when we got home I upgraded Pheebs MacBook from 4Gb to 16Gb, and my MacBook, Pheebs MacBook, and my iMac to "El Capitan" (mac OS X 10.11).
That's it.
Saturday, 10 October 2015
Pigs Ears
Yesterday was a very quiet day. After wandering into Wilmslow to write up my blog, we went home - past a shop selling pigs ears
when we got home I upgraded Pheebs MacBook from 4Gb to 16Gb, and my MacBook, Pheebs MacBook, and my iMac to "El Capitan" (mac OS X 10.11).
That's it.
when we got home I upgraded Pheebs MacBook from 4Gb to 16Gb, and my MacBook, Pheebs MacBook, and my iMac to "El Capitan" (mac OS X 10.11).
That's it.
Friday, 9 October 2015
Lovely firm breasts
So there are a couple of things I didn't cover off yesterday, and that was mostly because I'd used up most of my poetic juices.
On Tuesday I went for a 18 mile bike ride, and I told you all about how hard I'd found it. Yesterday I went on the same route, partly as a comparison against the Tuesday ride. And while I found it hard, it wasn't as hard as Tuesday. Still lacking a bit of oomph on the inclines, but not nearly as bad.
So is that because I'd done the Tuesday ride that I'd built up strength, or is it that I'm two days further on from the initial chemo cycle? Not sure how I can test that conundrum.....
The eagle eyed amongst you will have notice that in neither report about my cycling have I referred to flapjacks. This is because I have a self-imposed rule that any ride of less than 20 miles does not merit a flapjack stop. I suspect the 18 mile route I've covered this week is going to be the longest I do for a while, so if you're tuning in solely for flapjack reviews then I'm sorry but you'll be disappointed for a while.
--
Woke up this morning with a rather sore gum. Can't work out if this is just a sore gum, or a consequence of the chemo. I do find I'm a little more alert to my aches and pains than usual. I'll try a Strepsil and see where that takes me.
--
Kismet. Serendipity. As you know I've been messing around making soups, and the like, while I've been off, and as such I've been on the look out for possible recipes to try. One I'd seen which looked pretty good was a "Roast Chicken" soup designed to be made with leftovers from a Sunday roast.
I came in the house the other day to some lovely smells. They were the Victoria Sponge (see yesterday), and Gel had also roasted a couple of lovely firm Costco chicken breasts with some garlic. She'd done so on the off chance they'd come in useful.
I saw my opportunity and leapt right in. And very useful they were. Here is my Roast Chicken Soup with cheesy scones
--
When I was a very small child, I remember my mum regularly taking me into Didsbury village. The route would take us through Fletcher Moss Park, past the Old Cock, along Wilmslow Road into the village. The park was a proper park in those days in that there was a permanent staff looking after the bowling greens, tennis courts (grass and hard court), and Alpine Garden and Orchid House (some sort of green house and any rate). Over the years the amount of manpower given over to maintaining the park has dramatically reduced, and the bottom end of it has now been made part of the River Mersey flood defences. When the river gets too high, the sluices are open and thousands of gallons of Mersey water fills the area where I used to play Sunday afternoon football in the Manchester Industrial League.
That bottom area is now effectively an area of wild marshland, and has been joined by the area next to it that Didsbury tip used to inhabit. My mates and I spent many long hours trawling through the garbage on the tip, looking for TVs to smash up. Now it's all fields and woodland. Mature looking fields and woodland. That makes me feel old.
Gel had a business meeting nearby, so I spent an hour or so wandering about this familiar, yet unfamiliar environment.
What I do remember as a kid was the main building in the park where the park keeper (I guess) must have lived, and all the equipment stored (I remember seeing the lawnmowers in the garage below the house). What I don't remember as a kid, was the Cafe ever being open. For the last 30-odd years, however, the cafe has been open and I rewarded myself with a coffee and a brownie while I watched the ghost of me as a child drifting past.
This photo shows some seats positioned to look over what was the Alpine Garden.
On Tuesday I went for a 18 mile bike ride, and I told you all about how hard I'd found it. Yesterday I went on the same route, partly as a comparison against the Tuesday ride. And while I found it hard, it wasn't as hard as Tuesday. Still lacking a bit of oomph on the inclines, but not nearly as bad.
So is that because I'd done the Tuesday ride that I'd built up strength, or is it that I'm two days further on from the initial chemo cycle? Not sure how I can test that conundrum.....
The eagle eyed amongst you will have notice that in neither report about my cycling have I referred to flapjacks. This is because I have a self-imposed rule that any ride of less than 20 miles does not merit a flapjack stop. I suspect the 18 mile route I've covered this week is going to be the longest I do for a while, so if you're tuning in solely for flapjack reviews then I'm sorry but you'll be disappointed for a while.
