The Reverse Opal

There exists in London, to my certain knowledge, a person called Opal, who is a complete marvel and whose services are much coveted by all members of London society. Some people of my acquaintance are fortunate enough to have secured said services, and so Opal comes into their houses while they are out toiling, and makes them all clean and tidy ready for their return. In our house we have unfortunately got a ReverseOpal who does the opposite of what Opal achieves, and that in a fraction of the several hours per week that Opal lavishes on each of the houses in her care.

When I go out to work I leave the house spotless with nothing waiting to be washed up or put away, and fully equipped with what is requisite and necessary for the family. When I return home I find that the ReverseOpal has been in operation here, getting stuff (LOADS of stuff) out and making it dirty and then leaving it lying about everywhere. Also ReverseOpal has used up all the bread/milk/butter/kitchen rolls/toothpaste etc. and I believe she also goes out sometimes and fetches such things as some greasy tongs to bring here, and she spills cooking oil over the entire kitchen and while doing all these activities she produces basketfuls of dirty washing. I may sack her. 

ReverseOpal has an enthusiastic team of experts who help her eagerly with her evil tasks. The place is CHAOS, everything is filthy, nothing is where it lives and there aren't any anythings left (eg cereal, coffee, shampoo, pens, clothes hangers, and (this is the worst) tonic in the fridge). Also they tear the buttons off EVERYTHING and make holes in ALL the socks. I simply can not cope. 

ReveseOpal and her team spend their time necking the household claret and availing themselves of the contents of my chocolate safe (strictly forbidden). Also they go about leaving the waste bins overflowing, breaking things, and running everything out of batteries.

The microwave invariably gets used to explode various substances and NOT CLEANED OUT AFTERWARDS in direct contravention of the regulations.

If I leave my wallet behind on leaving the house, it will have been neatly filleted of any folding cash and coins of the higher denominations by the time I return. This is the only thing where Opal and ReverseOpal have the remotest similarity, namely they both cost money. However Opal is paid by prior arrangement whereas ReverseOpal helps herself to my money without reporting the fact so that the first I know of it is when I find myself at the checkout with zero means of payment.

National Westminster Bank (now "NatWest") is a Disgrace

NatWest : a very annoying bank.

"Oh!" said the executive committee of an old folks' home where I am the bookkeeper, "Let's do our banking online! It'll make life easier!" Ha.

Enquiries elicited the information that they could not bank online because cheques on the account required multiple signatures. "Fine!" said the dauntless committee, "Let's alter it so that we only need one signature on the cheques."

Such an alteration, the bank told us, meant that the signatories would have to fill in a form - "This form," they said, handing over a fat sheaf of closely typed A4 sheets. 

Sighing, the committee took away the form and spent many hours complying with the unnecessary demands for their dates of birth, mothers' maiden names, NI numbers, first schools attended and other irrelevant, impertinent questions. This was required despite the fact that they have all been signatories on this account for the last 20 years. 

Triumphantly, they returned the form to the bank and awaited developments. 

No developments occurred. 

Several weeks later, having heard nothing, they asked the bank when they might expect some news. Blank looks from the bank ladies were followed eventually by the information that the wrong form had been issued to us. "But... but... why didn't you get in touch to tell us we'd filled in the wrong form?" asked the committee. The bank ladies denied all responsibility and said such transactions were dealt with by a separate department who reside in Birmingham or some such distant (conveniently inaccessible, you might say) location. 

On prompting, they said they would get the correct form for us to fill in. 

When (after repeated requests) the form was at last surrendered to us, the committee again answered all the questions and provided the required proof of eligibility to reside in UK etc.

After this form was given to the bank the committee waited a reasonable length of time before enquiring at the bank why they had not had a reply from them. No-one at the bank had the faintest idea. It was also clear that they did not care 2 hoots.

The House Committee Chairman called in an old favour from a high-up bank employee, who ascertained, eventually, that the second form had been lost. Yet again the committee filled in and signed a wad of A4 papers. These are old, frail folk themselves - some of them are even older than the residents, so it was a lot to ask of them for a third time to fill in the form. No apology was made at this or any other time during the dealings. It was always some unavailable person's fault when things went wrong.

A very long wait / delay followed.

Suddenly! Our cheques began to bounce! 

No-one at the bank could tell us what to do to rectify matters. Our account had been frozen and that was that. Bank staff blithely refused to sympathise.

House Committee Chairman again contacted his acquaintance in the bank, and we were told that the freeze on the bank account had been ordered by the 'Compliance Team' but more than that nothing was known. The Compliance Team were uncontactable. So watch out, Everyone! Large sums of your own money, that you are perfectly entitled to have access to, can be impounded at any moment by NatWest without warning or explanation.

After much gnashing of teeth it transpired that the reason for the freeze was that the Compliance Team had discovered that it had not got the DoB of the House Executive Secretary. The House Executive Secretary isn't even a signatory on the account so I would have thought his DoB was none of the Compliance Team's business, but there we are. When we supplied the DoB we were allowed access to our money again. 

