100TWC - Day 99: Friendship

This post has a lot of tags. It started off with more but I blew Blogger's limit. I didn't even know there was a limit! See, friendship touches so many areas of my life that Blogger can't cope. I'm half expecting it to seize up in the middle of this post. Let's see how we get on...

With the last post of my 100-day (aka 100-theme) writing challenge in sight, friendship has been much on my mind. I've had some really nice comments and feedback on here, but what's been even better, and more surprising, is the feedback I've had in real life. Whenever I've met up with friends at least one of them has commented on each occasion how much they've been enjoying the writing. I've been enjoying it too, of course, in fact that's one of the things I'll be including in the "lessons learned" follow-up post I'll be writing over the weekend. But it's one thing to gain enjoyment from something yourself, and totally another thing to find out that you've been giving enjoyment to others. Writing can be a solitary experience (all writers say this, at least those who speak/write/email to me) with -- often -- not much in the way of validation or appreciation, so it's really cool to hear the opinions of readers, which posts they liked best and why, etc.

I'd also be really interested to hear which ones folk thought didn't work out so well. To see how this matches my own feelings, for one thing, but also because it's all part of the learning experience. Just doing this stuff has helped me improve enormously, but really good feedback that mentions the bad as well as the good, is also a huge help.

I appear to have drifted off topic somewhat, so to drag it back to friendship: I've been lucky. When I talk about the times we have with mates -- the trips to the Lakes, weekends away, meals out (and in) -- the single most common response is how unusual it is for a bunch of guys to have kept a communal friendship going for so long. I'm not sure how rare it is in the great scheme of things, but those who comment on it seem to think it's pretty rare. Much more common for women to have a "girly group of friends"; less so for guys to have a "blokey group", apparently.

I've known for many years that social groups depend on key individuals to hold them together. I had an old colleagues network at one time -- around two dozen people who all used to work together in the same part of the organisation until one dark day a reorganisation came along and scattered us all across the company. Some left for other jobs, some took the opportunity for early retirement, most split up into three or four units, separated by geography, department and skill set. For several years after the split, we would get together two or three times a year (Christmas, obviously, and then one or two other meals or social events like bowling, walking, pub crawls). These were all marvellous events, well attended and very popular, but they all had a single individual -- the same guy in every case -- as the instigator. And then one day he stopped doing it. And none of us have ever met up again since that day.

The small group of friends I always refer to as my "Nottingham" mates (even though only two of them live there now) have strength in depth when it comes to organising get-togethers. It's not driven by just one of us. Once a few weeks, or a months, have gone by since our last meet, one or other of us will get in touch to set something else up. Often we don't need to do this, as we arrange it in advance at the previous one. It's a source of infinite variety, pleasure, amusement and fun to Nikki and I to be able to be part of this, as I'm sure anyone who is lucky enough to have their own strong ties of friendship will understand. Friends, they say, are the family you choose, and I would tag that with "lines I wish I'd written" if there was any space left in the tag list :0)

As I've discovered (and blogged about before), friends come at you from all parts of life, and another group that I've been blessed to reconnect with -- a few years back now -- has been the curry crew. We may only meet once a month, but I find myself looking forward to those evenings immensely. The conversation always flows, it's always stimulating and amusing, and the food is only the icing on the cake (if curry can be said to be any kind of icing).

I have a small number of friends that fall into another different category. All of the aforementioned might be classed as "regular" friends, and if such a term fits then this small number I'm talking about now might correspondingly be referred to as "irregular" friends. People who, over the years, have meandered in and out of my life seemingly at random, but who whenever we meet will pick up the threads of friendship (and even conversation!) and knit them back into something recognisable within a few hours. I met one such person outside a hotel once, a few years back. Having not seen him for more than five years, suddenly there he was, leaving a hotel at which I had arrived to meet someone else. We only had chance for twenty minutes frantic catching up and exchanging of current contact details, but it rekindled some long-buried memories and the spark of yet another friendship stretching back to the mid 1970s. We originally met at university and the names of other uni friends crop up regularly in the strangest places. Naturally the Internet is the perfect medium for this and over the years I've had the occasional email from old friends who've read this blog, or seen my profile on LinkedIn, or Friends Reunited, or found my website through Google.

There is a downside to this though. The reality of how easy it is to lose touch with people was brought home to me when I attended a school reunion about 15 years ago. It was such a strange experience I vowed never to attend one again (although I was tempted a couple of years back when they held a 25th -- or was it 30th? -- reunion). Not only the experience -- spending 3 or 4 hours in a function room with 50 people who at one time I saw on a daily basis but who, with one exception, I hadn't seen for 15 years -- but the aftermath. The impact of the realisation that I had completely lost touch with all of them, even those I'd thought of as close friends, really hit me surprisingly hard. I guess it just shows that friends are more than simply people you spend time with. Just as it's easy to be lonely in a crowded room, rubbing shoulders with a bunch of people every day for six years doesn't necessarily make them your friends. It knocked me for six a bit, did that.

