Keith Floyd, may he rest in peace, was scathing about cooks who called themselves 'chefs' and I share his cynicism, particularly where overpromoted telegenic nonenties are concerned. Celebrity Chefs do nothing for me, except for two, one of whom is Heston Blumenthal, and here's why:





Whether or not Mr Blumenthal has a 'nerdy' backroom boy beavering away on his behalf, his creations are those of a genius.

Say Stylish, Not 'Retro'

I'll have to check on whether I can still ride a moped, something I've never done, on my licence.

On Being English

No one watching Easter from King's, courtesy of BBC iPlayer, can be in any doubt about what it is to be English, even the young Chinese boy in the choir.

How the fates do favour one: Having just retrieved my belongings, in perfect condition after more than four years in store in an unventilated steel container, I am delighted to hear a piece that I possess, though after so long cannot now name, and can play shortly. These days, of course, the BBC rarely delights without immediately disappointing and I was not surprised when, perhaps in defiance of Dr Johnson's observation, a young woman with an all too obviously, and for some unpronounceably, foreign name (Halliki Voolma) and an accent that could have been Scotch, could have been American or could have been international, but was not English, stood at the end of the piece I possess and cannot name and read the lesson.

How times have changed.

We English learned long ago that the British believe they can fool us into thinking we alone amongst the peoples of the world are not entitled to a homeland, a history and a culture and so we know that when the BBC attempts to prove canines, and foreign dogs at that, can be bipeds it does so in defence of its British Marxist raison d’être and not in celebration of our 'celebrated' tolerance of diversity and change.

How times must be changed.

St George's Day

On which occasion we remember that we are English not British.

A happy St George's Day to my reader.

Paradise Regained, Another Country Revisited and A Little of Myself Lost, Again

On Wednesday last I spent almost ten hours driving a Ford Transit Luton to Berwick-upon-Tweed and back to Lytham St Annes, three hours loading it single-handedly, including a sofa and some bulky, though not heavy, shelving units, and two hours unloading it, with the help of Mrs Gruff (Why is it always easier to do anything and everything without a woman's help?). I've spent the two days since assembling the Ikea flat packed storage that I was certain was by now warped and rotting, having lain in store for more than four years, at a cost of more than £3,000.00, and I am unusually happy, almost ecstatically so. Why? Because I have my belongings; my books, my essays, my floppy discs, my tapes, my CDs, my LPs etc, about me again, all in perfect condition, and I feel human again, that's why.

Searching for something at YouTube I came across this:



Which evokes two very poignant memories and reminds me, by a convoluted extension, that on finally removing myself from Northumberland I have cut the last remaining link with that place.

Addendum: Searching further I came across this, which sent shivers up or down or out of my spine:




LOL @ 'that famous book by Nabokov': I was reading that book at the time and Nabokov is one of my most liked authors. Given the importance of the events then current how could I forget the song?

Addendum (written 25/12/23):  Seven years after taking the IKEA units out of storage I had again to put them in  store, unfortunately into a shipping container kept outdoors, where, after three years and two lockdowns, I found they had warped.  However, instead of rotting the composite panels had fallen apart and the units collapsed as the glues failed due to the freezing and heating of the water that had puddled inside the container from holes that had rusted through the roof.  By coincidence, the owners of the storage site, a boatyard on the south coast, sold the place, to a group of East Europeans,  just as we gave notice that we were giving it up.  Ten years after writing, above, of my joy at discovering them unsullied I had to throw the pieces of wood onto the pile of scrap timber at Lowestoft Recycling Centre, just one of many many disappointments. 

Three years storage of various items, including a lot of boat stuff, in that rusty container cost me more than £5,000.00.  Thankfully, apart from some superficial but disfiguring damage to some of my books, most of my things were more or less all right.  No wonder I have no money. 

An Unusual Arrangement

I have not see an engine with one side valve and one pushrod overhead valve per cylinder before. It's an unusual arrangement and rather stylish I think.

A Quick Wood Fired Oven

By some strange quirk of fate, the previous occupants, builders or some other lazy so and so left a sizeable stack of bricks, both new and unused and reclaimed, in the garden. I've used some to build a simple barbecue and will use others to make a short path. I had no idea, however, what to do with the rest. Now I know:

I lack the chimney liner, or anything similar, the builder of the example illustrated used for his 'chamber' and will try to build a corbelled roof instead, although I could use some stone blocks that are lying behind the shed.

I'll need to buy the wood though I'm shan't need much so it shouldn't be too costly.

The article describing the construction of the oven above can be seen here.

No Knead Bread

Here's an interesting and simple recipe for bread:



I'm going to try that.

The ancient Egyptians cooked their bread in conical clay pots. Perhaps they were the inspiration for that recipe.

Four Stars, Diamonds Are Forever, Super Novas, Setting Suns and Obscure Allusions

Messrs Prendergast, Cochran, Nelhams-Wright and Craddock:

Late purveyors of tragedy to patrons young and now not so young.

Ermm, Aaah Ermm?

We'll support you if you agree with us and we like you? Where's the independence in that?

I agree that the party system is now moribund and independents are the future of English politics but I cannot support anything as presecriptive as the Independent Network.

US Census Worker Lynched

It may not be subtle but a lynching is a very effective way of telling inquisitors to Mind Their Own Business.

I do hope the report is not a hoax.

Dear Woman (Pass The Sick Bucket)

This is what happens when you leave your testicles at home or lend them to a feminist:



The Conscious Men Foundation? Feeble minded, spineless ball-less clowns might be more accurate. How are those wankers, there is no other word to describe them, going to live with themselves when they realise they've made complete bloody fools of themselves? They need masive repeat doses of Testemax:

I Really Shouldn't ...

... but I'm really proud of this:

I made four of this small loaf, of slightly different shapes and sizes, this evening, two of which we ate with dinner, which was a carrot and butter bean soup with onion and garlic, and croutons, although I used too much water and the soup was not as punchy as it should have been.

Mrs Gruff is taking one to work to eat with lunch tomorrow (later today). I think it looks beautiful. The texture is superb but the taste could have been brought out. I need to learn a bit more but I love making bread.

My apologies for the poor quality of the photographs; my digital camera is just a small compact, now five years old and not expensive when bought, it serves its purpose however, and it was a present.

Undeniably Stylish, Even if Not Very Efficient

Admiral Sir George Parr

' ... this is Britain.' Need one say more?

We may not be able to do anything, as in not a bloody thing, effectively these days but at least we can still laugh at ourselves, which is a bloody good thing because the rest of the world must surely be laughing at us. The Bird and Fortune sketches are very funny but their being piercingly accurate satires of the existing state of affairs also provokes sad reflection.

General Sir George Parr

Complete nonsense of course.

Precise Correlations and Epistomological Problems

Surely the finest comedy ever produced by any British broadcaster? Certainly as good as anything produced by any other culture and, I imagine, readily understood in any other culture.