That crisis being over, we only needed one signature on the cheques and secret codes were sent to enable us to set up online banking.

We got online banking! It said "you may need a card reader to make payments." Card reader? What card? we thought.

Sure enough, we did need a card reader to do online payments, so we clicked the online button to order a card reader.

When I went in to bank to ask why the new only-one-signature-required cheque book we had been assured had been ordered, had not arrived, they said there was no record of the cheque book having been ordered, BUT they gave us a card reader! But only because we promised them we had ordered one online; else it will not work. Now since we had actually ordered a cheque book but they thought we hadn't, it is unlikely that merely pressing a online button will really constitute ordering a card reader, so I have my doubts that it will work.

On fairly severe questioning, the bank lady admitted that we were going to need a debit card as well as the card reader. She gave us another extensive, many-paged form to fill in for application for a debit card. Luckily I had been talking to my IT-literate brother who had warned me that a debit card was going to be required. Otherwise this would have been the next surprise on our long path to online banking freedom.

Facts: to get online banking there are an unspecified number of stages you must complete. You are only told of the next stage once you have completed the previous stage, like a computer game. We don't want to play a computer game, NatWest. We are a bunch of old biddies who are not tech savvy. No information is proffered at any time and you have to prise it out of the reluctant employees like drawing teeth, all the way through the process. There is no indication, ever, of how many stages there are going to be. 

And you can't use one set of answers already submitted, to assume during the next stage that Nat West now know your DoB, MMN, FSA, NI number etc. No, you must tell them time and time again. This is because i) they have lost the last lot of answers you gave, or ii) this stage is being dealt with by a different department. Different departments of NatWest do not communicate with one another under any circumstances whatsoever, unless for their own convenience. Customers' convenience has a negative effect on their ability to communicate.

During the wait for a debit card, one of the poor signatories died, poor fellow, and who can blame him really. This meant the bank then cancelled the secret codes for online banking, because those codes had been issued to him specifically. New codes have to be applied for, so at present we still haven't got online banking. We have got another fat form to complete instead.

This is all correct apparently because despite being a group of kindly volunteers trying to run an old folks' home for the good of the general public, dear old Audrey and her aged friends might in fact be running weaponry out to drugs cartels in S America or something. I mean LOOK at them, NatWest. They can hardly see or hear or walk, most of them, and would not know one end of an AK47 from the other. 

Capt. Mainwaring would have sorted this out in 5 mins flat. 

"Now look here, Fanshawe. I command you to give Audrey any banking facilities she asks for.
That woman is a pillar of the community and I personally vouch for her good standing."

Riding on the Balmoral

The crew of the steamship Balmoral, which offers trips aboard along the coast here during the summer, are notorious for their cowardice and refusal to put to sea in even the slightest swell. However this year they are also inept, in the extreme. We went to Watchet to join the ship for a cruise round Porlock Bay, and the sea was like a millpond without a ripple or breeze of any sort so even that craven crew could not balk at sailing. Well, they may have balked, but they could not justify refusing to sail, is what I mean. Eager passengers thronged the quayside and the Town Crier arrived in his finery to greet the ship as she (it, actually; only sailors are permitted to refer to ships as 'She', sailors and the pompous or people pretending to be posh) arrived from Wales on the other side of the Severn Sea.

Town Crier speaking to his admirers.

Boat coming in to view round end of quay. Note extreme calmness of waters.

Once it was in the harbour the boat began to perform strange manouevres. It tried to turn round, then stopped half way through and began smashing the pointy end repeatedly into the side of the quay. Then it backed off, as if it was about to have one last try at running at the quay and hoping to break right through and back out into the open sea.

HMSS Balmoral smashing repeatedly into Watchet quay 

Watchet urchins running for cover.

However this is not the way of that crew. They don't much care for life on the open sea. They manouevred on, gave up trying to turn round, and eventually managed to get the boat lined up more or less along the quay. The terrified Welsh passengers disembarked and hastened to safety on dry land, some crossing themselves and some kneeling to kiss the tarmac or perform other, more exotic (Welsh), rituals associated with thanksgiving and deliverance from peril - and all resolving to return to Penarth (where they had come from) by road. 

Shocked passengers vowing never to set sail again from their Welsh fastnesses.

We the daredevil English on the other hand bravely went aboard, the actual sailing of this ship being such a rare occurrence that it was not an opportunity we were prepared to miss, and our fearless race being always keen to look danger in the face and to dismiss it with careless glee. (The crew are not English - not one of them.) 

Brave English queueing up to get on board.

Departure was undertaken in haste, as the tide was not going to be in far enough for long on this treacherous coast where the tidal reach is huge. 

Town Crier waving the boat off.

Due to the bungling crew's time-consuming attempts to make landfall, our advertised 1 and a half-hour cruise was curtailed to a mere 35 mins so we had to make the most of it. The loudspeaker told us we were going as far as the 'Famous Dunster Beach'. This was the first anyone had heard of Dunster Beach being famous. They were just trying to make it sound as if we'd had a meaningful trip. Almost immediately we turned round, and went back to Watchet for another exhilarating attack on the shoreline.

