blackrat - @ 20six.co.uk

TESCO: CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE

I only popped out to get a few bits for dinner at lunchtime yesterday; £5-worth of essentials which, annoyingly, I'd forgotten when I went to Tesco on Saturday afternoon. Now the leafy commuter town in which I live and work is unremarkable in many respects, but it does have a number of things to its credit and the Tesco superstore is one of them. In fact, whilst cosmologists and astronomers search the sky for the centre of the universe, I think it only fair to point out that they may as well give up and go put the kettle on - the centre of the Universe is at my local Tesco.

It's always a fairly safe bet that a trip up there will end in me engaging in conversation with at least two people I know well; mums from the school, mates, local restaurateurs (there were 57 restaurants in the town I call home last time I looked, the highest per head of population anywhere in the UK so it's not as unlikely as it sounds)...the list is endless.

Even I though was a little surprised by yesterday's events. First off, there was the bottle of wine which I'd bought some weeks ago - an £8 bottle of Chilean Cab Sauv, delightful stuff to which I'd become rather partial. Only the last bottle I bought saw the cork explode as I inserted the corkscrew, showering me with the contents which I'd rather hoped would be gracing the Bordeaux glass next to my take away. It was not to be. I'd returned that bottle the next day and customer services had given me another which I'd taken home and laid in the wine rack. And there it lay forgotten until Saturday when, off to friends for dinner, I'd picked it up...to find the seal intact, the cork inside the bottle and half the contents over the carpet. I was not a happy bunny.

Can't complain at the response I got yesterday though (although Tesco itself looked like the locals were preparing for a siege and the queue for customer services stretched out the front door!). When eventually I arrived at the desk and explained what had happened, the Customer Services Manager said "OK, just get the carpet cleaned and send us the bill; if it doesn't come out, we'll get somebody along to have a look and pay for a new one". No argument, no hassle - sorted.

So I went off to wander the isles which was when I felt a tap on my arm; I looked around and standing next to me is Terry, my old next door neighbour. This isn't as obvious as it might sound, either for I haven't seen Terry in about 4 years.

Back in the days when I used to be a cliche and worked in the City, as well as having a Porsche by the age of 25, I also had the designer luxury apartment to go with it. My fellow residents were all company directors, brokers, shipping magnates etc and the streets were paved with gold. Alright, I've gilded the lily a bit - one of my fellow residents didn't work at all - but you get the picture. After a couple of years, I wanted something bigger, a house - so we moved. Terry was my next door neighbour in the sleepy, leafy Shire village to which we shifted.

We chatted yesterday and he told me he was rather happy as his investment portfolio which I looked after until I left the City, had trebled in value. He enquired as to what I was doing these days and as I told him, it occured to me that his company could make an interesting story for the News Agency as they're involved in producing something unique which is exported all over the world. Thirty minutes we stood chatting and as we shook hands and I agreed to go and see him to talk about doing a story, somebody else brushed my arm.

I looked up and it was Mel, the man who lived next door to me at the apartment, another director of a multi-million pound international company, also an ex-client and somebody I hadn't seen since 1995. We chatted, our conversation followed the same path and thirty minutes later, I still had nothing in my basket but I had two more prospective stories in the bag and a clean carpet to look forward to.

20 minutes later, I exited the store with my £5-worth of goods, still marvelling at the extraordinary twist of fate which placed two of my ex-neighbours and clients in the same place at the same time as I was there. Neither visits the store regularly and Mel doesn't even live within its sphere of influence. One or both could have been there and I'd have missed them given the size of the store - as it was both brushed past me.

So after a week in which I was scratching for inspiration as to my next set of features for the agency, I've started this one upbeat, resolute and with two in the bag - a much better foundation than none, I'm sure you'll agree.

Oh, and the curry I cooked last night was just divine too. A dull, but perfectly acceptable weekend all things considered and another peice of evidence to bolster the small worlds theory as well as my thoughts on six degrees of separation.

