Cubic Scats

The Remarkable Adventures of Oliver Cromwell’s Head

2012-01-30T15:50:00.001Z

Those of you who know me well know my predilection for Sam Pepys. On this day (30th January) in 1661 Sam wrote

“Then to my Lady Batten’s; where my wife and she are lately come back again from being abroad, and seeing of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw hanged and buried at Tyburn. Then I home”.

Now since Oliver Cromwell had died three years earlier, and been given a lavish state funeral at Westminster in November 1658, why was Sam telling us that Bess, his wife, had just seen Cromwell hanged and buried three years after his death? It’s a bit of an odd, and gruesome story.

When the monarchy was restored in 1660 with King Charles II, the surviving men who had participated in the trial and execution of Charles I were hung, drawn and quartered. The recalled parliament also ordered the posthumous execution of the three ‘deceased regicides’ Oliver Cromwell, John Bradshaw and Henry Ireton.

On the morning of 30th January 1661 (the anniversary of Charles I’s execution), the three bodies were dragged on a sledge through the streets of London to Tyburn gallows, where they were hanged in full public view until around four o'clock in the afternoon. After being taken down, their heads were cut off, and stuck on 20 ft pikes raised above Westminster Hall.

“Jan. 30th was kept as a very solemn day of fasting and prayer. This morning the carcases of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw (which the day before had been brought from the Red Lion Inn, Holborn), were drawn upon a sledge to Tyburn, and then taken out of their coffins, and in their shrouds hanged by the neck, until the going down of the sun. They were then cut down, their heads taken off, and their bodies buried in a grave made under the gallows. The coffin in which was the body of Cromwell was a very rich thing, very full of gilded hinges and nails.”—Rugge’s Diurnal.

In 1685 a mighty storm broke the pole which carried Cromwell’s head, and it was retrieved by a sentry. He hid the embalmed head in his chimney for many years. On his deathbed, he left the relic to his daughter who, presumably, sold it.

In 1710 the head appeared in a Claudius Du Puy’s museum of curiosities, described as ‘The Monster’s Head’. Later it passed through various hands, being sold each time for sums which were equivalent to thousands of pounds today. It also appeared in a failed exhibition in 1799.

In 1815 a Dr. Wilkinson bought the head. It then remained in the Wilkinson family, who allowed several scientific studies to be undertaken as to its authenticity. The conclusion was that there was a “moral certainty” that it was indeed Oliver Cromwell’s head. In 1960 it was offered to Sydney Sussex College, where Oliver Cromwell had studied.

There it was buried on 25th March 1960, in a secret location near the antechapel, preserved in the oak box in which the Wilkinson family had kept the head since 1815. The box was placed into an airtight container and buried with only a few witnesses, including family and representatives of the college.

If you want to find out more, you can buy a book by Jonathon Fitzgibbons all about Cromwell’s Head. There was also a Radio 4 programme about it which I’d love to hear.

Tweet Encounter

2012-01-29T13:31:00.001Z

A group of us on Twitter are strongly considering hiring a cinema in Derby for a Tweetup. We would see the rather wonderful “Brief Encounter” (so I’ll need my hankies). The showing would be on a Sunday afternoon yet to be decided, and would presumably followed by some sort of pub visit afterwards, for me at least. Before we go ahead with booking, however, we need some sort of idea of how many would be interested in coming. If you are interested, then let @_Dunebug know, using the hashtag #tweetencounter.

Wombat’s DVC Rule for Charity Shops

2012-01-28T17:13:00.001Z

Put simply, this rule states that in every charity shop in every town in Britain, there is a copy of Dan Brown’s execrable book “The Da Vinci Code”. Go, look, and you’ll discover the truth of this for yourself.

There is also a sub-clause, which states that if you DON’T find DVC in a particular charity shop, there will be two copies in the next one you visit. Or maybe one of his other equally naff tomes. try it out. It’s a fun game to play while Mrs. Wombat* is looking at endless jumpers and handbags.

* insert your OH’s name here.

Daft Little Ditties

2012-01-08T17:33:00.001Z

If you know me at all, you’ll know I enjoy barmy old songs, especially those with a touch of the surreal. Dear Reader, let me introduce you just three little gems.

It’s Party Time Again, by George van Dusen

You might actually know this one, since apparently it was played a lot by Terry Wogan in the 70s. George Van Dusen's recordings were hugely popular in the 1930s. George was known as The Great Dutch Yodeller , throughout his long career, despite being born no nearer Holland than the East End. I love bonkers stuff like this, which have a joyous infectious effect on me.

Birdsong at Eventide, by Ronnie Ronalde

Ronnie Ronalde (born in 1923 in London) is (yes “is”, he’s still alive) a music hall singer and siffleur (click it if you don’t know the word). Ronalde is famous for his voice, whistling, yodelling, and imitations of bird song. “His crystal clear yodelling gained him acceptance with connoisseurs of Alpine and Western music around the world” it says here.

I Want to be Bad, by Helen Kane

If it's wrong to let someone take
Just a little kiss by mistake,
Let a lady confess,
I want to be ba-da-da-da-da-da
Bad!

Helen Kane was an American popular singer, whose theme song was "I Wanna Be Loved By You". Her voice and appearance were a likely source for Betty Boop. Boop-oop-idoo.

Dragonborn

2011-12-30T18:43:00.001Z

Mary Wombat recently tweeted “I absolutely love the choral music at the start of Skyrim. It makes me tingle. It's just so bloody butch”. Especially for her, here it is (click the player below). The picture on the right is of my very own Dragonborn, Flax, who you can follow on Twitter.

You can buy the soundtrack album, a stonking 4-disc set, by clicking HERE.

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 25

2011-12-25T15:37:00.001Z

Yes yes, I know that Advent Calendars aren’t strictly supposed to have a 25th window, but I couldn’t resist this. Twitter followers worldwide sent me their personal recording of this song, and I glued them all together into a ramshackle celebration of the Christmas Spirit, and of how Twitter brings us all together. Enjoy.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 25 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar Day 24

2011-12-24T12:38:00.001Z

Smooth, cool crooning from … oh wait, it’s me. Maybe not so cool then. Have yourself a merry little Christmas Eve. Fancy a couple of me sprouts?

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 24 (mp3)

Merry Christmas, dear reader

2011-12-23T14:46:00.001Z

Here’s your Christmas card. Don’t say

Tis, as you’ll see, an animation by Terry Gilliam, made in 1968 for the telly series Do Not Adjust Your Set

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 23

2011-12-23T11:14:00.001Z

Step forward @captain_doodle, the man made from cardboard, with a mighty rendering* of Stop The Cavalry.

*you know, like when they boil down old bones

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 23 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 22

2011-12-22T18:03:00.001Z

Ooooh, listen to me and @little_mavis singing the Latin!

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 22 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 20

2011-12-20T09:56:00.001Z

Strummy Welsh goodness from world-famous songbird @cymraescoch , and our-house-famous croaker me. Forgive me for being flat all over the shant and distracting from Liz’s soothing tones.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 20 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 19

2011-12-19T10:03:00.001Z

Wombompoop’s finest hour. Yes, it’s THAT one.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 19 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 18

2011-12-18T11:36:00.001Z

Don’t stop listening during the talky bit – there IS singing, from me and a cheeky little robin that turned up at my window looking for food.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 18 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 17

2011-12-17T10:26:00.001Z

A truly moving rendition of O Holy Night by yours truly and Jim Nabors, who sings up a storm.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 17 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 16

2011-12-16T17:23:00.001Z

In which I fulfil one of my impossible ambitions – to sing with The Andrews Sisters.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 16 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 15

2011-12-15T18:15:00.001Z

All voices by me, all songs courtesy of my childhood.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 15 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 14

2011-12-14T21:56:00.001Z

Step forward, @little_mavis. Simple and gently moving (the song, not her).

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 14 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 13

2011-12-13T10:35:00.001Z

Ah now, this is the one where I remember this whole calendar thing started to properly lift off and be proper good fun instead of just endearingly naff. It did the reverse of Jumping the Shark. Which apparently means that it Grew the Beard (click for an explanation of that if, like me, you had no idea).

Here I’m joined by @little_mavis to tear into a Yorkshire-flavoured version of Fairytale of New York.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 13 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 12

2011-12-12T21:25:00.001Z

Oh dear, another one that makes me cringe with embarrassment. I really shouldn’t try to take myself seriously, you know. Ah well, things can only get better. Oh God, what if they don’t? What if they get worse? *gets under blanket with teddy*

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 12 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 10

2011-12-10T08:46:00.001Z

The Twelve Days of Twitter, recorded as a sort of Follow Friday Christmas song, since the 10th last year was a Friday. All information correct at time of recording. Remember that @ameadey? Whatever happened to her?

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 10 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 9

2011-12-09T11:02:00.001Z

Today we go about things in a new, old-fashioned way. I’m useless at it, but this one features a rocking sax solo from @little_mavis

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 9 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 8

2011-12-08T11:07:00.001Z

A lovely little song this, in which I am joined by @little_mavis herself, and also... erm, yes that’s me again. Yes I’m that big headed that I double-tracked myself (ooer missus). Please join in – the words are beneath the Audioboo doohickey.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 8 (mp3)

O little town of Bethlehem how still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight

For Christ is born of Mary and gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love
O morning stars together proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King and Peace to men on earth

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still, the dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in be born to us today
We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell
O come to us, abide with us Our Lord Emmanuel

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 7

2011-12-07T10:08:00.001Z

So, I found this old kids’ organ thing in the loft, from when the daughters were tiny. As well as a simple, brightly-coloured keyboard, it had the ability to play simple tunes at the touch of a button. Messing about with it, I found this…

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 7 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 6

2011-12-06T09:31:00.001Z

“A voice that soars like an angel”, “Uplifting; full of hope and glorious joy” and “Brought tears of exquisite bliss to my eyes” are just some of the comments that weren’t made about today’s musical bit of chocolate.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 6 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 5

2011-12-05T10:10:00.001Z

….in which I attempt a song that I really shouldn’t have after three glasses of Laphroaig. What? You think it’s so easy? You bloody have a go!

Oh, and apologies for the hissy and the clicky. The microphone was about to give up the ghost, as I remember. Either that or I was weeing myself.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 5 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 4

2011-12-04T10:18:00.001Z

This one embarrasses me hugely as I seemed to start thinking I was Nick Drake or, you know, Harry Belafonte.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 4 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 3

2011-12-03T10:02:00.001Z

So here it is…. and primitive instrumentation* begins to creep into the Wombat repertoire.

* a jingly bell

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 3 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar, Day 2

2011-12-02T10:06:00.001Z

Following a request from @nyncompoop, I decided to keep singing these songs anyway. (I use the word “singing” loosely here, obviously). I did let her choose the song however; somewhat unwisely, for she lumbered me with the ubiquitous “Stop The Cavalry”. Exactly WHY is this considered a Christmas song anyway?