Heading straight back to Watchet without even reaching Porlock Bay.

At Watchet all the town was there on the harbourside to watch our return. I went to stand near the bridge to hear the captain's efforts to moor up in the light of the limited time available, and I must say I was impressed by the calm way he tried everything he could think of to get the boat alongside the quay. I would have freaked out and had a meltdown. Resignedly he would say "Well let's try so-and-so" and the crew would obey. During the docking we backed right out of the harbour to the astonishment and concern of the onlookers, to try coming in again at a different angle. It was marvellous. Well worth the full price we had to pay despite only getting 35 mins instead of 90. They managed to get us all off the ship just in time before the tide could strand them, and then they went off, most likely never to return to the scene.

Deterioration of Wells

Distressing alterations to conditions in Wells greeted us on our return there after an absence of quite a few months. It just goes to show that you must never allow your vigilance to lapse.

1. Our usual parking space had been re-designated as For Permit Holders Only. Very unwelcoming I must say. Going to our habitual second choice of parking space we found that it had been gated off, selfishly and for no reason other than mean-mindedness. Probably in consequence of these occurrences, the Lay-by of Last Resort was also, unprecedentedly, full! We had to hang around waiting for someone to vacate a space, and thus were forced to waste valuable drinking time etc.

2. The moat round the Bishop's Palace, once a beautiful place of clear water teeming with fish, ducks and mermaids, has been allowed to become a revolting soup of filthy water festooned with litter and algae and no sign of dere little ducklings. The only wildlife was the vicious swans which have been permitted to remain.

Not a naiad in sight.

Close-up. Discarded ball floating on moat.

Close-up. Out of date collapsed poster thing defiling the greensward.

Savage killing machines. Last year Archy witnessed the murder of an innocent duck by one of these swans.

3. The Co-op on the High Street has been replaced by a gifts and stationery shop. This meant we had to go to expensive Waitrose to get supplies for our picnic. Actually this was not a bad thing as Waitrose stuff is highly superior and I am not normally allowed it due to the cost.

4. On the Cathedral Green there were zero children doing cartwheels and no toddlers running about chasing the pigeons. This omission detracts from our enjoyment. Also when we got there all the benches were taken so again we had to wait for one to become available. Once we did sit down, the place was overrun with drunken louts drinking beer.

Sots. Admittedly these were US, but the point remains; people were openly boozing on the Green, and no-one came to put a stop to it.

5. Complete dearth of freaks and hippies. Freaks and hippies contribute hugely to the merriment of life for the whole of society. The lack of them saddens us all.

6. Busking population consisted of 2 men blowing tin whistles inexpertly, one of them with recorded background music. Terrible. Buskers should play violins.

7. They have put a 'Donation Station' across the entrance to the Cathedral to try to shame people into paying to go in there. Luckily we know other ways in so got in free. I do enough for the C of E to justify this in my opinion. But this is bound to be the thin end of the wedge and getting in will become more difficult as they will gradually close off all the back doors. The 'donation' will soon become an entry fee of at least £8 per person. Mark my words.

Wells altar frontal. An affront.

Wells ceiling etc. Not an affront.

In conclusion. The people in charge of Wells are ignoring what needs doing around the place such as clearing up the disgusting moat and drunks and addressing the hippie-vacuum, in favour of concentrating on fleecing money out of the public for parking and access to Cathedral. Poor show, Councillors.

Tudor House

In their defence, at least the people described in my previous entry here did not do THIS which has lately come to my attention: Cruel desecration of a fine Tudor manor house.

Here is the worst misplacement of a wood burning stove yet seen. This sort of barbarity is reason enough for all wood burning stoves to be banned utterly and is exactly what I have long feared would begin to happen. How right I was, as usual. Expect the worst and you are generally vindicated soon enough. Oh woe. The spindly-legged table and the armchairs also distress me. 

What has been done to the rest of this house is equally shameful as I shall explain.

Now you would think that given this house as a starting point -

it would be hard to go wrong and make it beastly; but someone's managed it.

Behold, 2 views of the Library. 

Libraries are lovely places and one has to work really quite diligently to make a library in a Tudor house into an uncongenial space. The current owners have done it splendidly. They have installed another inappropriate wood burning stove, the oppressive wallpaper is unsuited to the room, the shelves are cheap and of unsympathetic pale wood and so are the unnecessary 'library steps' (how short are the users of this library?). The shelves obscure part of the window which is most unsatisfactory and I would have had the carpenter take them back out and then leave with a flea in his ear. One likes to be able to glance up from one's book and out of the window across the grounds and to the haha. I don't much like their painting over the wood burning stove and the horse's head on the top shelf with a silly hat on, makes me want to punch someone on the nose. For putting the horse's head on the shelf, and for owning a hat like that in the first place. The sofa should be covered in leather not that silly patchwork. So should the books be bound in leather preferably but you can see that this is the sort of room whose owners have got a lot of Jeffrey Archer books and Joan Collins etc. The ensemble is finished off with an unacceptable chandelier thing. The whole combines to make a thoroughly objectionable room which will do nothing to encourage any children resident to develop a love of reading. You might as well be in a Railway Waiting Room. zero/10.

