue. And so on and so forth. Until my fabulous little crossword in the back of the Bunty magazine was complete.

Yesterday evening, as I sat perusing my copy of the Royal Geographic Society magazine (cause that's the kind of girl I am), I found a crossword. Oo, exciting, I thought, reaching for a pen. I looked for a clue about a film actor or the capital of Russia and found the following....

"Contested subcontinental area - ask him about rebel's leader."

What. On. Earth. What was this drivel?! Had the crossword making man had a stroke whilst writing the crossword clues? This meant nothing to me. It was like alien talk or something. I read and reread the words. It was like someone had flipped through a dictionary and picked out words at random. It literally meant nothing to me.

I burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. There must be a problem here. Because I am a crossword demon and this clue means nothing to me. Therefore, the error is clearly in the crossword. It is the only explanation.

Danda looked over as I pointed and exclaimed.

"O yeh," he said. "Ask him about rebel's leader. It's an anagram. Yeh. An anagram of ask him. And about rebel's leader, that's an R. So an anagram of ask him and the letter R is Kashmir. The answer is Kashmir."

Ok, now I definitely know something fishy is going on. Who has organised this? This nonsense talk? Has this been set up like a candid camera show? It's an anagram of ask him and R?! Why? Why on EARTH is it an anagram of ask him and R?

He continued on with this nonsense talk for quite a while e.g. "Belgium ambassador holds venomous reptile!" was apparently "mamba" and the answer to "A social class in India discard English," was "caste." Because, obviously, obviously, it means the letter E when it says English.

Well, pardon me for thinking that the word English meant the word English.

I feel left out. It's like there was a class at school on crossword solving and I was off that day and have been left behind. I remember the good old days, when the clue was, "where you roast a chicken" and the answer was "oven." I was clever then. I was a crossword genius. Now I am a crossword dunce. I am the girl who's picked last at crossword practise. I shrug cluelessly when I am asked to help with "Abandon drainage channel" because it sounds like a load of crap someone just spouted for fun.

What is everyone talking about? Is there any hope for me?

Saturday 16 February 2013

Chit Chat

Ok, here it is. The long awaited next installment of Chat. In this latest offering, I'm going to concentrate on the Top Tips, which are absolutely phenomenal. Fasten your seatbelts because it's going to be a rollercoaster.

Ok, top tip number 1....

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Store your special crockery in plastic bags, we are told. Just go and bloody do it, alright! Put your crockery, the special stuff, not the normal stuff, this is important. Put it in plastic bags. Why? you may ask. Well, isn't it obvious?! When you usually get the special crockery down to use and you give it a quick rinse before using it then dry it off and put it on the table, don't you ever think about how irritating that thirty second process is? O goodness, that was the longest thirty seconds EVER! I wish there was a way to cut down on that rinsing and drying time. Dah, dah! Chat to the rescue! By wrapping your special crockery in plastic bags, you will be able to unwrap it and use it straight away, without having to wash it first. Wow, what a revolutionary time-saving idea.

Next up, the non-flowering plant solution.

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Ever had a plant which wouldn't flower? A cactus, perhaps? Ever had some artificial flowers hanging about the house, no longer of any use? Well, you can do what this woman has done and snip the heads off the flowers and simply glue them to the plants which are being naughty and not flowering! What a marvelous solution! The keen eyed among you will notice that this helpful reader has even glued some big plastic ladybirds to their naughty unflowering plant too. There's nothing I like to see better than a real cactus with artificial flowers and ladybirds glued all over it. Such beauty.

The next unbelievably good tip is as follows: "Drawer stuffed with tops that crease? Attach small hooks to your wardrobe door and hang them up." Now I'm not one to point out the obvious but, just this once, I think I'm going to speak up. Is this reader in fact suggesting to us that we attach small hooks to wardrobe doors to enable us to hang our tops from them by the straps? And is that, or is that not, the basic premise of a clothes hanger? Have they in fact suggested, a rudimentary clothes hanger-esque device which, actually, is less convenient as it is attached to the door, whereas a clothes hanger offers the versatility of being able to transport the top around, still hanging straight, to whatever destination the chooser should see fit? Is that what's happening here? The top tips section has given itself over to the ramblings of mental patients who's best offerings are rubbish versions of things that already exist?

I despair.

Friday 15 February 2013

Thoughts

I'm having one of those I-can't-think-what-to-write-about days. Well, actually, I should qualify that statement. I'm having a bit of a lazy morning where I've spent an hour or two reading other blogs and listening to an audiobook so now my brain is in too many different places to think of something to write about. So I shall just list the thoughts that are in my mind right now.

- Will I ever become a world famous piano player? Or will I forever be stuck on the line, "And you come to me on a summer breeze" from How Deep Is Your Love? And are ten fingers enough to play this peice of music? At the moment, I need about twelve to be able to play it properly.

- Chocolate and cherry mousse cake is fabulous. And making a genoise sponge for the first time went ok. As did making custard from scratch...

