Exotic blooms

I can't cook much in my kitchen at the moment, what with the boxes and all.  It's not as broken as Antonia's kitchen, but it's pretty much hors de combat.

Possibly to help me make up for that, I am finding myself looking at pictures of complicated food, sadly and longingly.  And hey, how lucky, last week we went out for a meal in Bradford on Avon, and it was so nice that I took photos.

Mmmmmm.  Food porn.

I really liked the teapots and cups.  Excellent view of Mr WithaY's shark-gnawed finger there too.

My starter - tempura prawns and onion rings, a chicken teriaki skewer and some sort-of-sushi roll with crab and seaweed.  And yes, I did share it.

Mr WithaY's starter was just the teriaki chicken.  Luckily for him, he is married to a woman with a heart of gold and a dislike of onions.

My main course was duck in tamarind sauce - a very big piece of duck, I have to say - with coconut rice and Japanese vegetables.  See the rice served up in the coconut shell there? How pretty. 

Mr WithaY's main course was a steak in some sort of savoury teriaki-ish marinade, which he had with plain noodles.  And it was marvellous.   Cooked to perfection, and tender.  Mmmmmm. 

I asked the lady who brought the bill where they got the carved flowers from.  "All hand made in the kitchen," she said, miming someone doing something impossibly intricate with a potato knife.

We'll be going back, probably on a semi-regular basis, as Father in law WithaY has decided to move to a different nursing home which is much further away from us (I don't think that was the reason for him deciding to move) and this restaurant is on the way back home.  Clouds, silver linings, all that stuff.

Other news:  We've had the hole in the roof fixed.  I was sat in my study the other day and noticed an unsightly discoloured patch on the ceiling, below the corner of the house where we know there was a hole in the soffit board thingy under the guttering.  Plus there have been birds nesting up there somewhere all Spring, so, yeah, probably not great for the water-tightness of the roof.

The builder came and had a look, scratched his head a bit, and then agreed to get it fixed for us as soon as possible.   The next day, he sent his young team of minions over to sort it all out.  They did a great job, whacking up a scaffolding tower and discovering the source of the problem in no time. 

Bastard birds had made a HUGE nest in there and pushed one of the roof tiles up so much that the rain was getting in, and they'd also scuffed up the roofing felt so that there was hardly any weather protection there at all.  The birds have long gone, so the nest was removed and all the broken bits were fixed.  Scaffolding is down and the whole thing looks far tidier.

Good job too, with the horrible seemingly endless rain we've had all weekend.  Ugh.

Bad news is that I will have to get the ceiling in here re-painted at some point, but it can wait. 

The dispersal of the many bookcases continues.  I have one in my study now, loaded with all manner of things, very few books, mostly boxes of sewing bits and guitar accoutrements.  I need to find a new spot for my huge noticeboard I made, though, as it won't fit where it was any more.  I daresay I will find somewhere suitable. 

So, that's my life up to date.  How's things with you?

The Sock Game

Today I am mostly typing with my hideous, scaly, thorn-embedded, scarred, muddy fingers.  Yes, I have been gardening.

Mr WithaY and I are both on leave from work for a couple of weeks, and despite many conversations about Where Shall We Go For Easter, we are still here at home. 

I have to say, I don't mind at all.  The weather has been gorgeous for the last week and a half, and looks set to continue that way for a few more days, so being at home is no hardship.  This weekend we did a lot of sorting out in the garden, clearing crap (not real crap, metaphorical crap) off the patio.

Things we cleared included:

- Broken garden umbrella, which was lying on its side on the floor, and had been left forgotten about for months and months.  Note: When testing a garden umbrella for broken-ness, try not to stand under it as you open it.  It will invariably be full of dead leaves, mud, litter, woodlice and snails. Top tip.

- Assorted garden detritus, plastic buckets, broken flowerpots, sticks ("for poking the drain with" according to Mr WithaY - too late, sunshine, they are in the green bin,) and blown-in litter that was all tangled up among everything else.

- Huge builders sacks full of old loft flooring material, which we have been meaning to take to the tip for ages.  In fact, we discovered that as it is made of compressed sawdust* and other wood-based goodness, we can smash it up with a spade and then put it all on the bare patch behind the shed to suppress weeds.  Plus it will give the rats somewhere cosy to sleep. 

