Gwiwer

To each their own of course. And when in Rome (or the NE of England) I might respectfully eat what’s offered On our fairly recent trip to Helsinki for example the hotel offered quite an extensive buffet-style breakfast. Almost all in the local style of meats (including “pressed reindeer”, cheeses, pickles, breads and eggs (scrambled only). Not a Weetabix nor a Corn Flake in sight. While tea and coffee were both offered the clear favourite seemed to be the juice selection. If you want me to enjoy something pea-derived then don’t leave it nine days in the pot but cook yellow split peas long and slow with chick peas, onions and spices and call it chana daal.

🤢

Mashed (or “smashed”) avocado often appears on breakfast menus Mushy peas have yet to do so on any menu seen by these eyes. Were I of the ilk who enjoys avocado I might be tempted by a dish which offered that alongside poached eggs and crumbled goat feta. Mushy peas have their place. It is alongside fush’n’chups at supper. Not at breakfast. Avocado? I’ll eat it out of respect if presented to me but the only form I would choose is quack-in-the-hole guacamole. Alongside some good Mexican-style grub.

It’ll be fish pie here. With peas. Already topped with crispy mash so no chips required

Infinitely recurring? I'm sure @iL Dottore would have more to say on the matter if those illustrated were to recur. The image was derived from a friend (and cropped to show only the "food" items) who annually decorates something akin to a pie with something akin to ketchup in the form of the ∏ equation. Because some people have too much time on their hands .......

Without needing to know the details I wonder if something as simple as cranberry juice might help. Dr. SWMBO uses it to good effect. She suggested I do so recently following an increase in nocturnal visits. It soon settled things down.

Pie Day

Good morning. Welcome to Chicken Day. Chicken Day? Because it is absolutely fowl outside. Wet, windy, gloomy, Uncle Tom Cobbley and awl. This coincides with Pi Day which gives rise to a conflict. Because, as we were all taught, Pie are Squared but mostly when you go looking for the pie are round. The only square pie we came across in Pieland Australia hailed from the Warrnambool Bakery. All others were round. I haven’t gone in search of square ones here but they don’t leap out at me from supermarket shelves or butcher’s windows screaming “Here we are - the pastry-clad proof of the pudding that mathematicians have been right all along” I’ll stick to Chicken Day. And with that tangent to the Pie theme I’ll sine off and log out.

MORR-ee-un-GOOSE

Without wishing to hijack this thread in an inappropriate direction I'll just say this much. We had stayed in holiday accommodation for many years before buying the cottage. This was always one of the units (barn, cottage or farmhouse) provided by a good friend who rented her otherwise redundant farm buildings to sustain the smallholding side of things. As a business model it worked well and still does. She gets to live on the farm she and her late husband always worked and call home, the otherwise empty buildings are used rather than ruined and decayed and she has income for her later years, a business and capital to pass on to the next generation. We have never stayed in AirBnB or other holiday accommodation in Cornwall except for a couple of nights in hotels. We have used such accommodation elsewhere but only where it does not exclude local people such as the National Trust rentals or sole-use parts of homes (as in a self-contained loft conversion) which are continuously lived in by the owners. Dr. SWMBO is descended from farming families around Colan at the back of Newquay; my ancestry is around Marazion and Penzance. Neither of us is Cornish-born (though had my parents not been away visiting my mother's parents at the time I would have been) but both consider ourselves Cornish. It is an attitude, a way of life, a respect for others and for our own ancestors. The term "emmet" means ant (I have never heard "remmit") and equates to "grockle" used farther up-country. It refers to those who creep and crawl across the land as ants do. It is a derogatory term often prefixed by a word my mother never taught me. If you really want to bamboozle them you can use the Cornish language word "moryon" (plural - ants) which can be modified to "moryongoos" for b****y ants. And now back to the story.

Public transport is not always a viable option. We are blessed with an hourly daily route into town for, currently, £2 each way. That was reduced from the previous £6 each way or £9 return but ridership is virtually unchanged. Over the years all the large supermarkets and homeware stores have moved to out-of-town sites not reached by our bus. They are within walking distance of other buses but that’s another £2 each way and up to another hour to wait as well. It’s not that easy bringing a week’s shopping and / or what ever else I’ve been in for on the bus. Ten foot-square garden pavers? Four sacks of lawn dressing? And the dry-cleaning. For such things the Little Red Driving Box earns its keep. We are fortunate, being a small quite isolated town, to even have that level of service. Many regional areas now have next to nothing in the way of public transport. I never had the opportunity to address questions to The Unkempt One when he was Head of London and then Head of the UK and suggesting we walked or cycled everywhere. He of course went everywhere in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Me? I could have cycled to work but that would have taken around 2 hours each way compared with 30 minutes by train or 90 by bus. I had to present myself in clean tidy uniform (how do I get that to work uncreased? It won’t fit in a backpack on the bike). And work was not one of those places which offered staff showers. Not even private changing; the only option was in the toilet cubicle. I would have had to leave home at 03.30 for an 06.00 start. In any weather. No thanks Boris. There are times and places for each mode of transport. The private car can be reasonably avoided sometimes but it remains the best option most of the time for us. That was not the case Upon the Hill of Strawberries where we decided a car wasn’t even needed but where one dropped into our laps at a time when it was very convenient. We could live here without ever leaving town. Some folk do just that. But it would curtail certain activities we enjoy and it would - in thus day and age - generate an increase in van-mile deliveries to our door.

