[dale list] right of centre bloggers

I just adore the way different bloggers on the list lightly play it down but I'm quite proud of 77, as it was a result of votes by fellow bloggers and that does mean something to me, especially in a not so good year, personally.

Quite delighted to see Andrew so high and Prodicus in there too but also delighted with 2, 4, 5, 7, 11, 13, 16, 19, 25, 26, 31, 32, 33, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 54, 59, 62, 65 [easily confused], 76, 86, 87, 89, 91, 92 and 94.

[bombardier] broadside, bacon butties and cottage pie

Gentlemen

Andrew Allison, in pointing out the definition of a gentleman, need go no further than himself and it's only logical that his wife, Becky, is a perfect lady as well. Last Saturday, we wandered down to the Old Town of Hull and would have stayed there except for a raucous, amplified flamenco guitar in the square, masquerading as entertainment.

Well, naturally people can't enjoy their Guinesses that way [which choice, incidentally, marks the end of their recent trip to Ireland] plus it was chilly and so we retired down by the Humber, to the Minerva, which is soon to close down, sad to say.

For the connoisseurs, Broadside and Bombardier were the two brews sampled.

Cottage Pie and Shepherd's pie

Sunday evening, Andrew loaded about 20kg of cooked, spicy mince and mashed potato into a cottage pie which left no room for anything else whatsoever beyond wine and copious amounts of tea and coffee.

Wiki says:

While a variety of meats can be used, the dish is traditionally made from beef or lamb. The lamb version is often called shepherd's pie but neither term is exact.

I was always led to believe that the difference was not in the meat used but in the presence of cheese on top but you could set me straight that way.

Anyway, for those who don't wish to just bung in a bit of mince and taties and wish to do it properly, here is a recipe.

I think you'd be pushing it to touch Andrew's cottage pie and whilst we're there in Hull, you should check out Jailhouse Lawyer's scrumptious, crispy bacon butties.

[holy grail] and the search for sanity

Wonder if this:

Italian cryptographer Giancarlo Gianazza and a team of scientists and Holy Grail enthusiasts found nothing [though he] is confident that the Holy Grail is hidden in Iceland because of clues that he found in Italian artwork and literature.

In Botticelli’s “Primavera” a series of numeric symbols form the date March 14, 1319, which somehow supports Gianazza’s theory, and in da Vinci’s “Last Supper” Gianazza believes to have found outlines matching the landscape at Kjölur.

Further clues were found in Dante Alighieri’s “Divine Comedy” and an ancient Icelandic script states that poet and politician Snorri Sturluson was accompanied by “eighty armored Eastmen” at the Althingi parliament in 1217, who could have been the Knights Templars.

... has anything to do with this:

On June 10 this summer an elderly man of Dutch origin was arrested when 190 kilos of hashish and 1.5 kilos of cocaine were found inside his camper which also arrived in the country on Norraena. The man is still in custody with an Icelandic citizen who is believed to be his accomplice.

Don't know what they're going on about. Everyone knows it's at Glastonbury.

If you'd like some links to follow, there are probably more than enough here.

Stinker of a row over whiff or pong

Stinker of a row over whiff or pong

Boris to star in a remake of The Office?

Did the gaffe-prone buffoon get his story of the history of table tennis from Jonathan Ross?

It could be that what Jonathan Ross meant to say was riff raff played the game in public schools in Victorian England...

Blackberry picking is a dying art

Blackberry picking is a dying art



Wildlife experts say blackberry picking is a dying art, even when economic worries make it the perfect time to make use of what's on offer in our hedgerows

The quintessentially British pastime of blackberry picking is apparently on the wane

Elvis has left the building. You can't get the staff these days. My chief blackberry picker has gone off elsewhere. I hope you find what you are looking for James.

[the road to the library] a life story

His name is Tony, a bit over 60, like, wearing a baseball cap to hide his baldness, quite well dressed all considering, quite soft in manner and to tell the truth, looked a bit bewildered.

He asked me if I knew the way to the police station and I said straight down Beverley Road but he'd probably have to press the call button which connects to the main station. He said he needed to talk to them personal, like.

I said he'd need to go to the main station - did he know where it was? Yes. He started walking in the direction of the railway station towards which I was also heading and he wasn't moving any too steadily but definitely not drunk. He was mentally sharp.

As we walked, he told his tale.

He was in a nice place down one of the crescents, he'd made £25 yesterday so that was a windfall and then, on the way out of the chemists, four youths had started to follow him. As he entered the street next across from his home, they pulled balaclavas over their heads and sped up towards him.

He panicked and ran into a sidestreet which turned out to be a dead end, then ran up to a house with a light on inside but whoever was in there wasn't answering. [I said at this point it might have been better to show he was bald and a pensioner - he might have had the door answered that way.]

They set on him and beat him up, broke a bone in his arm and later he was found, taken to hospital and kept overnight. He was now carrying a carrier-bag of documents to show the police but of course there are no police. He talked of that and somehow we got onto the topic of rubbish bins and how they won't collect your rubbish and he said yeah, tell me about it.

He'd had a nervous breakdown in the late 70s, his wife had now gone, the family had moved out to Australia and basically he was alone. Not complaining, mind, he said. He had £25 at home he'd received yesterday and he had a nice place in XXXX Crescent and was quite happy.

You don't expect to get mugged, do you, he wondered. You read about it in the papers but you don't expect it to happen to you, do you?

He was in some pain so I asked and it was more the head that was the problem so I gave him a paracetamol and walked him as far as the library, telling him I'd most like be there when he got away from the police station and I now half hope he'll turn up and we'll go for a cuppa.

I feel a bit sheepish really because I don't think I did all I could. I should have gone to the police station and might do that now. I was given succour over the weekend myself and the lift was enormous.

As you know, there's been lots of action around here and John Hirst has been great the way he has put me up and up with me. Also on the weekend, I met Andrew Allison for real and his lovely wife Becky. When I say "met", I mean they killed the fatted calf and cottage pie was one of the results.

Another was a mobile phone which I'm now the proud owner of and I was and still am lost for words over that. We shifted a few pints the night before, down by the Humber and I'd like to think I paid my way there at least. I have a mental list now of what I can do to return this sort of kindness and I'm dying to find a base soon so I can start the road back.

JMB wrote of me being a modern day pilgrim. I can assure her that this was not my choice by any means and I'm seeking the day when I can look around four walls and say to myself that this is my place and all my friends are welcome to come and stay [not all at the same time please].

Some details on the state of the pensioner in Britain