The House Husband

Another glorious day saw us lazing around the house for the morning. The clocks went forward last night so the old body clock was a bit out at first. Still, it will now be lighter at night…or so it will seem.

After lunch we took the girls up to Hankley to see what progress has been made on the Skyfall set. The last day of filming is supposed to be this week so, hopefully, these will be the last Bond shots.

Actually, there’s not a lot to show. They seemed to have been having a bit of a play with matches as the back of the ‘monastery’ is a bit scorched. There’s a fire engine standing around so I’m guessing it was intentional, in preparation for the big conflagration to come.

Waiting for the end

If I zoom that in a bit, you can clearly see the scorch marks.

Someone left the cooker on

The only new things (apart from the fire engines and other increase in motor vehicles) were these things. They appear to be banks of lights with filters on the front.

Lights, lights, lights

There was still quite a few people around but nowhere near as many as last week with the helicopter action going on. We’re hoping that by next Sunday, everyone will have gone home. Mirinda thinks there may be souvenir hunters but, given the whole thing is made of wood and fibreglass, I’m not sure what value there’d be in keeping a souvenir. Still, people do collect some weird stuff. The one true cross, springs to mind.

I should just mention that the gravestones appear to be finished and they look remarkably real.

Grave stones galore

Mirinda mentioned, on the way home, that we’ll have to see this film when it comes out even though both of us are not James Bond fans (we’ve each of us seen only one), simply because we’ll recognise the terrain. I guess that makes sense because I want to see Snow White and the Huntsman because it was filmed at Frensham!

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Moving along to great moments in food invention…we accidentally saw a cooking show last week (accidentally because we don’t normally like them). The chef is Rachel Koo and she lives in Paris. Her kitchen is very small (smaller than ours) and she uses it to create some amazing food. She also has a restaurant in her flat. It seats two. very exclusive eating.

Anyway, in her programme she showed her take on the French favourite, a croque madame. This is, basically, a fried egg, cheese and ham on toast with a bit of Béchamel sauce. Rachel, however, wasn’t happy with the more traditional method and has gone for a muffin-like version. Watching her make and eat one last week was terrifyingly mouthwatering so I threatened to try them this morning. My threat was carried out.

They were pretty special although they may need a few more attempts before I get them absolutely perfect.

Croque madame muffins

Thank you, Rachel. Genius idea.

Yesterday, when commenting on her blip, Dawn posted a link to an article about supermarket shopping and how it was killing off the High Street. Ok, this is an old argument but still one I agree with. And it was while arguing with my wife about this very thing, that I suddenly realised what a hypocrite I’d become. Through laziness (I can honestly say it’s for no other reason) I rarely shop anywhere but Waitrose.

This sudden realisation of the depths to which I had sunk, pulled me up short, gasping for breath as I saw the light above me vanishing into inky blackness. I knew I could still save myself from my own failings as a High Street saviour. I decided to start today.

Farnham has everything but a baker and a fishmonger so I knew I could manage just about everything I need, particularly now that a new deli has opened. My problem (if problem it be) is that way I shop. During the week, when it’s just for me, I shop every day, deciding what to eat when I get there. I would feel a bit self concious going into the greengrocer and buying one carrot (etc) so I decided to plan.

Planning food has become a bit of alien concept with me. I know we used to do it when we shopped on Saturday mornings but the skill (if skill it be) seems to have vanished along with my values. So, as I walked into town, I struggled with what to buy. What meals would I need? What do I fancy? Or, rather, what WILL I fancy? All very tricky.

My first stop (after Starbucks, something which I am NOT giving up, no matter how many stores they have around the world) was the butcher. I figured I’d have sausages tonight, a baked potato tomorrow and a casserole on Wednesday. So…lamb and mint sausages, six rashers of bacon and some chuck steak. A bargain price for some lovely looking meat and I have to say, the sausages were DELICIOUS!

While the meat looked lovely and the price was competitive, I have to say the best thing was the service. A lovely chap served me who clearly knew what he was doing when it came to meat. In other words, he was an actual butcher. He was very cheery and made the whole thing very pleasant. I hadn’t realised I’d missed this.

I could say the same about the greengrocer. The shop is called G. Hone and Sons and given the age of the chap who served me, I am assuming he is Mr Hone. Unless Mr Hone is about 85. Anyway, Mr Hone, junior or senior) was again very pleasant and cheery, letting me pick my own veg (note that, dad) which he happily weighed and handed to me. That’s the other thing – very little packaging! That made me very happy indeed.