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- Beouf bourginon is not actually that difficult to make. It is also extremely tasty, despite its easiness...

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- Planning an African adventure is muchos fun, even if it isn't going to happen for over a year...

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- I can't cope with X Factor winner James Arthur's 'my-parents-divorced-when-I-was-a-kid-and-now-I'm-traumatised-for-life' routine. I just want to shake him and say, "Get over yourself! Grow up! I know your parents are divorced but SO ARE EVERYONE ELSE'S!" He writes songs about it which are really 'deep' apparently. So his Mum says. "Yeah," she goes, serious face on and eyes looking down to the ground. "It's really... It's really... (she searches for the appropriate word, having used deep about four times already)... It's really... deep." Thanks for that, o mother of great eloquence and feeling. It's good to know that, as a man in his 20s, the single most important that has happened in his life is still the separation of his parents when he was in primary school. Sometimes, Mr Arthur, people are better apart. Get over it.

- My rooibos tea has gone cold.

- There is a cat digging in the garden. I didn't know cats dug.

- I am really intrigued about what happened with Oscar Pistorius and his girlfriend. I genuinely really like him. I just finished reading his autobiography, Blade Runner, a few weeks ago and it was really good. He seems like a down-to-earth, decent type. And a brilliant athlete. His arrest for murder seems totally at odds with the man I imagined him to be. Of course, a book written by him will obviously give the impression that he portrays, not necessarily who he actually is. And by the same token, a charge for murder is not a conclusion of guilt. There's this space in between the law and the media and the person's own voice, where they reside, and I don't suppose I can know who he is or what has happened. I guess we will see what the outcome is.

- Today I am going for lunch with a friend I haven't seen in way too long. I am excited.

Thursday 14 February 2013

A Valentine's mix-up

Yesterday, I finished work at 3pm and decided I'd potter into town and get some ideas for Valentine's Day. Unusually for me, I didn't have anything planned. Now I'm a girl who loves to plan a surprise. Any occasion. I'll get started on plans months in advance. I love it.

So Valentine's Day was on the horizon and, for some unknown reason, I just didn't get round to planning anything. I'm ok at last minute so it wasn't a major problem but I was a little surprised. That's why I decided to wander around town for a while looking for ideas yesterday. I thought I could form a plan whilst seeing things to get inspiration. 

I went into the fancy, preppy Jack Wills and perused the sock section. I visited Molten Brown and smelled the many shower gels. I looked at the photo frames in Zara Home, the jumpers in Crew Clothing and the books in Waterstone's. Eventually, whilst wandering around M&S, I decided on a nice pair of pyjamas (that I will inevitably steal and start wearing within a week) and, remembering that it is just Valentine's and not a full on birthday or anything, restrained myself enough to just decide to buy some chocolates to go with the pyjamas.

I headed straight for my favourite chocolate shop. It is called William Curley's and is a haven of chocolatey goodness. It has won awards. It runs chocolate cookery courses daily. Its chocolates are flavoured with the delicate tastes of Scottish heather and Richmond Park honey. It is phenomenally good quality. I always put a little something from William Curley's on the side of birthday gifts.

Danda called while I was on my way there and asked me where I was.

"O, just in Waitrose," said I, sneakily. For I am very sneaky sometimes. "I'm getting us some dinner."

"Brilliant. I've been at the garage all afternoon. The gears on the taxi broke. The mechanic just got finished and I'm driving back. Do you fancy going to the cinema tonight?"

"That sounds great. Call me when you get here."

I hurried to William Curley's, for I would have to get home and hide the presents before Danda got back or it would ruin the surprise. Turning into the little lane, I started to imagine what chocolate I would pick for him. I pushed open the door, stepped into the shop and looked up.....

.... At Danda!

There was a moment of recognition as we both realised what had happened. He was at the till paying and just suddenly said, "Get out!" pointing wildly at the door, at which I turned on my heel and fled, laughing uncontrollably.

O well. There goes the surprise! And now I have to think of a new plan for the chocolate part of the present, as I obviously didn't get any. Maybe a hug will do?

Wednesday 13 February 2013

The shepherd

It's Rambler5319, my Wednesday guest blogger, with the post for today. Enjoy!

 

When I was a student there seemed to be particular artists and certain pictures that were popular. I’d grown up in a house where art was not talked about except when pictures or sculptures made the news so I didn’t have a favourite artist or picture. However, many fellow students decorated their walls with posters of pictures by Dali (Metamorphosis of Narcissus with its two hands holding the eggs with a flower coming out of one, The Persistence of Memory with its watch faces flopping over tree branch); Turner (The Fighting Temeraire was very popular along with Rain, Steam & Speed); Magritte (Time Transfixed - the train coming out of the fireplace & the man with the bowler hat on with an apple in front of his face) and those impossible pictures by Max Escher (water going downhill which ends up higher than its starting point, men walking on the underside of staircases etc).