--
Woke up this morning with a rather sore gum. Can't work out if this is just a sore gum, or a consequence of the chemo. I do find I'm a little more alert to my aches and pains than usual. I'll try a Strepsil and see where that takes me.
--
Kismet. Serendipity. As you know I've been messing around making soups, and the like, while I've been off, and as such I've been on the look out for possible recipes to try. One I'd seen which looked pretty good was a "Roast Chicken" soup designed to be made with leftovers from a Sunday roast.
I came in the house the other day to some lovely smells. They were the Victoria Sponge (see yesterday), and Gel had also roasted a couple of lovely firm Costco chicken breasts with some garlic. She'd done so on the off chance they'd come in useful.
I saw my opportunity and leapt right in. And very useful they were. Here is my Roast Chicken Soup with cheesy scones
--
When I was a very small child, I remember my mum regularly taking me into Didsbury village. The route would take us through Fletcher Moss Park, past the Old Cock, along Wilmslow Road into the village. The park was a proper park in those days in that there was a permanent staff looking after the bowling greens, tennis courts (grass and hard court), and Alpine Garden and Orchid House (some sort of green house and any rate). Over the years the amount of manpower given over to maintaining the park has dramatically reduced, and the bottom end of it has now been made part of the River Mersey flood defences. When the river gets too high, the sluices are open and thousands of gallons of Mersey water fills the area where I used to play Sunday afternoon football in the Manchester Industrial League.
That bottom area is now effectively an area of wild marshland, and has been joined by the area next to it that Didsbury tip used to inhabit. My mates and I spent many long hours trawling through the garbage on the tip, looking for TVs to smash up. Now it's all fields and woodland. Mature looking fields and woodland. That makes me feel old.
Gel had a business meeting nearby, so I spent an hour or so wandering about this familiar, yet unfamiliar environment.
What I do remember as a kid was the main building in the park where the park keeper (I guess) must have lived, and all the equipment stored (I remember seeing the lawnmowers in the garage below the house). What I don't remember as a kid, was the Cafe ever being open. For the last 30-odd years, however, the cafe has been open and I rewarded myself with a coffee and a brownie while I watched the ghost of me as a child drifting past.
This photo shows some seats positioned to look over what was the Alpine Garden.
Thursday, 8 October 2015
NPD
Today is National Poetry Day
And we now have to rhyme all that we say
Even something as simple as asking for tea,
"A small cup for her and a large one for me".
I've considered rewriting and rhyming this blog
Wearing no pants,
Meeting Buddy the dog
But there's so many entries
Where would I start?
And rewriting such drivel is a crime against art
And then,
As I cycled through the Cheshire idyll,
With golden leaves strewn across the road like Autmunal soldiers fallen on a tarmac battlefield
I thought,
and thought,
Why does it have to rhyme?
Why can't it be blank verse
And then,
I realised
I have no idea what blank verse is.
----
GBBO
It's finished it's risen.
Bake Off is done.
Now we'll switch off the telly
And make our own fun
It you switch it back on
Mel and Sue won't be there
Hollywood's beard and his piercing stare.
Nadiya won with great lemon cake
We'll now all rush out, and will make and will bake
But nothing we make will be quite as good
As her pies and her cakes and her buns and her puds
----
(from the archives)
On The Death of Joe Strummer (haiku)
Joe Strummer is dead
Should he stay or should he go?
Not his decision
----
The Great Wilmslow Bake Off
Victoria sponge, filled with sweet jam and cream.
Geraldine's showstopping creation, a dream.
Dusted with sugar, created with care
Something for everyone here to share
Nom nom nom
And we now have to rhyme all that we say
Even something as simple as asking for tea,
"A small cup for her and a large one for me".
I've considered rewriting and rhyming this blog
Wearing no pants,
Meeting Buddy the dog
But there's so many entries
Where would I start?
And rewriting such drivel is a crime against art
And then,
As I cycled through the Cheshire idyll,
With golden leaves strewn across the road like Autmunal soldiers fallen on a tarmac battlefield
I thought,
and thought,
Why does it have to rhyme?
Why can't it be blank verse
And then,
I realised
I have no idea what blank verse is.
----
GBBO
It's finished it's risen.
Bake Off is done.
Now we'll switch off the telly
And make our own fun
It you switch it back on
Mel and Sue won't be there
Hollywood's beard and his piercing stare.