Next, the kitchen. First of all, no-one puts the sink against a plain wall. One wants to be looking out of the window across the grounds to the haha (see previous paragraph) while doing the washing up. The shelves above the sink zone are ridiculously narrow and things would be constantly falling off them. Fail. I question the wisdom of having that expensive Persian rug in the kitchen where it will certainly get baked beans etc. spilt onto it. This kitchen could be in ANY house as it takes no account whatsoever of the Tudor house in which it stands. Another zero.

I don't know what function this room serves but I hate it anyway. More nasty armchairs, another spindly table, and that stove thing is a gas burner which should not have been allowed across the threshold. Maintaining a steadfast nought out of ten.

Bathroom, featuring another spindly table and another unwise rug placement. These people are out of control. 


Here is the great hall, which is slightly better than some of the other bits. They have got a proper fire going, and the tables while not right for the room are at least not spindly or circular. They seriously need advice though from someone with a bit of knowledge of the period. That mirror above the fireplace is a crime.

The dining zone which has been made to look unwelcoming and cold, like skool.

I don't like this bedroom either. I would change the furnishings, bed, bed position, plants, everything. The table will have to go, so will the armchairs and that cupboard, the dish on the bedside table, the wall lamps. Bye, all of you.

Here the face of Cranmer, who once lived in this house, expresses what he thinks of what has been done to the place.    Deliver us O Lord from the hands of those who would defile our habitation : abate their pride, asswage their malice, and confound their devices, that we, being armed with thy defence, may be preserved evermore from all perils and spindly tables.

Architectural Disgrace

This is repetitive because I have complained on here about one of these articles before, but really, when you see this you will not blame me. No-one could let idiocy of this magnitude pass without comment.

I refer to a feature in the Times' Saturday magazine, in which a ghastly architect showed off his family's house. He actually makes them live in this place; it's not something he inflicted on some foolish client and then gave no further thought to.

Here, you may think, is a highly desirable, well-preserved (unspoilt) cottage of Cotswold stone with pleasing non uPVC windows and stone slate roof. It has (see left side of picture) a monstrous and most unfortunate excrescence attached.

The addition was put on out of spite because the architect could not get permission to demolish the house. "In hindsight," the architect says, "the planning and conservation people were right to refuse permission 'because there were some original wrought-iron features on the windows'." Actually, mate, there were a lot more things than that which would have made demolition a crime against humanity and against the entire Cotswolds. 
So up went the hideous extension, far bigger than the original cottage and totally out of keeping with it. The architect considers the extension to 'blend seamlessly with the surroundings'. Look, and tell me - does this blend in with the surroundings?

No. Of course it doesn't. It is a mortal wound on the surroundings and quite hideous. 

Inside they have furnished it with unsympathetic furniture including ugly village hall style chairs and put offensive so-called art works on the walls.

All completely inappropriate for a gamekeeper's cottage. 
And I disapprove of that mantelpiece thing they have stuck on the bressemer beam over the fireplace.

The architect's wife is an art adviser. See what she puts in her own house, and reflect - is this wise? Do I require this person's advice? Would I value it? The answer, as we all know, is, no.

See what I mean? And they've children living in the house as well. Most unseemly.

Here's the kitchen

with the family bravely smiling through their tears and concealing their amazement and despair. There is miserable plain white melamine everywhere you look, and the architect boasts that they banish all signs of culinary equipment behind white cupboard doors which he designed himself. Fancy!
"Now, what shape shall I choose? ...Yes, I'm going to have rectangular doors... I think I'll make them the same size as the front of the cupboard... gosh it's difficult designing a plain white door."
Apparently that type of decor is John Pawson-like. This surprises me, since I wouldn't have thought one would need any mentor or outside influence in order to come up with such a dull, utilitarian, characterless kitchen.

Still, it's not all been easy for these poor deres - listen to what happened when they tried to make a wild flower meadow... the posh landscape gardener they called in to help them had decided to 'achieve a grassy carpet of white wild flowers'. Silly woman. Sure enough when the wild flowers came up, OH DEAR! they were all sorts of colours! Look, luv, that is what you get with wild flowers. They're WILD. Anyway a whole lot of many-coloured wild flowers is jolly nice and you should be grateful. However, Architect and Mrs Architect viewed the whole incident as a total disaster and really ought to get out more.

Also in the interview the architect was horrid and unchivalrous about his wife - he said that contrary to her claim that she found the place, really he found it; and he railed against her sofa cushions, in the national press. He said the only thing he doesn't like about his beastly house is some sofa cushions that his wife insisted on having. Poor thing, she must have wanted some shred of comfort to solace her in that disagreeable habitat. 
I consider his conduct childish, peevish, and not admirable.

