A Tale Of Two Cities?

Our hero is bemused - as usual.

I turned the key in the lock and walked out to the car across the half inch of snow that was being slowly added to by the minute, the bags heavy in my hand as I opened the boot and placed them, my camera bag and a couple of other things we'd decided to take on this short break, carefully inside. We always have a holiday around my birthday and this year's no exception, although we'd decided to stay in the UK to save money for later in the year, something I was regretting momentarily as snowflakes managed to get down the neck of my shirt as I got into the drivers seat. It struck me that somewhere warm and sunny right now would be a nice relief from the cold and damp of a Scottish winter. Technically it's not winter any more of course, but no-one's taken time to let the weather know and it's been dourly consistent in its approach to the passing days. This holiday would take us to England, staying a few days with a friend and an overnight somewhere on the way back at the end of the week.

Ok - maybe not quite half an inch. Sue me.

The snow on the road at the end of the drive was red slush, stained the colour of the local soil from the fields around the village, but had all but disappeared as we joined the main road a few moments later and headed south on the twenty minute drive to Berwick Upon Tweed to catch the train due in half an hour. I flicked the wipers on as dirt spray spattered from cars in front and decided that lights wouldn't be a bad idea either on a day so grey and flat and with the world in monochrome beyond the window.

The day was dull and grey and monochrome.

A lot to say in English.

In Scots we'd just say 'dreich'. Everyone would understand.

A few minutes later than the scheduled time we pulled out of the station comfortably sat at a table to ourselves. G was texting ahead to let our pal Indigo Roth know that we were on our way while I  was busy setting up my laptop for the journey- a couple of hours then a switch to take us another couple of hours down towards Cambridge before finally changing to a local service to get to our friends home town. Part of my birthday pampering was this part of journey in first class, with its extra leg room, better seats and a never ending supply of complimentary tea, coffee, drinks and various other goodies. I was pleased, but we'd be coming home standard class as we'd decided to break the journey into two smaller portions with an overnight stay in York, - one of  'our places'- making first class an unreasonable cost.

 G is a seasoned rail traveller from her time working in Edinburgh but it's not something I've done a lot of over the years, my preference almost always being to drive. A rail journey then, is special to me and I'm always reminded of my first train trip as a small boy - a visit with my Grandmother to her twin sister who lived at the other end of the world. Or that's how it seemed to me at the time. Being such an unusual and evocative means of transport to me,  trains are therefore special and I always get a frisson of excitement as a journey starts. In some ways it's part of the reason I'd rather be an infrequent passenger. I like to keep it special. I'd hate to lose the feeling.

As we stepped off the train a few hours later the figure of our chum was easily identifiable. It's not easy to miss the afghan-lean six foot five figure of Mr Roth and today was no exception as from the other end of the platform he raised his walking cane and waved a cheery greeting some distance over the heads of our fellow travellers. While we walked towards each other he doffed his gleaming bowler hat and beamed a smile, his dark locks shining in the late afternoon sun. He'd dressed for the occasion in an impressive Victorian style frock coat,  with dark, muted stripe trousers over gleaming shoes and spats. From beneath his coat the edge of a crimson waistcoat caught the eye and led the glance past an immaculately starched ivory shirt and a Jacobs-coat-of-many-colours cravat at his throat to our monocled friends face. By the time he'd reached us he'd removed one of his pale calfskin gloves and proffered a hand the size of a small country to G, who was delighted when he bowed and kissed the back of her hand before scooping her into a hug and lifting her several feet off the ground.  When he gently returned her to the platform he kept an arm protectively around her as he replaced the hat on his head, adjusted the angle to 'jaunty' and thrust a manly paw in my direction. I reached out to shake it to find myself pulled to his side while he exclaimed his delight at seeing me again. I felt my shoulders squeeze several inches towards each other as he manoeuvred all three of us around to face the opposite direction. He gently encouraged us in the required direction and when I turned to collect the bags found that he'd scooped them all up, one in each hand and one under each arm. Nodding cheerily towards the exit he began explaining all the plans he'd made to introduce us to the local area over the next few days as we walked from the station.

