Witches!

Silly season is upon us once again! It's nearly Halloween, where we hear about all the ghosts and ghouls that everyone has encountered. I have written in my blogs before about the ghost phenomenon, so I can't be bothered going over it again. Suffice it to say there's no such thing!

But a couple of days ago I had a chat with a woman who says she is a witch, a white witch. She had no reason to add the "white" bit. As with real life, I have no prejudice with colour, a witch is a witch to me. As well as ghosts, I have written before about gods, magic etc. and I can't be bothered to go over that again, either. Suffice it to say there's no such things!

I have met a few women in the past who have claimed to be witches, that is to be part of the Wiccan religion. I have also met men who claim to be wizards. The words 'mad', 'frogs' and 'box of' usually spring to mind when I talk to these people. I can understand people wanting to be pagan and celebrating the changing of the seasons, and have no problem with that, but the spells and magic bit is.. what's that word I'm looking for? Oh yes, BULLSHIT! If you disagree and you are very annoyed with my comments, please feel free to put a curse, spell or whatever you wish on me, and I'm in no doubt that at sometime in my life something bad will happen to me, as it does to everyone in the world.

The thing about witches is that in the past they were probably forces for good. They would undoubtedly have been old ladies who were trying to earn a few pennies by selling herbal remedies. Lots of these old women acted as midwives. My great-grandmother (see picture, below) was such a woman. She was a very fiery, scary woman by all accounts. I think it was me that finished her off. She had travelled the world and encountered the harshness of Siberian winters, attacks from mobs, and even walked away from an explosion that blew her house to bits. Yet when I was born and I was placed on her lap, she declared that I would be strong and famous, then died two weeks later. Well it was either me or the fact that she was 95 years old at the time.

She was in effect a traveller. Her family were wine merchants who travelled the whole of Europe selling their wines. She spoke many languages and even told fortunes when time were hard. She was a herbalist, selling some good, and, no doubt, some dubious concoctions to the people she encountered. She also acted as a midwife, although her methods were downright dangerous. She delivered my father and all his siblings using the 'birthing belt'! This was a large leather strap tied around the woman's stomach and tightened to force the baby out! It's a wonder any baby survived this treatment, but it seems she was in great demand. Her views were sought and held in high regard. She seems to have been a cross between Hannibal Lecter and Marjorie Proops. She was, in her youth, also very beautiful, and there are many paintings of her done by lots of different artists.

The problem was that her beloved Catholic church had used women such as her as scapegoats in the past for all of life's ills. They were called witches and had caused famines and blights when surely this was a thing God had done, not some poor old lady, unless the witches were more powerful than God, as prayers went unanswered at times like these. Lots of old ladies were declared to be witches simply so their land and possessions could be claimed by some heartless greedy man! People known as witch-finders made a living putting these hapless old dears in ducking stools, burning them alive! There are no records of any witch being burnt alive here in Britain, though many were hanged. If you have a burning desire (see what I did?) to read more about such things please read up on the Pendle witches, where a unscrupulous landowner claimed three sisters to be witches so he could claim their land. This is a good example of how faith and ignorance and bigotry come together to cause blind hatred!

For me, witches and wizards are all a bit silly, but they seem to be happy in their world so who am I to criticise a lifestyle? They aren't causing any wars or famines, or imposing their beliefs on others. They are not demanding that people respect their beliefs to the point that others have to change their way of life. They are not forcing people to eat certain foods while ignoring others, nor do they tell people what to wear or who to sleep with. They are not killing others who don't believe in the same things they do, nor do they genitally mutilate their children in the name of their beliefs. They are not creating unwanted pregnancies by telling people that condoms are evil, while the spread of AIDS wipes out sixty per cent of some countries' populations because of this. They don't want young girls to be married off at the age of nine or want to deny them an education. They don't want people to donate large portions of their earnings to their beliefs, nor do they want to cause guilt among their fellow believers.

So let's enjoy silly season, and thank your god that it's a time for witches and wizards and not for other religions, because they really are the things of nightmares!

The Body Beautiful?

There was a time when people who knew they were going to expose their bodies, for whatever reason, would try alter the shape of them.