Nadiya won with great lemon cake
We'll now all rush out, and will make and will bake
But nothing we make will be quite as good
As her pies and her cakes and her buns and her puds
----
(from the archives)
On The Death of Joe Strummer (haiku)
Joe Strummer is dead
Should he stay or should he go?
Not his decision
----
The Great Wilmslow Bake Off
Victoria sponge, filled with sweet jam and cream.
Geraldine's showstopping creation, a dream.
Dusted with sugar, created with care
Something for everyone here to share
Nom nom nom
Wednesday, 7 October 2015
À la recherche du temps perdu - and a small electric pump and a bottle of gunk
So. I was considering what to write about in today's blog. And while I was musing on the events of the day thus far, I felt something in my shirt pocket that I had forgotten was there. A small packet of chud (chewing gum to those of you not from these parts).
I had stopped to pick it up as I'd had kipper fillets on toast for my breakfast, and was well aware that I probably - even after brushing my teeth - might whiff a little. And that got my mind wandering - perhaps an "involuntary memory" that Proust was writing about.
It made me remember kippers for meals as a child. Not so much the kippers themselves, but the fabulous kippery butter that swam around in the grill pan after the kippers had been cooked. A couple of slices of bread to dunk in the "kipper dip" (were we the only family to call it this?) which were almost as good as the grilled kippers themselves.
This then led me on to remember that my mother has a most wonderful curry recipe that (I think) she picked up when we lived in Kenya. This was used to produce a fantastic chicken curry, but with enough sauce leftover for a lunch later in the week. One that would feature hard boiled eggs instead of chicken, on toast.
Two very strong taste memories. Although I think the strongest taste memory I think I have is the odd taste of the water at Nain and Taid's house in North Wales. Not sure if it was the water itself, or the pipes delivering it. Not quite enough to base a seven volume novel on, but more than enough to pad out a daily blog.
-
When I knew that I was going to be off work for a while, I started to create a list of things I wanted to do. Some of them were trivial and pleasurable, some were practical things I'd been putting off. It's important to maintain a structure around your life when the major source of such structure, i.e. work, is removed. It was on my way to sort out one of the list items, that I stopped to get the chud.
The car I currently drive - Skoda Superb 1.9 - used to be my company car. I bought it off the bank at the end of its contract because at the time I came to renew my car they had dropped Skoda from the car list (?!?!?).
There are two things that always irked me about it, the first being that the radio is FM only. I can't listen to the footie while driving. The other thing that riled me a little was the lack of a spare wheel. All I had was a bottle of sealant and a small electric pump that runs off the cigarette lighter (or whatever it's called these days). I was going to state that this solution was completely useless, but to be fair in 5 and half years of driving it I only had two tyre failures and in one of them (a slow puncture caused by a nail) I was able to use the gunk/pump solution to get me to a Kwik Fit. I'm not sure what the other failure was caused by, but do remember hearing a loud bang followed by an obvious loss of a tyre that no amount of stinky sealant was going to fix. A theory the RAC man concurred with. He said they'd had a noticeable increase in pick ups for tyre failure since pump/gunk was introduced as a money/ weight saving exercise.
However, since that first (and last) use of the pump/gunk, I hadn't replaced the gunk and so was risking being stranded. So this morning I headed off to a scrappies to find a spare wheel, jack and tyre iron.
Job done.
As a reward, Gel and I had a very pleasant spot of lunch at Pizza Express.
I had stopped to pick it up as I'd had kipper fillets on toast for my breakfast, and was well aware that I probably - even after brushing my teeth - might whiff a little. And that got my mind wandering - perhaps an "involuntary memory" that Proust was writing about.
It made me remember kippers for meals as a child. Not so much the kippers themselves, but the fabulous kippery butter that swam around in the grill pan after the kippers had been cooked. A couple of slices of bread to dunk in the "kipper dip" (were we the only family to call it this?) which were almost as good as the grilled kippers themselves.
This then led me on to remember that my mother has a most wonderful curry recipe that (I think) she picked up when we lived in Kenya. This was used to produce a fantastic chicken curry, but with enough sauce leftover for a lunch later in the week. One that would feature hard boiled eggs instead of chicken, on toast.
Two very strong taste memories. Although I think the strongest taste memory I think I have is the odd taste of the water at Nain and Taid's house in North Wales. Not sure if it was the water itself, or the pipes delivering it. Not quite enough to base a seven volume novel on, but more than enough to pad out a daily blog.
-
When I knew that I was going to be off work for a while, I started to create a list of things I wanted to do. Some of them were trivial and pleasurable, some were practical things I'd been putting off. It's important to maintain a structure around your life when the major source of such structure, i.e. work, is removed. It was on my way to sort out one of the list items, that I stopped to get the chud.