And yes, I do know next week's lottery numbers but no, I'm not telling.

2.2.04 10:46

Permalink / 7 Comment(s) / Comment

Workspace

I love this space. It's my home office and one of the best elements of working from home - no need to share my space, accept second best. My desk sits in the bay, giving me natural light and loads of natural shelving which makes placing for the surround sound speakers easy - although they are shortly to be replaced by a THX-compliant 500w system 5.1 speaker system. Everything I need is to hand - phone, MD recorder, DV camera.

I love music, so if I get bored of internet radio, my 5Gb pc collection of music vids and mp3s or my MD player, there's the Bose Wave Radio and CD on the right of the pic which sounds great and fills the room when I want to annoy the neighbours.

Behind me is a 20 foot long room with bookcases at the far end against two walls which are adorned with pix of me engaged in some of my favourite assingments over the years - things I've done, places I've been, people I've met. The room is bright, nicely lit and when the sun shines, the nicest place to be. It inspires me.

3.2.04 12:17

Permalink / 13 Comment(s) / Comment

MEMORIAL

That's my Nan above, with my Grandad, on their wedding day in Brussels, 1945. My Nan is from Wallonia, the area of Belgium where it borders France and where the residents speak only French. During World War II, she lived under German occupation in Brussels where she was working. One day in spring, 1945, the Allies arrived, one of whom was my Grandad. He rather took a fancy to the young lady he saw that day, and despite speaking not a word of French and she not a word of English, they married within six months.

Fifty-five years later, they'd had two lovely daughters and four grandchildren. They had a happy marriage and were utterly devoted to one another. Sadly, three years ago this month, it came to an end.

My great-grandmother died back home in Wallonia in January 2001. She was 94 and I remember driving to the first funeral I'd ever attended, at the age of 33, to Belgium and back in a day to see her laid to rest. Exactly one month later to the day, we buried my Grandad - not the best of months for my poor nan who lost both her husband and mother within four weeks. For me, writing the Eulogy to read at his memorial service was probably the easiest and toughest bit of writitng I've ever done - easy because the words came easy. Tough because for once, I felt my command of the English language insufficent to do justice to such a great man; how can simple words convey such depth of feeling?

I remember Grandad as he was; A straight-talking, steadfast bear of a man who epitomised the qualities and values thatI have aspired to. Integrity and honour he had in spades. A man of great love and warmth who inspired affection in all who knew him.

What makes a person? Strip away the layers and what remains? With Grandad, there were no layers to strip away. He was what he was - his own man. He was of another age, when you put up or shut up. He was of a generation who never compained of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Whatever they made men from in those days, it is a substance in scarce supply now and it is we who are the poorer for it.

I remember him for everything that he was. Cigar smoke, Brylcreem and Old Spice. Somebody whose opinion and thoughts I respected because they had weight. A man whose counsel I sought regularly when I was younger - and when I wasn't so young - because I knew that, no matter how painful the truth, that is what he would deliver - without judging me. Whatever I did, whatever I asked, I got an honest opinion and I learned to value that.

I don't mourn his passing, but instead prefer to celebrate his life. Of course, it depends upon what you measure success by but to me, fighting in and surviving a world war; a happy marriage of 55 years that produced two daughters and four grandchildren; a relaxed and fulfilled retirement of 22 years crowning a long and successful career - thats a legacy I'd be proud to leave behind.

3.2.04 14:19

Permalink / 9 Comment(s) / Comment

ARE YOU AT ONE OF THOSE DINNER PARTIES?

This is one of those ideas that I would love to be able to take the credit for. Sadly, I can't because it's not mine, but whoever originated the concept of this, and several other lists which I have along a similar vein, deserves an award. They're too good to keep buried, so here's the first of many - the definitive checklist just in case you ever need it: Are you at one of those dinner parties?

fficeffice" />

Do all of the girls' names end with a vowel?