If you were going on holiday or had a new love in your life, you would maybe do a little exercise or diet. Now it seems people just can't be bothered.

Having just been on holiday to warmer climes, because I'm British-born it means I feel the need to relinquish clothing in the sunshine. My body is by no means perfect, but it's not in bad condition for my age, as they say. I must also say my wife has quite a young figure - she does watch what she eats, and works out occasionally. I think I would be very self-conscious if I was over weight and unfit. But it seems that lots of Brits see the body beautiful through the eyes of a walrus. Why else would they let themselves get into such a shape? I witnessed young couples in their twenties so fat that they could hardly walk. A girl was so fat she could neither dive in the pool or climb down the steps. I thought to myself the last time I saw anything enter water the way she did, it had a polar bear chasing it! She rolled into the pool then she couldn't get back out, no doubt due to the lack of pack ice.

The Greek people who worked at the hotel where we were staying were all quite lithe. I don't know what they think when they get this onslaught of blubber each year. I heard two people talking about their type two diabetes, both must have been in their early thirties and very overweight. One of them spent each evening drinking cocktails until she was unable to stand! I can't work out how she developed diabetes!

I know this make me sound like a smug snob, which I know I can be at times. You have to think what effect all this has on the NHS. This has become a national scandal. Children are now losing their teeth before they are four, while many are morbidly obese by the time they are ten! People give all sorts of excuses for why they are overweight, but the real reason is laziness! They eat ready meals and takeaways, and have no idea about cooking and nutrition. They drive everywhere and don't exercise. Carol and I love long walks; for us to be trapped in a resort where we can't go out and about is something we detest. While on holiday we walked to the next resort on from where we were staying which was only about two and a half kilometres. When we enquired at reception how far the next resort was from us, the receptionist was shocked to find we had walked so far as TWO AND A HALF KILOMETRES! What is wrong with people?

When I was a child, my friends and I would walk at least six miles every evening. Not only would we walk this distance, but we would be climbing trees, jumping across rivers and running about chasing each other as we walked. I have worked with young people who refuse point blank to walk as far as one mile. This is why we have such an obesity epidemic here in Britain. We mock the Americans for their size but we, too, are eating the same shit as them, so therefore we, too, are becoming a nation of lardies!

I'm not saying that we should all live frugal lives. The government will see that you do that anyway, with their austerity plans. But we must all learn that everything in moderation is good. I like to exercise, but if you don't, take a walk with a loved one/friend. Have a chat as you walk. On a weekend, why not set off on a long walk and treat yourself with a pub lunch at the end of it, that way you have burned the calories off. Cut out fizzy drinks and start to cook your food from scratch, only having takeaways once a week. These simple little changes will help you live a happier and more productive life.

One more thing before I stop my heckle: stop the self-pitying and the excuses and take control of your own life!

Terror At 38,000 Feet and Other Jolly Holiday Stories!

We all look forward to our annual holiday, whether it be a few days by the coast here in Britain or a few months climbing some unforgiving mountain: it's what we all look forward to.

This year, my wife Carol and I decided that we would like to visit the Greek island of Corfu for a bit of sun, sea and relaxation. With everything booked, packed and sorted, we finally set off on what we believed was a well-earned rest.

A friend dropped us off at the airport and waved us off, telling us to have a good time. Carol always claims that going on holiday with me is like spending a week alone with a psychotic ten year old. I claim this is unfair, as I'm as mature as the next thirteen-year-old.

Soon we were on the plane and off up into the sky. Most people who fly know about the in-flight movies, but many are unaware that there are also computer games on those little consoles, and there is a game called "Bejewelled" which is a standard block-type game on there, which I get quite obsessed with. While Carol watched some chick-flick, I got stuck into my little game and ignored all around me. I had been playing the game for some time when I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of noise around me so I turned to Carol and was surprised to see her sitting bolt upright, her teeth clenched, eyes staring wildly forward and her hands firmly gripped onto the arm rests. I couldn't remember asking her for sex, so there must have been something else causing her to freeze like this. It was then that I noticed that most of the people around us were in the same state of panic.