A lovely old family business

The grand total of my three meals worth of veg was just over £2. For three meals! I reckon that’s a complete bargain. And, like the sausages, the carrots, broccoli and potatoes were lovely tonight.

Now came the test…the new deli. I wasn’t sure if they sold bread and, given I have some variety of sliced meat on a roll every day for lunch, this would make a big difference. I’ve been spoiled by Waitrose as they bake throughout the day and make the loveliest mini baguettes. Still, I was determined to make it work. And I quickly spotted that they did, in fact, sell fresh bread.

Their choice of sliced meat was excellent. A few different types of wild boar salami (I bought some venison and wild boar) and some lovely ham. Lots of cheeses, as you’d expect, of which I bought one blue variety I’d never heard of. Sadly, they do not sell rolls. I decided I’d try the bread anyway and bought a nice round loaf.

I was feeling pretty good as I left the shop, my bag comfortably weighty and full of fresh goodness when a sudden explosion interrupted me. I quickly looked around (as did everyone else in the Borough at the time) to see a big army truck, towing a bigger army grader turning from Castle Street. It pulled up outside the bank and two big, burly army guys leapt out of the cabin, looking somewhat confused.

Of course, he could have just wanted to use the ATM

People were hanging out of office windows (it’s nice to see workers actually being able to hang out of office windows) trying to work out what was trying to destroy our town. Pedestrians were scratching their heads. The army guys just look querulous.

On the corner of Castle Street there is a big, bell-like object which is solid iron. It sits on the corner looking completely out of place as if dumped there by someone who had no idea what to do with it. It looks like it weighs over a ton and it’s been there for as long as I can remember seeing it. And this was the culprit.

The truck had taken the corner too close, not allowing sufficient room for the trailer to make the corner and it went over the bell-thing. That’s not what made the noise, however. It was the wheels exploding when they fell back onto the road. If you look closely at the photograph, you can see how flat the two rear tyres are.

It was all very exciting and drew a very big crowd of interested bystanders. It also caused a bit of traffic mayhem on the Borough when another couple of army trucks following close behind, also turned the corner.

Apart from the fun and photo opportunity, I did wonder why they thought it a good idea to come through the centre of Farnham rather than go around it, avoiding us completely. Still, had they done that, life would have been just a little but duller around dinner tables tonight.

And one further bit of excitement today…I saw a biplane on the way home!

The Bloody Red Baron

Now I’ve seen quite a few strange things on my various travels but few compare with the ossuary at Sedlec. I saw a piece on the television years ago which featured it but had completely forgotten about it until we spotted the day tours brochure for, among other places, Kutna Hora.

Some old bones

Kutna Hora was made very wealthy on silver and, at one time was a mint, stamping all the coinage for Bohemia until 1547. They have a nice display of some very old coins in the room where some poor people had to stamp (by hand) 2,000 coins a day.

15th century silver coin

The building that houses the mint has gone through quite a few changes – most of it is the present town hall and quite a bit just a museum. The entire complex is called the Italian Court, named after the Italian chaps who were responsible for the minting reforms of King Wenceslas II.

And the Italian Court is in the city of Kutna Hora which we instantly fell in love with. It’s gorgeous. Wide footpaths, few cars, lovely buildings. And a population of only 22,000 people.

We had a wonderful day with a tour group of eight other people (four of them were Australians, two Americans and two Canadians) and a hilarious guide lady who used the word ‘incinerate’ rather than ‘cremate’ when discussing Czech funeral practices.

Mirinda chats with our wacky guide

A lot of her humour was completely unintentional and involved using the wrong words for things but she had me giggling all day.

When discussing the Czech wine industry, she told us that during the Communist rule, the Russians, in a bid to increase the agricultural output, told the Czechs to make wine. The Czechs laughed but the Russians insisted. The Czechs have a saying “If the Communists say throw a goat, you throw a goat”. So they made wine. And, strangely enough, it turned out brilliant.

However, the highlight of the day; dare I say, of the entire trip was the Ossuary at Sedlec. It was once a cemetery attached to a Cistercian Monastery. During various periods of history, quite a few people died in the area (30,000 from plague, a few more thousand as a result of the Hussite Wars) and the cemetery just kept growing (that seems a bit of a habit around these parts and is probably why they incinerate people now).

All of these bodies meant a lot bones and, in 1511, for reasons only known to himself, a half blind monk decided to pile them into pyramids. Then, in 1661, the ceiling of the chapel collapsed, forcing a slight redistribution of the bones.