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar Day 2 (mp3)

Wombat’s Musical Advent Calendar Day 1

2011-12-01T11:46:00.001Z

Last year, as many of you will remember, on each day during the run up to Christmas I released my version of a Christmas melody. Due to (a) lack of energy and (b) a broken microphone, I’m re-releasing them this year rather than recording new ones.

Here’s the first – it’s embarrassingly poor, as I hadn’t yet got over the weirdness of hearing myself sing. That soon passed however, and over the days to come you’ll hear some real delights – mostly, it must be admitted, when I am joined by other Twitter folk with more talent and humour than I’ll ever manage to display. For now, feel free to cringe at Day 1.

Wombat"s Musical Advent Calendar (mp3)

Look at the size of this, baby!

2011-11-27T22:29:00.001Z

A romantic present from my beloved on her return from Filey.

Remember This

2011-11-25T20:50:00.001Z

Take on Me by Wombompoop
An experiment in embedding.

Take on Me by Wombompoop (mp3)

The pig in the bathroom

2011-11-15T00:43:00.001Z

We've lived here for 30 years, and only now have I noticed the pig in the bathroom door.

The Audition Experiment

2011-11-10T14:49:00.004Z

This is a bit of an experiment, inspired by (and assisted by) the rather wonderful blog “A Bit Like You And Me” I’m attempting to embed anMP3 file for you to listen to.

Try this out – let me know if it doesn’t work. I’m certain that you’ll enjoy it. I recommend it particularly to my American readers.

(apparently to listen to the embedded file, you'll need Flash, which you can find here if you don’t have it already. Don't forget to uncheck the box that installs McAfee/Google Chrome)

Beetroot Buns*

2011-11-08T19:37:00.001Z

"I really liked it. It was good" – @37ellie
"Tasty and moist. Less sweet than usual; the flavour mix works really well" – @little_mavis

Don’t worry about the title – there’s plenty of chocolate in there as well. The beetroot helps make a rich chocolate mixture, which produces a faintly earthy sweet cakiness. I nicked this recipe from Donal Skeehan’s website but found that he made GINORMOUSLY too much frosting. If you follow his recipe, there’s enough topping for over an inch of guk on the top of each bun. My measurements are more reserved. OK, ingredients -

Makes 12 of the luxurious sods:

100g dark chocolate
200g cooked beetroot, puréed with a blender
110g caster sugar
110g soft butter, softened and cut into small pieces
2 large eggs
175g self-raising flour
1 tsp baking powder (optional)
50ml milk

Chocolate frosting:

75g butter, at room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
250g icing sugar
3 tbsps cocoa powder
60ml double cream

Pre-heat your old oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas Mark 4. Make sure you don’t make the same mistake as me by turning the grill on instead of the oven. Bloody symbolic oven controls. Sick some bun cases in a bun tray. Pretty ones make your buns taste better. Honest.

Stick the cooked (not pickled) beetroot in a blender until it looks like something you would use in a zombie film. Melt the chocolate in a bowl over a pan of what they always call ‘gently simmering water’ and then stir in the puréed beetroot.

In a large bowl – or a small one, I don’t care really - beat the sugar and butter together until light and fluffy. The mixture should be light and fluffy, not you. Whisk in the eggs, one at a time, until it all melds together. Mix in the flour, baking powder (if you’re using it), milk and then your chocolate and beetroot glop.

Divide the glop more or less evenly among the paper cases and bake (not grill) in the oven for 15-20 minutes, or until firm. Again, the mixture should be firm, not you. While they cook, wash up your mucky utensils. You’ll thank yourself later. Allow the cupcakes to stand for a minute before transferring to a wire rack to cool.

To make the chocolate frosting, beat the butter and vanilla extract together in a bowl until light and fluffy (see above). Then add the icing sugar and cocoa powder and cream, a little at a time, until it is all incorporated and the mixture is smooth.

Using whatever comes to hand, frost the cupcakes when they are completely cool.

* I’ve used the word “buns” here, cos that’s what we always called small cakey things in South Yorkshire when I was growing up. These days, people say '”cupcakes”, but “buns” is more alliterative.

Boring Sundays

2011-10-30T23:07:00.001Z

Twitter on a Sunday evening.

May the dirt taste good when I feed it to you

2011-10-30T20:43:00.001Z

Cat has drawn my Dragon Age character. They are both awesome.

Up high

2011-10-24T20:16:00.001+01:00

There’s something about being away from civilisation for a while, birdsong in your ears, wind gusting at your beard, that recharges your inner battery. This morning I spent a couple of hours up on the moor above Haslingden Grane. Apart from a few scraggy sheep and the odd grass snake, I was the only one up there. It was chill and grey, but for those two hours I felt at peace. The only downside was the thought of how much Ben would have loved it up there. Here are some photographs. Click on them to see larger versions with more oomph.

The sun struggles to light up Ogden Reservoir:

“I am a dry-stone-waller. All day I dry-stone-wall. Of all appalling callings dry-stone-walling’s worst of all”:

Jamestone Quarry, looking a bit spooky:

Arty close-up of the colours in an ‘ordinary’ wall:

A sign of autumn – dead stuff:

A splash of colour in a dismal wood:

Down by Jamestone Quarry:

Despite the temptation, do NOT ballet-dance near the cliff-edge:

Musings on the sociability of Twitter

2011-10-20T20:16:00.001+01:00

Lots of things are great about Twitter – it’s a magnificent source of knowledge, it’s the best and fastest place to get news (apparently, news of the recent earthquake travelled faster than the earthquake itself), and it’s a fine repository of amusing animal photographs.

The most rewarding aspect for me, though, is the way it has introduced me to a growing number of magical, fascinating, intelligent, caring people who just happen to also be amongst the funniest on the planet. For example, I recently mentioned idly that it was my birthday next week. Three days later (three days!) a package arrived at Wombat Towers. It was from @hugeshark, a Twitter best friend in San Diego. It contained – well, take a look at the first couple of pics here.

A cuddly wombat! A selection of exotic chocolates! A picture of a semi-naked woman! That’s like my three favourite things. I love @hugeshark and want to have her babies. Did I tell you she’s a good singster? Check out her blog page.

Anyway, let’s cut to the chase – I need to name this cuddly wombat. I had a SHEDLOAD of suggestions on Twitter - Akabar, Frank, Derek (after the laptop?), Bomble (which I *quite* like), Tabmow, Bruce Diego (from @anniesten), Dingbat or Splat, Uncle Bulgaria or Fish. Or Darren. Darren, FFS. Up there on the right somewhere you’ll find a poll. Vote for your favourite name.

Oh, and to @hugeshark – thank you, my splendid friend.

Hello? Are you there?

2011-10-15T21:54:00.001+01:00

This is merely a short post to test blogging from my new phone. Nothing to see. Move right along now.

Four Minutes of Weather: this afternoon

2011-10-06T14:44:00.001+01:00

First minute: sunshine!

Second minute: uh-oh!

Third minute: pissing down like a sod.

Fourth minute: Buffy cares not.

Sten and Stinky to the rescue

2011-10-05T20:15:00.001+01:00

So, Dragon Age is SO full of delights. Here’s one of them:My mage, Flax, has been captured and is being held prisoner in the Naked Dungeon of Nakedness in Fort Drakon. Oh no, poor Flax! Note louche fellow prisoner at the back trying to impress her with his coolth.

Who will rescue her? Why, Qunari giant Sten and his good buddy Stinky the wonderwolf of course. All they have to do is to bluff their way into the fort:

“What’s your business in Fort Drakon” – Let Stinky… bluff?

“Stinky collapses”

“What’s wrong with him?” – Leave this to Stinky.

“He whimpers pitifully”

“All right. All right. Take him into the side room there. I’ll go get the captain to let you through. Just…. hang in there, OK?”

“This is pointless. We should simply go in fighting”
– Stinky whines.

“And now I’m talking to an animal. I’ve been in this country too long”

“All right, what’s this about?” – Leave this to Stinky.

“Happy barking”

“Is that a pure bred mabari?”

“Very well, take him through. And tell Neville I want a word with him when you get there”

Good dog, Stinky! If you let Sten try to handle it, of course, things go a little differently…

FIGHT!

Happy Birthday, Buster

2011-10-04T18:27:00.001+01:00

Not that you’ll read this, being dead and all, but I’d like to thank you anyway for being a true cinematic genius. Anybody reading this should watch Steamboat Bill Jr to appreciate fully the wit, grace, athleticism of the man. Plus he was BLOODY funny.

Basket case

2011-10-02T19:46:00.001+01:00

Inexplicable photographs number 3. Explanation anyone?

Courgette Cake–because Twitter demanded it

2011-09-30T19:55:00.001+01:00

When I mentioned on Twitter that I was about to bake a Courgette Cake, the responses ranged from “NOOOOOO!” to “Interesting!” Seems like everyone wanted to see the recipe, however. This is it.

It’s a rich old cake, and you can keep it for up to three weeks in the fridge, or freezing it works damn well an’all. These ingredients make enough for a nine inch square tin, so halve them if you’re using a loaf tin like I did for the pics.

3 eggs
9 fl. oz. sunflower oil
12oz. caster sugar
2 grated courgettes
4 oz oats
7 oz plain flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 tablespoon cinnamon
6 oz. sultanas
6 oz mixed seeds (or chopped walnuts or summat)

I hope your cake tin is non-stick? If not, line it with greasproof paper or expect severe sticking to the tin. Mix all the ingredients together, shove the resultant gloop in your tin, and bake at 180 degrees for an hour, or until a sharp knife or skewer comes out clean after you poke it in. Let it cool a bit before turning it out.

I like it with butter on, bit like Soreen, but I’ll bet it would work with cream or custard.

Crabby women

2011-09-28T22:39:00.001+01:00

I hate them.

Zoo

2011-09-27T18:00:00.001+01:00

A few photos from my day at Chester Zoo with daughter Ellie.

Best. Sandwich. Ever.

2011-09-21T19:14:00.001+01:00

No really, it is, I promise. Don’t run away giggling at how idiotic it sounds. Leave your snook uncocked, and just try it once, for me. If you’re not impressed, feel free to comment and tell me what your idea of a good sandwich is. If you are impressed, you can thank me later. Yes, it’s the famous

Bacon & Banana Butty

To make it properly, you really should use a nommy granary or wholemeal bread, but I suppose any old cheap white stuff would do at a pinch. Cut yourself a couple of sturdy slices. Remember, they’ll need to support two fillings when you pick it up.

Find yourself a banana. The market is a good place to start – they have good ones at Iddons in Bury Market. Spread your nana over one piece of bread, using whatever method takes your fancy. In my long experience of observing the banana habits of humans, women will slice the banana neatly, in pleasant rows reminiscent of carefully planted flowers, while stalwart, handsome men will squish it on. I squish it on.

Fry your preferably streaky bacon (non-stick pan, no fat remember, this is a healthy sandwich***) to a pleasing crispness. Floppy bacon tends not to work so well. I have no idea why. Lay the rashers over the nana and top with your second slice. As an option, you may enjoy lightly frying your bread in the greasy stuff that came off the bacon. Or possibly not. Divide and enjoy with one of those cups of tea that’s at exactly the right temperature. You’re welcome.

