Where's the marzipan?

For as long as I can remember, part of the joy of eating a beautiful plump, moist Christmas Cake, was the topping. Not just icing, such as you might see on a mere wedding or birthday cake, no the Christmas icing was always served with a layer of exotic marzipan. Well if you came from the wilds of Northampton, then it was indeed exotica.
This sugary almond marvel, craved annually, was sufficiently sweet to be on my diabetic taboo, not to do list, along with Sherbet, Curly Wurlies and that old favourite the Easter Egg. Therefore my annual marzipan haul was minimalist to say the least.

The confection affection spread throughout Europe in the middle of the last millennia and was especially honed in the ancient Hanseatic trade ports of the Baltic...Lubeck and Konigsberg became synonymous with the treat. But over time, cities rise and fall, people migrate and tastes adapt.

Now Konigsberg is the Russian city of Kaliningrad, its beautiful city centre laid waste during the last war and it's Prussian marzipan endeavours are no more.

Meanwhile Endeavours of a different nature reached down under to NZ with Captain Cook. Following in his footsteps, after 170 years of migration, a nation of self sufficient chefs was formed. Baking became a national sport and now every cook in the land is proficient with Cake and it's decoration. Sadly my favourite Northern European almond topping was not a success here, replaced instead by plain icing, sugary candied peel and fruits. In fact the notion of heavy fruit cake has been displaced by the pavlova.

Not that the pavlova isn't a bad substitute for a fruit cake, with heaps of meringue, lashings of whipped cream, chunks of fruit and yet more cream.

These treats get lavished on us at Christmas, as we sizzle in the summer, eating al fresco on the beach or at the BBQ. A traditional Christmas cake might be too heavy after ham, sausages, salads and barbecued food. But something in me still wishes for that taste of almond promise, which is virtually unheard of down here. A treat which I am now unrestricted in enjoying!  I shall console myself with another helping of pav.

The Day of the Doctors

To understand time itself has taken fifty years of countless companions, ingenius inventions and distinctive Doctors galore. In order to unravel the intricate and infinite permutations of time has taken the Beeb many series, many aliens, and has kept the BBC prop department in enough foam and bottle tops to outshine even Blue Peter.
However those superior beings at the ADHB appointment scheduling cyber army have learned how to effortlessly travel through both time and space. Out of nowhere 2 separate appointments materialised in present day Earth on the Whangaparoa Peninsula. Both were for the same day, but with different consultants. Great! How convenient.
But alas I would have to master the skill of dual spatiality, as each were at different hospitals in Auckland, which would take many galaxies to get through.

I began to formulate a plan.....

I would need my trusty transport, the Petroleum Energy Unit's Gravitational Esprit Oscillating Turbo (or P.E.U.G.E.O.T. for short), some jelly babies, my sonic iphone screwdriver and all the customer service charm that the planet of Gallifrey can muster.
I turned to ask my trusty companion, Canine, of his opinion but he just sniffed and looked expectantly at the jelly babies.

I went to work, carefully opening the iphone sonic device and dialled in the number for ADHB appointments....I toggled with the various electronic security options and pressed hash for a real person, not an alien droid. Having explained and reasoned to the Great Brain on the sonic iphone, outlining the problems that simple beings have in simultaneously existing in two dimensions at once. The Great Brain considered and issued it's response.....
The second appointment would be moved to a later time on the same day.

With that I climbed into the P.E.U.G.E.O.T and set off for the first appointment with the Doctor.
Jelly baby anyone?

Double Dutch

They might break and they might fall but the girls from New York City don’t,

They just start again…..

Malcolm McLaren intrigued us with his 1983 homage to competitive skipping contests, though no Dutch were utilised in the recording of that song. Except perhaps those from Harlem or New Amsterdam.

But no more clogging up with this waffle (yes, I know they’re Belgian, but it fits). Meanwhile back down under I have been waiting for meetings and appointments with wise sages and medical chaps in preparation for a vein graft. Soon it seemed in vain, but clearly there has been some hard graft,  for I have been offered not, one, but two meets,  integers below graphed.

