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?

Searching

This stats thing is horribly compelling.  Not the numbers, I ignore those now I know that the majority of my dedicated readership are crouched in some vile scam den in the Ukraine, trying to steal credit card numbers or sell their sisters to lonely vulnerable men in the UK.

No, the numbers can fuck right off.  But the keyword search, well, that's a very different story indeed.

This week, apparently, I have been discovered by people using the following search expressions:

1)  5000 chicken birds how much feets shed wanted hopw much mony   Ok....what?  "5000 chicken birds" I can sort of understand.  "How much" I can get a handle on.  Maybe someone wants to buy some chickens to start up a poultry farm.  Perfectly reasonable.  Then it goes off the rails slightly.  "Feets shed wanted" is bewildering.  "Shed wanted" again fits with the chicken farm there.  "Feets" is a red herring, thrown in to no purpose.  The "hopw much mony" again relates to the chicken farmer theme, albeit one who can't spell. 

2)  moose come out frome woods  If this is a statement, it is incorrect.  If it is a question, the answer is "no, moose do NOT come out of Frome Woods."  As far as I know, there are no moose in the woods round here, or around Frome.  Walk in peace, my friends, fear not random moose attacks in Somerset. 

3)  what animals lives in woods?  Oh gosh.  Mice.  Voles.  Deer.  Badgers.  Foxes.  Rabbits.  Toads.  And of course, famously, bears.  No moose though.  Not round here. 

4)  the difference in a person hat lives in the woods and a country   Hmm, now this is challenging.  I'm assuming it's a "town mouse, country mouse" kind of thing, and leave it at that.

5)  horror veg carving is my favourite so far.  It pretty much sums up a good percentage of this blog, and is also the name of my first death metal album, when I get round to making it. 

Farming Today

It's a big weekend, this weekend.  At least, it is in Somerset.  Why, dear reader?  Why, because it is the time of year for that mightiest of all Grand Days Out, the Frome Cheese Show.

We've been here before.  Ohhhh yes we have.  If you hated it last time then you'd probably better go and get a cup of tea and read the paper for a bit. This could be a long post.

Let us begin.

As you walk across the car park, there, shimmering in the distance like Camelot are the fair pavilions of the show.  You can practically hear angelic music, can't you?

As you get nearer to the entrance, though, the sobering reality of where you are heading is made apparent.

I took particular note of this warning, as you can imagine.  No more disasterous ankle incidents for me, thank you very much. 

And then...the Show!  All around you in a whirling blur of sunshine, crushed grass, barking dogs, pounding music, fairground rides, cider and spilt chips, there it is.  Marvellous.

We made our way to the Beagles first, because we love them.  We LOVE them.  Most of the time they snoozed contentedly in their pen, but every time one of the Beastmasters appeared there was an excited surge of hounds, and the poor man was almost drowned in wet noses and wagging tails. 

Later in the day the whole pack was in the show ring, and the commentator invited all the children in the crowd to come and say hello.  It was mayhem.  About 40 hounds and at least twice that many children, plus a few parents, all romping about on the grass squealing and wagging tails, with a few of the braver ones* escaping out under the fences and running amok in the picnicking parties around the edge of the ring.

After all that excitement we decided to go and look at the Cheese Tent.  It's basically a huge tent full of cheese. 

Many different sorts, many different prizes to be won.  It's highly competitive.  As an aside, I would suggest NOT going to this tent with a hangover.  It's a bit too aromatic and noisy to be tolerable for long periods without having to go and stand outside to take deep breaths and suppress the vomit reflex.  Just FYI.

But the winning cheeses looked lovely.  Mmmm.  Brown.

I was intrigued by this:

Then I saw them, sitting smugly in their own special little tent-within-a-tent.  The Champion Cheeses.  Just look at them.  Bastards.

A little further on, there was the Poultry Tent.  This is another one you should probably try and avoid if you are a bit fragile following a big night. 

Multiple cocks crowing, ducks quacking, hens squawking and children shrieking "Mummy!  A chicken!  A chicken!" is rather a lot to take.

The birds seemed unimpressed with it all. 

And there were eggs.  Eggs in shells, eggs on saucers, eggs with decorations on them.  It was like Faberge's worst nightmare.

Also, if you were still hungry for hen-related exhibits, there were pictures of chickens.  They don't dick about, these poultry people.  You want hen-related stuff, buster?  Right this way.

Delightful though it all was, escaping back out into the fresh air and comparative peace of the showground was a relief.  There were many stalls and vendors there, selling farm- and cheese-related goods and services.  Some of them, admittedly, were probably only of interest to the real hardcore crowd. 

I have no idea what this is all about.  I didn't dare ask. 

Some things are just too weird.

I liked this car that was on display.  I can imagine every farmer at the show exclaiming aloud at the thought of how practical and useful it would be on the farm.  Bringing a few lambs down from the top field.  Carrying bales of hay to the barn.  Taking half a dozen young farmers home from the barn dance.  Towing the horsebox.  Utilitarian, that's the word.