*** not a healthy sandwich really.

Celebration Treasure!

2011-09-16T18:17:00.001+01:00

Treasure from the back back of a cupboard, discovered today! Who would have thought when it was bought thirty years ago that it would last longer than the marriage? Probably just about all of us I suppose.

Wonder what it tastes like? Do you dare me?

Wombat’s 10 most memorable computer game characters (& 5 honourable mentions)

2011-09-10T11:59:00.002+01:00

You know what makes a memorable character in a computer game? The clues in the word - character. When you get the feeling that you’ve been in the company of real people, you’ve found a real character. One with depth. That, and of course a healthy gobbet of humour or a disregard for clothing. Here are just some of the people I’ve met over two decades of romping about in virtual worlds. Let me know if I’ve missed your favourite.

Go for the eyes Boo, GO FOR THE EYES!! RaArrGHGHH!!!
Minsc is a shining baldy beacon of light in the dark and filthy world of Baldur’s Gate. An enormous beacon, in fact, attacking evil with an extreme fervour that occasionally causes those around him to suspect his sanity. The berserker ranger’s constant companion is Boo, who Minsc says is “a miniature giant space hamster” and those who value their eyes would do well not to argue.

Would you be interested in these panties? They look about your size.
Across four point-and-click Broken Sword games, George and his on/off girlfriend, Nico, investigate Templars, Mayan gods, Glastonbury dragons and dodgy doings in the Vatican. Good natured and honest, nosey as hell, George always tries to see the best in people. And gets the shitty end of the stick for it most of the time. I loved telling him where to go, but loved more Nico’s way of breathing “Oh Georgie”.

If I were indeed hostile, you would be bleeding.
Ah, Sten! Apparently not many Dragon Age players bothered with Sten, since at first he’s very reluctant to talk about anything. Persevere though, and the Qunari giant is one of the most most rewarding companions ever. Witness his touching interactions with your dog, his embarrassment at being caught picking flowers by Leliana, his use of biscuits stolen from a nearby child to buy a boat ride. He’s really tough too, even if you dress him in a silly hat. Recognise his quote, above?

Cake, and grief counselling, will be available at the conclusion of the test.
Possibly the most lovable evil Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System ever. The honey-voiced AI that guides you through Aperture Science’s Testing Centre in Portal is always witty, and always promising of lovely cake. Ah nice, you think, as she cheers you on. Then she makes you incinerate your beloved Companion Cube, and you begin to suspect that all might not be right, and you begin to rebel. Her insults become funnier and, let’s admit it, more psychotic until you face off with her in a breathless final battle that still makes you giggle.

I'm just a humble P.I. trying to save the world as we know it.
Tex Murphy, seedy post-apocalyptic future P.I. starring in five adventures (and six radio plays) with a catchy theme tune, and a wardrobe full of fedoras, raincoats and sneakers. Voiceover heaven as Tex wisecracks about whatever you’re telling him to do before his innate clumsiness has him falling over a credenza, whatever one of those is. At such times, Tex was not above destroying the fourth wall – “Ah, to be a fictional detective. Everything would be so much simpler then”.

Boogle, can you be an axe?
Cartoony fun with Torin & Boogle in Torin’s Passage, as the titular hero tries to rescue his family from an evil sorceress. Packed with humour and invention (at one point Torin bangs his head on the Game Menu), the game’s puzzles are often only soluble by using Boogle’s shape-shifting abilities. Highlights for me were the talking grass, that helped Torin cross a slippery slope (“Negatory! Nuh-oh! Yes, there!”) , and a sequence where our heroes fall from such a height that they have to pause in their screaming to take a breath. Just one question – what actually is Boogle?

You know, if I could click you, you wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.
Morte is a floating, talking skull with a snarky attitude. While he lacks a body, he can still fight, biting with his sharp fangs and stinging the enemy with sarcastic taunts. The fact that he has no internal organs help to protect him from many ‘normal’ attacks, but also raises the question- where does he keep his inventory? The game? Planescape Torment, one of the better games based on D&D. It also featured a sexy woman with a tail. What could possibly be finer?

Nordom: Attention; Morte. I have a question. Do you have a destiny? A purpose?
Morte: Is Annah still wearing clothes?
Nordom: Affirmatory.
Morte: Then the answer is yes.

All she wants to talk about is white sausage.
Gabriel Knight - New Orleans author and bookstore owner who finds his destiny as a Schattenjäger, or "Shadow Hunter". Most notably voiced by Tim Curry, Gabriel’s louche drawl won many a heart among players, but rarely the heart of Grace Nakamura, his hot, sometime assistant. Gabriel is a rogue, a rapscallion and a womanizer, not unlike The Wombat, but is selfish and self-involved. Grace often manages to puncture his self-importance with amusing barbs. The team work was what made them attractive. Well, that and Tim Curry’s liquid voice.

And now we have a dog. And Alistair is still the stupidest member of the party.
I know, I know, two characters from Dragon Age, but how could I leave out Morrigan? The shape-shifting swamp-witch who forgot to wear a vest and is deliciously voiced by Claudia Black, while not exactly evil, is hardly anyone's idea of a good girl. She manipulates you to kill her mother for her, and seduces you (if you’re a bloke, that is) into impregnating her for her own nefarious (and unexplained) purposes. I’m afraid in order to get on with the game, I had to dress her in a long blue dress, cos otherwise…. well, you know.

Tombs with piped in music. How classy.
Garrett. Master of stealth, archery and pickpocketing, and yet so much more than just a nefarious Thief, offering cynical asides and wry observations as he cases potential jobs. Also (and how cool is this?) he has a glass eye that he can take out and roll around corners to see what’s lurking. I adored the tension of sneaking around dark places with Garrett, trying not to be noticed at all. One of the scariest locations EVER in a game is The Cradle, an abandoned orphanage/insane asylum. Sweet Baby G, but that shook me more than somewhat. A new Thief game is under development, so YAY! (ssshhhh!)

Honourable mentions
… or “Characters that were in my top ten until I thought of someone better”
Nothing says pizzaz like a winning smile. Vault-Boy’s a bit of a cheat for this list, since he’s not really a game character. He is the Fallout series mascot, who appears everywhere, from your stats screen, to your Pip-Boy and your Bobblehead collection. Nothing says Fallout like Vault-Boy.
Conclusion: I'm going to pull your head off, because I don't like your head. Star Wars game Knights Of The Old Republic is arguably the best Star Wars prequel to date. Among its many charms is the characterisation, exemplified by the brilliantly twisted HK-47, an assassin droid who speaks like C3PO but dryly expresses sociopathic sentiments, including a distain for organic life perfectly summed up by his repeated use of the word "meatbag".
Your sword is blowing glue. Wait, let me try that again. I’ll bet not many of you remember Zork: Grand Inquisitor? Dalboz the Dungeon Master himself was imprisoned in a lantern and proceeds to act as narrator and guide. He calls you “AFGNCAAP”, a satirical, politically-correct acronym for “Ageless, Faceless, Gender-Neutral, Culturally-Ambiguous Adventure Person”, a reference to the habit of many early adventure games of giving the player's character no identity, name, or background.
My beak is a finely tuned instrument of love. The Longest Journey and Dreamfall are beautiful games, and we all fell in love with Zoe Castillo, but the character that sticks in my mind is the sidekick Crow, who is a… well, crow (although – spoiler – he does turn out not to be an actual crow). I think you’ll have figured out by now that I like sidekicks who crack wise, and Crow is yet another of those. An example of Crow’s wisdom -

So we get help from someone wiser and more clued in than us. Beards are a good indication. It signifies age and wisdom, and also, sometimes, poor hygiene. I think those things are actually connected.

The figures...nothing but shadows...they won't let me go back. An extremely personal choice – Nigel Danvers, the ghost-hunting wazzock from Jonathan Boakes’ superbly spooky games, most notably “The Lost Crown”. I became a huge fan of Danverspeak – Nigel spoke haltingly, like a character from a Thirties film when talkies had only just begun. Perfect for the feel of the game.

So there you go, earthlings – who have I left out (yes, yes, apart from Guybrush Threepwood, but he was too obvious)? Who would be in your top ten? I’d love you to tell me. I hope you do.

A reet champion Tweetup

2011-08-24T18:54:00.001+01:00

Aye, chums, ayup and sithee and stuff. On 20th August went to another Tweetup – this one arranged by that sexbomb @nyncompoop at Yorkshire Sculpture Park, which is in that weird nameless bit of Yorkshire between Wakefield, Huddersfield and Barnsley generally known locally as “Just off the M1”.

The car park was packed but huge, thankfully, and I had to queue up to pay me £5 parking fee, but after that entry to the park was free which appealed to my inner Yorkshireman. Picture a vast swathe of parkland, with buildings, woods, lakes, sheep and sculptures both enormous and teeny-weeny.

Twitter Assembled had a mega-picnic first, swapping scones for flapjacks and children for dogs. The kids and the dogs were all well-behaved and at their most charming, and the grown-ups were fragrant and witty.

The mighty Twitter Army included @RuthRosselson @essers @lauriepink @smiththewhippet @arthurwhippet @barnygalgo @maxisaluki @cormaggio @helenatron3000 @captain_doodle & shelly @SplashMan @4boysareplenty @greythorne @flossieTP @fraggle_red23 with doginasnood @lucysch76 @shouldbeinbed @Pixel_8 @BinaryDad @Puddled_Pudding & her mum @Snowgirl1972 @thorn_waite @nyncompoop @wombat37 @little_mavis & Cat

Regular readers will know that I do heart my tweetups, more for the splendid people there are to meet and the feminine bums there are to ogle, than for the actual events, but this was a special place indeed. I reckon you’d need three days to cover the entire place, but maybe the photos below will give you some idea of what it’s like. If you’re anywhere near, do visit – and take your camera! One caveat though – the lollies from the caff are expensive shyte.

Church

2011-08-17T19:32:00.001+01:00

Respect

2011-08-14T16:49:00.001+01:00

Spam and Port Wine

2011-07-28T15:07:00.001+01:00

So called because it reminds me of one of my favourite films. Ah, Susan George……

Bunch of spring onions
A dod of butter
Some mushrooms
SPAM (hurray!) sliced thickly
A big old slosh of port
Couple of teaspoons Dijon mustard
Carrot & Courgette “ribbons”

OK, grab your utensils firmly-

Roughly chop the spring onions and cook in the butter in a biggish frying pan until just turning “golden” (i.e. brown).
Add the mushrooms, and cook for about 3 or 4 minutes. Remove mushrooms and onions into a temporary bowl. No, I mean a bowl to hold them temporarily, not some sort of existential alternative universe bowl that keeps blinking out of existence.
Fry the SPAM (hurray!) until browned on both sides, then pour the port over it and add the mustard. Slosh it about a bit, and chuck the mushrooms and onions back in from the existential bowl. Make sure the veg is heated well.
Serve it however you want, but I like a veg pile with SPAM (hurray!) atop. It’s nice with carrot and courgette ribbons, which you can make easily with a peeler.
Gerrit down yer gob.