Woteesed

As you said yourself many moons ago

We had been casually browsing the market for years before circumstances conspired - or stars aligned - to allow us to buy the cottage. You can pay well over the odds for a Cornish coastal view but we didn’t. We have a view which includes the ocean and the Isles of Scilly. And we aren’t perched on a remote hilltop either. The right property came our way at the right time and the right price. The only down-side being the absence of anywhere to place a model. Thanks to the generosity of Hayle Railway Modellers that issue has been resolved albeit at the cost of a 20-mile drive each way to and from the clubroom. It is good to hear that Penhayle Bay is remembered. Several parts of it were (and hopefully still are) incorporated into other layouts and I still have the big viaduct. Where there’s a will there’s a way. And where there’s a hole in the ground there’s a Cornishman at the bottom of it. We’re a welcoming species on the whole. Just don’t expect a warm reception if you start talking holiday homes / AirBnB lets or the like. The rest of our terrace was very pleased to hear we were moving into an only-home not a second one.

'dafternoon all. Amid all this debate around manipulated images and the alternative uses of hairspray I am happy to record that I would dearly love to manipulate the image I see in the mirror each morning. I don't recognise him. He looks like my father but I am a generation younger ....... As for hairspray I shall resist the temptation to test the awl. Let's just say I don't need it for the purpose it suggests on the tin. After a two-week interval I was back on watch this afternoon. The gap was because (1) we had guests staying and (2) there wasn't a convenient shift where trainer and trainee could coincide. Quiet would describe today's watch with just a mere handful of fishing vessels pursuing their quota of Euro-cod and only three commercial ships passing in four hours. The recreational users aren't too far away though; in a couple of weeks' time we expect the local cove boats to be out and about (weather permitting) and the first of the visitors to be literally testing the water (weather usually immaterial) and discovering that it is (a) cold and (b) a powerful force to be reckoned with. I should be passed for solo watches by early summer. But now - muggercoffy the third.

Food from those Golden Arches is utterly bland and virtually tasteless. As you say it is the offering of last resort. The burgers do taste better at their main rival. Simply because they taste. Of something. I’m not altogether sure what of.

I am familiar with the French term "Societé Anonyme" which broadly equate to the British limited company (Ltd). But the offer of a Swiss account offering so much anonymity that only Captain Cynical could gain access is something which I should think about for more than a moment.

You read too much into those old wartime movies. “Over-broad, over-fed and over-here” is a misrepresentation worthy of The Orange Person. Over-loud and over-assertive they certainly are. The UK-native reds are by contrast slighter and quieter. Definitely non-aggressive. They’d just like to get on with their nut-burying in peace, thank you, but have found themselves a poor match for their invasive cousins. Me? Always a hearty eater, only territorial if my immediate “patch” is threatened and stridently vocal only when I need to be heard offering calming words over a cacophony of idiots.

It has been said that there is a passing resemblance ..... And I have the uncommon distinction of going from red to grey 🤣

At least I don’t get to be called POTUS. Or even worse - because it sounds like something which should be flushed away and treated - FLOTUS It was on the Australian “Railpage” site that someone tried to make sense of my “handle” and suggested it stood for Gone Wandering In Western England’s Railyards Nice try. But we don’t tend to use the term “railyards” here.

Awl alert!!! Awl required on page what-ever-it-is-now 🤣

Good news for a Moan Day After a long fight between parties which resulted in the Australian High Commission in London becoming involved the larger of my two Aussie superannuation funds has finally paid out. They argued all along that they could only transfer funds into an Australian bank account. My question all along was what their process was for any and all “overseas” retirees. The answer came back again and again - pay into an Aussie account. Then, when the AHC got involved, they admitted they could mail a cheque but said my ID wasn’t “proof of identity”. Back to the AHC who send duplicates of the already-authenticated proof-of-identity documents but including a letter requiring the funds - my money - to be paid forthwith. I’ll settle for fifthwith. It was just after Christmas that I sent the final paperwork. I noticed from my online portal over the weekend that it was showing “Account Closed”. Today I received the cheque. One down. One to go from Australia. Plus one over here who have now sent me the same release forms three times but not yet any money. Don’t retire. It’s not good for you!

Good news for a Moan-day After a long fight between parties which resulted in the Australian High Commission in London becoming involved the larger of my two Aussie superannuation funds has finally paid out.

State Of The Union

Hmmmm Let’s see. The past few games have not seen the Seagull chaps score a single goal. A new tactic was tried today. Let the opposition score a goal for us in their own net and allow us to walk away with three points. Won? On paper, yes. But please, chaps, let’s take a leaf out of the ladies’ team which stuck seven goals past their opponents in the usual 90 minutes plus play-acting, whingeing and other stoppage time.