Manchester calling...

*tap* *tap*
This thing on?
*cough*
Hello!
Welcome back. To me, that is. You've probably been here all along, wondering where I was. Turns out *I* was here all along too. Just not saying much. Shit happens, they say. And shit is pretty much what has been happening. I might even write about it one day, but not right now.

So, when last we spoke, Nikki & I were in Toronto. April 26. Good grief! Was that really the last entry? That's almost three months ago!! *slaps wrist* Well that pretty much puts the mockers on my usual "chronological" approach to blogging. As regular readers (if I have any left!) will know, I like to keep things in order. Even if I'm writing the entry two or three weeks behind the event, it'll still have the real date on it. The date it actually happened. That's not so bad if I'm only three weeks behind, but three months? No. I'd never catch up, and besides one of the reasons for blowing the dust off this cobwebby part of the Intertubes is a pointed request for pictures of our CURRENT project. If I wrote up everything (significant) that has happened in the interim then the kitchen would be finished before it even got started, if you see what I mean.

No the only way to do this is to package up the last three months into a little box and leave it over there in the corner. Over the next few months I might open up the box and take one or two choice pieces out for display purposes, but for the time being we need to get started with what's going on right now.

Although perhaps, before we get to that, I should tidy up the news from our Toronto trip. I wouldn't want to leave us hanging there, so to speak, having apparently only just been lunching in the distillery district and then magically transplanted three months into the future back in Manchester. Here, then, are the rudimentary details of the few draft entries I'd queued up covering the remainder of that trip, with their prospective titles drummed into service as headings:

Man-daRIN
(Family joke). Shirley & Neil took us for dinner at the Mandarin all-you-can-eat restaurant. Now, we have AYCE outlets in Manchester - the ones we visit most often being the No. 1 Chinese buffet, and the Nawaab Indian - but even though they are both firm favourites and very good value for money the quality is nothing like Mandarin. Wow. Absolutely fabulous Chinese food, lots of it, masses of choice, and everything tastes as fresh as if it had been cooked to order. This place became a firm favourite almost on the first mouthful. We'll definitely be back.

My fortune cookie for the evening: Accept no other definition of your life, accept only your own.

How apt.

Kensington
Shortly before our return, Paul took us for a wander around Kensington market. We lunched at Big Fat Burrito (delicious) and picked up some cool Christmas presents from the various shops and stalls.

That evening we had dinner at the Tulip steak house, which surprisingly (the place looks a little run-down and basic) proved by popular acclaim to be the best steak we had all holiday. And also, after a little persuasion, the best rack of lamb!! (*ahem*)

JB @ JB
After a last minute trudge around Walmarts to pick up those few essential items that just aren't available in the UK, we returned to Jawny Bakers for dinner. Hard to beat for atmosphere and quality (in my opinion - but I admit to being completely biased since this place holds very fond memories for me), it ran the Tulip a close second for steak quality but it's somewhere I couldn't imagine visiting Toronto without going.

Pack it in
Packing for the return trip became interesting, and a little Dickensian:

Suitcase #1: 25kgs

Suitcase #2: 20kgs

Allowance: 40kgs.
Result: misery.

Ah, but... at this stage, Carry on #1 weighed 2kgs and carry on #2: 2kgs, with a carry-on allowance of 10kgs. So after some judicious redistribution of contents...

Suitcase #1: 20kgs
Suitcase #2: 20kgs
Carry-on #1: 4.5kgs
Carry-on #2: 4.5kgs
Result: happiness.

I was also going to post something humorous about the pharma ads on Canadian/US TV. Honestly, if you haven't seen one check it out. Little beats them for unintentional black humour. I might still do a post on that at some stage. (Probably during our next trip, when I'll be exposed to them again :o))

And finally...

I just read this back and realised that I've waxed lyrical about all the wonderful meals we had OUT, but nary a mention of all the many wonderful meals we had IN. So many grateful thanks to Shirley for repeatedly proving that home cooking easily beats bought. Amongst numerous other successes, a roast turkey dinner to die for - or, at least, worth travelling 3,000 miles for!

A Grizzly tale

Just back from another get-together with mates in Nottingham, where as usual a good time was had by all.

The festivities were not dampened at all by the weather, or my discovery a few minutes after arrival of another slow leak in one of my tyres, and were only slightly blunted by the absence of one of the couples.

