Food Glorious Food

All together now...


Hot sausage and mustard!
While we're in the mood - 
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys!
etc., etc.


Christmas and New Year.  Whatever your beliefs, so long as you are from the Western world and fortunate enough, then Christmas is, amongst your personal beliefs and traditions, a time to eat and drink.  More specifically time to eat and drink stuff that you don't eat the rest of the year.  And why don't we eat it the rest of the year?  I don't know.  I like turkey but even that isn't as widely available between January and November, does Bernard Matthews take a holiday for ten months of the year?  In some cases the very name of the food suggests you can't get it in summer, say.  Christmas pudding a fine example, and a superb food yet we decide to eat this heaviest and stodgiest of puddings after the heaviest and stodgiest main course ever invented.   Then of course there is Christmas cake.  In June, you could happily buy an iced fruit cake in Sainsburys (other supermarkets are available) but in the run up to Christmas they will stick a wee icing holly leaf on it, bang the price up 25% and call it Christmas cake.  I'm sure very few of my readers care particularly about sell by dates - if indeed your eyesight is good enough to read them - but shopping in advance for Christmas fayre way back in November I couldn't help but notice swathes of blatantly Christmas products with sell by dates of, say, 12th December.  Think mince pies.


Then there is the 'you're eating what exactly' question.  One of my particular Christmas only things is piccalilli.  I know you can get it all year but I only tend to partake at Christmas.  Allow me to make you privy to a conversation I had with step-daughter Beth, who is 12, regarding this particular delicacy:


"Beth, do you like picalilli?"
"Whassat?"
"Well it's a kind of pickle"
"Never 'eard of it.  Wass innit"
"It's pickled veg"
"eh?"
"Well, Cauliflower, gherkins and onions pickled in mustard type stuff"


At this point I cut my losses, I realise even I don't find my own description appealing.  Cook a good roast dinner with cauliflower and I will leave the cauliflower at the side of the plate.  Take me to McDonalds (other nasty American burger 'restaurants' are available) and buy me a burger (actually, I'd rather you didn't, but if you did), I would meticulously pick the gherkins out.  Yet for a couple of weeks of the year I will eat this montage with crackers and mouldy cheese, all of course washed down with port, and thoroughly enjoy it.


Which, only slightly tangentially, brings me on to another point.  Does it really matter what is in our food if it tastes good?  Many years ago, after drinking a couple of pints of 6X at the New County Hotel long before it became a swingers club, honest, I used to go for an Indian along with a couple of friends of mine, we shall call them Dan and Matt; after all that was there names.  Dan and I would, almost exclusively, order a meat phall, Matt would have Chicken and chips, he was never one for curry.  This particular Indian was closed down for serving dog in the curry.  Should this make me feel bad or squeamish?  If it should it doesn't.  It was a good curry and so far as I can tell not mis-sold.  Had they described it as lamb curry, they would be lying; but no it was meat.  I always assumed goat or some such but does it really matter that it was alsatian?  Dogs are made of meat aren't they?


Anyhow, it is now two days after Christmas.  At the moment I find it hard to believe I will feel in the slightest bit hungry before June but that's gluttony for you.

And a Happy New Year

So, that's more or less the end of another year then and, in the best of traditions it seems time for a little reminiscence on the past year, you know all the sort of stuff that will be filling the television schedules for the next couple of weeks except this is, shamelessly selfishly, all about me.  Well, it's my blog and I'll put what I want into it.

Starting off with the biggest change, who would have thought at the start of the year that now I would have been made redundant and doing something completely different?  I'll tell you who.  Me.  For the last god only knows how long, there had been regular 'team meetings' at Vertex.  Every time you were summonsed to one it was a sword of Damocles.  Possibly the most surprised people are those that weren't made redundant.  Add to which the fact that I worked with a number of people that were so grumpy that even I looked like Mr Happy at the Happyville convention for the foolishly happy and you have a rather bitter cocktail.  Now, taking destiny into my own hands, if it all does go horribly wrong I will have only me to blame.  Oh, and I won't have to suck up to anyone.

At the end of 2008, I had the plaster removed from my foot.  There was some concern as I had lost a significant amount of weight due to being incapacitated for some time.  Fast forward to the end of 2009, nothing in plaster but I have put on a significant amount of weight due to being an idle git.

I am also marking a whole year of being on Facebook.  It's a good job I haven't dedicated this blog to the changes that this has made to my life.  That would be the shortest blog in the history of the blogiverse.  Facebook has been an experience in some respect; previously, I was completely unaware of the amount of bollocks people could come up with that is of no interest or importance to anyone.  In short, Facebook is marvellous.  That's a  contradiction I hear you cry.  Well yes, I thank Facebook for giving me a whole new subject to be grumpy about.