Yet despite his architectural and husbandly misdemeanours he remains totally unrepentant and in my opinion is not fit to practise as an architect at large in the community, or indeed, as a spouse. 

In conclusion, I think you will see why it was impossible to remain silent on this matter.

Beware of the AA

Bad AA! For the thirtieth year in a row it has annoyed me, and this time I can take it no more so I have cancelled my Direct Debit; and I exult in the fact.
Renewing AA breakdown cover every year involved me ringing them up to remonstrate with them about the exorbitant price demanded, and every year till now they have backed down and reduced the price - so I stuck with the brutes. One year when I said "Oy. You want £115 from me, when you are offering the same cover openly in the newspapers for £24. Therefore I am phoning you to ask for a price cut. Every year, this happens. What have you to say on this matter? Why do you not just offer me a fair price to begin with, and save us both the trouble?", the operator told me that it's just their policy and that I must ring them every year to get the premium reduced. What a farce, and calculated to make all the AA's customers hate them. She agreed with me. Poor thing. It's not her fault.

Evidence of the AA's devious machinations.
Top: Join us for £39
Below: Valued special members pay £135.96

THIS year, when the fools sent me my membership renewal demand, by the same post they sent my son a junk mail shot offering him membership for £39 AND they promised to give him a £20 M&S voucher. For my continued membership they wanted £135.96 and nor were they presenting me with any vouchers. Naturally I rang them up, and this time I spoke to an insolent young puppy who refused to understand what I was on about and in essence told me I was lucky to get the cover offered for the sum in question. I got nowhere, and told him I would consider my position.
Consideration of my position involved ranting about the experience to my husband, who said "Yes, dear," as is his wont. Then I researched online and with difficulty obtained a comparative price for the cover I was being offered for £135.96. They make it difficult by "cleverly" (annoyingly, transparently trying to stop you bothering) altering what they call each bit of the cover - thus on their renewal sheet I had Roadside, Home Start (complimentary!) and Relay. On the website you have to read carefully to check which of the new names they are calling things relate to the same cover you have got on your renewal letter. You can see why most, sane, people give up and just renew regardless.
However the AA have got to get used to the idea that some of us are not "most, sane, people" and will not stand for it any longer.
On their website, I discovered that as a newly joining member the same level of cover can be yours for £125 and you will get a £30 fuel voucher thrown in. 
This is a confounded cheek specially as their renewal demand came with a most sycophantic nauseating letter in which they

i) declared their extreme gratitude to me for my years of membership and assure me that I am a) hugely appreciated, b) valued, and c) being given preferential treatment.

ii) proudly boasted that they will "show a 'no quibbles' approach to breakdown", - well I should bally well think so, what do they think we're paying them for?

iii) said they are giving me their most valuable benefits free. I couldn't care less about these "most valuable benefits" which I never asked for and don't want. They include
      the AA app - useless;
      2-day European breakdown cover - useless;
      Key insurance - of no interest to me whatsoever;
      "My Member Benefits" - sounds as though it could be lively but I bet it isn't;
      Accident Management - I'll manage my own accidents, ok;
      Legal Advice - don't need that thanks my husband's a solicitor;
      Vehicle Helpline -  what's that for?
The AA have failed to grasp the meaning of "free". These things I neither asked for nor want, I can only have because I must pay more. Therefore, I am paying for them.  They aren't free. I refer you, AA, to the Concise Oxford Dictionary.

iv) told me that the At Home cover which I am being "given free of charge" should really cost me £66.74; which is unfair since new members would get it for £36, and which means that the other bits of cover are even more more expensive than normal, unappreciated, unvalued customers are expected to pay. It simply does not make sense. 

I think the AA are lying. They do not value me and are not giving me a special good deal. They are hoping to rip me off due to my own laziness.

My position having been considered, I cancelled the Direct Debit and the AA can go to blazes. I bite my thumb at it. Their loss is the RAC's gain, till next year when the RAC will doubtless try the same game and I will be back to square one.



I have done the AA a re-draft of their sycophantic letter which they might like to use in future if they wish to avoid dishonesty which would stand them in poor stead on the Day of Judgement. Act now, AA, or you could end up writhing on a pitchfork for all eternity.

Redrafted letter : what the AA really mean.
Hi, Twit! 
Since you have proved what a sucker you are, by renewing your membership all these years, here is your inflated overpriced estimate. Pay, or get lost - we don't care. We aren't grateful, you aren't appreciated and your loyalty makes us scorn you. We don't give two hoots about you or your paltry contribution to our profits. 
Yours, the AA.

Affronted by Recipes

Against my better judgement, on Sunday (Easter Day) I  cooked 2 recipes that were in the paper and I find that my long-held animosity to newspaper chef recipes is ...  FULLY JUSTIFIED! Yes! My poor family.