The car I currently drive - Skoda Superb 1.9 - used to be my company car. I bought it off the bank at the end of its contract because at the time I came to renew my car they had dropped Skoda from the car list (?!?!?).
There are two things that always irked me about it, the first being that the radio is FM only. I can't listen to the footie while driving. The other thing that riled me a little was the lack of a spare wheel. All I had was a bottle of sealant and a small electric pump that runs off the cigarette lighter (or whatever it's called these days). I was going to state that this solution was completely useless, but to be fair in 5 and half years of driving it I only had two tyre failures and in one of them (a slow puncture caused by a nail) I was able to use the gunk/pump solution to get me to a Kwik Fit. I'm not sure what the other failure was caused by, but do remember hearing a loud bang followed by an obvious loss of a tyre that no amount of stinky sealant was going to fix. A theory the RAC man concurred with. He said they'd had a noticeable increase in pick ups for tyre failure since pump/gunk was introduced as a money/ weight saving exercise.
However, since that first (and last) use of the pump/gunk, I hadn't replaced the gunk and so was risking being stranded. So this morning I headed off to a scrappies to find a spare wheel, jack and tyre iron.
Job done.
As a reward, Gel and I had a very pleasant spot of lunch at Pizza Express.
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
"I'm going for a short ride, I may be some time..."
This is where I had my non-underwear breakfast yesterday. The Yonderman Cafe, near Tideswell.
I quite like the photo - it has a Edward Hopper feel to it - but can't help but think it would be improved if there were a person in it. I might have to go back and have another go.
There was quite a firestorm on the comments below my post yesterday about Bakewell Pies (also known as Bakewell Pudding). Everybody will have heard of a Bakewell Tart (defined by Wikipedia as: an English confection consisting of a shortcrust pastry with a layer of jam and a sponge using ground almonds.). But maybe not so much the Pie/Pudding (defined as: a dessert made using flaky pastry, with a layer of jam covered by an egg and almond filling).
Anyway, here is the 'Bakewell' that I bought, and consumed, yesterday.
Rather splendid it was too. If I go back and shoot in the cafe, I probably ought to go and get another set of pie/puddings.....or maybe I could manufacture my own. Hmm.
On returning home I did 'manufacture' some tea in the form of Broccoli and Stilton soup.
You may notice a theme of soup making here. Not quite sure what's brought that on, but it's so easy and nutritious it seems silly not to. I have a few future soup recipes I have my eyes on.
And so to the title of today's blog. It's a rather pointless reference to Capt Oates self sacrifice on the doomed Scott Antarctic expedition of 1901-1904. After a week out of the saddle I thought today might be a good time to go for a short ride. The day started warm and sunny, so I had no excuse not to really. I did one of my usual routes out towards Knutsford, through Chelford and back down the Alderly Edge by-pass. Crikey O'Reilly did I find it hard. I could tootle along on the flat, but when I needed some power up the inclines (it would be a sin to describe them as hills) there was nothing there.
I can't believe it was down to simply having had a week out of the saddle, so it must be that the chemo is having a much greater impact than I realise. I'll give it another go later in the week, but need to be very mindful of that balance between keeping active, and not overdoing it.
I quite like the photo - it has a Edward Hopper feel to it - but can't help but think it would be improved if there were a person in it. I might have to go back and have another go.
There was quite a firestorm on the comments below my post yesterday about Bakewell Pies (also known as Bakewell Pudding). Everybody will have heard of a Bakewell Tart (defined by Wikipedia as: an English confection consisting of a shortcrust pastry with a layer of jam and a sponge using ground almonds.). But maybe not so much the Pie/Pudding (defined as: a dessert made using flaky pastry, with a layer of jam covered by an egg and almond filling).
Anyway, here is the 'Bakewell' that I bought, and consumed, yesterday.
Rather splendid it was too. If I go back and shoot in the cafe, I probably ought to go and get another set of pie/puddings.....or maybe I could manufacture my own. Hmm.
On returning home I did 'manufacture' some tea in the form of Broccoli and Stilton soup.
You may notice a theme of soup making here. Not quite sure what's brought that on, but it's so easy and nutritious it seems silly not to. I have a few future soup recipes I have my eyes on.
And so to the title of today's blog. It's a rather pointless reference to Capt Oates self sacrifice on the doomed Scott Antarctic expedition of 1901-1904. After a week out of the saddle I thought today might be a good time to go for a short ride. The day started warm and sunny, so I had no excuse not to really. I did one of my usual routes out towards Knutsford, through Chelford and back down the Alderly Edge by-pass. Crikey O'Reilly did I find it hard. I could tootle along on the flat, but when I needed some power up the inclines (it would be a sin to describe them as hills) there was nothing there.