 

Check this out and follow the water from the base of the wheel and watch it flowing downhill all the way round and yet it finishes higher than the wheel:

 

http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee36/AussiEmedia/ART%20Paintings/Maurits%20Cornelis%20Escher/escher2-105_twon_waterfall-detail.jpg

 

And then this one.

 

http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee36/AussiEmedia/ART%20Paintings/Maurits%20Cornelis%20Escher/escher2-001_twon_ascending-and-desc.jpg

 

How can there be two sets of people ascending and descending the stairs at the same time with different outcomes. Take any corner to start and then follow those going up and see how they end up lower than their starting point. Then go back to the same corner and follow those going down and see how they end up higher than their starting point. Bizarre!

 

Another popular one was the 1559 picture Proverbs by the Dutch painter Pieter Breughel (the Elder). If you fancy trying to spot a few here’s the link:

 

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/30/Bruegel_Proverbs.jpg

 

I’ll start you off by taking you to the bottom left area where you can see a man – “banging his head against a brick wall”. See if you can spot any others. They are Dutch (so you may not know a lot of them) but a number are in use in English so you may recognise those. If you’re struggling, the answers with the part of the picture to which they refer, are here:

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Netherlandish_Proverbs

 

Anyway that’s just by way of an intro to this week’s topic which is to tell you about one of my favourite pictures of the last 10 years or so. Here it is:

 

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It’s not by an artist as such; it’s a simple postcard size black & white photo. I had seen it many years ago when driving up and down the motorways of the UK. A large version was hung on the walls of one of the motorway service areas on the M6 called Tebay Services. It’s located about 300 miles north of London & 30 miles south of Carlisle on the west side of England. (This picture has since been moved to the Rheged Centre in Penrith. This means it is actually nearer the area where its subject lived.) The service station itself has a very interesting history: it was built in 1972 and is still operated by the farming family (now its second generation) through whose land the M6 motorway was built.

 

However there’s just something about this picture that appeals to me. There is something in its simplicity because of the subject matter. I’m not looking for any deep philosophical meaning here but to me it definitely projects something. I see an old man; I see a weathered face which kind of says it fits with its environment out on the fells of Cumbria; I see strength, determination and years of experience, a shepherd going about his business doing one of those special things that shepherds do – rescuing. (The word shepherd is, as you may know, a contraction of the phrase sheep herder.) I wonder what you see in it? It’s just a shepherd carrying his crook in his left hand with a sheep on his shoulders but it poses an obvious question: since sheep can walk why is he carrying it? Perhaps the sheep was injured and he was bringing it back to the farm to tend to it; perhaps the sheep got separated from the main herd, even lost, and he found it and was bringing it back to the fold as it probably wouldn’t just follow him on its own. Or maybe it was something else. One thing for sure is that the sheep is completely safe. There’s something that says just keep still and you’ll be ok, I’ll get you back, I’ll get you home. Also, if you can, look at how many ‘layers’ the shepherd is wearing – I can see at least 4 and in addition there may be an undergarment. It’s therefore probably a cold part of the year – certainly not summer as the sheep has its full coat.

 

I can tell you that, because of the area farmed by the shepherd in the picture, the sheep is a breed called (Lakeland) Herdwick. Herdwick comes from the old Norse word herdvyck meaning ‘sheep pasture’. Informed sources say that the average figures for the weight of a full grown sheep of this breed are: ewes 77-99lbs (35-45kgs) and rams 143-165lbs (65-75kgs). Now look at that picture again - this guy is carrying a ewe so could easily be about 6-7 stone in weight across his shoulders. Now think about this – with that pure white beard, how old is he and how did he hoist it up there? How would you get an animal, which probably wasn’t keeping still, of that weight, across your shoulders?

 

I know, from what the service station owners told me when I rang them to ask about the picture which wasn’t there last time I stopped for a break, that the guy’s name in the picture was Isaac Cookson. Using a bit of investigative reasoning I worked out (given that it turns out to be quite an unusual name in the census records) that he was born in 1873 in the village (parish) of Bampton a couple of miles NE of Haweswater and about 25 miles NW of Tebay Services.

Haweswater is a reservoir completed in 1935 to serve the Manchester area’s growing need for water and, as with Lake Vyrnwy for Liverpool (post 28.11.12), involved the damming and then flooding of a river valley – this time, the Mardale Valley - where 40 people lived in 9 houses. They had to be moved out and their village was then demolished. The reservoir name comes from the name of the much smaller original lake but obviously disguises the fact that it was built for a large industrial town many miles away. It sounds just like an ordinary lake similar to others in the Lake District (Ullswater, Derwent Water, Coniston Water, Ennerdale Water etc); they did a similar thing with the name for the reservoir for Liverpool calling it a lake.

 

Isaac remained in the area all his life living on Gill Head Farm. From the 1881 Census we know that Isaac’s parents (Robert & Jane) & his siblings were living with Jane’s parents at Gill Head Farm. The Cookson family (with their ages in brackets) consisted of Robert (36) & Jane (34) with children Noble (9), Isaac (8), John (6), Kate (4), Tom (3) & Joseph (1). Interestingly, although sadly, the census records show that John & Joseph were both born blind. They do not appear in the 1891 records for the family but John reappears in the 1901 & Joseph in the 1911 where both are shown as “basket maker, blind”. By then both are in their thirties and lived on to 83 & 80 respectively.