This time round we enjoyed the hospitality of someone who hasn't hosted before (personal reasons that it would be inappropriate to bore you with) and who did an excellent job of not allowing his self-confessed lack of culinary accomplishment get in the way of a good party. He proved perfectly capable of (a) preparing enough garlic bread to sink the Bismarck, and (b) assembling a fine selection of takeaway flyers that empowered us to choose some of the most intensely cheesy pizza I have ever feasted on. Way to go, Griz.

First BBQ of the season

We drove all ni-i-i-ight to get to you. Well, maybe not ALL night. We got an early pass and set off shortly after 4pm. We were there just after 6. And maybe not to YOU. Unless you're one of those we were barbecuing with on Friday night...

On the available evidence, of two days, we'd chosen by far the better of the bank holiday evenings for dinner al fresco. Perfect fluffy clouds slowly giving way to crystal blue sky as we sat sipping our various beverages on the patio, cordially greeting each new arrival, sharing the latest craic and the pre-dinner nibbles before moving on to the more serious business of burgers, sausages, chicken (piri-piri, honeyed and on the bone), prawns, shashlik and kebabs.  Salad, buns, french stick. Roulade, raspberry tart, chocolate fudge pudding and barbecued bananas with choc chip surprise.

And a 1am finish. Superb.

The expansive hospitality of our guests didn't end there though. Full cooked breakfast and more excellent banter before doing the farewells, a quick dip of the toe in the cold waters of Mummy before high-tailing it off to MacArthur Glen in search of an elusive tea-pot, dinner on the road at the Ol' Mustard Pot and home in time for Eurovision. Just call us masters of timing!

Canteen Christmas

My third traditional Christmas lunch took place, after the extraordinary success of last year's visit, in the staff restaurant, where the catering ladies and gents had laid the tables with Christmassy cloths, crackers, holly-bedecked napkins, and set some traditional Christmas music playing over the restaurant PA.

Compared with last Friday's effort, this was top value for money. Six quid buys you a starter (I opted for the prawn marie rose), a main course (turkey - four slices of succulent breast meat - sprouts, carrots, roast parsnips, roast and mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and cranberry sauce) and a dessert (in my case traditional Christmas pud with brandy sauce), followed by a mince pie, coffee and a mint. Fantastic. Great company too, even though we missed Steve, who had eaten with us last year.

The jokes out of the crackers left a lot to be desired, as usual. In fact someone told me the set of jokes has suffered a complete overhaul this year. If anything they're worse than before. And I'm not entirely sure what the small blue plastic house in my cracker was supposed to be for.

Crackers apart though, it was a cracking meal, and left me with cracks developing in my belly, it was so stretched. Only trouble is, being in the office, I couldn't sneak an afternoon nap.

Family dinners

We headed over to Penistone yesterday afternoon for an evening in the company of my cousin and her husband. We don't see them very often (a couple of times a year on average) but when we do there's always lots of news to catch up on, and no matter how long we're there the conversation never dries up.

As it happened we couldn't have picked a better day, news-wise. My nephew had just that morning become a father for the first time. I say "nephew." In truth that's only a family tradition. Never having had any brothers or sisters(*), I'm bereft of "official" nieces and nephews and I've always felt that lack (of both siblings and their offspring) keenly. Tim is officially my second cousin, but that always sounds so distant to me. Hardly like a real relation at all. And I've never successfully got my head around that "once removed, twice removed" thing. No, far simpler for him and his two sisters to know me as "Uncle John", which they have always done, and, as a consequence, he conveniently becomes my nephew. QED.

So it's congratulations to Tim, and also to Sarah who (as we learned yesterday) is expecting as well, although she's trying to keep it quiet. Must be something in the water over Barnsley way. Don't worry Sarah, I don't suppose anyone you know comes anywhere near this Internet backwater. Other than your Mum & Dad, occasionally.

With those two major news bombshells out of the way the remainder of the evening, with its to-ing and fro-ing of almost a year's-worth of catching up, passed relatively quietly, punctuated by congratulatory phone calls, a most excellent meal, and the sound of neighbourhood bonfire night celebrations.

We returned home to the tail-end of another safari night on our road, which we'd had to reluctantly decline on account of our prior engagement. That didn't stop an intoxicated neighbour attempting to persuade us over the road to sample the delights of her cheeseboard at half past midnight. I managed to convince her I'd had enough cheese for one evening.

(*)More recently of course, I've been blessed with a cracking brother-in-law who, having been a prolific breeder in the past, comes with a ready-assembled supply of progeny who are therefore my nieces-in-law. Suddenly I've got more family than you can shake a stick at!