Firstly there was a silly recipe for fancy roast lamb. Look. I have cooked perfectly good roast lamb many and many a time, with no need for marinading it first in a ridiculous mixture of roughly torn mint leaves, vinegar, brown sugar and sliced onion. As you can probably imagine, this was NEVER going to work. Slices of onion take about 5 mins to cook, whereas lamb leg takes some 30 mins per pound. Thus smoke and a vile smell of burning soon emanated from the oven and the onion had to be removed and discarded. 

Don't tell ME those bits of onion have been in the oven as long as the lamb. They aren't even burnt.
This was the picture accompanying the ridiculous Lamb recipe.

The resulting lamb was just as nice as usual, but there was no HINT of mint in the flavour and the addition of costly vinegars and sugar was a pure waste of money. The pan was also ruined due to burnt-on sugar studded with incinerated mint and onion. The recipe had advocated lining the pan with foil but that is a stupid idea as you can then not make the gravy in the roasting pan, so I left it out. I also added some garlic, thank goodness, because the newspaper chef had forgotten (I presume) to put it in. Also the fool had forgotten to dictate the oven temperature, which did not really matter as I would have ignored his advice anyway. I was able to manipulate the heat as I pleased. "Do till Done" is the best way of cooking and is far more reliable than obeying some bossy idiot who has not cooked such a dish and is only trying to submit copy in order to get paid. Really the cookery pages in the Times are a wicked waste of paper and they get away with it most of the time because no-one in their right mind attempts these recipes.

Having suffered the repeated sounding of the fire alarm siren while the lamb was being cooked the family had more to assail them when I followed the lamb with a "Luscious Lemon Pudding" which far from being "a cross between a soufflé and sponge with a heavenly texture and gooey succulent base, intensely lemony, light and rich, good hot or cold, does not require cream with it" as claimed by the Times, was in fact a lump of burnt-topped, heavy, dry, dull-flavoured nasty cake which no-one wanted any of. And who can blame them? It was not for want of effort either. This recipe demanded that you 'microplane-zest 2 lemons or remove the zest in paper-thin sheets and chop small'. Not being in possession of a microplane-zester (or knowing what one is actually) I just scraped the lemon on the fine grater. It then made you separate 3 eggs and beat the yolks and the whites separately. Now look here, Times, I don't do THAT lightly I can tell you.  I'm a busy woman, with hymns to play and dishes to cover.*  The cost of beating yolks and whites separately is extremely high in human suffering, washing up, valuable drinking time, and various other amenities. The only recipe I am willing to beat yolks and whites separately for is Aunty Pat's Lemon Whip (trustworthy recipe with consistently excellent results). Finally, it was recommended that when cooked it should be turned out of the dish and served up side down. Remember that the recipe writer had claimed that this was a soufflé type of thing. She had either forgotten that by the time she got to the end of writing the recipe, or she does not understand what a soufflé  is or how it works. 

Certainly they are a forgetful lot the cookery writers. The lamb one, as mentioned, forgot to tell us what temp the oven should be. Often they list something in the ingredients which then never turns up in the method, or, in the method they suddenly say 'Stir in the beans' leaving you going 'Eh? What beans? How many? What sort?' etc. and proving thereby that the recipe has not been read through let alone tried out.  Also they are profligate and impractical, making you use about 30 different bowls and utensils etc. where one would do, and telling you to do pointless, impossible things which don't work. It is highly irresponsible, specially when people are so short of money and time.

The lemon recipe here described had the cheek to write at the end, "Make this and send a photo of the finished dish to food@thetimes.com". What a nerve! I will send them a picture of my fiasco if they like, but they won't thank me for it. Still, they ought to be confronted with the consequences of their instructions.

Fiasco, or Luscious Lemon Pudding? I think we all know the answer to that.

Menu for next Easter will be the usual Lamb Done till Done, and Aunty Pat's Lemon Whip. I can not think what got into me this year. 



*  reference to superhero 'Cling Film Arm'. Cling Film Arm has one of his forelimbs replaced surgically with a roll of cling film and leaps into kitchens going "Stand back, Ladies! I've work to do - dishes to cover."

Estate Agents and their Shortcomings

We have just sold our house and bought another one. It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of Estate Agents as we were forced to do. Our ones were called F*x and Sons. I leave you to insert the vowel of your choice but I can confirm it was not A, E or I.

We only used them because they were selling the house we wanted to buy, and we thought the lure of 2 sales commissions would motivate them to action. What fools we were. F*x and Sons stayed in their office with their feet on the desks, filing their nails throughout the whole process and stirring themselves only at the last minute, to serve us a huge bill with more alacrity than they had shown during the whole rest of the proceedings.

I made particular enemies of 2 of their operatives, known to us as 'Mrs Assertive' and 'Supercilious Man'.

We should have known from the start that there would be trouble because it took three phone calls from us before they arranged to show us round the house we wanted - and when they did they did not bring the keys for the outbuilding which I particularly wanted to see, and thought I was a nuisance for wanting to do so. Mrs Assertive offered to make another appointment so that we COULD see the outbuilding, but made it clear I was being unreasonable. No matter that it had been an utter pain organising for our family to be available to look round the house at the time arranged and I had no wish to do it all again.