- The dead camellia that I have finally admitted is dead, and consigned to great compost bin in the sky.  The cold winter did for it.  I moved the other camellia (they're both in tubs) round to the front of the house where it is more sheltered, and where it will hopefully be a bit happier and actually produce some flowers next season. 

With all that lot out of the way, we were inspired to begin the vegetable planting.  Mr WithaY carefully put courgette (2 types) and squash seeds into little pots, then put the pots in the plastic greenhouse thingy.  I planted "mixed salad" seeds in a big tub.  Next month the aubergines, carrots and French beans go in. 

Today I planted six lavender plants in pots and along one border in the front garden, some golden thyme in a different border, and a rosemary plant in a large pot.  I need to get a new bench to go out the front though, the old one - at least 16 years old now - creaks alarmingly when it is sat on, and I have visions of us crashing to the ground in a miasma of tea and bad language one sunny afternoon.

Unfortunately, having been out in the garden so much, I noticed the bastard sparrows.  The bastard sparrows who are nesting in the hedge are using my car as a sort of avian amusement park, sitting on the wing mirror and shitting liberally all down the driver's door.  Sometimes, for a change, they hop down onto the rubber window trim and fight with their own reflections in the wing mirror.  This is clearly alarming and makes them shit themselves.  If they win the fight with themselves, they have a celebratory great big shit.

I tried folding the mirror back, but they still manage to get themselves between it and the car for a good old mirror fight.  And a shit, of course.  Bastards. 

I wouldn't mind so much but we feed them, we have a little bath out there for them, we have nesting boxes all over the place, and how do they repay our kindness?  By covering my car in a thick, copious layer of second-hand birdseed.

I have been washing huge amounts of sparrow crap off my car for three days now, and every time I go out there it is encrusted again.  I might admit defeat and harvest it to sell on eBay. My own Organic Guano business.

Other News:  It was Mr WithaY's birthday at the weekend.

Me:  It's your birthday soon - what would you like as a present?

Mr WithaY:  Oh, something bushcrafty please.

Me:  ....? *thinks* Ohhh fuck...

"Something bushcrafty" could mean almost anything.  An interesting stick?  A pet squirrel?  Snowshoes?  A canoe?  A week in a Youth Hostel in the bleakest corner of the North of Scotland?  A banjo?  I have no clue.

I chickened out and gave him some money. 

Guess what he plans to spend it on, readers?  I bet you won't, not in a million billion years.

He's booked himself onto a bronze axe-head forging course in Wales.

He's very excited about it. 

*sigh*

Anyhoo, in a slightly less mental birthday vein, we went out for dinner with some friends on Saturday night to a fine local eaterie.  We ate and drank like kings** then sat around chatting and drinking coffee.  The owners of the eaterie have a splendid dog - a Rhodesian Ridgeback, to be specific - who came trotting out to say hello.  We all made a huge fuss of her, and she was charming company, greeting everyone and being good-natured and friendly. 

It came time to go, and we stood up, putting on coats and jackets, the lovely dog still milling around, sniffing hands and wagging her tail.  One of our group pulled his jumper on, and was pulling the sleeves up over his hands and up his arms when the dog went mental. 

Mental.

Still wagging her tail, she jumped up and put her paws on his shoulders (she's a big dog) and started mouthing and biting at his hands, still hidden in the sleeves.  She was clearly playing, but it was all a bit sudden and unexpected, and the owner rushed over to grab the dog and pull her away.

"I'm so sorry," she explained.  "My husband plays a game with her where he puts a sock over his hand and they romp about - she loves it!" 

She'd spotted our friend with his hands hidden up his jumper sleeves and thought "Great!  Not only are these nice people making a huge fuss of me, but they also know the sock game!"

Heh.






*If any builders out there know that the stuff is actually impregnated with deadly toxic chemicals, please keep it to yourself. 

**Greedy kings who like steak.  And booze.

Sticky business

Ahhh, bliss. The sun has got his hat on, but it is a rain hat. Just in time for the weekend, obviously.

I am sitting here listening to some fool throwing bottles into the recycling bins. By the sound of it they are several hundred yards away and using a trebuchet.

What with that and the bin men yesterday, I am well on my way to recording a sound effects album called "Noisy Bastards Who Want To Wake You Up Nice And Early So You Don't Miss The Best Part Of The Day."