Ely Cathedral

At the large sleek automobile parked in front of the station building he flipped open the expansive boot and put the bags effortlessly away before the gleaming lid seemed to close automatically. I found myself grinning at the sight. Typical! Nothing's ever ordinary around this man. A quiet cough brought me from my reverie to find him standing by the open rear door as G took her seat. He closed it behind her and opened the front door, indicating with a look that I should sit up front beside him. The journey from the station took only a few minutes as he explained the rail company had built the station on the edge of his estate and sure enough we were soon to pass through the entrance gates and onto the drive beyond. It was 'unfortunate' in one way explained our host as he drove at breakneck speed through the grounds, as the views were 'somewhat curtailed' by the station but it was frightfully handy for visitors. He went on to explain that the view in the opposite direction took in almost the whole estate and he'd set aside rooms for us on the third floor so we could take full advantage of the scenery. Nothing but thoughtful is Mr Roth.

Windows like these are really hard to see out of.

Putting them them so far off the floor doesn't help either.

He paused at the wide door long enough to punch a few digits into a keypad and once past the secure entrance and into the house itself we were shown to our room and given time to get freshened up. Indigo said we should take our time and when ready he had some refreshments prepared and we could relax and catch up with all the news since we'd last met when he'd come to ours to stay a couple of months before.  Later, after a wash and brush up, our host, now sat langourously in a huge wing-back chair with a velvet smoking jacket to replace his outdoor coat,  a tassled fez perched on his dark hair and with red velvet slippers on his huge feet, plied us with delicious coffee and petits-four. The coffee, as expected coming from something of a connoisseur, was exceptional. I enjoyed the after dinner snifter that followed a home cooked meal later too. The perfect and civilised end  to a days travelling.

Indigo had just completed a challenging month of writing while working on his first book, but the output had been largely frustrating as it had shown him that what he'd hoped to get out as one novel was now looking like three or four. Glad of the opportunity to take a breather, he'd organised the next few days so we could spend time together and indulge in our shared passion for photography and cream teas. Sorry - I mean architecture. He talked us through the architectural delights of some of the coffee houses, tea shops and cathedrals he hoped to take us to before we spent the rest of the evening comparing our camera gear and discussing the pros and cons of digital photography and visualising travel through time and relative dimensions in space until it was time for bed.

York Minster

The next few days would pass quickly as we hurtled enthusiastically from place to place with Indigo behind the wheel of his charabanc. Writing this from home after the event and given the speed of his driving, the memories are blurred. Hopefully, the photos aren't.

York Minster

I got some odd looks lying down to take this.

{but I still enjoyed the snooze too}

Thank you Indigo. Hopefully we can do The Edinburgh Festival this year.

See you later.

Listening to:

Why you should read Indigo Roth.

Sometimes you come across a blog that just grabs your attention. If you're like me, you'll end up following them. I did just that a couple of years ago with fellow Brit Indigo Roth. His mind and his blog occupy a world that is convoluted, bizarre, fascinating, endearing and entertaining. Above all, it's entertaining. He's currently trying to reach a bigger audience. He deserves one.

His fictional (?) world contains amongst other things, a flat sharing lion with a penchant for regular showers and tie theft, engineering badgers, evil Genius (previously part-time) Dr Max Tunguska, Amy – a bare footed, blonde haired, summer-scented neighbour - and visits from fellow blogger and coffee addict Eloiste Petite. His escapades, japes and jaunts involve ancestors, time travel, gourmet coffee, talking animals and a multitude of scenarios and situations that quite frankly I couldn't imagine anyone else coming up with, written with that unique style of his that often leaves me with a grin on my face and plenty to think about across the day. He may be mad, he may be affected by a diet which seems to revolve around coffee and pizza but one thing is for sure; he's worth a visit.  And I have no idea what a 'fractal slacker' is........

Here's a wee sample, but whatever you do – don't blame me if you become addicted!

See you later.

This one's for you Indigo.

Scudder.

I found out my blogger pal Scudder died yesterday. We met through these pages as he was one of the first handful of followers of the blog and he found lots of common ground in my writing. Like me Dougie Buchanan was a sometimes curmudgeonly Scotsman always ready for a rant or two at whatever jerked his chain at any particular time and through our blogs we bantered backwards and forwards until one day he said "This is daft! Why don't we meet?"