 

Lakeland farmers used to meet up once a year, during November, at what is called “The Shepherds’ Meet”. Here they would come together to socialise and in observance of the code of honour for the fells each would bring any stray sheep they had found on their land. The owners of the various lost sheep would be identified by a complex system of ear markings that might involve punching, cropping, keybitting, fold-bitting, ritting, upper and under halving and forking; these marks could be on one or both ears. Just a verbal description of the cuts would be enough for a farmer to recognise whether a sheep belonged to him.

Check out this diagram showing different types of ear markings showing how various ‘cuts’ were made in the sheep’s ears to identify the owner. This interesting pic is from the Staffin EcoMuseum on the Isle of Skye and some of the text is in the local dialect but there is a partial explanation in English at the top. (You’ll need to drag down the page just a little to see the picture.

 

http://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=x6Yc8mfchzc6vM&tbnid=X1xwAsLa5nQK8M:&ved=0CAgQjRwwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.skyecomuseum.co.uk%2Fbrogaig.php&ei=xi0aUfb4Maio0AX9x4G4Dg&psig=AFQjCNHs7oXsid6Dr-WLwZkWKhma5D4DBA&ust=1360756550862128

 

There is a great story about Isaac who rarely ever left his farm: shepherds took pride in their appearance and one Friday evening Albert Graham was walking past the farm and saw Isaac outside having a wash in a washbasin - Isaac told him, “I’m thinking o’ going to Penrith on Tuesday”. Nothing like being prepared well in advance, eh? Nice one!

Isaac attended his 61st annual Shepherds’ Meet in 1952 (aged 79) and said, “I’m good for a few more yet”. (He actually died in 1956.)

 

And that’s why this is my favourite picture. There is so much you can get from it.

 

And to close, a bit of Lakeland/Sheep trivia.

 

Beatrix Potter (Mrs Heelis) didn’t write about Herdwick sheep but she was definitely keen on them. From the money she earned from the Peter Rabbit stories, during the 1920s, she bought up Lake District farms that were under threat from development. She encouraged the revival of the Herdwick breed of sheep and was president of the Herdwick Breed Association for a time in the 1930s. When she died in 1943 she left all her farms to the National Trust specifying that the sheep on these farms should be pure Herdwicks.

Today, there are around 50,000 Lakeland Herdwick sheep being kept commercially on about 120 farms in the Lake District some still owned by the National Trust.

 

And finally,

BANANA News:

 

image

 

If you remember last week’s post about my supermarket bananas I mentioned that they’d come from Cameroon and the previous week from Ecuador; this week they were from Colombia – the world’s 8th largest producer of bananas. I’m curious as to where next week’s will come from.

 

Tuesday 12 February 2013

Silly things that have happened to me in the kitchen

1. I was once, foolishly, trying to squeeze too many things into the cupboard and the precariously balanced cheese grater at the far end was being steadily pushed closer to the surface. Eventually, I put one too many mugs in the cupboard and the grater fell. On instinct, I just reached out my hand and caught it.... And grated my little finger on the side that you zest things on. It was torn apart and in tatters for weeks afterward.

2. I sometimes store things on the very top of the cupboards because I have run out of space inside the cupboards. I had put some flour up there and was trying to get it down. Being the LazyLauraMaisey that I am, I couldn't be bothered to get the chair or a step ladder. Or anything in fact. I just kept jumping up trying to grab it. Eventually I had tugged it to the very edge of the cupboard by jumping and grabbing it a little each time. When I had run out of energy, I just looked up and thought I'd probably have to give in and get a chair to climb. It was at this moment, standing underneath it and looking up, that it eventually tipped and fell. On to my face. My nose and top lip to be exact. About a third of the bag of flour also broke free at this point so my head was left in a cloud of flour and my nose felt broken as the bag fell to the floor and tipped almost the rest of the flour out in a nice little pile at my feet.

3. Left the tea box on a hob which was still turned on and burned through most of the tea bags inside the box. As a ps, burnt tea bags smell Dis. Gus. Ting.

4. (This one wasn't me.) A friend once dropped her phone in a pan of oil then panicked and ran it under the tap to wash the oil off...!

Monday 11 February 2013

Again? O ok. Let's do it. Another award....

I had a plan for today's blog. A plan which promised greatness and fabulousness and all the things you all love best about my blog.... I was going to get a copy of Chat and do a write up for you. But something insane happened. I couldn't find one anywhere! So I'll have to go to some different shops tomorrow. Sorry to disappoint you all.

In the meantime, I was nominated for an award so I'll get on with that.
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The rules:
-State 10 random facts about yourself.
-Answer the questions given to you by the blogger who has tagged you for the award.
-Tag more people.
-Give them 11 questions to answer.

