spring in the city
has not been delivered yet
due to staff shortage
I got up late this morning and rushed out. I forgot that the Ugly One had a day off today and it was only when he rang me up that I realised I had locked him in.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Sunday 6 April 2008
lamb korma pilaf
is like a potion brewed as
radio four chants
The next time I cook Lamb Korma Pilaf (if indeed, this is not the last) I shall set aside more time. Doing things like this is a bit of an extended ritual, and I take my hat off, or at least I would if I were wearing a hat in the kitchen, to generations of Indian women and men who have gone through all this palava just for a bit of dinner.
The main element of time consumption is the onions. Indian food requires that onions be fried until they are a deep golden brown and smell so good you want to marry them. For some reason the onions on this occasion chose to be stubborn and remained a contented shade of green for a goodly time. I have seen packets of onions, conveniently fried for my convenience, down at my local Indian Food supplies shop, but I always feel that using them would be the thin end of the Cook-In Sauce Wedge.
Anyway, after about four hours, I sandwiched a layer of curried lamb between two layers of basmati rice and stuck it in the oven.
It was fab.
I think I upset my mate Anthony from the US the other day. He rang me up after I’d sent him a recipe for Welsh Chili Baked Risotto.
‘Can you get rice cookers over there?’ he asked.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I want to cook rice.’
‘You have a cooker, water and a saucepan. Why do you need a rice cooker?’
‘It’s easier.’
‘Not the point!’ I shout, down the phone. ‘Cook the rice properly. You’re just Lazy!’
Americans, as I have discovered, think things are better if you have to do less work to produce them.
is like a potion brewed as
radio four chants
The next time I cook Lamb Korma Pilaf (if indeed, this is not the last) I shall set aside more time. Doing things like this is a bit of an extended ritual, and I take my hat off, or at least I would if I were wearing a hat in the kitchen, to generations of Indian women and men who have gone through all this palava just for a bit of dinner.
The main element of time consumption is the onions. Indian food requires that onions be fried until they are a deep golden brown and smell so good you want to marry them. For some reason the onions on this occasion chose to be stubborn and remained a contented shade of green for a goodly time. I have seen packets of onions, conveniently fried for my convenience, down at my local Indian Food supplies shop, but I always feel that using them would be the thin end of the Cook-In Sauce Wedge.
Anyway, after about four hours, I sandwiched a layer of curried lamb between two layers of basmati rice and stuck it in the oven.
It was fab.
I think I upset my mate Anthony from the US the other day. He rang me up after I’d sent him a recipe for Welsh Chili Baked Risotto.
‘Can you get rice cookers over there?’ he asked.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I want to cook rice.’
‘You have a cooker, water and a saucepan. Why do you need a rice cooker?’
‘It’s easier.’
‘Not the point!’ I shout, down the phone. ‘Cook the rice properly. You’re just Lazy!’
Americans, as I have discovered, think things are better if you have to do less work to produce them.
Saturday 5 April
fishing for glances
a lonely pastime and they
mostly get away
Still no sign of God! You'd think that two thousand years would be enough to see a vast miracle or two. Time was when God was always there, inflicting boils, parting seas, destroying cities, turning women into salt, handing out tablets...
Nowadays, nothing. If I were a cynical religious person I'd be beginning to suspect that he never existed at all.
a lonely pastime and they
mostly get away
Still no sign of God! You'd think that two thousand years would be enough to see a vast miracle or two. Time was when God was always there, inflicting boils, parting seas, destroying cities, turning women into salt, handing out tablets...
Nowadays, nothing. If I were a cynical religious person I'd be beginning to suspect that he never existed at all.
Monday, 7 April 2008
Friday 4 April 2008
this deep weariness
like pulling a caravan
someone packed with time
In ‘Days of Our Lives’ Hope Brady’s brain-chip has been reactivated and Princess Gina has returned to her brain. For those of you who haven’t been keeping up, International Man of Evil Stefano Dimera placed a chip in Hope Brady’s brain which convinced her that she was Princess Gina Von Omberg, monarch of a small (and unknown) European country, and International Jewel Thief.