I was about to ask why Carol was in such a state of shock when the aeroplane dropped alarmingly dowwards. People made the same noises usually reserved for roller-coaster rides, but did it with a lot more urgency. We had hit a storm as we were about to land. Because I had been so wrapped up in the computer game, I hadn't noticed that the pilot had tried to land on many occasions, but the plane was being blown about like a sweet wrapper in the wind. I thought it was just a bit of turbulence.

Finally the pilot announced over the intercom that the storm was so bad it was impossible to land and we were running out of fuel, so he had no choice but to make a run for it and land in mainland Greece. He said this in the same voice that I use when Carol is map-reading for me on a long journey in the car! He was either trying to hide his fear, or his anger!

Once safely on the ground we were held up in the aeroplane not allowed out. The plane was refuelled and we had to wait out the storm. Situations like this bring out the best and the worst in people. The cabin crew were wonderful. They, too, had never encountered anything like this. But it wasn't long before Mr Posh who knows everything stepped forward accusing the pilot of doing this on purpose.

The cabin crew explained to this high-rate (see what I did there?) arse-hole that the pilot's main concern is for the safety of the passengers and the plane. I think it may have been the other way round, but anyway you get my drift. Then Mr Posh announced in a very theatrical loud voice, “I have looked on Google and it says the weather is fine there!” Which then begs the questions of what was that we had just encountered then? Was the pilot actually trying to land in Corfu or in the Bermuda Triangle? Or was Mr Posh a retarded half wit?! It seems the answer was indeed 'C'.

We had set off at 3pm, and at nearly 2am we touched down on a wet and stormy Corfu. Pilot 1, Google nil.

All went as planned from that point on, until we reached our hotel. While we were being checked in by a sleepy dishevelled receptionist who had obviously fallen asleep at his desk prior to our arrival. His English was not the best, but was far superior to my Greek. It was, by now, well past two in the morning and everything was closed up for the night. On completing our check-in, we were then handed a plate containing a warm unhappy looking sandwich, crisps and a peach? This was to be our 'welcome meal'. 

But who cares? All Carol and I wanted was to get off to bed for some shut-eye. Before we could leave reception, however, the next set of people who were to book in started to complain that everything was shut up. This tiresome little man was the type that likes to try and get everyone else to gang up on his hapless victims when he complains. You know the sort. They talk in a very loud voice and look around the room with a sneer on their miserable little faces while they point out something which is out of the control of the person they are complaining to. I like to pretend to be on the side of the self-righteous, while slowly mocking them in front of their audience. Though I was tired, I felt it was my duty to join in with my fellow Brit, who, for some unknown reason, started talking as if he was in a 1930's western movie.

“We fly long way to be here tonight” he started, while looking at me for back up.

I, of course, thought it was only right to help out my fellow traveller, “We fly in big iron bird,” I added. Carol then kicked me on the ankles at this point, but for some reason the other guy nodded in agreement.

“We have no food, no drink for long time!” was his next attempt at speaking Greek.

“He, heap-um hungry,” I added. By now, Carol had walked off to try and find our room.

“This only food you give to me and wife.”

“His squaw mighty big woman, need more food!” This was a bit too far, as the Brit turned to me and said, “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Me go, ciao, ciao then go pow wow!” I said, waving to him while walking off, as I'm sure he was ready to take a punch at me. The receptionist looked on with a look of a man that neither cared or bothered.

This couple ignored both Carol and myself for the rest of the holiday, obviously thinking that we were both suffering from some sort of mental illness. I did overhear him talking to others about all his previous holidays that were spent on the isle of Kos, “But it said on the news that loads of immigrants are landing there now, so they will destroy the island. That's why we're not going there this year. Shame he wasn't talking to me any more because I could have pointed out to him that tourism is a form of mass immigration and it's very beneficial to the island. The way the Greek people have handled the REFUGEE crisis is to be applauded, even though it is destroying their economy because idiots like my little friend their have cancelled their holidays. One of the reasons we chose to go to a Greek island was to help support the Greek people, albeit in a very small way. Rhodes was our first choice which has lots of refugees landing there at the moment. The reason we chose not to go there in the end was because of the heat. It was just far too hot.

