Sent to Coventry...

Ahh the blessed city of medieval charm and a cathedral, towering churches, parks, statues and monuments and home to the British Motor industry...

Then the combined efforts of the Luftwaffe, idiotic sixties town planners, and the scourge of Britsh Leyland transformed  the city of three spires into a  drab concrete entity.

Of course being sent to Coventry is a famous old English idiom that dates back to over three hundred years and denotes being ostracised, ignored and avoided, possibly from the Coventry Act of 1735 after Lord Coventry who was attacked and had his nose slit to the bone.. The perpetrators were shunned and then executed.

This week a sort of self imposed sending to Coventy has manifested itself in the charms of the Andrew household. Not as result of any malice, injuriously  or cruel slight that warrants a spot of ostracism, but through the unwelcome attentions of a heavy cold. This vile affliction has struck deep within the Mnaly house, turning sniffles into croaks and sneezes. Yes a spot of manflu has descended and taken possession of my partner. 

This has resulted in banishment to the spare bedroom, exclusion from the ensuite, and a general avoidance of immediate proximity. These preventative steps have so far managed to ward of the dreaded lurgy, and all the associated concerns of a reduced immune system. 

I dont know how long this self imposed visit to Coventry will last, or whether it will allow mw to escape the bugs, but I have yet to see any signs of the Luftwaffe or deranged urban planners turning up at the door.

Big Apple

"... life in the big apple moves very fast and so must you'  or so we were led to believe by the Classic 80's band, Kajagoogoo, late in 1983. Of course they were waxing lyrical about New York City, a city so good "they" named it twice. Quite why the the greatness of a city warrants random renaming by invisible forces is clearly a deeply kept secret known only to a few Mafia related crooners. 

If that were the case then the world has a long wait for the concept of Auckland Auckland, with our appalling infrastructure...

However if the suburbs were to be accorded the same honour then Manly Manly would be a certainty.

Our suburb is a real gem, and at the heart of that gem lies the local school. Schools of course being the epicentre of most suburbs, dictating everything from traffic flow and  house prices, to retail planning and bus stops.

So It was then with a fair sense of anticipation that we went to the school gala yesterday, rain lashing our faces as our cheap Chinese umbrellas imploded with just a soupcon of  wind.  How typically British! At least it wasn't going to rain on someone's parade, there being no parade.  It was like being back in my nostalgia train on the way to my childhood and the many school fetes that I enjoyed as a kid.

The playing fields were filled with various stalls and attractions  including a pony ride, facepainting, tombola, bouncy wet castle , quoits and the usual plethora of fund raising activities.

The book and cake stalls were heaving as citizens of Manly collectively ambled and buzzed from  stall to stall with varying levels of interest and participation  We bought several books and lingered over the plant stall before attacking the cake stall in earnest, strategically hovering near the hidden treasure of an unmarked carrot cake, which of course out trumps all the other lemon cakes, fruit loaves, chocolate sponges and the massed ranks of the ubiquitous cup cake.  Luckily no-one had let the cake out in the rain, for I would hate to have to bake it, it clearly took a while to make, and besides that I was not aware of the recipe. It was then I remembered that I was in Manly Park, not Macarthur....

.We departed with our treasures, not before stopping at the toffee apple vendor, apples all a glistening, wooden sticks upright, like a Parisian nightclub revue chorus.

I have never really eaten a toffee apple (well not a whole one), only ever having toffee strawberries last year.

So it was a revelation to start to eat one, the crisp toffee cracking and splintering to my bite as I crunched into the apple.

Would the apple count as one of the 5-a-day we are supposed to eat to keep healthy, as I guiltily slurped on the toffee.

I don't think I could eat 5 toffee apples anyway, it took me 2 days to finish it off. It was so big that I decided to saveit until later, and deposited it on a saucer in the pantry. Rather amusingly the toffee had melted in the high humidity and I had to resort to a knife and fork to finish it off!  It was a very big apple, after all.

You're History.

No Good for me, sang the chanteuses of Shakespear's Sister.

 

This  sonnet writer's sibling group consisted of a well known former Bananarama "singer" and ex-wife of Dave Stewart, Siobhan Fahey paired with the less well known moody looking other one.

They soon parted ways after a couple of hit singles.

Shakespeare's real sister lasted considerably longer, with Joan living until she was 77, remarkable for the early seventeenth century.

And so this week it is also time to say goodbye,

Good bye to a pair of three quarter length shorts. I bought these pantaloon inspired clothes way back in  2003, in readiness for our move to New Zealand. I think I was the only person buying summer gear in the middle of an English winter in Reading. Certainly I remember feeling conspicuous as I approached the till in Topman. (Yes Topman in the Oracle at Reading, alas as far removed from the classical temple as Troilus was to Cressida. Tragic really)

And tragic too is the tale of these fair shorts.

I wore them quite proudly for several months. They were flaunted in Fiji, an Englishman abroad and enjoying the heat.

Back in NZ I wore them for a while, until alas I spied them for sale in a discount warehouse chain.

Here they were priced considerably less than I paid for them in Reading, and now had the knowledge that they were for sale in the Warehouse. Horrors! My expensive UK branded shorts were for sale, and on sale, for $5 at The Warehouse!!

And so they languished in the bottom of a drawer, occasionally being dragged out for odd occasions, and stays in hospital (as they are quite comfortable.)

But now they dont expand as much as I have expanded, and out they go!

You're history, no good to me, my waist has gone beyond your maximum 33.

The Recipe of Change...

During our recent house move and unpacking process, I stumbled upon a cache of old photos dating from the late sixties right up to the digital age, and was suddenly engulfed by a wave of nostalgia.
Like a tsunami of warm memories mixed with cringing embarrassment and a spot of forgetfulness I collated them into a timeline of my life.
Colours whirled as  faces, friends, holidays, schools, jobs, cities and countries all flowed past, but there as one constant throughout: me!

From a small babyfaced baby (what else?) to a gangly teenage, from a thin youth and young thirtysomething, to finish displaying all the crinkles and wrinkles of the forties...
Sniff.
Where had that youthful and (if I may be so bold) rather attractive young man disappeared to, and why has he changed so much in just a few years?
The answer of course was old Father Time and his friends the Ravages. They seem to be following a tried and tested recipe that goes something like this....

Take 1 fresh faced boy, add a large dose of diabetes and leave to marinate for forty years.
Make sure diabetic is well fed and check regularly. Baste with exact measured quantities of insulin, sugar and liberally sprinkle with saccharin and diet food. Monitor closely. After approximately 30 years introduce renal failure, slowly at first but increase to a maximum of 92%.

Remove from normality and place subject on dialysis three times a day using full sugar solution. Allow to absorb sugar over two years and once fully inflated remove from dialysis. Cut open and add one working kidney. Garnish with a pancreas, leave to rest, and liberally sprinkle with pills on a daily basis, taking care to check every three months.

You should now be able to notice a total change in his state; the crust will have cracked, become saggy, and inflated and grown in size. Serve whilst fresh!

Of course any cook wanting to hide those little blemishes resorts to a spot of magic in the kitchen.