Ok, 10 random facts, here goes...
1. I once had an odd fixation on blueberry flavour Nutri Grain bars
2. I love cereal/fruity/nutty bars. Love them.
3. I was so totally in love with Jesse from the film Free Willy when I was younger.
4. I once asked for a monkey for my birthday and was super annoyed when I was told no.
5. I have read everything Enid Blyton has ever written.
6. I did my undergraduate degree at the university where Enid Blyton studied.
7. I've never seen the film, Fame.
8. I don't really like the film Bugsy Malone. I'm sorry.
9. I have degraded myself by starting to drink decaf coffee, after spending so long attempting to develop a proper coffee habit. I'm ashamed and sorry.
10. If you spell my surname backwards, it says Yes I Am.... Maisey.... Yes I Am.... Maisey.... See?

Here are the questions asked me by Momina, the fabulous blogger who nominated me (thanks loads, by the way).

1- Who is the last person you usually think about before going to sleep?
Danda

2- Something you do alone, but wouldn't do in front of others.
Throw my head around a bit dramatically when playing piano.

3- Do you have any strange phobias?
I'm not keen on tin foil. I used to get terribly embarrassed if I opened my lunchbox at school and my sandwiches were wrapped in tin foil.

4- One Favorite Novel that you'd like to recommend people to read and why.
Definitely F. Scott Fitzgerald. But which one? Tender Is The Night. Or The Beautiful And Damned. Actually let's go with Tender Is The Night. Fitzgerald's ability to write characters is amazing. The minute details of how relationships work, how interactions and people become complicated and intertwined. Everything about life gains a beautifully tragic edge when I am reading Fitzgerald. Reading him makes me want to write, makes me want to be grand, makes me want to have fantastic unachievable dreams.

5- Do you take the shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? :P
Yup. Still got everything from the room in the Savoy. The headed paper. The sugar packs. The soap. The shower cap. Everything.

6- Do you use Post-Its?
No.

7-If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?
Right here in my house. On my road. On this lovely hill near my favourite park. With my lovely friends and neighbours. 

8-What inspires you?
Life. Nature. Richmond Park. People. Silly things we do and say.

9- Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving?
Done both. Bungee jumping more scary.

10- Do you ever count your steps when you walk?
When I was trekking the Great Wall in China and I was trying to learn some Mandarin, I counted my steps aloud from one to ten over and over to learn. That was eight years ago and I still can count to ten in Mandarin now!

11- Have you ever danced without music?
All the time. Honestly. All. The. Time.

Ok, now to tag some more people. As opposed to tagging them actually, I'm just going to highlight some new bloggers on the scene that I'd like some attention to go to because they are fab.

Lovefoodlovefashion
Marktedlord
Eatmovelove

It's up to you guys if you want to answer the questions or not. No pressure.

1. Why do you blog?
2. How do you feel about chilli chocolate?
3. Tea or coffee?
4. Next holiday destination....?
5. Am I invited?
6. Delia Smith or Nigella Lawson?
7. Do you mind that Nigella Lawson is essentially soft porn?
8. What are you getting me for my birthday?
9. My computer has stopped letting me print things. Why is this?
10. How do you feel about Starbucks?
11. I don't really like orange juice. Do you think this could create a problem for our friendship?

Sunday 10 February 2013

The wisdom of children

Molly on rabbits:
"I like wibbits. I want a wibbit. And I tarry it. And tuddle it. And tiss it."

Molly on hippos:
"I don't like hippos."

Molly on frogs:
"I don't like froggies. I like wibbits."

Molly on midday cuddles:
"It's not tuddles time. It's playing time."

Molly on planes:
"A lane, a lane! I've got a lane at home"

Molly on swimming:
"I got doddles!" (goggles)
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Ella on blackbirds:
"O, a blackbird! I've always wanted to see a blackbird!"

Ella on the lovely new book she was given as a present:
"O no. I don't think there's room on my bookshelf for this."

Ella on her punishment after being naughty one day:
"Daddy, I think I should only have one book before bed, not two. Cause I've been very naughty today."

Ella on the stars:
"O, look! A constellation. Look, the archer!" (She's five, by the way.)

Ella on her best attributes:
"I'm the funniest girl in the class."

Ella's first joke:
"What sheep eats a flower? A strawberry!" (Don't ask.)

Ella on history:
"Before the dinosaurs, there were cavemen and caveladies."

Ella on her romantic prospects:
"When I grow up, I'm going to marry Adam. When I'm 13."
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Saturday 9 February 2013

Danda and the little policeman jumper

I've just got a little story to tell you because there are children visiting and it is difficult to do anything of any length without them needing me to join in playing hide and seek or assist them upstairs to look under beds for dragons etc etc.

This story is about way back when Danda and I didn't know each other very well. We had chatted a little, made polite conversation and he had asked me to dinner. We went to Wagamama's, a Japanese chain restaurant with lovely food and great atmosphere. I often went for an hour before work and sat drinking green tea, nibbling on some noodles and reading a book.