One of my little pleasures in life is 'Doing a Gezzy'. I tend only to do these now while on holiday. If you have read my previous blogs on this subject you will know that this is me winding people up just for my own perverse amusement. But while on holiday, I said something to someone which I thought was obviously untrue and said just tongue in cheek, only for them to believe me.

While in the dining room of the hotel getting some food, I was faced with the dilemma of taking the last of something or letting someone else have it. I had fixed a really nice salad for myself from the buffet bar and went to get some prawns. There were only a few left. I put in the spoon to get them when an elderly lady also made an attack on them. We both stopped and looked at each other, looking to see who would give in. I smiled and said to her, “You take them, I have an over-active typhoid gland and if I eat a prawn, I swell to the size of a Zeppelin and start barking like a duck-billed platypus!” I then walked off and filled my plate with chicken.

A little later that evening Carol had gone to the bar and came back sat down and punched me in the arm saying, “Go on, tell me what crap you have been saying now?” I am always being accused by Carol of talking crap, but this is only true for about 40% of the time. This time I genuinely didn't know what she was on about.

“The old lady over there is concerned about your over active thyroid gland”.

“I don't know what you're talking about”.

“She said that if you eat a prawn you swell up and bark or something? I tell you what was funny though, she said you had an over active typhoid gland?”

“Ignore her, I didn't say anything about having an over active thyroid gland, she's probably pissed.” With that, we started to chat about something else. For once I wasn't lying because I definitely said 'typhoid gland'.

The only Gezzy I managed to do on this holiday was one of the stranger ones. While Carol was buying up quantities of tourist tat to give to people we don't like, I sat outside various emporiums of Greek merchandise, all made in China. When a man made a tutting sound in my direction. I looked at him to see what it was I had done to deserve the tut. But it was one of those "talk to me" tuts, you know, “Look at us standing here while them women are in there shopping, what are we like?” I smiled back and nodded. He then started to chat to me. At first it was the usual sport-based chat and holiday chat then it turned to the thing that people who go to Greece seem to be obsessed with, will there be refugees there? He made quite few negative and, for me, quite irritating comments on the subject, based on 'let them drown' or 'send them back'. I was about to tell him to 'go forth and multiply' when I decided on a cunning plan.

“Have you seen the news this week?” I asked, hoping that he hadn't.

“No, Why?”

“Cameron has been caught asking Asians living in Britain to claim that they are from Syria. This is so he can tell the EU that he has taking in his quota of refugees and doesn't have to take any in!"

“That's brilliant, the man's a genius!” replied my small-minded little bigoted friend.

“In return, he's given each person a thousand pounds and a new council house for helping him out.”

“What the fuck has he done that for, the stupid bastard? Why should I pay for them to have a council 'ouse? They already get first dibs on them. And why a grand? The don't give me fuck all, don't this government!” Which wasn't true, as I found out later he was on disability benefit, but he seemed to get about OK to me.

It wasn't until two days later, while talking to someone else in a bar, that this one came back to me. The couple we were talking to told us about Cameron's little deal with, 'The Asians' who ever 'The Asians' are supposed to be.

The problem is that later Carol asked me if I thought this was true? You see I am strictly forbidden to do a Gezzy by Carol because of the trouble she says it causes. So I couldn't tell her that I had told the eejit a few days earlier the same story to wind him up, but I was very disappointed that Carol even considered this to be true, although with this government, anything is believable.

Got to go now, my typhoid gland is playing me up!

Honey, Where's The Crocodile?

The above question was asked by someone I worked with years ago when, after a night of drinking, I went back to his place to look at his collection of reptiles.

I'm aware the the first couple of sentences of this blog are more than a little odd! I have, in the past, kept many species of reptiles and I'm still quite fascinated by them, but unfortunately my wife doesn't share my interest, So I'm now reptile-free.

The person who I went home with worked on the same building site with me, and we had a few drinks after work one evening (depends on your interpretation of 'a few') and we got talking about lizards. I told him about a friend of mine who had a 'Water Dragon'. I was fascinated by this beautiful creature. It was free to run around the house and would often scare the life out of guests by jumping off a ledge and landing on their laps. He said that he had a snake which was house-trained, to which I disagreed saying you can't house-train a snake! To prove me wrong he invited me home to prove his point.