Easy Peasy Japanesey Ice Cream a la Wombat

2011-07-02T17:54:00.001+01:00

This ice cream is GORGEOUS. This ice cream is DEAD EASY TO MAKE. I wouldn’t keep making it if it were not. Ready? Get down to Aldi to stock up – you’ll need

600ml double cream
70g sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence
3 egg yolks
other stuff if you want to vary it.

Whisk the three egg yolks in a bowl and keep them ready for action. Heat your cream and vanilla essence in a pan until it’s almost boiling, then take it off the heat and stir the sugar in until it’s all dissolved. Tip the cream / vanilla / sugar mixture slowly into the egg yolks while whisking them together. Keep whisking until it’s smooth. Ish.

Pour the mixture into a freezer proof container – I used one that the ice-cream I bought at the shop came in. Let it cool for a wee while (half an hour?).

At this point, you can mix whatever the hell you like in there. I’ve tried it with crumbled Cadbury Flakes, which works a treat. Or leave it straight vanilla. It’s yummy either way.

Whack it in the freezer for, oooh, 3 or 4 hours, and Bob’s your mother’s brother. Lovely stuff. If you want to be poncy and make it extra special use vanilla pods instead of the essence, but that’s too faffy for wombats to be arsed with.

Enjoy.

Peaks Tweetup 2011

2011-06-28T08:55:00.001+01:00

I was planning a long blog all about the brilliant Tweetup last Saturday. It was going to have Venn diagrams and everything, and a long apology to my fellow tweetupperers for the amount of time it took me to climb that fecking cliff-face. It would have covered Doodle’s search for the perfect sheep, turtle-love, and of course Arsegate. Then I realised you’d probably prefer a video.

Click “YouTube” above to see the larger version on YouTube.

(Thanks for a stonking day to @captain_doodle, @stinkweazl, @domburf, @vickyperry, @justinreid, @frak, @tizbanana, @ammarvellousme, Silvano, Maier and Raph)

Bury Market

2011-06-16T10:02:00.001+01:00

Photos taken at “Bury’s World Famous Market”, as the ads have it. Posted here for my good friend Moria, who asked very nicely to see them. Click on the pile of photos to see a slideshow.

Market Day

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The Third Doctor has never been more impressive

2011-06-10T20:33:00.001+01:00

Google’s Mr. Men

2011-05-09T10:17:00.001+01:00

To mark what would have been the 76th birthday of Roger Hargreaves, Google is today giving us no less than 16 rather wonderful Google doodles based on Hargreaves’ Mr. Men characters. To see them all, you can either refresh the Google home page lots of times, giving your F5 key a rare work-out, or just peruse them below. Mr. Bump’s my favourite – what’s yours?

Mr. Bump

Little Miss Chatterbox

Little Miss Curious

Mr. Dizzy

Mr. Forgetful

Mr. Funny

Mr. Happy

Little Miss Magic

Mr. Messy

Little Miss Naughty

Mr. Rush

Little Miss Shy

Mr. Slow

Little Miss Sunshine

Mr. Tickle

Little Miss Tiny

Bury’s Going Up!

2011-05-01T19:00:00.001+01:00

I took my little camera to the Bury v Wycombe match after The Shakers had won promotion to League 1.

Oh Ryan Lowe! Ryan Ryan Ryan Loooowwweee!!!

See Salts

2011-04-21T17:48:00.001+01:00

So part of Cat’s degree course requires her to write a short essay on an exhibition she has seen. With this in mind, yesterday me and her drove to Ilkley, where (the DigYorkshire website informed us) the Manor House Art Gallery & Museum was displaying a series of Hockney etchings.

Sadly, there was no sign of them in the Gallery, and a blue-haired woman told us that no, there was no such exhibition, hadn’t been for years, and was unlikely to be one in the foreseeable. Ilkley Fail 1. After an hour’s hot drive (which included waiting at a level crossing for the longest, slowest train in history to cross), and now realising that we had to find something else for Cat to write about, we were a bit cross. Grrrr.

As we left, intending to kick Bluehair’s archway in revenge, she did say “You’ll find some Hockney in Saltaire though. You know where that is?” “Of course I do, you daft blue-topped bint!” were my thoughts, although I actually said (in my opinion quite wittily) “Yes thanks”, before realising I had no idea what she was talking about.

Saltaire? Hadn’t Mary told me about that before? Hmmm, where could I find a map…? Tourist Info Office, they’d have maps aplenty! And could we find the Tourist Info Office? Could we heck-as-like, even following the nicely mounted town centre street plan. Ilkley Fail 2. It began to look like the backup plan of visiting the Pre-Raphaelites in Manchester would have to be used, despite Cat wanting to avoid such an obvious subject. Also, if we went there, I might have to brave the nightmare horrors of the Button Exhibition.

But then, Ilkley began to redeem itself. First, Cat was given a free milkshake by a bonny lass outside Café Nerd (“Gorgeous”, apparently. I’m assuming Cat meant the shake, although one can never be certain of these things). Then I spotted a big old lower case ‘i’ outside the Library: Tourist Info! Maps! Also a leaflet about Salts Mill, but the instructions on how to find the place were “get a train or bus”. On the road map, getting to Saltaire seemed a bit complicated, but with Cat helping to remember some of the road numbers, we set off for an “Adventure Into The Unknown” (actually, it was more “Adventure Into Bradford”, but that doesn’t sound so cool).

Despite my attempt at one point to take us into a scrapyard (“No Dad, left! LEFT!”), we found the place OK, and even managed to park out of the sun under a tree. We still didn’t really have an idea what to expect, although walking to the Mill we passed “The Early Music Shop”, which was a cool room of musical delights and unusual instruments galore. I could have just spent hours in there, thank you very much.

However, Cat dragged me onward, and we entered an unprepossessing small doorway at the base of the huge stone edifice of what was once the largest textile mill in the world. First thoughts on entering the vast ground floor? WOW! What an exhibition space! The light was incredible, due in no small part to the cheerful sunshine pouring through the blinds. There were Hockney works everywhere, and scattered up and down the mill were vases of large flowers, art materials for purchase, and fascinating objects such as beat up old chairs. Chamber music rippled through the air.

“Oh yes, Dad, this’ll do nicely” was Cat’s opinion, and she wandered off to make notes for her essay. For myself, I discovered many exciting surprises. I hadn’t realised Hockney was so varied in style, and oh my God so prolific! After an hour in that place, I began to appreciate him so much more than I had in Ilkley.

Upstairs from the Hockneys, the mill is also home to a mighty fine bookshop, a restaurant serving what appears to be really tasty and imaginative (though bloody expensive) food, a fashion exhibition, and an extensive antique shop (Forties clothes – win!). We had a marvellous time.

As many of you will know already, the mill was built by one Titus Salt, a man of mighty beard and many children, who also built the village of Saltaire for his workers. We had a quick wander round the village, where good old Titus had named the streets after his children. Not for the first time in my life, I was delighted to find myself going up Fanny Street.

We finished our day with a treat from the bakery – proper Yorkshire parkin for Cat, and a real traditional Yorkshire delicacy for me – a curry pastie. If you do end up going to Saltaire, which I urge you to do, don’t pay upwards of a tenner for a meal in the Salts Mill caff – get thee to the bakery for a proper pastie.

You can find out more about the mill at the Official Site.

Northern Exposure

2011-04-15T16:20:00.001+01:00

Those of you who already follow Ed Sprake on Twitter (@ed_moose) will know of this man’s talent. He takes heart-achingly beautiful photographs. Also, he has a beard, so must be one of the good guys.

Last Tuesday evening we went to a preview of his exhibition at The Portico Library in Manchester. (Well, his and three other talented photographers). There’s some uplifting pictures to be seen, and bought.

If you’re in Manchester before the 28th April, do yourself a big favour and pop into the little door just round the corner from the Bank pub. I’ll be there again on the 27th myself.

The cognoscenti gather in the Library.

The exhibition….

Impressive roof at The Portico.

One of Ed’s best, completely ruined by my own crap camera.

Polite Literature.

If you look carefully, you’ll spot Ed amongst the peanut and wine blaggers.

Peak Driving

2011-04-09T22:06:00.001+01:00

I do so enjoy driving through the Peak District on a sunny day, especially when there’s refreshment at the end. (Photos taken with my crappy phone, hence the lack of quality).

Inexplicable photo

2011-03-31T22:14:00.001+01:00

Can any of you explain what’s going on here? I really have no idea…

Brekkie Census

2011-03-27T20:05:00.001+01:00

It being census day, I made an innocent little Tweet about the questions that SHOULD have been included, but weren't – how many cats we had, that sort of thing. Also, what we had for breakfast would be fascinating to 22d Century genealogists – wouldn't you like to find out what your forebears in Vuctorian slums had to eat? The next thing I knew, thanks to @noirem, the assembled daft ‘aporths among my followers (and there are quite a few, I’m happy to say) were bombarding me with details of their first meal of the day. Here, for future generations to find, are the Twitter Returns.

The most popular breakfast item, used in various combinations, was (unsurprisingly) bread – mostly toasted, but also fried, or used for sarnies. Naturally enough, bacon was next followed by eggs. No surprises, then… but wait. Some of you have chocolate for breakfast? Really? Mini eggs (@waywardlou), Creme Egg (@lizardsimpkins) and… really @sarahpez? A custard slice? You… you… sybarite. A couple of you popped pills, either suffering from headache or the after effects of a night on the razz. @mrstrevithick had something called meerschaum, which I always thought was a pipe. Maybe she’s an omnivore. @dantegalgo has kibble…

In the battle of the sauces, brown sauce knocked ketchup into a cocked hat, which sounds incredibly messy now that I think of it. And what would you imagine might be Twitter’s breakfast drink of choice? Reassuringly for traditionalists, twice as many of you bright young things drank tea than coffee. There were a few individualists knocking back juice, or Berocca, or banana smoothie, but generally it seems we really ARE a nation of tea drinkers.

Averaging everything out, the movers and shakers on Twitter fortify themselves for the day ahead with a breakfast of bacon, egg and custard slice on toast smothered in brown sauce, with a side dish of Anadin wrapped in cheese, all washed down with a huge mug of tea. Magic.

Remnants of a Life

2011-03-22T16:34:00.001Z

John lived down at the bottom of the village. A decade and a half ago, his wife left him. John descended into gloom and agoraphobia. He shut himself away in his house, alone mostly, although for some years he had the company of a pustular dog that was only ever allowed out of the front door on a long rope, in order to crap on the footpath. He (John, that is) was discovered dead a few weeks ago, having fallen headlong down stairs.

Today a couple of vans arrived bearing several men who proceeded to dress in plastic overalls and blue rubber gloves. Two of the men, let’s call them Barry and Vern, joked as they walked down to John’s house - they were here to clean it out, and they weren’t particularly looking forward to it. Now, I’ve not seen beyond the front door, but I did notice that they put their hoods up before entering, which may give an indication as to what it might be like in there.