We had been sitting in the far corner chatting, conversation was flowing and we found we had a similar sense of humour. All was well. I had dressed up a little for the occasion, in a batwing black jumper (bring back the 80s!), wraparoundy scarf thing that I had got in the Philippines, and grey trousers. I'd like to think I was channelling the shabby-chic look. Danda was wearing black trousers, a black V-neck jumper and a white shirt. He looked very smart.

At some point during the meal, Danda went off to the toilet and came back looking dismayed.

"Is everything ok?" I asked.

"No. I just caught sight of myself in the full length mirror. It's this jumper. I look like a small off-duty policeman!"

And that was it. Our fate was sealed. Who doesn't love a small off-duty policeman?

Friday 8 February 2013

The time I surprised my Dad

Last year, for my Dad's birthday, I decided I would go to Liverpool to see him but I didn't tell him. I thought it would be more fun to surprise him. For the train journey, I had some food and study books with me as I had a huge peice of work due a week later. One of them I guarded with my life. It was the Blackstone's guide to the corporate homicide and corporate manslaughter act. Blackstone's guides are like the be-all and end-all in the world of academic law. Everything you want to know about a law will be in one of their guides. It was a thin 170 pages and had cost me £48. But there was no way around getting one. So I had it and it was my most prized possession.

When I got to the main station in Liverpool, I clutched my Blackstone's guide and went to buy a ticket to the stop nearest to my Dad's house. With my ticket, I then boarded the train, went the six or so stops, then got off. As I headed out of the station, I realised my hands were empty! Where was my Blackstone's guide?! My very expensive Blackstone's guide? The one that I wouldn't be able to get another copy of in time for my essay deadline.

Panicked, I raced to the ticket office and explained that it had either been left on the desk when I bought my ticket in town or on the train. Panic, PANIC! Where was it? The railway man, thankfully, dealt very efficiently with this madwoman having a panic attack in from of him.

He located it in the station in town and I asked them to keep hold of it, I would go back. The next train was in 20 minutes so I quickly ran to the house, didn't see my dad's car, so assumed he was at work and threw my bag down before racing back to the station. I put a pack of ham in the fridge that I hadn't eaten on the journey. I had also made my Dad a hamper of baked goodies so put it on the sofa, in the seat behind the door where he usually sits so he would see it when he got home.

Picking the book up was fine and on the way back, I called the house to check if my Dad was home. He wasn't so I headed straight for a friends house. I spent the evening there and got home later but my Dad still wasn't home. Eventually I just wrote him a note and left it in the hallway and went to bed.

And here is my Dad's version of events:

"I was upstairs on the computer when I heard a sound like the door being opened then closed. I went downstairs to see what the sound was but didn't see anything. I popped my head into the front room but didn't see anyone. I went to the fridge to get my sandwiches to take to work and saw a pack of ham in there which hadn't been there before. Confused, I just got my sandwiches and went out to work, figuring there must be an explanation for it. When I got home late from work, there was a note on the floor saying Laura was home!"

That's right. He'd been there the whole time. But because he wasn't expecting me, he just thought he was hearing things when he heard the door open. So the whole first day I was in Liverpool, we spent missing each other, like ships passing the night. Well done, Laura!

Thursday 7 February 2013

An evening in Venice

Well, not exactly. But it sounded good, didn't it? Did you think I was about to tell you that I'd gone all the way to Venice just for the evening?.... Ah, if only.

What actually happened was that I went to Covent Garden, to a restaurant called Polpo. Now, the more astute amongst you will be thinking, I've heard that name before, didn't she mention that a while ago?

Well, yes I did. To celebrate having done 200 posts, I cooked a big Italian feast with all the recipes taken from Polpo's cookbook which, by the way, is the most beautiful cookbook I have ever seen and the recipes are so simple, only about four ingredients in most things, but so delicious. Since having the cookbook, I have been meaning to go to the restaurant. Finally, last night, my friend and I decided it was time to go.

After a bit of faffing around in Hammersmith station trying to get onto the same platform and figure out which train to get and then walking an extremely long way around, we made it to the restaurant. It was long and thin and in the middle, there was a bar where people perched, with plates of different cicheti (which, I think, means starters) nibbling and chitchatting on tall stools. Behind this, was an area with lots of small tables. We were seated against the back wall by a lady who's smile remained in place all night, despite my requests for recipes from the kitchen, which must have been a bit annoying and slowed her down.

The menu was a paper place mat and I recognised so much of it from the cookbook that I already felt like I was in a familiar place. The Smiths and Goldfrapp played somewhere in the distance and gave me a good feeling about the evening.

We ordered four small plates of food to share for our starters and mains and, unfortunately, my photographs came out either too dark to see or lurid yellowy from my flash. So just bear with the bad lighting on these photos please.