The strange thing about the effect of alcohol is that the oddest of situations or conversations seem quite reasonable when you are under its effect. I remember walking into his house, which was kept very warm because of his collection of reptiles. His wife, a rather large imposing woman who looked more pissed than we were, got to her feet rather unsteadily and slurred the words, “Don't piss in the sink, I've got dish-cloths bleaching in there!” then staggered off upstairs. Things became even stranger when he walked around the house shouting, “here Hissy, here Hissy!” it turned out that his pet snake was called 'Hissy Fit'. But for whatever reason it never materialized, I just got the drunken, “Honest, I have a snake, honest”. He then shouted up stairs to his wife saying, “Wot yer dun with the worm?!” To which she replied, “Its in bed wi me!” He then turned to me and said "It's in bed with the wife, do you want to go up and have a look at it?” I declined. I think the drink was beginning to wear off and it was all beginning to look very strange .

He then turned to me and said, “I bet you 'ave never 'ad one of these?” beckoning me into a small room. I hesitated to follow him, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I followed him into a room which was full of glass tanks with various lizards and snakes slithering or crawling about in them. In the corner of the room was an area which seemed to have a shallow pool in it. He beckoned me to walk over and have a look in the pool, but it seemed to be empty. It was then that he walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “Honey, where's the crocodile?” to his wife.

The drink was now definitely wearing off and the predicament I found myself in was becoming more and more strange when his wife replied, “Shit! I've left it in the bath!” He turned to me and asked if I wanted to go to the toilet with him to look at his crocodile? I declined, made my excuses and left. I remember giggling to myself all the way home at the predicament I had left.

The next day at work I noticed that he hadn't turned in, and thought he must have had the mother of all hangovers, as I too felt 'a little under the weather'. He never returned to the building site again while I was there. The nature of being a journeyman joiner means you only work on contracts for so long, before moving on to the next job. It was a shame, because I quite liked the company of this man who happened to be an electrician.

A few months later, while working on another building site, I met up with a man who had worked with the reptile man and I enquired where he was. He told me that the night I had gone out with him, he had gone to the bathroom to remove his crocodile from the bath. It was only a juvenile and only about three feet long, he said. Because he was so drunk, the croc managed to grab hold of him and bit off two of his fingers and part of his hand! I felt so bad about this, as I felt that I was in some way to blame, though I didn't tell him to go croc wrestling! He never worked on the sites again. He bought a small sweet shop. Can you imagine what it would be like to be a little child going into his sweet shop and see the man with half a hand. And then for him to tell you that a crocodile bit it off, just like Captain Hook!

The other evening while at a party a strange woman kept telling me boring stories about holidays both her and her equally dull husband went on, saying, “You wouldn't believe the strange things that happen to us!” 

I just smiled and agreed.

The Un-Scratchable Itch!

According to the spell-checker, there is no such word as un-scratchable. This was also backed up by a friend this week who also agreed that there was no such thing. She told me this when I told her that I had itchy teeth, earlier in the week. I told her that it was driving me mad, because they were un-scratchable. She told me that there was no such word, and no such thing as 'itchy teeth'.

I can't possibly be the only person to have suffered from this phenomenon? Have you never had an itch in your teeth that is totally impossible to scratch? There is also that itch you get at the centre of your back that has been carefully measured by your body to ensure it is absolutely impossible to reach it! What about when you are in polite company or trying to impress someone and you develop itchy crotch syndrome? There is no way on earth you can stick your hands down your pants for a relief rummage!

What about the very strange phenomenon which some amputees suffer from, 'the phantom itch'? This is where an itch develops where there is no longer a limb! Honestly, this is quite a common thing, people developing an itch where there is no limb! Surely these itches are all un-scratchable?

But today there has been the news of an itch that I, for one, welcome. Jeremy Corbyn has been elected the new leader of the Labour party. All the Tory Blairites who have been masquerading as socialists have now started to squirm, having all declared they wouldn't serve under him.

The Tories are now worried because there is suddenly a true opposing view to their callous, money-grabbing philosophy. This was evident in the way Cameron has launched a scathing personal attack on a man who has done nothing but show dignity and charm so far. Cameron claims that Corbyn will destroy the economy if he ever gets voted in. Well isn't that what both Blair and Major did? But they did it by letting their banker friends have all their own way.