Beware the camcorder

We never need much of an excuse for a get-together with mates, but when there's a holiday in the offing then there's also the obligatory "planning" meeting, which duly took place yesterday. The actual planning part didn't take much more than ten minutes - where and when are we going to meet up for lunch on the way there; who's cooking what meals on what nights; a grocery list for the initial shop (mainly breakfast items and snacks); and are we all having the same bedrooms as last time; and we're done.

So when we started in on the wine at shortly after 4 in the afternoon, I should have known the direction the rest of the evening was going to take. Wine, especially Zinfandel (or rosé of any kind, tbh), is just too easy to drink. Before you know it, your glass is empty and, with excellent hosts like Ian & Gill, it's mostly refilled again without you even asking. Or noticing.

Which makes it incredibly easy to lose track. That's my excuse anyway. Not to mention that we popped around the corner for short pub session before the main meal.

From what I remember of the rest of the evening, we all had a fabulous time. We proved beyond doubt that Ian & Gill's table will seat eight, and I proved that if you sit me in front of a cheeseboard for long enough then eventually there'll be nothing left of it except a few crumbs. I'm not going to write in adolescent fashion about how drunk I got. Certainly drunker than I've been this year. If I'm being honest, drunker than I can remember being since... umm... well, you get the picture.

Trouble is, these days, I don't need to *remember* how drunk I was. There's evidence. Firstly, the email from Ian which arrived this afternoon. And I quote:
"Sober viewers must be warned these people had drunk quite a bit (18 cans, 12 bottles of wine + 2 rounds in the pub) which may explain hangovers on Sunday."

And secondly the video footage which that email introduced showing, among other things, Ritchie and I at around 1am drunkenly singing Supper's Ready at the top of our (slightly out of tune) voices. I hope they have understanding neighbours.

We have a week of similar, although hopefully not quite so intense, evenings to look forward to. Let me just check we've put paracetamol on the shopping list...

The sense you were born with

We had cherry pie for dessert yesterday, and very nice it was too. Morello cherry, to be precise. Aunt Bessie rarely disappoints. Having neither the time nor the inclination for home-made puds, finding a source of mass-produced grub that approximates to home-made is no mean feat, and in that department the Aunt Bessie brand is a front runner in our house.

I had to laugh, though, at the cooking instructions. I mean, it's bad enough that pie packaging and the like have to carry the legend "serving suggestion" these days, just in case customers are stupid enough to believe that the box includes, you know, a jug of custard, a bowl, a spoon and - who knows? - probably even the person holding the spoon.

But that, apparently, doesn't even scratch the surface of customers' stupidity. And I quote:
"To oven cook: Pre-heat oven and remove outer packaging. Glaze with a little egg and/or milk and sprinkle with sugar. Place product on a baking tray and bake in the centre of the oven for 45-50 minutes, until pastry is golden brown. Half way through baking, turn the foil (round not upside down) to ensure even browning. Ensure product is piping hot before serving."

The italics are mine. You can imagine the phone call:
"Aunt Bessie support line. How can I help?"
"Allo. Is that Aunt Bessie?"
"It's the Aunt Bessie support line, yes."
"I want to speak to Aunt Bessie."
"Er... well she's not here right now. My name's Janet. Can I help?"
"I got pie all over the oven."
"Oh dear."
"Yeah. I followed your instructions, an' now there's pie everywhere."
"I don't think there's anything in our cooking instructions..."
"An' 'ow am I meant to serve it up, anyway, when it's upside dahn?"
"Upside down?"
"Yeah, like it sez in the instructions."

You couldn't make it up. Well, I just did, but I'm assuming the amendment to the cooking instructions came after just such an incident. The alternative is that someone in the Aunt Bessie packaging design department actually believes the public are stupid enough to misinterpret the line "halfway through baking, turn the foil to ensure even browning." Which, in a way, is even more frightening.

Another fine night

We don't need an excuse to spend time with friends, but we had one last night. Ostensibly we went over to Chesterfield to "plan" our activities for New Year - meals, whether we'll be going out or staying in, what we'll be doing if we stay in, etc. In reality, as you might have predicted, this only took about five minutes. Which left the rest of the early evening and night free for general socialising.

Unusually for us, we didn't venture out to the pub before dinner. We'd all brought plenty of liquid refreshment which, combined with the cold weather, was enough to make us hunker down inside for a lazy chat before dinner, during dinner (a fabulous lamb tagine, preceded by some excellent dips and followed up with a delicious berry-fruit pastry), and after dinner.