What we saw today was a result of work carried out in the 18th century by Jan Santini Aichl. He made all manner of sculptures using the bones including his signature which also gave the date of the final piece.

Finally, in 1784, Josef II abolished the Sedlec Monastery and the whole place was purchased by the Schwarzenbergs from Orlik who gave it a thorough overhaul. Frantisek Rint created a few more pieces, including the coat of arms of the Schwarzenberg family.

The Schwarzenberg family crest

Meanwhile, back at Kutna Hora and, more specifically, the cathedral of St Barbara, we were treated to a feast of art nouveau “…stained glasses…” made by the same husband and wife couple who decorated the chapel at the Italian Court.

Art nouveau stained glass at St Barbara's

The chapel, by the way, was the private praying place of Wenceslas IV, who was really, really short. All the doors are made to his height with a crown on his head. This still means they are really, really short.

Beautiful paintings on the wall of the chapel

That’s all well and good but the highlight for Mirinda was dinner tonight. We were pretty sick of the lousy food we’ve been ingesting. It’s been a great disappointment for us. So, tonight, Mirinda swore we would dine well.

Looking in our handy and perfect little guide book that the car driver gave us last week, we decided to try La Degustation Boheme Bourgeoise which just happens to be close by the hotel.

Turning up without a reservation was clearly a risk but we were eventually offered what is called the chef’s table. This is two high stools up against the servery, with a clear view of the action in the kitchen. And what a fantastic experience it was.

Not only was the action fun to watch but the food (all 15 odd courses) was probably the best food I’ve ever tasted. Mirinda is pretty definite that it WAS the best food she’s ever had.

And rather than a bottle of wine for the whole meal, I had a small glass to complement each main course, chosen especially by the sommelier. He did a magnificent job. Seriously, this is what food is all about. Pure magic for the mouth.

The chefs hard at work

And having had only Czech wines with dinner, I can vouch for the goat throwing skills of the Czech wine makers.

We ate Chez Gaz gourmet lamb burgers al fresco with Nicktor continually telling the girls they weren’t getting fed from the table. He did this once a long time ago and was given a severe reprimand. As a reward he left them a bit which was immediately devoured, almost before hitting their bowls.

Nicktor dropped off at the Hogs Back Brewery on the way over so we had the pleasure of drinking fresh beer in a big plastic bottle. The sort of lovely beer that has a short life use by date ensuring it is consumed as quickly as possible. In olden times, this would have been called ‘small beer’. It is brewed to go – fast beer, if you will.

We actually had an interesting discussion about Macdonalds and why people like eating tasteless food. Setting the health issues aside, it always amazes me that people eat for the sake of eating rather than for the joy of the taste. I mean, we all have to eat so why make it joyless?

I’m not having a go at Macdonalds. After all, they are one of the most successful companies ever to open its doors to the world, but I wonder why people keep eating there. Nicktor says it’s a treat for his boys when they go and they love it. I still wonder what’s to love. I asked why they don’t prefer KFC because, while clearly just as bad for you, it at least has a lot of taste. He just shrugged.

This led quite naturally to a discussion about why, so called beer drinkers were content with tasteless lagers. Not all lagers, of course. I’m quite partial to Peroni and there’s some marvellous German, Belgian and French beers I try as often as possible. It’s the likes of Fosters and Carling and Heiniken that has me bemused. It seems people only drink it to get drunk without anything as mundane as taste to get in the way. And these breweries are very successful.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for getting drunk but I like to employ my sense of taste while doing so. I’m not being a real ale snob; I really wish someone who willingly drinks tasteless beer would explain it to me.

After an enjoyable chat, we were no closer to the truth but it appears to be that the less taste, the more successful a product will be. Humans are very odd sometimes.

Our two films this week were The Firm (not to be confused with the Tom Cruise film of the same name but very different premise) and the original I Spit on Your Grave. The former about football hooligans wrapped in a coming of age story about a young lad from London and the latter a tale of very sweet revenge.

We were a bit disappointed with The Firm. It promised much but delivered little. The humour, however, was fantastic and ran through it like a soft centre of caramel surrounded by excessively dark chocolate.

The one thing it did do was to give me a glimpse into the strange world of 1980s fashion in London. I now know where the chavs inherited their love of tracksuits and appalling haircuts.

While it showed the grim reality of football violence and how these things escalate out of control when you allay yourself to a demented leader, there was no football – I’m disregarding the brief spell of 5-a-side that the hooligans play at one stage. Not having the backdrop of football tends to dilute the message because it just becomes a film about a bunch of violent guys who go out and beat each other up in mass riots. Essentially there is no reason, albeit a slim one, when the impetus is removed.

I realise it’s actually a film about Dom growing up and away from his childhood, wanting to be accepted by the tribal members of an older fraternity but it still lacks the football and I think that is essential.

I Spit on Your Grave was interesting when we had seen the remake a few Nicktor Nights ago. The original is very dated (it was made in 1978) and was obviously made on an extremely tiny budget – even the leading lady looks like she hadn’t had a meal for years. Afterwards, Nicktor said he preferred the remake but I disagreed. My thinking was that for all its gloss, the remake added more gore than was entirely necessary as well as an extra character who was a bit surplus in my view.

Nicktor did rather like the way in which the chief protagonist met his end however. Sitting in a bath tub with the leading lady apparently going to give him a lot of pleasure. Instead, she cuts off his privatest of parts with a big knife. He has his eyes closed, lost in the moment and mumbles: “It feels good. So good, it hurts.” Suddenly blood gushes up as a main artery is severed and he stares down into the tub in disbelief. Classic revenge moment.

Of course it has problems but not quite as many as the remake – the girl’s survival for one – which, for me, makes the original better.

The evening’s entertainment, however, was not over yet. We sat and watched two episodes of the British sitcom I wasn’t allowed to mention in a previous posting. Nicktor decided I could reveal the name as he feels his shame should be spread across the entire Internet. It was Sorry!, starring little Ronnie Corbett, from a time of gentler comedy. We laughed all the way through both episodes. I have just discovered, there are 7 series…

I love Nicktor Nights. Nicktor is getting a new job. I hope we can still have them.

If Farelli had told me 20 years ago that I would be sitting in a fantastic restaurant on the edge of Lake Como, enjoying a wonderful Italian white wine and three course feast with my wife of 20 years I’m not sure I’d have believed her. But here we were, exactly as she predicted.

View from the restaurant where we had lunch

And what a glorious day we’ve had to celebrate our 20 years together. A trip on Lake Como to Bellagio and back for starters was excellent. It takes two hours each way but the time just sails by when you’re on a boat. Literally. Except without the sails.

At 10am we boarded the Giglio (after watching the oddly named Bat Spaz clean up the inner harbour for us) along with numerous other Australians (including the four from yesterday who Mirinda overheard discussing the possibility of making the trip) and a few other nationalities.

Bat Spaz dredges the harbour

The morning had started with some pretty threatening clouds but as soon as we hit the water they beat a hasty retreat to be replaced by mountain peak to mountain peak blue with a big shiny sun in the middle. It was just beautiful.

Our destination was a place called Bellagio. It is described as the most beautiful town in Italy, a statement I can’t agree with. Amalfi beats it easily. Even so, it is very lovely and designed specifically for the tourist. There are lots of souvenir shops selling all sorts of tat and a lot of Italian restaurants selling a lot Italian food.

We had decided, as we would be spending all day out and about that we would have our anniversary meal at lunch time so we wandered along the waterfront looking for a likely place. Mirinda found it.

We walked into the reception area of the Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni and immediately fell in love. We reserved a table on the terrace and waited for ten minutes before being served to within an inch of our lives. Honestly, the service was fab, the waiters just the right amount of fussy and the food…BRILLIANT. I managed to sneak a photo of my dessert.

Dessert: Strawberry ice cream, raspberries, fruit tartlette

It was delicious but not the highlight. That honour goes to the egg cooked at 65° on a bed of baby leeks and surrounded by long, raisin-like mushrooms (they looked like raisins, they didn’t taste like raisins). This was truly delish. The perfect dish, both simple yet perfectly balanced.

This was offset by the American couple sitting near us who, while married, had nothing to say except on the phone to their daughter Ann. Very sad. Mirinda’s conjecture was that he had had an affair and Ann had discovered it. Her idea, to bring her parents back together was to send them on a romantic holiday in Italy. Well, Ann, it didn’t work.

After our perfect lunch (which was washed down with an equally perfect Tuscan wine from San Gimignano) we strolled around the narrow lanes, dodging the ridiculous traffic that only sometimes managed to fit. The lanes, as well as being very narrow, made possibly for a donkey with pannikins, were full of tourists, making any mode of transport extremely slow and painful. The Romans had it right. Ban the cars during daylight hours!

Still, smelly cars aside, the town is lovely and very Italian. It abounds with steep stairs leading to and from the harbour. Here’s Mirinda about to run up one set.