So we planned to get together but as is often the case circumstances intervened and it was a couple of months before we were able to make it happen. In the interim we began to Skype regularly and continued the banter through e-mail and video conversations lasting hours. One of his e-mails told me matter of factly he had been diagnosed  that day with cancer and had been given a few months. Although shocked to the core, in typical pugnacious fashion he took it head on and was determined to see that Christmas with his new granddaughter. We met not long after his diagnosis and had a great time together. He was charming and personable and witty and with  a quiet but enormous strength of character and an sure dtermination that this ‘bugger disease’ wasn't going to stop him from enjoying his life, his beloved Ann and his family for as long as possible. He was determined to live, and live each day to the full. We talked almost all day and laughed much of the time. Cancer was a tiny part of what we spoke about. That was the significance he was determined to give it and the place it would have in his life.

Dougie continued to play his beloved golf with his friends, living up to his nickname with his high velocity ground hugging shots until chemotherapy meant he had to give it up when at its worst. Dougie initially responded well to the treatment and watched his grandchildren grow and played  some golf again. It was over a year later that he told me his disease had returned again  and become more vigorous and further chemo wasn't an option. He told me during another visit that he'd signed up for a trial of a new drug with a smile and a "nothing to lose, eh-no?" and this too seemed to work for a while.

Sheer determination stretched that few months initial diagnosis to 3 years. He did live everyday to the full. He knew he’d been given a gift with his extra time and he made the most of it. He lived for the day and savoured each moment. He treasured those moments and made them special for family and friends right to the end.

Scudder and his granddaughter

Photo from flicker photoblog {creative commons licence}

Goodbye Scudder. It was an honour to know you my friend albeit all too briefly. See you on the other side if there is one.

Life is a gift.
Live for the now.
Perhaps that’s why we call now ‘the present’.

See you later.

Wordfuse - Motoring edition

Blogger pal dbs over in Canada may have invented the 'wordfuse' as far as I know. He takes two words and 'fuses' them together to give added meaning or comical emphasis when viewing some of the anomalies or absurdities of modern life.

This 'wordfuse' occurred while sitting in the car the other day with The Lovely G. I became aware that the conversation was basically a list of instructions from her to me.

 I now deem her irrevocably to be my 'SatNag'.

But that's just tongue-in-cheek sweetheart - honest!

No - HONEST!

{Backs away slowly tugging forelock...}

Listening to:

A blog Challenge

Hullo ma wee blog,

The curmudgeonly TwistedScottishBastard has thrown down the gauntlet and nominated 'Crivens Jings' to complete a challenge. Nominated blogs have to create a list of the following:

What's your most beautiful post.

What's been your most popular post.

What's been your most controversial post.

What's been your most helpful post.

Which posts success has surprised you most.

Which of your posts do you feel didn't get the attention it deserved.

Which post are you proudest of.

I also have to select five other blogs to take the challenge too, so I nominate the following five blogs to take part if they feel they would like to:

     Dougies blog. (Because he complained so much that I missed him off the list the last time. lol)

 'think.stew'  (Because…… Well, just because.)

    'Indigo Roth'. (Simply because sometimes you find a hidden gem of a blog that deserves a wider audience.  I'm in awe of the way this guy's mind works – and that some of his choice characters are talking badgers.)

     'Coastkid'. (Because I like the fact he's a bike geek, is enthusiastic about where we both  live and because he makes great wee films – any of which he can post instead of a written article. And also because he buys me the occasional beer!)

    'Letters to the world'. (Because she 's always worth a read – and she led me to Indigo!)

Here's my compilation, which I confess has taken a few days musing:

What's my most beautiful post?

Tricky, after all – how the heck would I know? I suppose I'd have to go for 'Whiskers At Dawn' as it's a personal favourite.

What's my most popular post?

Thankfully this one is easy thanks to blogger stats– although it would also be high on my list for the most surprisingly successful post. 'Black Agnes'

What's my most controversial post?

Again, this is tricky – I don't think I do controversy! I suppose I'd have to go with this one. 'The Devil's in the Detail'

What's my most helpful post?

Crikey! Makes me realise I'm not that helpful either!  From a very short list – it would have to be this. 'Contact'

Which posts success has surprised me?

From a very long list it would have to be this one - simply because it was difficult to write and didn't quite get down what I was feeling at the time and yet I got immediate good feedback from some kind people.  'Fear, Reflected' .

Which post hasn't had the success it deserves?