Somehow I managed to consume the better part of two bottles of wine on my own. Nikki was no help at all, confining herself to a single glass with dinner, but a man's gotta do, etc. This may have contributed to me not remembering an awful lot about Big Band Night on the X Factor, which we settled down to watch off the DTR much later on. A poor show given that I was supposed to be reviewing it. Thank heaven for t'Interweb forums, and YouTube :o)

The only slight downer on the evening was the lack of Ian & Gill, who couldn't make it on account of being temporarily discumbobulated, but we drank a toast to them, and somehow managed to polish off their portions of dinner, so it wasn't a total loss.

Mexican Night revisited

What a fabulous day yesterday! I spent a happy couple of hours being Nikki's kitchen bitch as we prepared the Mexican dishes for tonight's meal: Mexican 7-layer dip for starters, Cheesy chilli beef enchiladas and Mexican pasta bake for mains and pumpkin pie for pud (OK, that might have been where the Mexican theme came crashing down, lol).

With those either wrapped up and shoehorned into the fridge, or baked and cooling on the stove as appropriate, we hopped a bus into town for some gentle browsing and shopping.

The traditional stops - Waterstones; the Apple Shop; Sinclair's Oyster Bar - were supplemented by Habitat (Phil & Vicky were after some posh crockery and we found a replacement pepper mill since ours has gradually been intermittently refusing to emit even the smallest particle of pepper dust for a few weeks); Lloyds for lunch (Sinclair's was full); and Hotel Chocolat (where we bought some chilli chocolate penguins and some exciting-sounding Aztec Chilli drinking chocolate); and HMV (several Pink Floyd CDs to progress my desire to replace my vinyl collection, and a couple of new movies from the 3-for-£20 selection) after which the girls and I caught the bus home leaving the serious shoppers to carry on for a couple more hours.

We ate fairly early and as usual had vastly overcatered, but that was OK as it meant Mexican pasta leftovers for our Sunday meal as well as an emergency food parcel for Nat, and then settled down in front of a flickeringly friendly fire to enjoy an evening of reality with both X Factor and Strictly. Top that off with some rather fine wine and a glass or two of brandy and the whole thing added up to a pretty perfect day.

The welcome of the Twisted Spire

I'm still nervous about leaving the house unoccupied with the scaffolding up all around it, but we didn't have much choice this weekend. Drove to Mum's right after work Friday to deliver the birthday present she's been waiting a month for, and perform the "duty visit." Having listened to standard conversations 1 through 10, we escaped to the pub as soon as politeness allowed and although we hadn't planned on a long session ended up staying until around 11pm.

Saturday breakfast was followed by standard conversations 1 through 10 again, at which point we made our escape again, this time in the direction of Chesterfield - the real reason for the weekend's travel. The "excuse" - insofar as we need one - was to have a planning session for our upcoming week in the Lakes, but really we don't need a reason to enjoy the Welcome of the Twisted Spire.

We had our third attempt at walking around Chatsworth too, previous tries having been aborted owing to family illness and inclement weather respectively. This time round the rain was threatening again, so forking out for the formal gardens seemed like a waste of money. We wandered around the various tat shops for a while and walked up and down past the children's farm, until everyone decided we'd had enough fresh air and it was time to head for the Robin Hood and go into a huddle around a couple of pints.

Then it was back to the house and time for the girls to run through the essentials of provisioning and menus for the week while the lads pored over maps none of us really understood, and planned the rendezvous point and the route from there to the cottage. Yes, I'd have to agree that we had the easier job, but then we are blokes so we couldn't cope with anything too taxing.

Planning complete, we negotiated a short walk to another of Phil & Vicky's locals for a session that ended up going on far longer than expected, after which we "walked" back to the house for a later-than-anticipated (but still fabulous!) meal. These days the result of four pints and a wonderful meal is inevitable, but the embarrassment was relieved slightly when I discovered I'd been joined in the Land of Nod by two of the other three guys and at least one of the girls. At which point we all made our excuses and headed for our rooms. Is this how it's going to be in the Lakes? I expect so - we'll have days full of fresh Lakes air and walking to contend with then on top of the other factors!

We returned at lunchtime today to find the house still in one piece. I'll still be happier when this scaffold is down though.

Such clever packaging, but...

It always amuses me how some things can be astonishingly well done and yet others just aren't *quite* right.

Take for instance packaging. Over the last few years we've done a fair amount of shopping online and the ingenuity of the packaging for books, DVDs and small items of electronic equipment has been getting better all the time.

On the other hand, recently for one reason or another I've been eating a lot of Muller Lite yoghurts, and being irked by that little trough around the base of the carton from which it is inordinately difficult to extract the last vestiges of yoghurt. This is particularly annoying when compared to the sides of the pot, which are uniformly curved and smooth, and take the edge of a spoon perfectly, leaving behind hardly a trace of yoghurt and, therefore, wasting none.