It's a long way to the top...

We made our way to the Villa Melzi (via a lovely little chapel dedicated to St George) and wandered around the magnificent gardens created for Francesco Melzi between 1808 & 1810 by architect Luigi Canonica and botanist Luigi Villoresi. While we’ve seen some wonderful gardens in our time, few have such an incredible backdrop as the mountains surrounding Lake Como.

The garden is awash with colour from the azaleas blooming everywhere in every conceivable colour. The garden is simply breathtaking. This is one section along the path.

Azaleas at Villa Melzi, Bellagio

The run back to Como was lovely and unhurried, enlivened by the sight of a young girl in red standing on the edge of a stone bridge being photographed by a friend as we docked then left Nesso.

Apart from popping into the market for some typically Italian sweet delights, we returned to the flat for a well earned rest.

Us in Bellagio

We went to Epsom today. It’s where Mirinda is keen for us to move to. For various reasons.

I was surprised at how lovely it was. One street that Mirinda has been looking at was gorgeous and one particular house, perfect. It would appear that, were I to believe in superstitious nonsense, strange forces were out to influence us. The estate agent is Michael Everett!!! Spooky, eh? Of course that will only make sense to my mother and other close relatives.

Epsom is an awfully lot bigger than Farnham and, possibly, bigger than Guildford. It has a very long High Street with lots and lots of shops. Though it seems very cloney as we didn’t see a lot of independent shops, just chains. It also has a shopping mall, which I hate. Sadly, that’s where the Waitrose is located.

Starving, we had lunch at Cafe Rouge, because it was closer than Ask and, ended up waiting an age for our food. Mirinda claimed it was because it was full. It’s a restaurant! Surely it can manage to be full and still give good service. It’s not like a pub where they are a pub and NOT a restaurant. Anyway, it was lovely sitting in the warmth, watching as the clouds gradually parted and the sun came out. Today’s blip was just that. You can see it here.

The food was good (as it usually is at Cafe Rouge). When you ask for rare you get rare! They show the meat the grill then put it on a plate. Lovely! I was not so keen on their special steak sauce, though. I usually have the bernaise or pepper but decided to try their ‘signature sauce’ for a change. I won’t be doing that again!

After lunch we wandered back to Sidney and took the scenic drive home, back through our old stamping grounds around East Horsley, realising how much we’d love to live in Bookham.

As we approached the turn off at Clandon, the sun was casting all sorts of wonderful rays as it sank behind the Surrey Hills so I suggested we drive up to Newland’s Corner and have a look at the view. What a wonderful idea. It was lovely. Here’s the sunset.

Sunset from Newland's Corner

At home, the poodles went mad and Day-z, proving how clumsy she is, managed to tip over her untip-over-able water bowl.

It was a bit of a lazy day today. We watched a few episodes of Ugly Betty, a Midsomer Murder which had us in fits and a lovely walk up to the castle in the late afternoon. The BBC (and Mirinda’s iPhone) promised blue skies and sunshine but it was all grey clouds. Very miserable.

But, tonight, we dined at St John’s in Odiham. Good lord, what a Saturnalian feast! What delights! We were celebrating Hope (we always have to have a reason to eat at St John’s…not sure why) and we did it in style.

Pigeon, suckling pig and a brilliant raspberry and champagne jelly were my three courses, each one gorgeous. Mirinda had suckling pig sausage roll, Angus beef fillet and cheesecake. God, they were all delicious!

It was my main course that had a piece of black pudding sponge. It looked like chocolate cake. It certainly didn’t taste like it.

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I have recently discovered Blipfoto. It is a sort of micro-blogging site where the registered users can post a photograph a day (no more than one) and a short paragraph about it. I am absolutely amazed at the brilliant photographers represented on Blipfoto. Suffice to say, I am on Blipfoto. If you want to see my Blips, click here…though you cannot comment unless you have a Blip account yourself. Dawn is also on there. Here is her link. The main page of Blipfoto is made up of a random selection of the images. Click around, some are simply amazing.

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I heard on QI tonight that half the people who have ever died were killed by mosquitoes. Terrifying.

What a glorious start to 2010. T’was a beautiful day. Or so I’m told. I spent most of it in bed.

Mirinda’s flu has taken a deadly hold over me and even attacked my taste buds. I cooked dinner tonight and asked her how it tasted as I couldn’t taste anything. She said it tasted different to usual. Clearly because I couldn’t taste it. Obviously I do little things with seasoning depending on taste which make a big difference.