I was quite heartened to read the other day that there has been a return to more traditional, in a manner of speaking, Christmas gifts for kids this year.  I don't mean wooden spinning tops or bilbo catchers.  In particular, it seems that Lego, a personal favourite of mine, is selling like hot cakes.  Or more accurately selling like a very popular toy.  So much to the point where the most popular sets are selling for multiples of their normal selling price on ebay.  Let's now look in stark contrast at the world's most chuffing ridiculous thing.  I'm sure that most people that know me are aware of my thoughts on games consoles so imagine my horror when I happened upon this monstrosity.  Follow the link to the web page mentioned in the article and it just gets worse.  Whatever your views on gadgets, surely this takes the proverbial biscuit?  It's enough to make even me grumpy.

Seeing as how this may well be my last blog before Christmas, that just leaves me to wish you all a very merry Christmas and hopefully we'll meet again in the New Year.

I like driving in my car...

...It's not quite a Jaguar.  Although, I don't even know whereabouts Muswell Hill is.

I have, of late, been spending some time practising my driving in preparation for my part two test to be a driving instructor.  Those of you who have passed your driving test will, no doubt, remember with varying levels of fondness such manoeuvres as turn in the road using forward and reverse gears etc, etc (AKA three point turn) and reverse round a corner.  Difference is now (for those that passed in a new model T) you have to reverse round a left and right corner and reverse bay park as well.  Now in the several millennia that I have had a licence, I have done these things hundreds of times but never properly since that day when I passed my test, I am shocked at the number of times you have to look where you are going, where you have been and where someone else might be.  Also, if you are a 17 year old oik taking a test, you can get about six million minor faults (well, 15) and still pass.  To be a driving instructor, 6 is your limit.
So, let me tell you about my practice on my own.  I selected a corner to reverse around and proceeded to do it properly, observations and everything, then bump.  Bugger, I thought; I've hit the curb.  So back out and try again.  Same thing.  Surely I'm not that much of a klutz (that's a rhetorical comment).  Back round, reverse down the road, quick look up the corner.  All looks OK, so try again.  Same again, bump.  Stop the car, get out and have a butcher's and what do I see?  Do I see a mounted curb?  No.  There's a sodding raised manhole cover that I didn't see.
Anyhow, I have a fellow trainee instructor as a buddy.  the chaps name is Tom and a thoroughly decent fellow he is too.  One problem.  My instructor is a big fan of acronyms.  Anyone who has taken lessons will be familiar with the likes of MSM (mirror signal manoeuvre) and others.  We use two to remind us to look for bikes and suchlike either side before pulling away at junctions.  BOB is bloke on a bike and TOM is tw*t on a moped.  Therefore, my driving buddy, by default is ....
Anyhow, my  instructor seems happy enough with my driving and I have now applied for my part two test.

In other news, Tina has her annual mobile phone upgrade.  In my opinion, if you can't get a phone out of the box and use it more or less straight away, then it is far too complicated.

Have you heard the one about...

Sometimes things happen and you just can't let them pass by without comment.  Sometimes a blog just writes itself but that doesn't mean I won't have a go.
Let's start with a couple of one liners, I don't expect any of these are tremendously new to you but bear with me:

How does an Essex girl turn the light off after sex?  She closes the car door.
What do you call a blonde with two brain cells? Pregnant.
What happened to the Irish Sea Scouts?  Their tent sank.
How do you get a Scotsman onto the roof?  Tell him the drinks are on the house.
What did the waiter ask the group of dining Jewish mothers?  Is ANYTHING all right?”

I could go on but I'm sure you really don't want me to.

So, what's this all about? I hear you ask.  Well the jokes are old and since the very beginning of time we have made fun of people.  Essex girls are easy and thick.  Blondes are easy and thick.  The Irish are thick.  The Scots are alcoholics and tight as a duck's arse.  Jewish mothers are overpowering.  Then there are regional jokes.  Just about every country has a dig at a neighbouring country or indeed a different part of the same country, but then in the case of Northerners this is fully justified.  We will make fun of people that are different to us.  I will enjoy the odd blonde Essex joke; I am neither blonde nor from Essex.  And now we (finally) reach today's topic.  Let's have a look at a picture....