Six hours later, the total remnants of John’s life had been dumped out by the road to await removal. A cardboard box of shabby Christmas decorations on the top was a particularly wistful reminder of how normal his life must have been once. Have you ever considered what you might leave behind when you cock your clogs? What will your Barry and Vern joke about as they carry your remnants to the dump? Which particular item will be your shabby Christmas decoration?

Tartiflette

2011-03-18T11:33:00.001Z

Morning! It might sound like a Manchester lap-dancing club, but in reality it’s a high-calorie, bacony, cheesy, tatery feast. On the right there is the one I made last night just before it went in the oven. Here’s @notmetaltax ‘s recipe.

Here's my rough guide to making Tartiflette, which dispenses with the need for complicated cheese and reduces it to a level of simplicity that even a student could manage.

Things you will need: potatoes, onion, garlic, white wine, creme fraiche (1 tub), bacon (smoked works nicely, ideally bacon lardons), cheese (I like to use Gruyere and either a strong Cheddar or something French and stinky)

Chop the potatoes into rough cubes - enough to make a couple of layers of your chosen oven dish. Boil them in salted water to the point where they're just starting to break apart on the edges (around 10 minutes). While they're boiling, chop the onion and fry it until it softens, then add the bacon (chopped, if you've not got lardons) and garlic. When the bacon's starting to crisp, add a generous slug of the white wine, stir and take it off the heat.

Chop the cheese into smallish cubes. Drain the potato cubes and place a layer of them in the bottom of your oven dish. Sprinkle over a handful of each cheese and a couple of spoonfuls of the onion/bacon stuff. Add another layer of potato and the remainder of the onion/bacon mix. Spoon over the creme fraiche and roughly spread it out over the surface of the potato, then sprinkle the remainder of the cheese so that it'll melt and give you a nice crust. If you're feeling the need for more crunch, you can sprinkle over breadcrumbs as well.

Stick it in the oven at around 200 degrees for 20/30 minutes - until the cheese has gone whatever shade of brown you prefer basically. Spoon it out and eat. Leftovers will keep in the fridge and microwave nicely the next day!

I didn’t have creme fraiche, cos I’m not posh like Matt, so instead I used Greek yoghurt mixed with an egg yolk and a little flour. I used chopped streaky bacon and Emmenthal cheese and plenty of breadcrumbs. Here’s how it looked thirty minutes later when served with BBQ bacon chops and a courgette / red pepper mélange. It’s REALLY tasty. Have a go.

What’s for tea?

2011-03-17T16:09:00.001Z

I know it’s hard to credit, but occasionally I run out of ideas of what to make for tea, and this time I turned to Twitter for help. “Help me, Twitter!” I cried, “What can I make for tea?” And Twitter rose to the occasion and threw lots of food at me.

There were a few suggestions of what I might call Men’s Food - “Spam Fritters!” cried @binarydad, dismissing my objection that Mary doesn’t like them with “I’m not seeing the problem”. @SkydiveMacca suggested “a nice big slab of cow, seasoned, hot seared on both sides then served with boiled new pots and some greens”, while my Michigan buddy @jamerz3294 forgot that rural Lancashire is a little different to his home, suggesting I shoot and butcher a deer and have “Venison flank steak”. I suppose I could pay Mr. Tesco to do that for me.

In the Pasta Gang, @Teddy_red told me to “make alphabetti spaghetti from scratch. Nourishing AND educational”. We then got into the whole area of making lots of Fs, Us and Cs so that we could have rude word pasta, or filthigli as I believe it isn’t called. “Don't forget to make plenty of T's, E's & D's too” she said. @ericafairs was also a pasta fan, preferring hers with Italian meatballs, Parmesan, green salad, and a session of window shopping.

I suppose it’s not surprising that both @janegoth and @matronmim like nothing better than a good sausage, Jane with macaroni cheese & a salad or minted peas (ew). Bacon sandwiches (@The CurlyLucy), homemade quiche (@Miss_Muchly), and an exotic mix of stir fry shrimp, walnuts and green beans (definitely NOT Men’s Food from @Island252) were also thrown at me.

My lovely daughter Cat pointed me at http://whatthefuckshouldimakefordinner.com/, which suggested as its first recipe “some fucking Calves Brains”. Erm, no thanks, and when did my little girl grow up? A more refined link is to @hebbie’s terrific blog of recipes for her son (all ingredients available at Aldi) – well worth a browse: http://acookbookforstewart.blogspot.com/

Finally I was sent actual recipes for a really tasty-sounding chilli by @andymcf, and something called tartiflette from @notmetaltax . “It's a high-calorie hit of tasty goodness!” Matty says, although it sounds like a lapdancing club to me. I’ll put these final two recipes in separate blog posts when I actually cook them, as long as Andy & Matt don’t mind, cos they also deserve to be cooked by you, dear reader.

Oh, and in the end I settled on an old favourite - “Crispy corned beef taters, with green beans & Yorkshire puds & HP Brown Sauce with Guinness”. Delicious, obviously.

Dressing up

2011-02-13T00:37:00.001Z

Two elegant ladies from 1994 on your right, and below – why it’s me and Mary in 1997. No, wait, hang on a minute…

1966 Revisited

2011-02-12T18:49:00.001Z

I thought I’d posted this already, but can’t find it in the archive, so maybe not. This is a film we made in 1966; directed and edited by my Dad. Last year I added sound and subtitles. Enjoy.

The bloodiest battle ever fought on British soil.

2011-02-05T12:41:00.001Z

The chances are, you’ll never have heard of it. If, like us, you ever you drive over to the east coast of Yorkshire from the Manchester area (or vice versa, I suppose), take a tip from me. Leave the M1 for a while on the little-travelled B1217 for a short stretch between the M1 and the hugely horrible A64.

The meandering B road passes the Edwardian mansion, Lotherton Hall, bends through the village of Saxton and the Crooked Billet pub, and lopes on into rising farmland. Through the hedges you will glimpse cornfields and copses in this typically English landscape. Shortly after the hedges give up the ghost, you’ll see something of an anomaly on your left. A big old holly bush squats by the road, dark and gloomy and alien-looking. You can park nearby.

If you then peer behind the old holly, you’ll find lurking there an ancient weather-worn gothic cross. There’s no record of who first put the cross here – it lay in a ditch for hundreds of years before being righted again. On it’s base, amongst flowers both dried and fresh, you’ll see a recently added date - March 28, 1461. The inscriber got the date wrong: it should be the 29th. The 29th in that year of turmoil amidst the Wars of the Roses was a Sunday – Palm Sunday, in fact.

On that snow-driven day, perhaps the most significant day of the struggle for the throne between Edward and Henry, 100,000 men met at this place to hack, stab, slice, suffocate, bludgeon and trample each other to death. This was by far the most murderous battle ever fought on British soil, yet most of you will never have heard of it. An astounding 1% of the British population died in the blood-spattered snow between dawn and dusk that day, almost 30,000 men - three times the number of casualties than on the first day of The Somme.

This was a horrific, bloody brawl. Imagine, if you can, the driving stinging blizzard; the deafening racket of clashing arms and armour, the pleading of men, the screaming and howled obscenities; the stench of puke and shit and trampled entrails. If you fall, you’re dead in seconds, the life crushed out of you by the sheer weight of men jammed into this meat-mincer. If hell has ever been on earth, this was it. The death toll was so great and bodies piled up so much that occasional pauses were called in order to drag them out of the way.

The Lancastrians began to push the Yorkists back, and the core of the fighting drifted into a vale now called Bloody Meadow. The slaughter, unremitting, continued late into the afternoon. The Yorkists, led by Edward, the son of Richard, 3rd Duke of York , outnumbered and outfought, became ever more desperate as they gave way, inch by bloody inch, across the field. Then up the B1217 marched men bearing banners displaying a white boar – it was the Duke of Norfolk, with fresh reinforcements who pelted into the Lancastrians’ flank. The Lancastrians were stopped in their tracks, faltered and began to give ground, tripping over the corpses of their own dead. The beleaguered Lancastrians bent, broke and ran like buggery. Then the rout began. If the battle was vicious, the rout added a whole new level of brutality.

Far more men died in the rout than in the battle. Bridges in the path of the fleeing Lancastrians shattered under the weight of armed men, plunging many to a freezing death in the icy water. Thousands were caught and mutilated, for it had been agreed in the parley before the battle that no quarter would be given, no mercy shown. Part-hidden in a naked stand of ash trees was the Bridge of Bodies, built of Lancastrian dead to form a dam, the rushing waters streaming with crimson grume. Panicked, hysterical men scrambled across the River Cock over the carcases of the fallen. From Tadcaster to Towton the fields were strewn with corpses and body parts. The fleeing men made easy targets for horsemen, and foot soldiers killed many who had dropped their weapons and thrown off their helmets to breath more freely. And all the while, the blizzard raged.

In 1996 a mass grave of more than 40 bodies was discovered at Towton Hall. It delivered the bones of some of the soldiers who had fought and died at Towton. The skeletons showed evidence of terrible wounds – there were some with at least 20 head injuries. They all died horribly - Dr Alan Ogden, a palaeo-pathologist, said:

"The thing that shook us was that these people had been butchered. Perhaps the most spectacular ones are where people have had part of their head sliced off, or their head cut in half. There's much evidence of mutilation. That noses and ears were hacked off."

When you know the history of this place - the significant battle that took place here to decide the fate of the English throne, the awful toll it took, the hellish things that happened to thousands of men - you can’t simply stroll amongst the corn and enjoy the sun. The terrible deaths of those thousands haunt your thoughts. A. A. Gill said it well in 2008 -

“Walk in the margin of the corn as it is ruffled by the blustering wind. Above, the thick mauve, mordant clouds curdle and thud like bruises, bowling patches of sunlight across the rise and fall of the land. In the distance is a single stunted tree, flattened by the south wind. It marks the corner of this sombre, elegiac place.

It would be impossible to walk here and not feel the dread underfoot – the echo of desperate events vibrating just behind the hearing. This is a sad, sad, dumbly eloquent deathscape.”

You can read his full eloquent and evocative history of the Battle of Towton by clicking on this sentence. I highly recommend that you do.

Look what I just came across…

2011-02-01T20:45:00.001Z

I went a bit wibbly when I found this. I’d forgotten how much Ben’s happy grin made me smile.

This is a week or so before Ben died.

SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM

2011-01-22T17:47:00.001Z

I recently found this in a charity shop while wandering round the fascinating Lancaster streets -

Of COURSE I bought it – who wouldn’t? Prepare for a bit of a history lesson, along with (obviously) some piss-taking. Here’s the feller to thank for this tasty treat. Jay C. Hormel, son of a butcher, developed SPAM assisted by French chef Jean Vernet. It was ready by late 1936, but as yet was unnamed. Hormel held a New Year party and gave guests a free drink for every name they suggested, and $100 for the winning name. “By the 4th drink people started to show imagination” Hormel commented. The name SPAM was suggested by actor Kenneth Daigneau, and is short for Shoulder of Pork and Ham, as any fule kno. Some of the other products in this photo show doubtful taste – “Arf” (which I hope wasn’t dog meat), “Dinty Moore” and “Spic” (geddit? Spic and Spam?)