Hope eventually came to her senses and returned to her own life, but now, Dimera’s daughter Lexy has reactivated the chip in order that it will stop Hope from discovering that her baby was swapped at birth with the baby Lexy adopted.
Lexy therefore arranged a party at the Dimera mansion. The party has been going on for at least eight days now, and only one person is drunk.
There is obviously something fishy going on.
like pulling a caravan
someone packed with time
In ‘Days of Our Lives’ Hope Brady’s brain-chip has been reactivated and Princess Gina has returned to her brain. For those of you who haven’t been keeping up, International Man of Evil Stefano Dimera placed a chip in Hope Brady’s brain which convinced her that she was Princess Gina Von Omberg, monarch of a small (and unknown) European country, and International Jewel Thief.
Hope eventually came to her senses and returned to her own life, but now, Dimera’s daughter Lexy has reactivated the chip in order that it will stop Hope from discovering that her baby was swapped at birth with the baby Lexy adopted.
Lexy therefore arranged a party at the Dimera mansion. The party has been going on for at least eight days now, and only one person is drunk.
There is obviously something fishy going on.
Friday, 4 April 2008
Thursday 3 April 2008
from a stockwell bar
we viewed the panorama
of broken people
I had one of those moments today. As I came out of Hammersmith Station this morning, I was struck by a thought of vast philosophical insight and made a mental note to write it all down once I got to work.
Having now remembered to write it down, I realise that I cannot recall what the thought of vast philosophical insight was. This is probably because I have spent all morning recording complaints from the public about contractors leaving holes in the pavement for six months.
Tonight, I hied it to Stockwell, where my friend Brad was having a leaving party in a bar called Thirdspace. On the leaflet, it looks like a vast cavernous bar, but on entry it was discovered just how good extreme wide-angle photographic lenses can be, as the bar is actually the size of a large living room. I always go to these events with the intention of not leaving too late, as it is my wont to do, but one Smirnoff Ice led to another and before I knew it, it was 11.45 and I was deep in conversation with a ginger-bearded man called Jason (who looks very much like he should be forging traffic signs in Middle Earth) about the significance of Doctor Who within the Gay Community. He’s not gay, as it happens, but was I think trying to absolve himself of the worry of gay tendencies emerging should he develop an unhealthy interest in ‘Genesis of The Daleks’.
Earlier, someone showed me photographs of when he recently attended The Porn Awards, which isn’t something I would have expected of local government employees.
There are always, I have discovered, people who surprise you.
we viewed the panorama
of broken people
I had one of those moments today. As I came out of Hammersmith Station this morning, I was struck by a thought of vast philosophical insight and made a mental note to write it all down once I got to work.
Having now remembered to write it down, I realise that I cannot recall what the thought of vast philosophical insight was. This is probably because I have spent all morning recording complaints from the public about contractors leaving holes in the pavement for six months.
Tonight, I hied it to Stockwell, where my friend Brad was having a leaving party in a bar called Thirdspace. On the leaflet, it looks like a vast cavernous bar, but on entry it was discovered just how good extreme wide-angle photographic lenses can be, as the bar is actually the size of a large living room. I always go to these events with the intention of not leaving too late, as it is my wont to do, but one Smirnoff Ice led to another and before I knew it, it was 11.45 and I was deep in conversation with a ginger-bearded man called Jason (who looks very much like he should be forging traffic signs in Middle Earth) about the significance of Doctor Who within the Gay Community. He’s not gay, as it happens, but was I think trying to absolve himself of the worry of gay tendencies emerging should he develop an unhealthy interest in ‘Genesis of The Daleks’.
Earlier, someone showed me photographs of when he recently attended The Porn Awards, which isn’t something I would have expected of local government employees.
There are always, I have discovered, people who surprise you.
Wednesday 2 April 2008
a tide of e-mail
I am canute of the desk
‘stop!’ I say. they don’t.