Is there more Balsamic vinegar than strictly necessary?

Are you mildly unnerved at the sight of a switched-off television?

Are you the only person there whose education wasn't paid for?

Does your dinner consist of a very small piece of meat "accompanied" by some orange stuff and some green stuff? Is your pudding a column towering half a foot out of your bowl and heavily laced with icing sugar? Has the icing sugar been arranged?

Are you drinking three times as much as anyone else?

Do you suffer a flash of blind panic when it momentarily appears that you have taken too much salad?

When some horsey twat eventually feigns interest in your moribund existence, do you sum up your lifetime's achievement in an 8-second soundbite?

Are you interrogated with appalled fascination by a lisping buffoon purely because you are one of several hundred thousand people to have attended a football match that afternoon?

Do you grossly misunderstand the situation when someone asks you if you ride and has someone mentioned that ffice:smarttags" />India is amazing?

Has someone pronounced Nicaragua with a silent 'g'?

Is some tedious cock still banging on about his fucking share prices?

After 'pudding' does the resident loud-mouth tap the side of his hooter and say "Who's up for dessert?".

Could you care less if you never, ever saw these dead-eyed reptiles again?

Is there a tangible shudder of disgust when you announce that you're going for a burst?

Do you suppose that a cluster fuck is out of the question?

4.2.04 15:32

Permalink / 10 Comment(s) / Comment

PENSIVE

No, I don't know what she's doing, either. I just went into the lounge and found Katya standing on the cats' cradle in which she normally slumbers, chasing mice in her dreams. I wouldn't mind, but it's not like the radiator's even on.

Oh, and if anyone knows a cure for Katie Melua, can you point me in the right direction? A week I've had her album - a week in which it's been playing almost non-stop during my working days and still I can't get enough. I love her voice, her passion, her emotion, the way she interprets each and every track...brilliant. Without a doubt, my favourite album of recent months, bar none.

4.2.04 17:47

Permalink / 8 Comment(s) / Comment

ARE YOU IN AN EIGHTIES ACTION MOVIE?

Okay, I absolutely, positively promise that I'll sully my blog no more with any further lists or 'funny' emails. But this one, the definitive 80's movie checklist is just too funny, too ironic not to pass muster. I hereby give you the list: Are you in an 80's action movie?

fficeffice" />

Do you feel an uncontrollable desire to start your car by punching through the glass of the driver’s door, then ripping wires from under the steering column?

Whenever you shift into gear and release the handbrake, does Kenny Loggins start playing?

Did you start your day at loggerheads with a hotheaded young buck, only to develop a grudging respect for their methods as the day wore on?

Do you cross the road by running into heavy traffic causing cars to squeal their brakes while you steady yourself on their bonnets?

Has your black superior officer given you just "twenty-four more hours" to crack this case"? Will he "have your badge" if you "screw up"?

And before bedtime, do you feel it is likely you will be lured into some kind of climactic shoot-out in a hall of mirrors?

Are any of the following people nearby, sneering: Michael Ironside, Joss Ackland, Lance Henriksen, Carl Weathers, James Belushi, Eric Roberts, Jon Voight, Gary Busey, Danny Trejo, Christopher Walken, Tim Curry, Kiefer Sutherland, Bolo Yeung, Brion James, Frank Langella, or Will Patton?

Are you divorced and live in a cruddy little flat because your wife got the house and custody of the child, whose birthday you nearly always forget?

Is the arch-villain’s base conveniently situated in an abandoned chemical factory near the old docks? Helpfully, does it have miles of ventilation ducting which, for no clear reason, has been built big enough to hold a man?

Before heading to this base, do you have a strange urge to wordlessly prepare and sheath guns, knives, grenades and a crossbow?

When shown on network television, does your dialogue contain words like "motherfarmer", "freak you" and "sockcutter"?