SPAM was launched on an unsuspecting world in May 1937, and was a huge success. During the war it was sent over to Britain, and to Russia where Kruschev said “Without SPAM, we would not be able to feed our army”. American troops were given a special cheaper American Government version of SPAM which lacked the true flavour, probably leading to the low opinion it has among large numbers of people.

The book’s got a lot of recipes – some of them seriously WTF-worthy. On the left you can learn how to make Spam Cheesecake (no really), while there are also such delights as Spamdoori Chicken Wrap, Nutty Spamburger and Deep Spam Pizza. I have a soft spot for Spam Porcupine – chunks of SPAM, onions & pineapple on cocktail sticks, poked into a cabbage – “the cabbage can be used afterwards for other meals” it says.

My favourite though has to be SPAM scones, which appear to be normal scones but with chopped SPAM added to the mix. Haven’t dared to try them yet, but the recipe suggests using “any leftover scones” on top of a vegetable casserole and baked in a hot oven.

My favourite way to eat SPAM? Sliced thinly, fried to a crispy edge, and popped in a pitta with tomato or summat. Yum. Do let me know if you’re desperate for me to share further SPAM recipes, you saddoes.

A Language in the Sky

2011-01-21T17:47:00.001Z

“The smoke trails of aircraft, the kite tails and light shafts, there's a language in the sky” - Avalanche by Thea Gilmore

These words came into my head when I saw the sky over Ramsbottom this afternoon and evening. Here’s the sky in late afternoon when the aeroplanes seemed to be playing at making their own work of art with their vapour trails.

Half an hour later, and the sun had joined in the game to create this work of art.

Major Richard Winters, hero

2011-01-10T16:04:00.001Z

Like just about all of you, I imagine, I first became aware of Dick Winters through Hanks and Spielberg’s Band of Brothers HBO series about the exploits of Easy Company, 506th PIR of the 101st Airborne in the latter stages of the Second World War.

Parachuting behind enemy lines on D Day, Winters managed to gather enough men from the hopelessly scattered paratroopers to lead an attack to destroy a battery of German 105 mm Howitzers that were targeting the main invasion force’s escape route from Utah Beach. The guns were defended by about fifty German troops, while Winters had just thirteen men. Their impressive success is still taught at the military academy at West Point as an example of a textbook assault on a fixed position.

You can find out more about Major Winters on many other sites, so I’ll not blather on about all that here. Rather, I just wanted to pay tribute to a quiet and humble man who also just happened to be a great leader and a hero to his men, and just about everyone who read about him. Despite this hero worship, Winters himself always said that his men, especially those who died in World War II, were the real heroes. One of those men, Joe Lesniewski, said a few years ago "Every one of us, we'd follow him to hell. That's the type of guy he was."

Dick Winters died yesterday, twelve days before his 93rd birthday. The world is a sadder place.

Twantastic

2010-12-16T17:10:00.001Z

I’ve been overwhelmed by how many people have embraced @captain_doodle’s brilliant #TWANTA idea. Over 60 gifts have been flying about worldwide due to him. Thought you might like a little preview of the sort of present people are looking forward to opening on Christmas Day.

A picture test

2010-11-26T13:17:00.001Z

Hmmm…. it seems that ever since the software I use to write the blog, Windows Live Writer, updated itself a few weeks ago, clicking on photos no longer brings up a larger version. Instead we get a teeny-weeny tidgy copy, which is pants.

I shall investigate this ……

LATER: Aha! I think I’ve sorted it…

Lacrimae rerum

2010-11-25T17:35:00.001Z

It has not been a month full of joy, this November. Here’s why -

It began with the death, actually on the last day of October - on Hallowe’en - although I’m still feeling the loss a month later, of our beloved Labrador, Ben. I miss him immensely. I still expect to hear the thump thump of his wagging tail when I enter the front room, and always check the front window every time I return home. It’s taking a long time to heal, this loss of my four-legged friend. Over on the right is the last photo I took of Ben.

M.’s workload has not improved, nor has her treatment by uncaring managers, despite her needing weeks off recently due to stress – and she had to be pushed into that by the doctor; she was all for carrying on so as not to let people down. This intelligent, conscientious, capable and reliable woman deserves far better.

Thirdly, a pipe in the bathroom sprang a leak. Again. Those who know me well will remember that we live in a very old house, which was built in the 1830s. Old houses have their own problems, but this one is more down to the old sink. The seating for the cold tap has worn away so that there is no longer any good grip for the tap base. Turn it too hard, and the tap itself twists around. This action tears the washers in the joint beneath, and the leak starts up all over again. I keep repairing it, but I need to figure out a good way to keep the tap in place without resorting to superglue given that we may well want to change the taps one day.

Number four, if you’re keeping count: I recently applied for a job helping to collect the Census next year. This involved an online interview – or rather test - wherein I was presented with hypothetical situations, and asked to select the best four options out of eight responses. Those responsible for the test decided that it should have a more modern-sounding name than simply “Census Job Test”, so I went ahead with their “Siftability Test”. I should have known not to bother from the nonsense name. Long story short, I didn’t get the job “although I did very well”. It’s hard to see how I could have done better without choosing the options either to sack people for bad handwriting, or to take them all down the pub regularly.

And finally, the topper on a bad month, Mrs. Wombat was driving into work the other morning and was hit by a speeding taxi as she turned right. The collision spun her car right round and did a shitload of damage, immediately giving the lie to the other drivers claim of “only doing 25mph”. Luckily, M. was unhurt though very shaken. The poor Corsa is now in the garage for extensive repair (thank goodness for fully comp insurance) and M. is driving round a brand new silver courtesy Ford.

Anyway, thanks for reading my rant about all the hassles we could have done without over the last few weeks. I hope I’ve got it out of my system now I’ve written it all down, so roll on December - onward and upward and Forth Eolingas and so on.

Comfort Foods

2010-11-14T17:09:00.001Z

As usual, Sunday is a day of collecting #SUNDAYPICS, and today’s theme of Comfort Food prompted me to have a quick look back through our photos to discover a random collection of comfort foods that I have thought worth taking a picture of. Here they are, foods to improve your mood, in no particular order. Be warned, there’s quite a few. I obviously enjoy photographing food.

My American readers may like to view this as an introduction to typical British food.

First up – fried eggs from our own hens, on a toasted muffin, with Snowgirl Sauce (copyright @snowgirl1972). Gorgeous colours, eh?

Fresh cream apple turnover now – perfect with a glass of rosé.

Next up – home-baked chocolate cake. This one was for Cat’s last birthday: guess who got to scrape out the bowl.

These little mini-waffles from ASDA are inexplicably delicious and addictive. Here they are nestling up to a home-made chilli.

If you’re in the mood for faggots, you can do no better than Mr. Brain’s – the best.

PIES! Take your pick – which is your personal favourite?

Pick Your Own strawberries – you can’t get fresher, or tastier, than when you’ve just plucked them yourself.

To some it may seem boring, but I adore a simple cheese sandwich with really fresh salady stuff. No dressing, please.

Go on admit it – you’re impressed by the size of this one, aren’t you. Hot dog, fried onions, mustard, ketchup – the perfect fill-up when you’re pissed as a fart.

Chippy chips! Proper fat chips splattered with salt and vinegar. Yum.

Chinese takeaway – a Friday night special.

A nice cup of tea and a cream scone. Elevenses.

Pub lunch number 1 – Gammon Steak Sarnie, a big Cornish, and froffee coffee.

Fresh veg from the Farmers Market – oh, the possibilities.

Pub lunch number 2 – Calf Brains and mustard and a pint of bitter you can’t see. (not really; tis beef that I’d piled up weirdly).

Poppets Chocolate Raisins. Mmmmmmm.

Home-baked mince pies, courtesy of @little_mavis.

A fry-up breakfast. Note the absence of egg, cos we were in Scotland and didn’t have any, but the addition of fried fruit pud, cos we were in Scotland and DID have some.

Various delights from the German market in Manchester. Insert YOUR joke here.

Chocolatey marshmallowey nutty ice-cream mix on a sunny day at Beacon Farm near Whitby. The BEST ice-creams ever. No, really.

Bye mate

2010-11-01T11:54:00.001Z

Scotland – Millbuies Loch

2010-08-13T23:22:00.000+01:00

Friday was our last full day in Speyside, and we had yet to investigate the Loch that was just five mintues awat from the cottage. First though, we had a last trip into Elgin to see the town centre NOT on a Sunday. Big improvement. There are several thousand charity shops, which we investigated, and a geeky comic-SF type one where I bought the goodies on the right. The Four Marys FTW! We also found the exact jacket for which Ellie had been searching for weeks.

We’d probably never have noticed Millbuies Loch if our Twitter chum @edinburghjo hadn’t told us about it. This secluded little treasure gave us a relaxing and peaceful stroll. Except when I fell over, obviously, and bruised my right buttock.

Buzzards “skee”-ed above, and water-boatmen “ski”-ed on the placid waters (ha ha, see what I did there?), surrounded by towering trees. The loch is well-stocked with fish, as evidenced by the anglers in the boat there.

This is the view I was turning to look at when I fell over. There should have been a warning sign - “Danger, these trees have roots that you can trip over”. But there wasn’t.

I like this photo that Mary took, cos of the perspective.

Mary sur le pont.

A beck burbling into the loch.

Scotland – Benromach Distillery

2010-08-12T18:16:00.000+01:00

Benromach is the smallest distillery in Speyside, operated by just two men, and uses only two stills - in stark comparison to Glenfiddich, which I visited earlier. I’m not going to teach you the minutiae of whisky- making (hurray, you say?), but the wash still produces the low wines, which are then distilled a second time in the spirit still (the one that has a ‘bubble’ half way up the neck to further cycle the alcohol). Because it would not be wise to photograph in the possibly explosive atmosphere during distillation (the smells were GORGEOUS), the photograph of the stills here is taken from the Benromach website. (Copyright to this particular photo rests with them, therefore, and I’ll remove it if they ask).

I learned all of these things and more from the lovely Katrina, who gave me a personal tour of the distillery. Katrina was extremely informative in a gorgeous accent, and taught me quite a few things that I didn’t know already.

The tour began in the museum containing several historic artefacts used in whisky-making as well as a facility to bottle your own ten-year-old. Katrina took me clearly through the process of manufacture including a look below the stills where coal fires used to be burned to heat the liquids above. The cask warehouse held row upon row of casks of the various sizes used at Benromach (see behind Katrina up there? That’s the three sizes they use). Different head colours show how often each cask had been used; they are retired after three uses. When the distillery re-opened in 1998, Prince Charles signed a cask, which was to the forefront. Katrina whacked his signature with a wooden mallet to demonstrate how they test for leakages. Black stains at the top of the walls showed where the Angel’s Share had condensed over the years, and would not be cleaned off in case the fumes from cleaning products contaminated the whisky being stored there.

