29 April 2017
Last Thursday my mother phoned to ask “Would you like to come to lunch on Saturday?”
“Of course!” I replied.
“That’s good” said the septuagenarian, “We’re going to use up all the food left over from Christmas! You will have to cook it of course”.
Listening closely I dearly hoped she had forgotten to add the word “frozen” somewhere. If not there was a real possibility we would have to put some pickle on a spoon and use it and coax a feral pork pie from the back of the fridge, it having developed a life of its own after lying for four months undisturbed.
The prospect of devouring ‘Christmas leftovers’ was not one any of us relished, but I had foolishly agreed before the details had been shared so there was no way we could now say no.
When we arrived at my mothers house preparations had been ongoing for some time. There were enough greased baking trays to build a bridge to the moon and there was a large pile of boxes containing breaded things and for whom life in the freezer was but a distant memory. ‘Soggy’ doesn’t cover it.
The contents bore no resemblance to the description on the packet so I cremated everything just in case. There were round things, long things and things that really defied description. ‘Breaded party food’ it said on the remains of the box but that is clearly a very broad field.
Despite every fibre of my conscious being telling me indulgence would be a mistake, indulge I did. To excess. As did Alice (who is 13 going on 40). Naturally we both felt more than a little queasy once we got home.
To try and alleviate the effect of the seven thousand calories consumed the previous day, on Sunday I set off into the woods on my bike. Encouragingly I only felt like I was about to pass out twice as I made the climb into the forest. The picture of some trees below was taken at the highest point and proves it is possible to use a camera with one hand while clutching a precautionary defibrillator in the other.
Spoiler alert – Winter’s coming back!
At the beginning of last week the nice man that does the weather forecast could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Snowmaggedon’ was on the way! Packs of ferocious wolves would roam frozen desolate streets in search of Starbucks and a hoard of seals was expected to attack Morrisons in an attempt to annex the fish counter.
I was due to head away for a few days on the Sunday so thought I had better prepare. Heeding the nice man’s advice I packed the car with the finest florescent clothes the people at Go Outdoors could provide. I also packed shovels of various sizes, a small stove and a folding ice axe. Can’t be too careful. Our last essential act was to tour the shops to stock up on humus. You never know how the chick pea crop might be affected by a cold snap and I could not bear the thought of the family going without.
As usual the ‘mega storm of terror’ turned out to be a damp squib. On my return home Wednesday night I was forced to walk past my neighbour doing his garden. I was wearing a 150 tog coat, a fluffy fur trappers hat and carrying my survival paraphernalia. He was planting things in a T shirt. I could raise my head not meet his sympathetic yet pitiful gaze. He is from Yorkshire mind you, so he never wears anything else but a T shirt. Just like in Newcastle, coat and jumper shops are illegal there.
My habit of the unintentional eavesdrop delivered a brace of beauties this week.
Yesterday I walked past two men carrying an oven into a flat. One said to the other “Careful! Don’t want to break your liver again”. I was not aware the liver was liable to fracture under strain. Like an arm or leg.
On Tuesday I found myself standing at a zebra crossing when I was joined by two gentlemen of the street. They spend their days ensuring wayward cardboard does not trouble the public by sitting and often sleeping on it. They seek financial recompense for this invaluable service by waggling an empty cup at passers-by.
This week the regular incumbent of what is undoubtedly a lucrative spot outside the shopping centre had an apprentice with him. They were leaving for the day and as they stood behind me the senior was sharing some pearls of wisdom with his not entirely receptive prodigy. His voice had the tone of one sculpted by a thousand hand rolled cigarettes and many gallons of the cheapest cider you could buy.
“See, look at this. I got them all on my phone. Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn. The lot. That’s how I let my regulars know where I am!”
You have to take your hat off to this chap’s entrepreneurial flair. He had not only mastered social media, he has managed to harness its power in such a way that he can get people to come to him to give him money. I was mightily impressed by this. Didn’t give him any cash though. Mainly because I am mean. Wonder what his job title is on LinkedIn?
To finish two things to say to motivate your teams this week.
“Morning hotshots. Are we cooking with napalm? You bet we are!”
“From now on I’m going to employ relaxation techniques to turn off stress river and mosey gently down contentment creek”.
Murrays Musings 