This week, on The Apprentice, Raef Bjayou took charge of the boys’ team in the task of running a laundry. Sadly, nothing went wrong for the boys. They got a deal from a hotel to wash all their mucky sheet and pillowcases, while the girls, managed by sinister, ginger and very scary Jenny, spiralled into a whirling tumble-dryer nightmare of chaos (OK, it wasn’t that bad, but I like the metaphor).
Sir Alan, whose facial expressions seem to be growing more extraordinary as time goes on, decided to fire Shazia, a decision not popular in the real world of the general public.
I have a sneaky feeling that Sir Alan knows very early on who the real potential apprentices are and if he has three people in front of him, none of whom he has any intention of employing, he might well feel that he will sack the one who generates the least ratings.
I am canute of the desk
‘stop!’ I say. they don’t.
This week, on The Apprentice, Raef Bjayou took charge of the boys’ team in the task of running a laundry. Sadly, nothing went wrong for the boys. They got a deal from a hotel to wash all their mucky sheet and pillowcases, while the girls, managed by sinister, ginger and very scary Jenny, spiralled into a whirling tumble-dryer nightmare of chaos (OK, it wasn’t that bad, but I like the metaphor).
Sir Alan, whose facial expressions seem to be growing more extraordinary as time goes on, decided to fire Shazia, a decision not popular in the real world of the general public.
I have a sneaky feeling that Sir Alan knows very early on who the real potential apprentices are and if he has three people in front of him, none of whom he has any intention of employing, he might well feel that he will sack the one who generates the least ratings.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Tuesday 1 April 2008
today laksa paste
chicken and creamed coconut
dancing with noodles
I was fooled by the BBC’s report this morning of the discovery of a new species of flying penguin. In my own defence, I had only just got up and caught a snippet of the news while I stumbled blearily between the bathroom and the kitchen, glimpsing a sequence of penguins happily flapping across an ice-floe. By the time I got back with restorative coffee, the news had moved on to the regular menu of politicians, murder and international mayhem. It was only later I got a text from the Ugly One telling me that that the penguins had been an April Fool’s joke. Seeing the full sequence later I was very glad I had not mentioned it at work, since the flying penguins allegedly migrate to the Amazon rain forest during the winter months.
I was in the Chinese supermarket in Brixton when I got the text, holding three spears of lemon grass in my right hand. This may seem like irrelevant detail and indeed it is, but it leads me neatly on to my latest obsession, which seems to be obscure and exotic Eastern dishes.
I made Laksa paste last night, which involved blending a paste from onions, garlic, ginger, galangal, shrimp paste, lemon grass and a selection of spices. One fries the resulting paste, adds some water, some creamed coconut, some diced chicken and some roasted peppers and stir until the chicken is cooked. Then a dash of fish sauce, and the result is somewhat fantastic, even though I say so myself.
chicken and creamed coconut
dancing with noodles
I was fooled by the BBC’s report this morning of the discovery of a new species of flying penguin. In my own defence, I had only just got up and caught a snippet of the news while I stumbled blearily between the bathroom and the kitchen, glimpsing a sequence of penguins happily flapping across an ice-floe. By the time I got back with restorative coffee, the news had moved on to the regular menu of politicians, murder and international mayhem. It was only later I got a text from the Ugly One telling me that that the penguins had been an April Fool’s joke. Seeing the full sequence later I was very glad I had not mentioned it at work, since the flying penguins allegedly migrate to the Amazon rain forest during the winter months.
I was in the Chinese supermarket in Brixton when I got the text, holding three spears of lemon grass in my right hand. This may seem like irrelevant detail and indeed it is, but it leads me neatly on to my latest obsession, which seems to be obscure and exotic Eastern dishes.
I made Laksa paste last night, which involved blending a paste from onions, garlic, ginger, galangal, shrimp paste, lemon grass and a selection of spices. One fries the resulting paste, adds some water, some creamed coconut, some diced chicken and some roasted peppers and stir until the chicken is cooked. Then a dash of fish sauce, and the result is somewhat fantastic, even though I say so myself.
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