Surely, I think as I dig around in the trough for the last spoonful, it would not be *that* hard to design a pot that had a flat base on the outside, but a totally smooth bottom on the inside? Answers, as always, on a postcard.

Bollywood Night!

Sorry for the lack of updates the last two weeks. It's been about as hectic as normal but on top of that I've been feeling a bit lethargic and energy-free. Let's still pretend I'm posting this the Sunday before LAST Sunday though, cos as regular readers will know I like to keep things chronological.

Bollywood Night. What can I say? Spawned from the idea of Mexican Night that we did on the street last October, this time the theme was...well, the clue is in the title. The food was Indian, and the costumes were as outrageously Bollywood as we could manage. Now last time, we had the piss taken mercilessly because we were the only ones who didn't make an effort and dress the part. This time round we were determined to do things properly, and Nikki found a fabulous online store for Indian costume - Rupali - which also happened to be fabulously cheap AND had a sale on on top of that!

Here are the results:
Nikki's is a Salwar suit, with a shawl and some traditional jewellery, and "John is wearing" a traditional kurta. We also managed to find a couple of pashminas and some more sparkly jewellery for the girls, who selected appropriate tops and bottoms from their own wardrobe to set them off.

The progression around the street was still very logical, but we started on the other side, travelled all the way down to the end, around the corner to our perpendicular neighbours, and then back around the corner and up our side of the street, finishing up back at the same end we started, but opposite. Hope you followed that. Eight houses in all, about 40 minutes per house, and it meant we were second-to-last which made things very easy for us. I hope no-one thought it was a cop-out but we just paid a visit to the Sanam Sweet Centre in Rusholme and bought a very large plate of Indian sweets. Three kilos, to be precise.

Naturally this was way too much. By the time we'd all eaten our way through the six preceding houses we were feeling pretty full so the sweets were picked over and we were left with piles to eat with our Sunday afternoon movies (no bad thing as it happens *vbg*). Strangely as it turned out very few people made a "traditional" curry. The first house started off, naturally enough, with poppadums, onion bhajias and samosas, with some rather fine minty yoghurt and all the traditional bits and pieces. The next house (the only REAL Indian family in the street) treated us to some home-made dough balls and a delicious fried spicy cabbage starter that is virtually a staple in that part of India their families originate from. Next we were treated to some spicy kebabs of various kinds - fish, chicken and veggie and finally, at the fourth house, we enjoyed a "proper" curry - a fabulous chick-pea dish with rice which I couldn't resist going back for more of. Twice over. Stir fry tofu at the fifth house (which I avoided), a rather splendid home-made sorbet at house #6, then us (with our streaming, Internet-enabled XBox tuned to a Bhangra station on Shoutcast), and finally a virtual banquet of cheesecake, home-made dough fingers in honey and fruit salad that struggled to be "Indian" but was nonetheless delicious.

The evening ended shortly after 1am, and looking back although it was all really enjoyable, eight houses (two more than last time) felt a little rushed. We never really had chance to settle in any one house and everyone always had their eyes on the clock. With so many extra houses, together with their extra people, simply serving up the food to everyone and eating it took up almost all of the 40 minutes leaving little time for just sitting back and enjoying the occasion.

We've somehow been nominated to organise the next one - a Greek night - and I think we'll try to restrict the number of houses to bring a bit more relaxation to the party. Even so, a cracking night which has cemented the idea of "themed party" foodie nights on the street for some time to come.

Christmas Do. (part 4)

Lunch in the staff restaurant has never appealed to me. I always bring my own. Christmas though - that's a different kettle of peaswax. They make a special effort, and I can never have enough turkey dinners, so it's kind of a match made in heaven. Today was even more special, since it's my last day in the office for 2007. Three of us went down from my bit of the office (aside: you can't say "from my office" any more. Not since they went open plan. Time was when we all had offices big enough for small groups. Back then you did things by the office. I went down the pub with my office. I went bowling with my office. Not now. Now they've knocked all the walls down and the desks are arranged in little floats. Two desks back-to-back, arranged in groups of three. So six desks to a float. You can hardly say "I went to lunch with my float" can you? Makes you sound like a milkman.) and the place was really buzzing I can tell you.

We opted for roast tomato soup and crispy croutons for starters. Could have had liver paté or parmahamwithmelonballs. I thought paté might be a bit heavy for lunch time and when I eat melon I like to bury my face in a wedge, not delicately place individual balls in my mouth. Besides it was a cold and frosty morning (yes, Steve and Dave, I'm still playing the "get Christmas carol lines into the conversation" game) so I thought a bit of soup would go down lovely. It did.