They lied and dissembled repeatedly, made us show our prospective purchasers round, never rang back when they said they would, always claimed to have been discussing our sale/purchase that very morning, various people were always "out of the office" and would be back "early next week" (they never were) and essential repair works which we demanded be done on pain of our backing out of the purchase, were always "in hand" but never got done. 
Furthermore the particulars they wrote for our house were of very low quality and negligible literary merit so that we were ashamed to distribute them. I wrote one of my own which was far better than theirs, and I am not even being paid for my pains.
In their description of the house we were buying, they called the kitchen "a real 'hub of home'". This is a wicked thing to do and has resulted in our family saying such remarks as "I've left the wine in the Hub of Home." We can't help it. Once heard (read) one can not forget something like that; and there is a constant danger that the neighbours might hear us. Imagine if your new neighbours were overheard referring to something as 'hub of home' - you'd be horrified and you wouldn't yet know them well enough to realise that they were exercising sarcasm at maximum setting. Assertive Lady is suspected of being the perpetrator of the phrase.

We were made fun of for not wishing to move into a house with an active flood from some of the plumbing. They told total fibs to our purchasers and sent round people who particularly wanted a house with a garden for their dog to cavort in (we hadn't got one) and told them we used to have a dog, which we had not, because the property was not suitable for dog husbandry.

A selection of dogs none of which, sadly,
live or have ever lived at our old house.

Further dogs that have not lived at our house. I'm sorry but there it is.

I planned to do some revenge when their bill was to come in; I was going to say we'd been talking about it that very morning, and that my husband was away until early next week and I would get him to phone them when he got back, to tell them the payment of the bill was in hand and in the post, to make fun of them for wanting to be paid what they were entitled to, and to inefficiently date the cheque Jan 2015 (a perfectly understandable mistake as it was the beginning of Jan 2016) and to make it payable to Mrs Assertive and Supercilious Man. In the event however, Supercilious Man was so unpleasant when we went in to pick up some more keys that had come to light, that I decided I wanted nothing further to do with him or any of F*x's hateful Sons, and therefore sent off the enormous, utterly unjustified cheque to his head office without comment. I had thought of including a covering letter remarking how DELIGHTED I was to be ending my dealings with them but I could well imagine them using  ' "Delighted" - Mrs M Carroll' in their testimonials, so I didn't. Also as mentioned, the less you have to do with people of this sort, the better.

We are now receiving by every post, brochures and so on from firms of whom we have never heard, much less informed of our activities, congratulating us on our move and offering various services for which we have no desire. We must assume that the Sons of F*x have been selling our details to the open market.

We must throw off the yoke of these appalling parasites. Every bad thing you have heard about Estate Agents is true. Should you wish to sell your house do it on one of those online selling sites. Together we can expunge Estate Agents from every High Street in the land, and the world will be for ever in our debt.

Fatuous email from the Royal Mint

The Royal Mint  -  Fotherington-Thomas at the helm.

The Royal Mint has been trumpeting a special offer where you can apply to get one of 2015 free sixpenny bits, which they are giving away in order (they claim) to revive the defunct tradition of making your Xmas cake and pudding on Stir Up Sunday which is the Sunday before Advent, i.e. this Sunday 22nd November this year. Actually they are doing it in order to get hold of various greedy people's contact details so that they can then plague them with emails, spam, junk mail and phone calls trying to persuade them to buy some of their over-priced coins for the rest of all eternity, and the list of details will also be sold on to other loser companies to do the same with their own useless products. These lists change hands for considerable sums so the price of 2015 sixpenny bits is a negligible outlay; why even the face value (which you would not get) is only £50 7s 6d. As you can see in the email they sent me (see below) the ploy has been successful with almost 25,000 fools applying. One of whom was me. If you too were one, make sure you locate the microscopic "unsubscribe" button at the bottom of their email, and click on it.
I applied because 1) I want a free sixpence. 2) I deserve one, because I already uphold the tradition of Stir Up Sunday. My mother always made her Xmas cake on Stir Up Sunday and I do as well because I have turned into my mother.

What I was hoping for :

Delightful coin of the realm

What I got :

Dear Sir/Madam

Thank you for your application for the FREE Stir-Up Sunday sixpence.  Unfortunately, on this occasion, you weren’t one of our lucky 2,015 applicants. We had an overwhelming response to the promotion that saw almost 25,000 people apply to receive one of the 2,015 silver sixpences.

But please don’t let that deter you from joining in the Stir-Up Sunday fun. If you don’t have a sixpence handy, why not try another coin?

Don’t forget to share your Stir-Up Sunday pictures on social media this Sunday using #stirupsunday and our username @royalmintuk. You will find The Royal Mint on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. We will be reposting, retweeting and sharing our favourite pictures and there will be prizes!