Does the arch-villain have a female martial arts sidekick of questionable sexuality who appears to want to duff up your female sidekick in a lengthy yet strangely bloodless fight?

Does a sort of 'king' henchman who is larger / blonder than the rest and doesn't really say much keep appearing?

Have you ever run from a burning building and flung yourself headlong behind a conveniently placed mound of earth at the precise moment the building explodes, thus ensuring you are not blown to smithereens, but merely have a few streaks of dust on your face?

Have you sustained wounds that would fell an adult elephant? But do you only grimace slightly then totally ignore them for the rest of the film, until your arch rival thrusts rusty metal spikes into them in the final confrontation?

Have you recently done something so spectacular that a nearby drunk has rubbed his eyes in disbelief before staring accusingly at his bottle?

Has the sardonic leader of a group of European terrorists spent the last ten minutes climbing somewhere absurdly high, only to plummet to his death, when he would have been perfectly OK had he stayed on the ground and just shot you?

At the conclusion of the movie, does your tough, uncompromising black police chief tell you: "You're suspended for two weeks with full pay - now get your ass to ffice:smarttags" />Miami Beach. (Then do credits role with hero cop in a bikini jam with cocktail and hot-rocking babe in hand?)

5.2.04 17:57

Permalink / 4 Comment(s) / Comment

INDIAN!

Last weekend, we went over to Nick and Eva's again for dinner, although this time I dispensed with the hangover on Sunday morning through a cunning plan of limiting my alcohol intake on Saturday night - brilliant, eh?

The theme on Saturday was ethnic Indian, so cue lots of Cobra beer and authentic regional cooking courtesy of one of Madhur Jaffrey's finest cookbooks. As ever, Nick and I were the only two fellas in a house full of X Chromosomes, so we secreted ourselves in the kitchen and slaved over woks which we filled with the most wonderful mix of spices whislt knocking back beer - bliss.

I was particularly bowled over by one dish in particular which, with me being such an ardent carnivore came as a surprise given that it doesn't come within a country mile of containing anything living or breathing.

It's a Goan dish of potatoes cooked with Mustard seed - not so much as curry as a delicious side dish although it's good enough to eat as a main served with freshly cooked pilaf rice. So delicious in fact that on Sunday, I came home and cooked it for myself; it was so good, I cooked it again last night with some freshly made poppadoms, lime and chilli pickles and some rice. I even snapped a pic of the dish just as I served it with the aim of blogging a recipe which warrants a public airing.

It's an exceptionally simple and quick dish to prepare and if you're given to cooking Indian food, you'll have most of the spices you need to hand already. If not, your average Tesco stocks all the ingredients and they'll serve you well in future dishes. Preparation takes about 5 minutes, with 10 minutes cooking. If you like Indian food...fill yer boots!

Goan Potato with Mustard Seed and Onion.

Ingredients:fficeffice" />

2 Tblsp. Vegetable Oil

1 Tspn. Cumin Seeds

1 Tspn. Brown Mustard Seeds

2 Green Finger Chillies, Halved

1 Medium Onion

4 Small/Med Potatoes

1 Tspn. Ground Cumin

1 Tspn. Ground Coriander

½ Tspn. Ground Turmeric

¼ Tspn. Cayenne Pepper

1 Tspn. Salt

180ml Boiling Water

Fresh Coriander for Garnish.

Method:

Dice the potatoes and part-boil in a pan of water for 5 to 6 minutes; Drain and reserve.

Heat a wok over a high heat until smoking and add oil followed by cumin seeds and mustard seeds. When these begin to pop, add the onions and the two chillies and cook until soft.

Add the potatoes to the wok followed by all the remaining ingredients and the water and reduce the heat to medium. Cook for a further 8-10 minutes, stirring occasionally until liquid has reduced considerably and mixture has adopted a claggy consistency. Turn into Karai, garnish with chopped Coriander and serve.

6.2.04 09:54

Permalink / 8 Comment(s) / Comment

[next page]