Back to the Visitors Centre after I had exhausted my questions, for a tasting of the Benromach ten-year-old. Those of you who know me well will be aware of my prediliction for the Islay whisky Laphroaig, a peaty spirit. The Benromach whiskies are nowhere near as peaty, although the ten-year-old did have a delicate peat-smoke influence. The nose put me in mind of biscuits.

I also tried two other whiskies, but the one which won me over was the Organic Special Edition. The nose is fruity with a dash of toffee, and the taste is malty, slightly smoky, and again with that subtle hint of toffee. That’s what I bought.

To sum up – Benromach: Best. Tour. Ever. Thank you Katrina. Dear Reader, if you’re in Speyside ever, make sure you go there.

Scotland - I do love a nice groyne

2010-08-12T16:05:00.000+01:00

And so to Thursday in our Scottish sojourn. In the afternoon I planned to visit Benromach Distillery, Speyside’s smallest, but that will be the subject of a separate post. In the morning, then, we headed to the small village of Findhorn, which lies on a spit of land jutting out to form Findhorn Bay. It is a pleasant old town, but of course Ben’s favourite area, and mine, was the beach and dunes. Ben loves dunes.

The beach was striped with proper wooden groynes, and gave us marvellous views out into the North Sea and across to Cromarty.

On the way out we stopped at Findhorn Foundation Community, all eco-houses and turf rooves and artistic endeavours. Had a wee there.

After my distillery visit, we stopped at a farm shop to buy some chard (no, we didn’t know either), and then briefly into Forres. This is a lovely little town with many churches. We had ourselves a bag of salty vinegary chips.

Ben had some chips too….

Scotland - Inverness

2010-08-11T00:00:00.000+01:00

So, on to Wednesday, and a fairly long drive out to Inverness in a frigging deluge. Twitter friend @hardyduncan had told us we would be able to park “down by the castle”. Well OK, but when we reached the city, we could see no sign of anything remotely resembling a castle. We did see, for a very long time, the back of a white van carrying sausages, as we inched into the city via a mega traffic jam. Finally, though – AHA! – a car park sign! After a lot of pratting about going round and round looking for a space, still in pouring rain, I managed to get us parked. Aaaaand relax.

As we explored, the rain stopped and the weather brightened up, as you can see in the photos. The city itself? Somewhat meh to be honest, and completely interchangeable with almost any other city centre, except for two things. One, EVERYBODY seemed to be smoking. Them Scots, eh, with their battered Mars Bars and the smoking? Tsk tsk. And Two, the river.

Seen from up near the castle (oh aye, we eventually found it, although it didn’t look incredibly castley – that’s it, the brown thing on the right there), the sweep of the river is a delightful thing, and tis most pleasantly bordered by soft green banks and verdant trees.

Crossing the water by means of a footbridge that swayed and bounced disconcertingly to the rhythm of our footsteps (Ben hated that!), we walked upstream (again, as recommended by @hardyduncan) to Ness Islands, a series of small wooded islands in the middle of the river.

On the way, we passed several bewadered fishermen angling in the fast flowing currents, although there were also quiet areas so that Ben could enjoy a paddle.

Eventually we made it down (or up?) to Ness Islands, in bright sunshine now. These little islands are joined to each other, and the banks, by a series of well-made bridges. The islands boast plenty of British native trees, as well as a fascinating collection of sculpted tables and benches.

In one place, an imaginative sculptor had carved a fallen tree trunk into something slightly more interesting.

As you can see, some of the bridges on the islands are incredibly ornate.

To sum up then, a fine day at Ness Islands, but you can keep the city thanks. Oh yes, and on the way home we stopped in the small town of Nairn. It was closed, and is best forgotten, I think, although perhaps it might have made a better impression if we had headed down to the beach.

Scotland – Moray Coast

2010-08-10T22:57:00.000+01:00

OK, on to the Tuesday of our Scottish week. So there’s Ben on the left, making his careful, delicate way across the footbridge which crosses the Lossie as it reaches the sea at Lossiemouth. He doesn’t like bridges with gaps, not at all.

When we got across, though, he was in Ben heaven. The dunes you can see there separated the river, which we had just crossed, from the sea. As we left the bridge, he scampered off and around, scattering soft sand around, pelting into the water and bouncing delightedly. Mary threw sticks for him which, surprisingly, he actually retrieved for once. He disappeared up a dune, then minutes later as he crashed out of the scrub at the top and plummeted down, I swear he had a smile on his face.

I too wandered the dunes, and emerged with this pleasing photograph: After a steaming pastie from the local baker, we dragged a reluctant Ben back to the car and drove down to Spey Bay. The environment here is mind-boggling – almost alien to look at. Smooth pebbles and rocks, bleached driftwood, scudding stormclouds, crashing waves, dead trees. The big selling point up at Spey Bay is dolphin-spotting. We saw none, but that didn’t matter because the surroundings were so impressive.

I could fill this blog with photographs, but will limit myself to just an evocative few. Less is more, and so on.

Scotland – Whisky!

2010-08-09T21:48:00.000+01:00

Oh my God how rainy was this day?!! VERY, that’s how. Pissed down, it did. But this was MY day to visit MY places, so I didn’t much care.

First stop, Speyside Cooperage, to find out all about the work done by those for whom I am named. No, not wombats – coopers. First surprise? Barrels are not all barrels, if you see what I mean. A ‘barrel’ is but one size of cask, as they are more correctly called. T’other sizes are (rising in size after Barrel) Hogshead, Puncheon and Butt. Yes, it does sound like a firm of solicitors.

It truly was fascinating to see the coopers working hard to turn out up to twenty casks a day – they’re on piece work, so they don’t half move – gathering the staves into a hoop, adding more hoops to hold them together, steaming the half-made cask so that the wood can be bent, adding the ends and sealing them. The bloke in the photo is just about to fit the head of the cask he’s working on – note the steam. Also, you can see the collection of water reeds that he taps into the perimeter of the head to form a seal. When wet, the reeds expand, you see.

Sorry, got a bit cask-geeky there. Sorry, but I enjoyed myself immensely… although not as much as at my next stop. I moved on a few miles down the road to Glenfiddich Distillery.

I was treated to an excellent tour of the place, and quel domage that I am unable to photograph smells, for the various aromas at different places around the site were exquisite.

From the mash tuns to the stills (above), and then on into the warehouse where stack upon stack of casks, dating from the Nineties, filled the air with a glorious whisky smell, our guide (a Gemma apparently), entertained and informed us. She peppered her talk with questions – asking us to smell casks and decide which used to hold bourbon and which sherry; asking if we knew why a sculpture of angels was significant (I did); before finally taking us for a tasting of three whiskies – the 12 year old, the 18 year old, and a new bottling just out – Rich Oak. I was dead chuffed that I identified ‘pear’ as the fruit in the flavour-mix of the new whisky.

In the shop I treated myself to a bottle of the 15 year old Glenfiddich, in rather a special bottle – click the picture there to see a larger version if you can’t quite read it.

Scotland - Elgin

2010-08-08T23:57:00.000+01:00

Oh yes, THAT’s the way to start a day! Note the fried fruit pudding, which is a Scottish delicacy that I’m amazed can’t be bought South of the border.

After yesterday’s drive-fest, I didn’t want to do too much more of that, so we travelled just a few miles North into Elgin.

Now, it seems that the requirement of possessing a cathedral in order for a community to be called “city” does not require said cathedral to be a working place of worship, or even ‘whole’. Elgin Cathedral is a ruin, to which visitors are charged £4.75 entry. We did not enter.

It being a Sunday, there weren’t too many people about, but I did spot this fine example of Scottish fashion. Disappointingly, the camera failed to capture the day-glo quality of her lippie which even outshone those tights.

Ben also was interested in the Elgin citizens, but in his case he was more interested in making friends, as he is here with the young lady volunteering at the charity shop. Nice boobs.

Fountains, statues and churches dot the city centre – the statue in this case is actually the war memorial. Note the care with which the good folk of Elgin have decorated their fountain with old chip paper, empty cans and plastic bottles.

I was also extremely impressed by the attractive and tempting frontage for Clancy’s His and Hers Hair and Beauty Salon (below). I think it’s that word “salon” – can you think of anything looking less like a ‘salon’?

Finally today, I thought you might enjoy a quick pic of Ben attempting to make friends with the raggedy cat that turns up at the cottage door from time to time to shout at us.

Scotland – the way there

2010-08-07T21:24:00.000+01:00

Off to Scotland (way up near Elgin) for a week. The journey took nine hours, including a couple of stops. First at Westmorland Services on the M6, surely the best services ever – a dog walk, good food made there, AND… a duck pond. Second stop was at Gretna, where we saw “the first house in Scotland”, three passing weddings and, um, a retail park.

Shortly after that, the scenery began to get interesting and we took the photos that decorate this post. We stopped again at Perth, needing both petrol and to get my arse somewhere – anywhere – other than the bloody car seat. To me, though, Perth will always be a Lidl and a Morrisons, which was all we actually saw.

After Perth came the two or three hours long last leg of the journey, until finally, when we were within striking distance of our destination and looking forward to reaching the cottage, we suddenly ground to a halt in Aberlour due to that most Scottish of hindrances – pipers in the road.

The spent half an hour marching and playing “Scotland The Brave”, until finally we were allowed to continue. When we finally reached the cottage, I was knackered as a salmon, and nodded off in a chair watching a crap Star Trek film. Ben, throughout the day, had been magnificently good. Bless his hairy yellow backside.

The cottage itself – Wishing Well Cottage – has, yes, a pseudo-well outside, which when examined closely is full of detritus and rubble. It is bland and character-free, and there are no good walks from the door; a barbed-wire bordered lane stretching off in opposite directions. The television turns itself off occasionally, and so may be haunted by a ghost who hates comedy programmes, and particularly Dad’s Army. The cooker doesn’t work properly, there are not enough chairs or hooks, no books, and no DVDs for the DVD player. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.

Peaks Tweetup

2010-07-24T17:11:00.000+01:00

A while ago, Mrs. Wombat (@little_mavis) was musing on Twitter with a number of the Twitterati about where, mathematically, might be the axis of all our locations. The closest she could come up with was “somewhere in the Peak District”. This set cogs a-whirring in the impressive brain of one of our best FWWNMs (friends whom we’ve never met) – the singularly dashing @captain_doodle.

Rather efficiently, he arranged a Peaks Tweetup – a gathering of folk who communicate through Twitter. These events, it seems, usually take place in a pub, but Rich had more grandiose ideas, and eight of us (if you count Ben, who has his own Twitter account @GoodBoyBen) met up in the Derwent Valley for a ramble/hike/tweetup. Rich even produced a magnificent PDF document as a guide and souvenir of the day.