For far too long, there has been no alternative to the greedy capitalist mentality. People bought into the myth that market forces will dictate the economy. Market forces are manipulated to suit the few. This is not Marxist propaganda. It is a simple fact that rich people stay rich no matter what happens to the economy, while the rest of us suffer.

I'm in no way a Communist, as this system has been proven not to work, but then, so has capitalism. Only the latter seems so much more seductive, giving you a chance to make it big. But we all no how lotteries work, they are never in the favour of the punter.

So even if you don't agree with a word of what the new Labour leader has to say I'm sure you will find out a lot more about your chosen party, when they now debate with him?

If you all sing from the same hymn sheet, you always get the same old song!

Eat, Drink and Be Mary!

The above title is the answer to the old Christmas cracker joke, 'What does Jesus's mother do at Christmas?'

But food is something that divides people. Some see it as fuel to power the body, while others see it as something to relish (forgive the pun). For me it's a mixture of the two.

I like to keep fit, so I do watch what I eat, and how much, but I do also love good food. Because of my heritage I tend to favour Italian food as that's what I was fed as a child, but I love to try foods from all over the world. Having said this, things like spag bog and lasagne, along with foods from other cultures such as curries and Chinese food are now a big part of the staple diet of people here in Britain. I put my foods into three categories, which are based only on my taste and preference, nothing else.

The first category is the foods I avoid at all cost. I have argued many times in the past that there is no such thing as good and evil. People do appalling things and people do good things but they do them all for a reason, not because they are good or bad. But having said this, my argument falls apart when confronted with pickled onion flavoured monster munches. EVIL!, EVIL!, EVIL! There can be no other description for this vile piece of manufactured fat and E numbers. 

I don't like vinegar and I'm not keen on most sea foods, although I do eat some. The main sea foods that have me squirming are mussels and octopus. Mussels look like something a gynaecologist would have to remove from some poor unfortunate woman. Octopus is a thing of nightmares for me when it comes to food. My Grandmother, whom I have spoken about before, was a little Italian lady whom I adored and happened to be, for me, one of the best cooks that ever lived. I would return from school some days and she would have obtained some octopus (polpo) from who knows where, as 'sixties Huddersfield was not exactly awash with it at the time. She would be cleaning the hood of it out in the sink, then she would chop up the tentacles with a look on her face of a child receiving an ice cream. The thought of this sight still fills me with dread. Octopus are beautiful creatures while swimming in the sea, but not on the dinner plate.

The food I love is Pasht, an Italian peasant soup which was our staple diet as kids. There was always a pan on the boil in the kitchen. The soup seemed to be self filling, as the level in the pan never seemed to drop. Our family eat this now when we are ill, it is the only thing we crave: it's our snuggle blanket. I also love most of the dishes I grew up with, many of them bean dishes (not the baked type). But I also love a good curry and lots of Chinese food. 

But strangely, one of my favourite treats is one of the simplest. When little Harleigh stays on a Sunday night, we go to bed to read her favourite books and Nonna Carol makes us both a cup of green tea with honey and a couple of rounds of toast. This is one of my greatest pleasures in life.

I love cooking. It is my way of relaxing,  and I use lots of authentic recipes which I have acquired from people from all over the world, and have also created lots of my own. When I was a child I used to stand in the kitchen with my Gran and help her cook, while she chatted away about when she was young and the 'old country'. I developed a great love for making fresh food and my son used to stand with me and help me cook: he in turn has done the same with his daughter. And that is the reason for this blog.

The other day my son's partner had to go somewhere and little Harleigh and myself found ourselves with an afternoon together. I asked her if she wanted to go out somewhere to which she said, “no Babo, we bake buns!” We didn't have the time or the ingredients for this so I offered to cook one of her favourite meals with her, Chinese soft noodles. She declined, then asked me if we could make something that falls into my third category, 'cosi, cosi?' This just means 'so, so'. These are foods that I don't either love or dislike, I can take or leave them. Foods such as pizza, risotto, paella, lasagne, spag bog and many more. I eat them, but if I didn't ever see them again I wouldn't be bothered. 

