Decision Time

To come off the M5 motorway at Bristol or not to come off the M5 Motorway at Bristol? That is the question posed at 16.22 this Friday afternoon.

Geoff has called with news of standstill misery for the five junctions lying in wait. A look at the Collins, AA sponsored, Michelin endorsed spiral bound A to Z atlas leaves us with two feasible options. Persevere with the motorway crawlathon in the hope that it will subside or drive through Bristol itself (Britain's 9th largest city - I don't know why I know this fact. Heard it once when I was a kid and it stuck like fact glue to my brain).

Peak time.

Friday afternoon.

Bank Holiday.

Driving through Bristol had mediocre farcical movie starring John Cleese and Helena Bonham Carter written all over it so we opted to persevere with the M5.

It took 1 hour and 24 minutes to move the five junctions. One can only guess how long this would have taken had we done the Bristol thing. We'll never know if it was the right or wrong decision. Unless of course we are reborn into a parallel universe. For each decision taken in this life, an alternative decision is taken in that one. Actually, in this case we still wouldn't know unless in that future parallel universe we retain the knowledge of what's happened in this one. If this is the case I'll let you all know the outcome in my blog - www.liberatingmondays.blogspot.com

 

The Slug Inn at Charlbury

Slugs. They're not well liked. I have to say I'm quite indifferent to them. They wouldn't get onto my 'Creatures I'd Take On The Ark' list. That said, conversely, I wouldn't sign the petition for their instant destruction and removal from the planet either. As I said - indifferent.

I try not to kill any creature. Even if a wasp crawls into my bottle of Grolsch when I'm not looking and stings me on the tongue I wouldn't kill the thing for it. Obviously I'd spit him out but I wouldn't then wreak revenge by capturing him in a tea cup and calling Rentokill in to slowly torture him to death (In any case Rentokill charge 3 times as much for the torturing insects option).

Thing is I've got fed up over the years of the slugs ransacking my allotment veg. I've said before that I don't mind if I don't get great crops. I do it all for the craic. This year however I want to save a bit of cash to go to Scrabble Evening Classes so I need my veg to survive.

I've decided I am going to kill them nicely! They will die merry. I'm giving the beer trap method a go. This means asking for the beer dregs from Barry's pub, getting it blessed at The Church of John Craven before pouring it all into little containers around my plants, with perhaps a few dry roasted peanuts scattered round too.

I thought I should maybe install a jukebox up there too and even put on a quiz for the slugs of a Wednesday night but, to be honest, I didn't stop working Fridays just to spend time devising in-pub entertainment for slugs.

In Praise of Halloumi

It squeaks
It tastes a bit of meat
HALLOUMI HALLOUMI HALLOUMI
(chanted in an aggressive football meat head kind of way whilst pointing)

Slice it, grill it
Fritter it, pitta it
HALLOUMI HALLOUMI HALLOUMI

With olive oil, chilli & lemon
I must have fried and gone to heaven
HALLOUMI HALLOUMI HALLOUMI

Barbecued or in a stew
There's nowt Halloumi cannot do
(apart from perhaps as an after dinner cheese with biscuits)
HALLOUMI HALLOUMI HALLOUMI

Where The Wild Things Camp

I'm going wild camping with Geoff.

There's a problem though. Geoff says I can't call it wild camping. I've got to call it 'That kind of camping'. He's got issues with the term 'wild camping'. It's a term that's been mediasized into something it actually isn't. It's not actually wild to camp in a field in Dorset. Perhaps in the Sahara, a remote part of Papua New Guinea or an outdoor car park in suburban Glasgow.

I suppose we should just call it 'Natural camping' or simply 'Free camping'. In fact we don't actually have to label it at all do we?

I'm going camping with Geoff.