And here we all are, smiling broadly – please note, this was just after some very tasty bacon and sausage butties, and before any walking. Me? Behind the camera, obviously.

Our Captain had promised (hang on, let me make sure I quote this correctly) “Starts with a gentle reservoir-side stroll, then a bit of a steady ascent (nothing rock climby) to the top. Once you’re up there it’s pretty flat the rest of the way, taking in some unusual rock formations, then down”. Sounds fairly easy, yes? Lying git.

After we’d strolled past the rather impressive dam, we needed to climb these steps to even reach the “gentle reservoir-side stroll”. Look how nippily I’m hauling my bulk up those steps. I had to refresh myself with a little @matronmim before proceeding.

To be fair, the initial stroll was quite gentle, and it was here that we first realised the beauty of this sort of tweetup. The fluidity of the walk meant that conversational groups were constantly changing, so that all of us mixed with all of us, rather than just nattering to the person sitting to our right, as might happen in a pub. Here’s the ladies in action - @shelley279, @vickyperry, @little_mavis and @matronmim.

Vicky had brought a selection of SWEETIES, so we stopped for a Sweetie break. @Domburf helped himself to a Sherbet Dipdab thingy, which lasted him a very long time. At least those bits he didn’t squirt over his companions did.

Starting out again after some foot-repairs with Elastoplast, we finally arrived at the “bit of a steady ascent (nothing rock climby)”. This is it -

It went on forever, but at the top the views began to be unremittingly magnificent, and our curses at Rich turned gradually into appreciation.

We took plenty of rests, here by a cairn called (apparently) The Nipple. You can see the tit on the right in the red shirt.

We continued along Derwent Edge for what seemed like, and actually were, hours. Occasionally we stopped to laugh at the mincing hairy-backed jogger as he camped past us one way or the other, his orange bumbag gradually easing down his shorts until…. well, ew. Sadly, we were all too busy laughing to take a photo. We did take this photo, though, which is one of my favourites -

Feet beginning to blister, we eventually made our way down, still spotting interesting wildlife such as lizards, hairy caterpillars, weird green bugs and, erm, sheep and stuff.

A short time later, we were in the pub, footsore but happy. It really was a bobby-dazzler of a day, and I was chuffed to discover that these people whom I only knew through their 140 character witterings popping up in my Tweetdeck, were actually the wonderful characters that they had appeared to be online.

So thanks to Shelley, Dom, Vicky, Mary, Mim and particularly Rich for giving me a day to remember and making an old man very happy. Let’s definitely do it again soon. Maybe with a little less walking, or we’ll all end up in the same state Ben was in at the pub:

Oh, and if you want to see more photos of the day, there’s a video here:

Brook Farm

2010-07-19T14:27:00.001+01:00

It’s not often that you visit a new place where you instantly feel welcome and properly relaxed. For the Wombats, Brook Farm is such a place – a beautiful farmstead over 400 years old in the Welsh Marches. There, our Twitter friends Sarah & William (@nicelittleplace) run a B&B and Self-Catering cottage, and being in dire need of a break we spent a wonderful two nights there. And before you start sighing, this is NOT an advert – I just loved the place so much I HAD to blog about it.

Brook Farm is reached by narrow country roads, and sits back from a very quiet lane, close by a small humpbacked bridge over (what else?) a brook. We were welcomed at once by two friendly dogs – Harry, who is a Large Münsterländer, and Dixie, who isn’t. They did their best to entertain us whenever we saw them. Sarah was extremely friendly and welcoming too, of course, fresh from tending her amazing garden, of which more later.

The rooms are very pretty and arse-meltingly comfortable, and the book-lined sitting room was perfect for me in the evenings. Gentle music, complementary home-made damson vodka, and a wide selection of books (I chose “Scott’s Last Expedition” and a small volume of Pepys) and the moistest, tastiest cake ever made me want to just sit there for hours.

We decided what time we wanted breakfast, and next morning, half an hour before, Sarah delivered a tea-tray to the bedroom door. Talk about civilised! For my first breakfast I chose “lovely scrambled egg with flakes of local smoked trout”. It was indeed lovely, delicious right down to the edible flower. Full English on the second day was unbelievably ‘full’, and again nommy.

The gardens are a bit special too. Extensive, beautifully tended with a variety of plants painting the ground, they include woods and a brook. Various cats slink about the numerous buildings. I particularly enjoyed the flavoursome tiny strawberries which we found scattered along a bank.

Altogether a fantastic place. Really. It did us a lot of good. And listen, if you DO want to investigate more (and why wouldn’t you?), checkout the web page HERE or contact Sarah as @nicelittleplace on Twitter. You’ll be so glad you did.

Dancing in the Dark

2010-07-13T18:23:00.001+01:00

Occasionally we have a power cut. When that happens, we go through three phases -

Sodding hell, I’ll miss Chuck AND Twitter! Bastards!
Oh well, nothing for it. Where are the candles?
Ooh, this is lovely! Conversation and wine with no distractions.

Not to mention the games of Strip Twister.

Twitter Wedding Album

2010-06-28T22:37:00.001+01:00

Recently a bunch of our good Twitter friends took to posting photos from their wedding day. I thought it would be nice to gather them all in one place, and here seemed as good a place as any.

I was offline at the time of the tweets, so if I’ve missed anyone out, please tell me. Also if, in my haste, I’ve made any mistakes. We’ll start with ours, just because.

@wombat37 & @little_mavisI did have a copy of this where I’d Photoshopped the check suit out and moved us closer together, but now I rather like this undoctored one. Isn’t Mary a bobby-dazzler?

@ajonesieAmanda doesn’t look like a filthy-minded Whovian who likes crack jokes, does she? She looks all pretty and innocent.

@alliterative & @avensarahOur gorgeous Canadian chums. I do like Mark’s hair, with its hint of a groovy ponytail. Aven looking drop-dead gorgeous.

@captain_doodle & @shelley279 The legendary Captain himself and Shelley looking as pretty as hell. I’m hoping that perspective is at play here. Otherwise, he isn’t half tiny.

@edinburghjo

This is perhaps my favourite outfit of the lot – I WANT that hat! Presumably, @HardyDuncan is behind the camera.

@Dustmotes & @FBishWife Confession time? I’ve not actually met @dustmotes or @FBishWife yet, but I couldn’t resist posting such a lovely photo. It looks like it came out of Vogue or something. I shall now seek them out and click their ‘Follow’ buttons.

@IronThighs Oh-oh, who let Rachel loose with a knife?… eek, watch your kilt, Kevin!

@JaneGoth Simon and Jane getting that windswept and interesting look. Love the bouquet.

@LittleBit_Bod The woman whom I shall always know as “Bod” looking stunning, with Jay who is also, erm, stunning.

@Snowgirl1972 & @Thom_White The lovely Helen, inventor of Snowgirl Sauce, in an absolutely beautiful dress. How pleased does Thom look?

@White76Shona, just shorter than @little_mavis at 4’11”, and Mike, hugely taller than me at 6’2”. Brilliant smiles, eh?

@DaveTreadwell and his AmyA love made in Heaven. And Photoshop.

A final thought – ALL of the women in these photos are drop-dead, mind-meltingly beautiful. Perhaps this shows that I am extremely shallow, and only follow good-lookers. Or perhaps it shows that every woman is strikingly bonny on her wedding day. I’ll let you decide.

PRRRRZZZZZVVVOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

2010-06-17T15:48:00.001+01:00

Car flags everywhere! It can only be the the World Cup. The cheery fluttering of the cross of St. George in the seemingly daily sunshine inspires and entertains. Even The Womcar is not immune, as evidenced by the jaunty photograph over on the right there.

This World Cup may eventually be remembered for a noisy bit of plastic rather than whoever eventually wins it (please God England please), That’s right, I’m talking about the vuvuzela, the one-note cacophony of noise that has enveloped every match played in South Africa. The racket has polarised opinion amongst the watching public, between “Oh how colourful and typically African!” and “Aaaarrrgghh make it stop make it stop!” The noise it makes, for those of you who have been time-travelling to the 117th Century? See the title of this post, and the Wikipedia article shortly after the tournament started.

I suppose I ought to mention the football. As I write, each of the teams has played at least once, and this greatly anticipated carnival of excitement has been decidedly ho-hum. The first fourteen or so games were typified by tappy tappy sideways passing, and unadventurous play, probably born out of a fear of defeat. Then, in the fifteenth game, Chile took the field and proceeded to attack, albeit they only won one-nil. Since then, the others seem to have woken up a little, Argentina looking impressive. The biggest laugh so far? Spain dominating hugely against Switzerland yet contriving to lose one-nil.

England’s first match against the USA seemed to be going very well, until Robert Green in the England goal chose exactly the wrong moment to suddenly realise he might have left the gas on back at home. Here are the goals from the game, presented in stunning Legovision.

Lancaster

2010-05-31T17:55:00.000+01:00

Here’s our latest meander, courtesy of a quick drive up the M6 to deliver Ellie back to University. Lancaster’s a lovely city, and when there are stalls out on the streets selling all sorts of knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, oojamaflips and wossnames, the place hums with a happy babble. Here, people gather outside… well, can you guess what the building is?

Mary bought herself Chinese food from a street-vendor, while I moved along a couple of stalls and had the tastiest biriani.

This lass was something else – nice powerful thighs there….. sorry, drifted off for a moment. To preview her ‘Strongwoman’ act, she hoicked a bystander off his feet and carried him off. Much to the distress of his child (on the right), and the amusement of his OH (upper right).

Up the hill is the castle, but it costs a fair whack to be toured around, and as regular readers will know I am a Yorkshireman, and if it’s not free, it can bloody well bugger off. Here’s the outside of the castle with a pretty tree.

In the castle grounds, ‘jolly re-enactors’ were teaching children to fight with swords, maces and other weapons. Cos that’s ALWAYS a good idea.

From the castle grounds you get a lovely view. NOTE: Tom Wigam, apparently, is a dirty emo and a tramp.

Next photos – gargoyles on the church, and Mary nomming her Chinese. I make no comparison. No comparison at all.

And here’s the very pretty church interior.

Another view from the castle, this time of the monument in Williamson Park. You can probably see Ellie’s house from here as well (not pictured).

Lovely curves, both on the street and on the photographer (Mary took this one).

And here’s Ellie looking picturesque while resting on the castle steps.

A red door yes, but WTF are these hooks for by the lamp? I can’t imagine, personally. (well, I can, but I doubt my weird ideas are anywhere near the actual truth)

Despite the prominence of the signpost, I have absolutely no idea of the name of this square. Pretty though, int it?

Houses looming like vultures over the corpses of two garages (poetic, eh?)

Beehive!

On the old Co-op building. Something about co-operative insects or something, probably.

And here’s this post’s obligatory sweet shop.

Interestingly, the streets of Lancaster are paved with old pennies and stuff, all glued into the pavement. Look closely, and you’ll see quite a few foreign coins as well (well, not in the photo you won’t, but if you were actually THERE you would)

Finally, the sexy Queen Victoria towers greenly above us as we take our leave.