In an episode of Friends, Rachel makes a trifle but skips over a page in the recipe book, making half a shepherd’s pie as well. In the same bowl. They all pretend to like it, getting rid of it in various comedy ways. However, Joey loves it, saying “Custard, jelly, meat…what’s not to like?”

I make a Moroccan meal which has layers of aubergine, yoghurt and mince and which Mirinda calls Joey Layer Cake. Clearly I shouldn’t make it when I’m gripped with flu.

Anyway, we’ve watched David Tennant’s final Dr Who, witnessed Miss Marple triumph with mirrors, and I really have to go to bed. I’m hoping to be a tad more healthy tomorrow.

Rain all day. Wet, drizzly, miserable, grey-skied day. Not pleasant. Pity I haven’t put my weather station outside yet. There would have been some good readings today.

My trip into town was delayed today due to my sleeping in and having to wait for the Sainsbury’s delivery. Normally they arrive a few minutes early (ie before the hour stated) but today he was ten minutes before the end of the hour. Also he didn’t chat or smile like usual. I have to assume they are still catching up with the pre-Christmas deliveries that were seriously hampered by the snow. Anyway, he arrived and delivered; I donned raincoat and hat and, finally, I was away.

Farnham was reasonably crowded but not ridiculously so. I was only forced into the gutter a few times by mad pram drivers. It was the umbrellas that overcrowded the town today.

I hate umbrellas. I wouldn’t mind if they were only as wide as the person beneath it but oh no, people have to brandish these massive golf umbrellas like some sort of weird machismo talisman. You can tell from the smug look on their faces what they are thinking: “Ha! Look at the size of mine! Jealous lot. See how successful I am? See how much of the pavement I can claim? HA!”

Inwardly, I groan. It would almost be worth it to get poked in the eye by one just so you could sue the inconsiderate bastards. In fact, I take great malicious pleasure when a big wind comes up and blows them inside out. Sadly this doesn’t happen very often.

And why do they keep them over their heads when they are walking under things? Or standing under shelters talking to someone?

Anyway, the high street was full of mad prams and gigantic umbrellas, ruining my day. OK, not really ruining my day. I don’t let that sort of thing get to me. Oh no, there’s far more important things. Like Starbuck’s running out of hazelnut syrup!

Well, I can happily report, that that particular dilemma has been resolved. Today they had a new batch and almond was not forced down my throat. All my Starbuck’s chums were working today. Beccy, Alex, young American guy, big smiley guy who looks a bit like Nigel, elf girl. It was nice to be greeted by so many people I only know through my choice of coffee. And none of them know my name. Totally weird.

I mean how do you get to the point where they do know your name? I’ve often wondered. Does it happen because you have mutual friends? Or because someone yells out to you across the place and use your name? Or when you accidentally forget to take your name tag off? This happened to me when I worked in Woking. I always had the same coffee at the same time at the same coffee place every day. They started calling me Gary at some point and it took me ages to realise it was because I was always wearing my ID around my neck.

Having had my coffee, it was into Waitrose and a post-shop chat with one of the check-out ladies. The topic today was the excess of Christmas food. It’s amazing how much of a conversation you can fit into £12 of supermarket transaction.

She dined at her son’s place this year and there was a LOT of food. Then he was coming to her on the day after Boxing day but he didn’t turn up. So she had a whole load of food left over to go along with the food she’d been given from his place. While I sympathised with the amount of turkey I’m still eating (I actually finished the last of it for lunch today) she said that wasn’t the problem.

“Oh no,” she said, “It’s the cheese. There’s always too much cheese.”

It seems she had gone mad buying cheese and had lots left over which she and her husband have been slowly nibbling through. I explained that I had done the same thing. I bought a whole load of cheese for Christmas and it didn’t get eaten (we sat and ate most of it yesterday).

“Trouble is,” she continued, “My husband’s doctor has said he has to cut down on cheese, not eat more of it! Which means I’ve got to eat it all!”

I thought about this on the way home. I should say, I thought about lots of things. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I spent the entire 15 minute walk focussed on cheese. And I thought about (see?) the awful waste that Christmas represents. Not just in quantities of cheese but in wrapping paper, cards, uneaten food, ruined presents, unwanted presents, etc, etc. Is that what makes us civilised? The fact that we can buy, not use and discard if we want? See? Sometimes I get quite serious during my walk home.

Latest news on my DITA assignment is that I should finish sometime tomorrow! Hip, hip hooray!