I can't believe it was down to simply having had a week out of the saddle, so it must be that the chemo is having a much greater impact than I realise. I'll give it another go later in the week, but need to be very mindful of that balance between keeping active, and not overdoing it.
Monday, 5 October 2015
Going "Commando"
Here's another picture of Billy Bragg just because he's such a nice bloke.....and I did take a lot of pictures of him. If you're reading this, Bill, I hope my constant snapping didn't put you off too much.
So I like to think I'm generally a considerate member of society. I hold doors for people, I let people out of side roads, I don't drop litter.
I had a plan that if I was up to it, this morning I might get up a little earlier than usual and bob out for some early morning landscape shots. I had in mind dry stone wall, barns, trees etc so had planned to wander over to the edge of the peak district. About 40 mins easy drive from our house.
As I was going to leave quite early, I made sure - remember how considerate I told you I was - that all my clothes and other requisites were in the spare bedroom. In that way I wouldn't be banging around waking Gel up.
It worked well. The alarm woke me, but not Gel, so I sneaked out of the bedroom went next door and fetched all my clothes; socks, trousers, t-shirt, fleece.......bugger. I'd forgotten to leave some boxers out.
So, rather than blunder back in and source a pair, I spent the morning in and around the western edge of the Peak District with NO UNDERWEAR.
The women in the cafe where I had breakfast made no mention, the sheep and cows I met wandering around said not a word, and the ladies in the bakery in Tideswell were polite enough not to raise it.
The weather was atrocious. That thick rain that looks more like fog than rain. It seems to get you more wet the proper rain, so I didn't get any decent shots.
Sparrowpit Barn
So no decent pics, but I did come back with three rather splendid Bakewell Pies for pudding tonight. They will be consumed after the Broccoli and Stilton Soup I made when I got home.
Sunday, 4 October 2015
There is power in a factory, power in the land
Power in the hands of a worker
But it all amounts to nothing if together we don't stand
There is power in a union
But that's for later. Yesterday I left you feeling a little down (me feeling down, not you I hope), a little tired. So much so, I did something I very rarely do and took to my bed during the day. A couple of hours kip later and while I wasn't restored to full power, I was certainly a bit better.
A splendid tea, and some undemanding TV (Bake Off, Gogglebox and Graham Norton) and a semblance of normality was restored.
The Conservative Party conference starts in Manchester today, and I have taken to hanging around these events to see of there are pictures to be had. The TUC announced an "Anti Austerity March" to coincide with the conference, and when the day started with more of that clear sunny weather I have been chuntering on about, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. A chance to amble around the city centre in the warm.
We drove over to Stretford and hopped on the tram into town. Wandered down Oxford Road to All Saints where the march was due to start and watched the events kick off.
Starting with the Bard of Barking, Lord William of Bragg
We then had a few speakers, including Len McLuskey of the UNITE union.
Billy Bragg came back for an encore and the march started.
At this point we followed the march as far as G-Mex and then hung around the entrance to the party conference before heading home. I'll share some more picture as I work through them.
Billy Bragg made a joke about the weather returning to a Manchester norm tomorrow once the march was done. If the BBC website is to be believed, he is right.
But it all amounts to nothing if together we don't stand
There is power in a union
But that's for later. Yesterday I left you feeling a little down (me feeling down, not you I hope), a little tired. So much so, I did something I very rarely do and took to my bed during the day. A couple of hours kip later and while I wasn't restored to full power, I was certainly a bit better.
A splendid tea, and some undemanding TV (Bake Off, Gogglebox and Graham Norton) and a semblance of normality was restored.
The Conservative Party conference starts in Manchester today, and I have taken to hanging around these events to see of there are pictures to be had. The TUC announced an "Anti Austerity March" to coincide with the conference, and when the day started with more of that clear sunny weather I have been chuntering on about, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. A chance to amble around the city centre in the warm.
We drove over to Stretford and hopped on the tram into town. Wandered down Oxford Road to All Saints where the march was due to start and watched the events kick off.
Starting with the Bard of Barking, Lord William of Bragg
We then had a few speakers, including Len McLuskey of the UNITE union.
Billy Bragg came back for an encore and the march started.
At this point we followed the march as far as G-Mex and then hung around the entrance to the party conference before heading home. I'll share some more picture as I work through them.
Billy Bragg made a joke about the weather returning to a Manchester norm tomorrow once the march was done. If the BBC website is to be believed, he is right.
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