I spotted this helpful sign on a roundabout in the fairground.  Parent, you will pay.  You WILL PAY.  Every day of your life.

But the highlight of the day, and the thing I know you're all waiting for, was the craft tent, which includes Things Made From Vegetables section.   This year, the theme seemed to be trains.

The craft tent is also where you see the stern notes left by the judges, notifying competitors of their many, many failings.

Not as dark as the thoughts that went through that competitor's head when they read that note, I'll warrant.

I like that last one.  "Your flowers are just too nice, loser."

This one seemed harsh.  Right up until I looked at the exhibit in question.

Never mind the animals and combine harvester...whose is that ginormous boot in the background?  Magog's?

Speaking of scale...look at the size of these leeks!

Mr WithaY kindly lent his hand for scale.  You'd think they were a freak, a giant abnormality, and wonder where anyone would get the idea, these huge leeks.  But wait!  What's this?  A teeny model garden, made by an apple-cheeked child?  Look at the size of the leeks in there!  Holy crap!

That explains a good deal.  There were a few of these mini farm dioramas.  I might have a crack at making my own.

Look at the pigs!

Adorable cotton wool sheep on this one.

I get terribly excited and take far too many pictures, but honestly, I bet you would too. 

Sadly, there was evidence of vegetable apartheid.  I hate to say it, but segregation was taking place.   Segregation on the grounds of colour. 

There was a Wurzels tribute band.  No, I am not joking.  As if.  I overheard one of them talking to a fan who was buying a CD:   "Yeah, of course a lot of what we do are covers." 

I'll stop now, I can hear the groans of ennui from here. 

It was a grand day out, and the sun shone on the righteous (i.e. us), Mr WithaY had a free fly-casting lesson from the helpful chaps from the local fishing society, I sat on the sunshiny grass and watched dragonflies buzzing around as Mr WithaY learned how to fling fishing line farther than he'd thought humanly possible.  It was all very pleasant. 

Roll on next September.  Bet you can't wait. 

Oh, as a PS, and to explain the hangover references, to the nearest whole number, guess how many people were involved in this dinner party:

*hounds, not children

The Final Frontier

I fear that Mr WithaY is in the grip of a strange and terrible addiction. Not drink. Not drugs. Not even sea fishing.

No, this is an addiction more terrible even than those.

He is carving vegetables like a man possessed. Look:



He's made a Spaceship. Out of a squash, mostly. It has chili legs, with little carrot footcups*, wings made of cardboard (so possibly an entry in the Office Stationery category of the Village Fete?) and engines made of champagne corks.

My personal favourite is the teeny alien pilot, made of a chili and some cloves.



It's mighty impressive, especially when viewed from the "Please spare our lives, o mighty alien overlords" position:



I was preparing supper last night, and listening out for my gorgeous guitar teacher, and Mr WithaY was pottering about near the vegetable rack. I went to have my guitar lesson, and an hour later, bam! There it was, on the side, looking tremendous.




*thanks to Futurama for teaching me the appropriate name for those.

Too much monkey business

Mr WithaY has been stung, yes stung, by the debate over the use if marker pen and cocktail sticks, and also by the suggestion that he has a fish fetish.

I hope this silences the doubters:





It has a maraschino cherry tongue! It's a great big green louche cocktail gorilla.

For those of you who fret about such things, we ate the marrow body and the courgette arms afterwards, but not the face. That was too disturbing.

Other news: Some pictures from the lovely, lovely party last weekend. As most of them are of the family, it seems rather inappropriate to put them on here, but I do like this one of Mr WithaY flaked out under the mighty erection, following his return from the woods on Sunday morning. What you can't see is the many small children and perky Jack Russell who were gleefully playing around (and sometimes over) him as he dozed peacefully in the shade.

The mighty erection in the garden:



It was a truly beautiful day, and the purple buddleia bush in the corner was alive with butterflies. There were Red Admirals, Commas, Peacocks, Fritilleries, white ones and yellow ones. Plus some brown ones I think may have been moths.

Buddleia butterflies:







This afternoon we're off to spend the weekend with some mates, which will be lovely. It's nice to feel that things are starting to get back to normal after the SSFH* of recent months.

Other, other news: Thing I have seen on my travels this week:

A huge articulated lorry turning a corner into Victoria street slightly too quickly, causing the large, expensive-looking motorbike strapped to the back to slide violently, detaching the straps on one side, then smash into the middle of the road. It hung there by one set of straps as the lorry driver leapt out of his cab swearing and panicking, his little dog watching quizzically from the open truck door as all the traffic in South London began to grind to a halt.

The guard on the train last night walking down the aisle, stopping as he got to where I sat, looking thoughtful, shaking his leg as if he had pins and needles, then picking up his keys from the floor and saying "Aha! I thought I had a hole in that pocket."

More roe deer than you can shake a stick at, leaping all over the fields in the mornings, making everyone on the train go "Ooooo!" at them.







*Shit storm from Hades