Mains was the traditional roast turkey dinner and they had done us proud. Three thick slices of breast meat with a slab of stuffing on top, carrot batons, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, sprouts and as much cranberry sauce as you like. Fabulous. Feeling already somewhat stuffed (we've been dieting for three weeks after that fateful visit to the local club, and my stomach's shrunk) I joined the line-up again for dessert. What else - Christmas pudding. "Watch out for that brandy sauce," one of the dinner ladies advised. "It's a bit potent." She wasn't wrong. I think I had an entire bottle of brandy in my portion alone.

We sat at the table for half an hour after finishing the pudding, debating this and that. It wasn't that the conversation was especially stimulating, more that none of us could move. And all for a fiver, too. When you consider how much I paid to (almost) go without Tiramisu at Don Giovanni's, deciding which was the better meal is a bit of a no-brainer.

Return to the Great Orme Lighthouse

Another "mates' weekend" this weekend, and a return visit to the Lighthouse on the Great Orme where we spend such a fabulous three days last year. This year the return visit included our fourth couple who were unable to make it last year, so the gang was complete and a thoroughly fab time was had by all.

Read the full story on my travelogue page.

The Foodie Weekend

It's no wonder I can never lose any weight when we have days like this!

Yesterday was the Northwest Fine Foods Festival at Tatton Park and after a general tidy round so the house was in a decent state for later(see below) we set off for Tatton around 12.30. Unlike Blenheim, this event was housed in a single massive marquee, which we were grateful for as it was threatening rain when we arrived and followed through on the threat with a fine drizzle as we were leaving. In between we stayed (relatively) warm and dry and comprehensively boggled by the array of foods and drink on display.

As we meandered a figure-of-eight around the islands of stalls we passed a wonderful variety cheeses, pickled garlic, massive pickled olives, handmade chocolates (some of the most original shown here on the right), original liqueurs, sloe/ blackberry/ raspberry gin/vodka, cakes, Christmas cake, the lightest Christmas pudding I've ever tasted (virtually every stall offered samples), hand-reared pork, beef and goat (yuk! the only thing I tasted all day that I didn't like), organic vegetables by the trug-load, sweets, licorice, and many more delights to satisfy the most selective gourmet palate.

I was surprised, when we left, to find we'd spent less than two hours there, but it was two hours packed with ever more amazed expressions of delight as taste after taste exploded on our tongues. We were loaded down with bags containing small samples (my favourite of which was the highland whisky and orange liqueur) and with stomachs that, although they'd only enjoyed small samples at each stall were nevertheless strangely full!


Back home we had just enough time for everyone to shower and change before we set off on the first leg of the Mexican night organised by our neighbours on the street. The starting point was the house around the corner whose garden backs on to ours. Over the years by virtue of having held over-the-fence conversations with many of the neighbours on our side of the road they've become "honorary members" of the street scene. Here we enjoyed tequila shots and dips before moving on back around the corner to the first of the street stops where our neighbours had prepared fritatas with marinated shrimps and Mexican wine.

Next stop was our place. In her inimitable way, Nikki had researched some fabulous Mexican food online and cooked up a brilliant Mexican vegetable pasta bake together with a seven-layer dip, while I did the honours making Tequila sunrises for everyone (or San Miguel for those of a non-cocktail bent). We'd worked out we needed to stick to a schedule of around 45 minutes per house to get around everybody, but as the tequila, beer and wine flowed the schedule gradually slipped unnoticed out of the window.

Then it was on to number 19 where the boys had prepared some delicious enchiladas (both meat and non-meat varieties) and pitchers of Caipirinha (strictly speaking a Brazilian drink, but at least they were on the right continent!).

Across the road next and as we were becoming somewhat stuffed by this time we were grateful that only small portions of a delicious spicy Mexican rice dish were on offer here, together with more beer and wine. Finally we ended up at the house directly opposite us, site of the famous summer street party and where the Mexican drink theme landed on familiar territory with Margaritas (even if our hostess did have a rather unique way of making them - chuck whole limes in a blender and bung in a bottle of tequila. The result, although somewhat lumpy with chunks of pith, was extremely limey!) and large bowls of fruit salad.

At this point the hectic pace of the evening slowed down. We watched a DVD of the summer barbeque, chatted, drank some more, and finally came home around 2.30am which, with the benefit of the changing clocks, suddenly became 1.30!

Chocolate

Here's a test. Buy yourself a Twirl and eat one bar. How long can you leave it before you eat the second bar? In my case the answer is "leave it? What do you mean leave it?" There is no concept of a pause between the first and second bars. (Maybe this is what Bon means by "bothbarson"?) And yet I know there are people in the world who might even get to the point where they've forgotten there is a second bar.