The good looking kid in the bottom left corner is me aged 5 or thereabouts.  I know what you're all thinking and yes I was very cute.  So why do I show you this picture?  Two reasons I guess.
1.  My brother loathes public displays of his childhood photos.
2.  Despite my distinguished greying hair, I am a ginge.
There, that's i said, out in the open.  I haven't dyed my hair it has darkened as I have got older until the onset of a little grey.  There is a gingerist story on the BBC website today.  It's all over a card that Tesco were selling that says 'Santa loves all kids, even ginger ones'. And who has complained?  A red haired woman with red haired kids, for arguments sake, let's call her a ginger whinger.  Now, I don't believe for one minute that Tesco or the company that made the card are particularly gingerist.

Now, as previously noted, I am ginger.  I have ginger friends, not because they are ginger they just are (Steve, you know who you are) and I reckon this is damned funny.  I am simply gutted that I didn't see the card on sale before it was pulled.  I'd have bought a couple.  I don't understand where the ginger jokes started from (or blonde jokes come to that)  but, back to where I started, we will have a laugh at anyone.  If you are offended by people having a laugh at you get a a grip.  I remember being called all sorts of ginger names at school - duracell, copper knob, carrot top, I very much doubt there are many I haven't heard and the best repost?  I would just say 'yes'.  I am ginger and proud.  Aside from that, it is indeed true that those of us who are blessed with this delightful titian shade don't go bald.  So I may be a little silver but will never be thin on top, never have the male pattern M shape, never need a comb over.  Oh no, full head of hair right to the end.  Whose laughing now?

Busy blogging if nothing else

First let me introduce you to this, my shiny new blog.  Kind of like the second chapter.  Chapter 1, as you are no doubt aware was Russ' Redundancy Blog a roaring success with at least three readers.  Now I am less redundant, at least for Job Centre and government statistics purposes, a new chapter and a new blog title was needed so a competition was thrown to the wider populace and 'Grand Busy Scoundrel' was chosen as the winner.  Bucket loads of kudos to Mick Long for anagramisng[1] Russ' Redundancy Blog to come up with this here title what you can see now.  Although I have added my name to the start, in no small part in the hope that when I put my name into Google (other search engines are available) it will be listed.

This is where I will fill you in if you care to be filled in on my new working life, training to be a driving instructor which will, no doubt turn into Confessions of a Driving Instructor, general ramblings on life and observations all laced with a healthy sprinkling of grumpiness.

So, what have we been concerned with this week?  I shall tell you.  The Muppets.  By which, of course, I mean the most excellent 1970's onwards TV series and spin off's.  I'm sure many of you have seen the appeal for the Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody to beat the X-Factor drivel to Christmas number one.  Now, let me set my stall out; I really don't give a stuff who or what is number one for Christmas, it strikes me as an irrelevance but I must implore you to watch (just listening doesn't do justice) this superb production; you can do so here.  On a Muppet related note, Vic watched The Muppet Christmas Carol at school, another excellent production.  I felt the need to confirm my belief that Michael Caine played a supporting role as Scrooge and imagine my delight to find an interview with Dr Rowan Williams - Archbishop of Canterbury, you don't get much closer to the boss than this guy - listing this as one of his favourite films along with Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev.  I'm sure they're very similar.

Last night I had a few beers with my brother (I refuse to be drawn to the obvious and call my brother a muppet here) and learnt a couple of things.  Firstly, dodgy pubs in dodgier neighbourhoods can be pretty good.  We were a little uncertain about the Pakend but what a cracking local boozer.  We did, however, leave when about 50 zealots came in to sing carols.  Please don't get me wrong, I love Christmas Carols and support the Christian view of Christmas but overwhelming a pub with half a dozen drinkers in doesn't strike me as best way to get your views over.

Secondly, drinking on a school night when you're pushing 40 is stupid.  I can't handle my drink and whilst not really drunk and didn't drink enough to suffer from a hangover this morning, bugger me was it difficult to get up for work today.

Finally, consider the scene, you see a bloke in a bar, you're sure you know him and can't place him.  Several things race through your mind; Do I owe him money? Have we met in very different circumstances that may compromise my professional integrity? Maybe I'm just plain wrong.  I start chatting and we decide that he used to drink at the very salubrious Northend Vaults some years ago when I was working the bar.  I'm not entirely convinced this is the case but at least he is going to be looking for a driving instructor in a couple of months.  Might be worth knowing that.

[1] Anagramising: -adj.  [an-uh-gram-ising].  To take a word or phrase and create an anagram that hopefully makes sense.  Apparently performed largely by project managers who obviously have far too much time on their hands.

(Extract from the excellent yet to be published (or even written) Russ version of the English(ish) dictionary)