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An aubergine and parmesan wrap

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Spicy pork and fennel meatballs (these were really good)

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Flank steak with rocket and white truffle cream (this was the recipe I requested from the waitress, it was lovely)

We also had a bruscetta with ricotta, proscuitto and artichoke which we stuffed in our faces so fast that I forgot to photograph it. It was really really good though. Maybe my favourite thing, along with the steak and truffle cream.

For desert, I had a panna cotta with rhubarb and pistachio...

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... and my friend had a tiramisu.

Both were tasty and served in a small glass, so just the right size after all the other bits had filled us up. My only sticking point with my panna cotta was that I had a small teaspoon when I really wanted a huge soup spoon, to be able to eat it faster. I also had an alfogato di caffe (I think I've spelt that wrong), which is an espresso with a ball of vanilla ice cream in it. It's a very Venetian thing, apparently. So I got one, in my ongoing attempt to become an Italian coffee-lover. I was unsure whether I was supposed to drink the espresso then eat the ice cream afterward or wait for the ice cream to melt, therefore sweetening the coffee then eat the whole thing with a spoon. I went for a bit of both but I've definitely got quite a way to go before mastering the technique. When I go to Venice (one day) I will make sure I have it sorted.

Afterward, we got something called chocolate salami, which I have made before at home. It was tasty when I made it so we ordered some of that as well as all the other things we were having for desert.

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It is essentially a fridge set chocolate biscuit, with lots of things crushed up and mixed into it. It was quite a bit saltier than mine, so was slightly at odds with where we were in our meal. We were on sweet and we were happy there. Then suddenly salty came along. It was nice but probably needed something else with it. It would have been nice dipped in coffee, to warm it slightly and make the chocolate a bit melty and added a little edge to it with the coffee taste. Well, anyway, I know for next time.

All in all, we were very happy with this trip. It also wasn't that expensive, given how many different things we ate. I was pleased to see that the fame from the book hadn't turned them into an expensive once-a-year type of place.

The people at the next table started chatting to us at one point about what the chocolate salami was and what we had eaten and what we recommended for deserts. It's nice that way. It has an informal feel to it. The waitress checked in on us regularly, was happy to get into conversation about the truffle cream and how great the cookbook was. And the high seats at the bar, where people ate small plates of antipasti with glasses of wine or vin santo, were constantly full. I imagine it's an ideal place to perch if you're dining alone or just looking for something small and tasty after a long day at work. Very nice indeed.

Thumbs up for Polpo, just how I wanted it to be after loving the cookbook so much.

Wednesday 6 February 2013

Yes, I have some bananas

Hi all, it's the guest blogger again today. Enjoy!

 

Just before getting into this week’s topic I thought I’d ask if, after last week’s post, any of you decided to do some three-word daily diary stuff. Here’s mine for the last few days:

 

Thu 31.1.13 Hospital blood test

Fri 1.2.13 Virus check done

Sat 2.2.13 Weekly shop done

Sun 3.2.13 Projector malfunction again

Mon 4.2.13 Projector fault found

Tue 5.2.13 Sun after snow

 

(A note from lazylauramaisey, mine for today is "loving new piano!")

 

Ok so on to this week’s subject.

 

YES, I HAVE SOME BANANAS

I wonder if you know the derivation of the word BANANA? Etymologies differ and one suggests it is from a West African language spoken in Senegal & the Gambia and introduced by the Spanish & Portuguese who it’s believed first discovered the word; the other suggests an Arabic root from their word banan meaning finger. Both sound feasible; take your pick I suppose.

Banana facts: they are a good source of vitamin B6 (25% of our RDA), vitamin C (about 15% RDA for a non-smoker) & potassium (25% RDA). The fruit releases into the body dopanine and serotonin which are good for the brain. Bananas are picked green and start to ripen straight away. What actually happens to turn them from green to the yellow we’re familiar with when we eat them? After they are picked, the hormones in the fruit convert certain amino acids into ethylene gas. This gas then causes the production of enzymes that change the colour and also the texture and flavour of the banana. The reason they can arrive here still green is because they are carried in a temperature controlled environment with a certain amount of ethylene in it so that the ripening process is slowed down.

 

Check out the label here on the bananas I bought this week at my local supermarket.

 
image

 

I wonder if you ever look at the labels on the food you buy. You may check a sell by date, best before date etc. How many of us look at the ingredients? Certainly those with allergies have no choice but anyone else is probably just rushing round as quickly as possible to get out of the supermarket or wherever the goods are on sale. I was intrigued last week to note the label on my bananas said they were a product of Ecuador; this week, as you can see in my picture, it was Cameroun. Ecuador apparently produces one third of all the bananas grown for export “in the world”. In 2004 there were 130 countries producing bananas; bear in mind the UN has 192 countries and the world has 195/6 depending on who is defining which land areas actually count as countries. That means basically two thirds of all the countries in the world produce bananas.

It got me thinking about the product. Where are the world’s bananas grown? How much? Here is a table showing production levels of the top 10 in the year 2011. However these figures are for both the main types of banana produced: plantains & dessert. Plantains are for cooking; dessert are the sweeter, and for eating raw out of the skin. You can see that Ecuador, supplier of last week’s bananas, is the 5th largest producer; Cameroon is 9th.