The "Lawnmower Chorus", coupled with the delightful "Tractor Serenade" makes for easy listening. I could add that.

And at this time of year we get the special summer festival version of "Combine Harvester - Extended Replay", as well, of course. Maybe as a bonus track. I could get The Wurzels to do a guest spot on there.

Amongst all the agricultural din, I heard a bird in the garden the other day that had clearly been competing with a car alarm. Which reminded me:

I read somewhere that birds in cities are getting louder, to compete with the other noise. I wonder if that means that when they migrate, they are the bird equivalent of loud tiresome tourists, shouting and gawping and getting in the way of all the other, quieter, permanent resident birds.

Tourist Bird 1: HEY! Look over here! They have berries on the trees! Get over here everyone! Hey! HEY!

Tourist Bird 2: Wow! Check it out! Hey! Guys! Over here! Berries! HEY!

Tourist Bird 3, 4, 5 etc: Hey! HEY! Hey! Berries! Hey! Hey! HEY!

Resident bird: (shaking his newspaper in stiff protest) Well really. *tch*


Why don't they show that on Springwatch?


Other news: BBC loses the plot. Or they have a disgruntled member of staff copy writing headlines on their website.

Heh.

Smug. Again.

Ha. Have had a hugely constructive day at work, and am about to leg it to my bestest mate's house for the evening. Hurrah! Haven't seen him for bloody months, and am very excited cos he has a new car to show me.

He's been without one for about 3 years now (don't quote me, I'm winging the numbers here) so I will begin the traditional "Why don't you come and visit for the weekend" hassle-fest today. I bet he's missed that.

I'm in a goooood mood today, the sun is out at last, so it actually feels like summer again.

We had an email last night from our lovely mates in America who are coming over to visit in October. Unfortunately too late to visit the Frome Cheese Show (Sept 8th, tickets on sale now!) but I daresay we'll find something to do to keep them entertained. The pub over the road is likely to be a good place to start.

Had a nice guitar lesson last night. My lovely teacher showed me how to re-string my Strat, which was surprisingly straightforward. It sounds gorgeous now. It keeps dropping out of tune, of course, but once the new strings have settled down it'll be fab. He said "We're a guitarist short for the gig on Friday, bring your guitar to the party". Heh. Silly bugger.

Other news: The ungrateful bastard birds have started to eat the food in the garden. Rather like sulky teenagers they are pretending they're not interested, then going "Well, I'll just have this one sunflower seed, as you make such a FUSS".

When you look out again five minutes later, the air is thick with chaff. Excellent.

Doctor, doctor

No, not the start of a crap joke, the excellent UFO track.

Anyway.

Been to see mine today to talk about my high blood pressure.

Good news: I am not likely to start pumping it out of my ears just yet.

Bad news: I am officially a fat bastard and need to lose weight ASAP. Damn.

And there was me hoping that the height/weight charts would have been seasonally adjusted to make someone of my build the perfect female form.

The UFO thing reminds me - Michael Schenker (yes, THE Michael Schenker) played a gig at the Frome Cheese and Grain the other week. How unlikely is that?

I was seriously considering going along, but tickets were £20 each and Mr WithaY resolutely refused to go with me. Also it was in the middle of my Holiday in Wiltshire when my lovely Mum was staying, so it wouldn't really have worked out. And the reports from our man at the gig were "It was crap".

According to informed sources, Mr S came onstage apparently a little the worse for wear, was unrecognisable, incomprehensible, and the music was so poor that people were leaving before the end in droves. A real shame.

Still, there are a few bands coming to play there over the next couple of months that I might go to watch. Frome seems to have a never-ending demand for AC/DC tribute bands. Maybe it's a contractual thing - every other gig has to play all of AC/DC's back catalogue. Not that I mind.

Other news: Did some mega rain-forest style slash and burn gardening at the weekend. Very satisfactory, but it means that the rest of our estate* looks a bit rubbish now. Mr WithaY filled up all the bird feeders but I think our feathered friends are sulking and ignoring us because they've been empty for a few weeks.

I suppose thre's only so much rejection a bird can take before it gives up entirely.

Ungrateful little bastards.


*The back garden. And the front garden. We only did the little bit round the side, really.