PLEASE READ: Obviously, due to size, putting a coin in a pudding might cause a risk of choking. And while we might all remember stirring a 2p or 20p piece in our puddings as children, modern knowledge of health and safety might change our thinking towards it, particularly if the coins aren’t pure silver, or have not been sterilised. As such, we recommend that you do not bake your coin into the pudding or when reheating. Instead, we recommend that coins should be placed into the pudding just prior to serving, with the slices then dished out at random to give someone the chance to find it. Alternatively, simply pop the sixpence in its pouch and hide it under one of the table settings before everyone sits down to dinner.

If you do add anything like coins or charms to your pudding, sterilise them first in boiling water. Make sure you choose items large enough to be noticed, or wrap them tightly in a ball of tin foil, and tell everyone to look out for them. This serves two purposes: it will increase the fun, and it counts as a word to the wise, so that Christmas dinner doesn't close with people accidentally swallowing the coin or breaking teeth!

Season’s greetings!

The Royal Mint


        

Unsubscribe button,
magnified X 1,000,000,000 by me,
so that you can see it.
In reality not visible to the naked eye.
 

 

They can't even be bothered to address me correctly. Sir Forwardslash Madam does not appear in any Debrett's I have ever perused.
Then they patronisingly tell me what a wonderful triumph their offer was, and suggest since I didn't win, "Why not try another coin?". Don't you "Why not... " me, sir. I bite my thumb at you. I bite my thumb at your infantile use of exclamation marks. I am a grown woman, not a two year old. I will NOT be taking, let alone sharing, any Stir Up Sunday pictures, neither will I alter my habits one iota in order to pander to your ridiculous blandishments. I will not sterilise any coins and I will certainly not "pop" any money of what ever denomination in to the cake just prior to serving as recommended by a bunch of utter weeds and killjoys. I do not pop things. I will not "pop" the stupid coin under the table mat either. How thick ARE these people you think I will be serving? It would not fool my lot for a PICOSECOND and then there would be a fight. "Oy Mum Henry's got a sixpence, it's mine, I left it on the table this morning," etc.
If I wrapped a coin in a ball of tin foil I would be removed forthwith into padded custody which is the place of choice for detaining persons of the Carroll name who have gone completely off their heads. Why the devil finding a screwed up ball of silver foil in your food would "increase the fun" I do not know and I think their belief that this is the case indicates that they are long overdue for some serious army training and no mercy shown.
Also I dispute their claim that Stir Up Sunday is fun. My heart always sinks when I hear the collect as it means I have WORK to do.

In conclusion : What sort of gluten-free non-dairy quiche eaters do they think we are? Looking back at historical statistics do we see a spate of deaths by choking or poison every Christmas? No. No one has EVER been killed by a sixpence piece. I checked.
The 6d is innocent. Calm yourselves, Royal Mint.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quinoa - The Truth

There is a very fine fake quinoa cooking recipe (right) but it swears a lot. I try not to swear in these posts because of my mother who always wanted me not to swear; however these instructions nicely express what all right-thinking people feel about quinoa so I have written out the same sentiments but without the swearing.

 Quinoa Instructions 

·          - Prior to commencing cookery remember to tie your hair and beard into ponytails. Put on some pretentious music in the background, ensuring that it is loud enough for the neighbours to hear it so they will know how clever and intellectual you are. Suggested tracks: whale song, Indian chanting, ‘World music’. Avoid anything with a good tune or pleasant harmonisations.

-  This stupid stuff has to be RINSED before you can even use it. Rinse 1 part quinoa. You must do this with cold water drawn from the Yangtze River - Do not rinse it with tap water. Make sure people see you.

- Measure out 5 parts water, or stock. Measure it with your de Longhi measuring jug as used by the brigade de cuisine from Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons or similar. If using stock this must be made from rare-breed chicken carcases sourced from an artisanal producer at the Farmers’ Market on Notting Hill High Street, and cooked on a hob costing £10,000 or above.

- Bring it to the boil in a multi-million pound Le Creuset saucier pan and then tip in the rinsed quinoa.

- Simmer for 20 minutes. This gives you time to read a sentence of Proust or carry out some kharmic mindfulness or other sophisticated activity.

- Then remove the pan from the heat and let it stand for another 10 minutes during which period you can go out to fetch the infant Tarquin from his balalaika lesson.

- Fluff up the grains with your special Fortnum & Mason Quinoa-comb, and serve with some unpalatable, difficult to procure accompaniments which show how on-trend you are.

- Tweet about it so your public knows what refined and urbane eating habits you employ. Hashtag picture of your plate.

- Do not say grace. People like you despise Christians.

- Eat, meanwhile preening yourself because you are a complete TURKEY. Share your meal with other poseurs of your acquaintance. If possible speak French at table. 
Do not reflect that, if you weren't such a Superior Being as you are, you could be enjoying a load of tasty chips, some BACON or a Mars Bar. YOU have chosen the austere, the worthy, the wholesome path. Congratulations.