My son loved to make pizza with me when he was young, and he also loved fried rice. Harleigh loves rice dishes but then, like her mother, she eats lots of Caribbean food. But the other day Harleigh asked, “We make pancakes Babo?” The last time I made or ate pancake was when my son, who is now nearly thirty, was only nine or ten. I don't see the point of them. But because I think that eating and cooking with children is an important part of their development I agreed.

We got out a baking bowl and put in the milk, flour and eggs and both Harleigh and I took turns to whisk the batter. I then cooked them with Harleigh helping me to toss them. I then dressed one with honey only and the other with a mixture of lemon and honey. I put them on a plate on the dining table. Because I'm not that bothered about them I only made two pancakes and told Harleigh to dig in while I washed up the pan etc. I told her I would be in in a minute to share the food with her. She is only a tiny little thing and usually only picks at her food, preferring to eat things separately rather than mixing her food. So can you imagine my surprise when she walked into the kitchen with an empty plate in her hands and in true Dickensian style asked, “More, Babo please?!” I was shocked that she had eaten so much in one sitting. So I told her that it might be best if she let the food settle first. Sure enough her stomach was full, as ten minutes later she fell into a deep satisfied sleep. When her Mum picked her up the first thing she asked was, “Can I come tomorrow and make pancake with Babo?”

This morning I have received a text from Kim asking if Harleigh can come for a while today, as she has done nothing but talked about pancakes all night? So today we shall be making mostly pancakes and I might have to revise my favourite food list and take pancakes out of "so, so " and put them in my favourite foods (Although I still won't be eating many of them!)

Caviar and Kippers

A friend recently told me about some other friends of his who had booked a holiday on a very expensive cruise ship.

This couple had come into money and had both retired early. One of their loves was going on cruises to many different places. It was the attraction to the ships as much as the holiday that they loved. Both of these people had been married before and had met each other later in life. The wife had had a good life and already experienced many different types of luxury, while the husband was a working class lad "done good", as they say.

One morning while having breakfast on board this ship, the wife noticed that there was caviar available and urged her husband to have this for his breakfast. He declined, having tried it and disliked it. He asked the waiter if he could just have some fresh kippers for his breakfast as he regarded this as a luxury. His wife was incensed that her husband had, 'showed her up' but the truth is she just missed the point! It doesn't matter how much something costs, if you don't like it then to you it's worthless! Just like two weeks on a luxury cruise ship would be to me.

Another woman I talked to this week told me she wished that she was French. Was it the language, I asked? Or maybe the food, or what about the slow-paced lifestyle of rural France or the cosmopolitan style of Paris or Marseilles? No she wished she was French so she didn't have to shave under her arms! She had missed the point of what it is to belong, and as far as I'm aware there is no law in Britain that dictates that women must shave under their arms!

An American lady (I'm being kind with the description) once tore into me about my lack of love for ickle baby cheeses. When I told her that I had no belief system in anything supernatural she accused me of being a 'devil worshipper'! I know she just missed the point: how can I worship something I don't believe in? She told me that if I didn't have Jesus in my heart then I must have the devil in there. No, just blood and probably a bit of cholesterol swimming about in there, I'm afraid. What about other religions that don't believe in the hippy carpenter? Are they all devil worshippers?

The only reason that I'm telling you these dull pointless stories is because after spending a whole evening watching the TV the other night, I came to the conclusion of "what's the point?" The news wasn't news. Part of it was about a "singer" who had to borrow some other singer's pants to go on stage. And that David Beckham had got a small part in a film! Obviously this is far more important than people clinging for their lives on makeshift rafts with their children in their arms. It's more important than mindless imbeciles who are raping and torturing their own people while blowing up ancient monuments because of... fuck knows! What happened to the news?

Also all the programmes seem to be copies of each other. Medical, or police programmes, real life not dramas. Cooking or antiques shows or quiz shows or inane docudramas. My wife can sit and watch all this dross and even wants to have a conversation with me about it!

I know my views are not popular. People tell me that I'm just whinging whenever I point out the shit that is fed to us on a daily basis by the powers that be and the media. So maybe they are right, maybe I just miss the point of it all!