I'm sure this is another example of how my upbringing ruined any chance I ever had of a normal eating pattern. It was always "finish your dinner!" "You'll sit at that table until every scrap is eaten up!" "If you don't eat it today, you'll have it again tomorrow" etc, etc. No matter how large the portion or how inedible the meal, those plates had to be licked clean. Bags of sweets and bars of chocolate? Same approach. To be finished in a single sitting and the quicker the better. No concept of savouring the moment. No, the right way to deal with it was only two letters away from savouring, but a metaphorical universe separated the two. The right way was: devouring.

I had eighteen years to learn this lesson and, so far, I've been unable to UNlearn it in the intervening 32 years.

Bob's not your uncle

Our cat Mimi, who we "inherited" with the house, has been exhibiting a grossly enhanced appetite of late. Since she's an "outdoor" cat I immediately suspected a worm infestation, and bought some worm treatments from the supermarket. Bob Martin's to be precise. Two varieties: some stuff for tapeworms that you squirt on the back of the cat's neck (don't ask me how that works - you're the one on the Internet) and a separate and more traditional treatment for roundworm - granules to mix with the food.

I've had cats for over thirty years and I've never had much success with the "mix with the food" variety. Companies that make this stuff never learn. Cats have a much more sensitive sense of smell than we do. You sprinkle these grey granules over the food, mix it well in, cat walks up, takes one sniff and steps back smartly as if to say "I'm not going anywhere near THAT!", turns round and walks away.

In my experience it matters not how long you leave the stuff down, the animal would rather starve than deign to eat any of it. However in our case, it's dried food, so it remains to be seen which of us has the stronger will...

Horse Trials force friends off the road

Well, off one road and onto another, as it happens.

We headed off to Chesterfield today to spend the day with friends intended to start (after coffee) with a walk round Chatsworth gardens. We'd had to abandon our attempt a few months back when Helena's brother in law was taken ill, so we'd planned to give it another go today. Looks like we're jinxed though. As we drove past the gate we saw the signs for Horse Trials and the queue to get in was pretty bad.

When we'd all gathered at Phil & Vicky's we discussed options and decided to head off in a different direction - to Matlock. Most of us hadn't been there for a few years and at least one had never been. We suffered the occasional shower and also enjoyed some sunny spells, but when you're in the company of good friends the weather is mostly irrelevant and we had a great time wandering up and down the high street, buying some trinkets, clothes, chips and ice cream.

Nikki & I had a slight disappointment when we arrived at the top end of the high street though. We'd been hotly anticipating having another look around our favourite fantasy art shop (where we had bought "Marina" - the mermaid who now decorates the wall of our new bathroom) and maybe buying another small piece to celebrate our new home. As we approached the corner where the art shop used to be, we could clearly see it wasn't an art shop any more. It's been taken over by a fudge company. Hmph! Guess we'll have to stick to the Lakes when we want to buy art!

No day with mates is complete without a few beers, so we stopped off on the way back to Chesterfield at the Kelstedge Inn. This is a fabulous little place more or less equidistant from Chesterfield and Matlock and the landlady made us feel very welcome (probably because we were her only customers at that time on a Saturday afternoon!). The only thing lacking was a fire in the grate, but the rest of the establishment could have stepped right out of a book on English tradition. Comfy chairs, polished wooden tables, horse brasses, china teapots, watercolours of local views and fine traditional English real ale.

If we hadn't had two drivers with us we would have been happy to stay there all day, but after a couple of rounds we opted to head back to Chesterfield and walk to Phil's local - the Royal Oak - for a couple more before dinner. Vicky laid on an impressive spread for us - cold Greek starters followed by an excellent moussaka, with red berries and cream for afters. Faaaaabulous. Given the choice, Nikki & I would always go for eating in with friends rather than eating out. It's always more intimate, easier to talk, more relaxed, and at the end of the meal you don't have very far to walk! There's a lot of pleasure in cooking for friends, and similarly in eating something that someone else has prepared. Doesn't really matter what it is, everyone has their own way of cooking it and the variety is definitely the spice of life!

After the meal we all gathered round the telly for coffee and to watch the Eurovision results, but it had been a mildly active day topped off with several pints, glasses of wine and a large meal, so as usual I couldn't keep my eyes open so we headed off to bed just before midnight.

We skipped breakfast this morning, needing to get to Mum's early to fill her in with all the news and get away early - we have a ton of preparations to get through for the party and Nikki's brother Paul's visit the week after next - but we did stay for a coffee or two and shared our bathroom refit photos with everyone. Some people bore their friends with holiday photos - we do it with home improvements ;o)