Both related to the graft, and both on the same day. 
Alas not at the same hospital, so some rapid transit will be required, not that I use the subway..

Spam's Off.

Following a fleeting visit to the clinical chaps for a drop in check up and a cup of hospital cappucino (?), my renal stats continue to excel, our kidney is fine and just dandy thank you for asking. Why yes, little pancreas is also performing like a star actor learning lines well and giving a superb performance.

Much like the customer service operative at our little local cinema the other day....allow me to explain:

The combination of a hot day and the premise of a good film enticed us into the local air conditioned cinema;

where dinner can be delivered to your seat during the show.
 Yes, on a plate, not just thrown at you in the dark....
In order to minimise the time spent queuing and ordering our evening repast I arrived early to confirmthe food order.

Fish and chips please, delivered to Row F, seats 5 and 6.

Sorry, the fish is off.

(Sensing a spot of opportunistic mischief making)
Well in that case can we have 2 fresh ones....

This was received about as well as Lady Gaga arriving at the Surbition Ladies Guild Knitting Festival.

We don't have any fish, its off the menu, the teenager helpfully explained, with a look of pure condescension.

Ha, perhaps someone should run to the supermarket I quipped. (It's a  five minute walk, or less than 2 minutes in a car)

The pimply one looked aghast. Not at the thought of actually going to the shops, but at the horror of having to deal with someone so unbelievably insensitive to modern catering practices..His mouth spoke words but his dagger eyes spoke volumes.

We're not allowed, it comes in a delivery truck every morning.

I'd better back off from this fishy assault and get back to thinking inside the box.
Ho hum then, 2 pizzas please, assuming they are not "off" too, of course.
I paid and shimmied out the door, pleased with my efforts at shaking the tree of corporate customer service and making this branch of platitudes wobble, if only ever so slightly.

Oh  and if you were drawn here by the Python reference, then I'm sorry, but Monty's off.

Get Fresh at the Weekend (Showing Out)

Ah the weekend, lazy mornings on bed, a relaxed breakfast, the bliss of not having to shave and time to relax with friends. Mel and her kin, Kim, meanwhile urged us to get fresh at the weekend, implying that during the week we ignore deodorant and ablutions?

Perhaps we are meant to spray “room fragrance” and Febreze around to make the place seem more alluring over the two days.

On Saturday we escaped to Browns Bay, a pleasant seaside suburb with shops, bakeries and cafes galore, in order to meet a friend of Glenn’s. I had yet to meet this friend in person, and human nature being what it is, set out to make a good impression.

With this in mind I selected a very eatable black forest gateau slice, complete with a decent fork to partition it and deliver it to my mouth in suave sophisticated gestures. A sensible latte arrived in a cup (with a handle, so not messing about there either). Our guest arrived and we stood up to greet her, like a gentleman would……..and then knocked the table, so coffee spilled over the brim and filled the saucer. Oops!

Nothing disturbs the intimacy of a cosy meeting than the clash of china against glass, and the froth of coffee teetering over the edge of it’s vessel like the waters of the Ruhr pushing against the Mohne Dam.

It was with a tangible sense of relief that we relocated to the beach, to catch some rays. (sun not manta). We chose a shady nook of trees overlooking the sand, waves lapping the shore, and a clear view of Rangitoto, our friendly local neighbourly volcano. Dormant and not very fresh.

After a good hour of more chat, a sparkling use of wit and a liberal dose of jokes and puns, I resolved to move the car, which was parked in a metered space.

My leg by now was quite numb, from bad (but sophisticated) posture and lack of movement, so I said my goodbyes, and stood up.

Except I didn’t stay up for long.

I suddenly had no support in my legs and fell backwards to the ground. Oh how very sophisticated I must have appeared.

“it’s all right, I’m OK, just numb….” And made to stand up again.
The sandy grass kissed me once more as I plummeted earthwards.

Hmm, time to shake the old leg to freshen up my circulation, and hastily make a respectable exit. I limped off like a late forties ex diabetic with organ transplants, collected the car and quickly drove off.