 

# 1 India: 29,700,000 metric tonnes

# 2 Uganda: 11,100,000 metric tonnes

# 3 China: 10,700,000 metric tonnes

# 4 Philippines: 9,200,000 metric tonnes

# 5 Ecuador: 8,000,000 metric tonnes

# 6 Brazil: 7,300,000 metric tonnes

# 7 Indonesia: 6,100,000 metric tonnes

# 8 Colombia: 5,100,000 metric tonnes

# 9 Cameroon: 850,000 metric tonnes

# 10 Tanzania: 3,900,000 metric tonnes

 

In terms of exports the order is 1.Ecuador 2.Costa Rica 3.Colombia 4.Philippines 5.Guatemala

However as we go about our weekly shopping do we think about how the supermarkets are able to bring us this fruit at such a cheap price. My bunch of 5 bananas weighed almost spot on 1kg so about 200g each; they cost me £0.79 ($1.25). They’re very good value. But how is this possible?

Think about this - the journey time by sea, on one of the largest shipping lines in the world, is about 28/29 days from the port of Douala (Cameroon) to Felixstowe (UK). Bananas require a temperature-controlled container for transport to keep them fresh (13.5-15⁰C). They then have to have an artificial ripening process, as they’re shipped very green, followed by delivery across the UK to warehouses and stores that need the supplies. There are a lot of links in the chain from producer to consumer.

 

Today’s world production of bananas is controlled by 4 companies nicknamed “The Wild Bunch”: Chiquita, Dole, Del Monte, Noboa

 

On the website freshplaza.com/news there is a headline “UK Supermarket blamed” & “Documentary exposes exploitation of banana workers in Cameroon”. You can read about a Scottish film maker, Jan Nimmo who got access to some of the plantations in Cameroon. She reported on the adverse conditions that employees are having to work in. Perhaps this is why my bananas are cheap. The difficulty is in knowing whether it is the supermarkets that drive down the price they’re willing to pay to their suppliers or whether it is unscrupulous bosses at the supply end who force workers to accept low wages to maximise their own profits; or maybe it’s a bit of both.

Perhaps next time I go I’ll look for the ones with the Fairtrade stickers on. I read that Sainsbury’s switched to getting their bananas from only Fairtrade producers over 5 years ago. The benefits to the local communities where these agreements are in place really do make a difference and in some cases mean that producers no longer have to take risks crossing borders to get better prices for their goods. Fairtrade purchases by the supermarket, in the Windward Islands (Dominica, St Lucia, Saint Vincent & The Grenadines, Grenada), have resulted in local communities being able to buy computers for schools, fund scholarships, sponsor a school bus and bus shelters as well as enabling local farmers to invest back into their own businesses. It is reckoned that about 10 million Fairtrade bananas, from the Windward Islands and South America were consumed at the London Olympics.

 

Anyone fancy some Banana Trivia?

Here we go then:

 

1- Canadians eat approximately 3 billion bananas a year.

2- Bananas do not grow on trees. They grow on the largest grass in the world.

3- 90% of the world’s bananas are NOT grown for export

4. 99% of bananas grown for export are of the Cavendish variety.

5. Four million 40lb boxes of bananas are imported into North America every year.

6. In 1998, the entire banana crop of Honduras was wiped out by Hurricane Mitch.

7. Bananas are the fourth most important staple food crop in the world.

8. Bananas were first imported to the UK in 1878 from the Canary Islands by Fyffe, Hudson & Co

 

What about bananas in songs?

 

If you fancy watching this check it out. It’s the video for the song Juanita Banana. If you don’t think you can make it through the whole 2.5 minutes just go to the point where the lady starts wailing. It’s worth it just for that bit!

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dbe_DIv_Ja0

 

The song tells the story of a Mexican banana farmer's daughter who has operatic ambitions and with a chorus which is an adaptation of Caro Nome from Giuseppe Verdi's opera Rigoletto. Just the sort of subject for a song you’d think of writing – right?

 

You’ve got to have a watch of this one as it gives you the deep meaning lyrics. It’s the Banana Boat Song. I’m sure you’ll recognise it as soon as you hear the opening lines:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVUcz6wPrCs

 

You think this is a joke song? Just wait till you see who’s covered it: Shirley Bassey, Harry Belafonte, a group called A Bunch Of Coconuts & Stan Freberg. It’s even been used in the film Beetlejuice.(Check out that version on Youtube if you’re interested.)

Also remember that 1967 album by the Velvet Underground & Nico with this cover:

 image

 

And finally - how about banana art? Check this one out:

 

http://www.jungilpark.com/banana-art.html

 

Then ask yourself – how long will this stuff last once the skin starts to age. It’s clever but it’s not going to last. I guess that’s why he’s got the pictures.

 

And all that from a tiny oval sticker on my bunch of bananas. Food for thought anyway!