Tricky to answer when the footfall on the blog isn't particularly high. Personally I'd go with this one. 'Am Freiceadain Dubh'

Which post am I most proud of?

I'm quite proud of them all because before starting this blog I've never written anything – even my teenage attempt at a diary lasted for two inconsistent weeks of drivel – but I think I'll choose this one simply because it comes from the early days of the blog and was probably the first time I realised I could connect with my emotions and get them onto the page semi-effectively. 'Connections, Coincidence and Claret'

See you later.

Listening to:

For You dbs.......

Sometimes - you get an impression of someone.

Hullo ma wee blog,


Seems like blogger pal dbs has a problem. He's got too many apples and is struggling to know what to do with them. While this may not solve the problem entirely, I hope it goes some way to making the solution that more enjoyable. If I have you sussed out properly - and I think I do, this may make quite a dent in the problem. 

THREE-MINUTE PASTRY.  

This farmhouse pastry method was taught to me by my wifes's Aunt {and Godmother} in Switzerland who uses it to make the most incredibly delicious tarts {called 'dunne' doon-eh} which we love. There's no need for any of the ingredients to be chilled or to go into the fridge at any time and the speed of making the pastry is breathtaking for a completely hand-made pastry which is used raw without any need for baking 'blind'. While it's ideal for these little tarts, giving a really crisp thin pastry shell for them, I wouldn't use it for tarts where the filling ingredients are really wet. The secret of success is that the whole should be light and flavoursome with a perfectly cooked filling and an extra thin crisp base which cooks quickly in a hot oven. To help this, the liquid mixture should be applied sparingly, poured over all the filling but still barely covering the base for fruit - which makes the fruit the star of the show - and a bit more generously for a savoury filling like cheese which would burn unless there is some protection from the liquid content. These are so easy to make and so quick, that I'm sure a wee bit of experimentation will be only too easy to do.


Take 55 grams of butter or margarine. Melt gently in a pan.
Add 100 mils of water and a pinch of salt.
Add 200 grams of sifted plain flour. 

Method. 

Stir until the dry and wet ingredients are thoroughly but barely combined. I know this sounds odd but just don't over-work it......

Remove the dough from the pan and press together in a rough ball but do not knead.

Wrap in cling film and leave aside for a minimum two hrs but preferably 6-8 hrs at room temperature.  

Once the dough has rested, unwrap and divide into two.

Without kneading roll out each portion into a thin disk sufficient to fill an eight inch tart tin. (ungreased) Don't worry if it tears - this is the ideal pastry for any beginner and is very forgiving - just use any excess to patch any areas of concern. 

Believe it or not - that's the hard part done!


Prepare filling.


Take half a cup of single cream and add one egg and beat together along with one teaspoon of cornflour (cornstarch) dissolved in some more single cream.
Slice the fruit of your choice e.g. Apple, pear or any fruit you fancy into thin or medium slices and arrange neatly in the pastry case. (Unripe or ’sharp’ fruit may need some sugar added before cooking and a wee touch as served) 
Carefully pour over the cream mixture – do not flood the pastry case, use minimum liquid needed to provide a thin layer on the bottom of the pastry case.

Bake in the oven for 20 minutes at 220 degrees. 

This is an odd pastry which is ideal for these small tarts. As well as the sweet fruit tarts, the base is also ideal for savoury fillings such as cheese – I use Gruyère – or cheese, ham and leek. Whatever the filling, these tarts are best made with only a shallow filling that helps the pastry to cook quickly enough in a hot oven so that it doesn’t become soggy once the cream/egg mixture has been added. The pastry may shrink away from the edges of the tin, but that's okay. After all, we're just making something to eat, not something for show.

The sweet tarts are ideal served at room temperature and to be honest I just serve it with some of that really cheap aerosol cream, but lightly whipped fresh cream would be perfect.

 And that's just hard as it gets.

So, dbs, I hope that solves some of the problems you've got with your rather bountiful harvest at present. I don't suppose for a second that will use up all the apples, but these little tarts taste so good and are so easy to make that I'm sure you and the family will really enjoy them and that should get rid of a lot of those apples!

Let me know how you get on.
p.s. They're not fattening until you eat them - so why not give some away????

dbs' highly addictive wee blog can be found here.

See you later.

Listening to: