under another sun

Sausages At my desk to do some agency work which was bumped at the last minute. After some general admin, oofed off to the gym for an intensive workout. I am definitely fitter than I have been but I remain a fat bloke. Poor Lorraine is still hoarse and coldy so I cooked for her and installed her on the sofa before I went in the evening off in the cold to see Ross in the Shakespeare's Head for a pointless beer. I like Ross. He is cheery and interested in all kinds of things. We availed ourselves of the Shakespeare's Head's sausage and mash menu and took advice from one of the chefs on the best sausages. We were recommended venison sausages, with garlic mash and a berry and wine gravy washed down with Tanglefoot Bitter. I learn from Wikipedia that the name for Badger Brewery's Tanglefoot came about when the Head Brewer drank "several tankards" and "fell on" a name for the beer. When buying a round I found myself asking for two Tanglefeet. Fond farewel...

In search of the perfect sausage Completed the first chapter of new story, which has the working title of The Echo . And then got busy filing, opening piles of unopened envelopes, tidying and generally organising and throwing stuff away. A bit like a spring clean, but in September. Suddenly, and uncharacteristically, clutter and untidiness are my enemies. Today is Anton and Bob's birthday. I'd spoken to the old Mad Dog yesterday, and I joined Anton, Anna and the Bairns in The Batty to sit in the garden in the sun. Anton's Birthday month has officially begun. Sadly I had no present yet for him, but he is in a happy place: on the cusp of a new craze. Mincing meat and fashioning your own sausages are now de rigueur for Anton has started a quest for the perfect sausage. This sparked reminiscences of our trip to Munich with Jane and Christian and Brian, where we ate, with no exaggeration, hundreds of sausages between us. The children full of beans, Klaudia now able to play all ...

A short cut to sausages Up early to go for a walk in the country with Anton. Up to his house and then down to get a bus, talking about a new audiobook, the Time Traveller's Guide to Medieval England by Ian Mortimer. I took Anton's advice and downloaded it this week, and am very pleased with it. A great concept, which instantly makes you wonder why it has not been done before. We alighted slightly beyond the village of Pheasant's Green, and walked along the road, past a gaggle of complaining white geese. Once we had walked with trepidation past the warning clay shoot in progress signs, the route was straight and easy as it had been an old railway line. Paused for lunch on a bench which someone had donated to look out on his beloved countryside. Annoyingly, my sore throat was making it a bit of a chore, so we stopped after a couple of hours. Towards the end, we walked through a herd of cattle, Anton helpfully mentioned that someone had been trampled to death in such circums...

Sprinkles goes home Up early and sadly took Sprinkles off to Gatwick. Miraculously she seemed absolutely unaffected by our lively night last night, whereas I found myself wussing about with a headache. We had to force her suitcase shut after it was loaded with all kinds of odd presents and English souvenirs for her pals, and there was an entirely separate bag for chocolate. Sprinkles' English accent is now excellent. And it was a shame she had to leave as the Brighton Festival is now starting. As we were rushing through the gates I noticed a man in a dragon suit pushing through the gates into Brighton like a harbinger of mayhem. We got the train on time, and checked in quickly at Gatwick and sat around drinking coffee and laughing about all the good times we'd had. It was an amazing adventure really, and we got on really well, and I am going to miss her. Then a large hug and kiss goodbye and Sprinkles headed off towards security, and I sloped back towards the train. Turns out s...