Mr. Natural Does The Dishes

Sometimes, no always, I feel just like Mr Natural. In this house I like to wash dishes by hand, whereas Lady M uses the washing-up machine (which I have no idea how to operate).

Here is my favourite cartoonist of all time, Robert Crumb, illustrating perfectly how both Mr Natural and I go about things.

Restorative Breakfast.

As regular readers may already know, I have a strange relationship with 'breakfast'. I eat alone at 5 am, and my choice of dishes goes from Squid in ink, to fried egg and haggis, to Octopus in garlic flavoured oil. It is the one meal of the day where my choice seems endless, often strange, but always very personal.

I have two favourite 'morning-after' breakfasts, if I'm in France it's a litre bottle of ice cold Orangina, and if in the UK it's anchovies on toast.

I haven't really had a serious 'morning-after' feeling for decades, but I do occasionally wake feeling in need of a pick-me-up, and both the Orangina and the anchovies do the job for that too.

Yesterday morning I felt a bit listless; a bit tired, and there was only one thing for it; a couple of slices of buttered wholemeal toast with a mini jar of anchovies. You can instantly feel them lifting the spirits.

Anchovies are interesting little fish. As with most of what we eat, quality goes from bog-standard to heavenly. I always think it's worth having a variety of tins or jars of anchovies in the cupboard. I usually have a few of those tiny long tins in olive oil, they are pleasant enough, and are perfect for pasta dishes that require a little oomph. I also buy medium quality of jars of anchovies either in oil (as I consumed yesterday, above) or in salt. Occasionally I buy the very best cans of perfectly prepared anchovies; Ortiz is a favourite.

Anchovies are a bit like Marmite; you either love or hate them. As you might imagine, I am a big fan.

Crusade.

 

It's Sunday, and I'm heading off up into the loft.

I need to buff-up and sharpen my metre-long sabre, polish the buttons on my be-meddled Cavalry Officer's tunic, and fill my campaign trunk with a few Western essentials. I'm off to Tehran to have a word with Ali Khamemei.

I shall arrange an interview, and give him a jolly good talking-to. The man is a menace, and for someone who claims to be 'religious', he is a disgrace. I may even quote the Koran to him, if I can find any passages that talk of Islam being peaceful.

When I have him by himself, I shall grab one of his ears and twist it until he promises not to be so bellicose. If he squeals I'll grab his beard, and threaten to cut it off with my sabre. That should calm him and get him to abide by my demands. 

Once I've dealt with Ali, I shall head for Moscow. I shall invite Putin to Tea somewhere nice; and show him how people behave in the democratic West. I have a feeling that after a scone or two, thickly spread with Raspberry jam and Devon clotted cream, and a cup of Lapsang, he will apologise for his recent actions, and promise to make repairs. I shall of course give him a time-table, and if all is not repaired before a certain date; I SHALL RETURN, and I will not be responsible for my actions.. 

Hopefully I'll be home again before nightfall, and shall reward myself with a slice of Pork Pie, and a glass of Harvey's rejuvenating Sussex ale, before heading off to Bedfordshire! 

A job well done.

p.s. The above photo shows Ali enjoying 'blissful ecstasy' with his 72 virgins; but here on earth rather than waiting to ascend to heaven.

More flars

The Daffs, Narcissi, and Tulips are still just about hanging-on, but they are being quickly replaced by Bluebells, flowering Cherry, and Daisies.

I really do find a thick swathe of Daisies a wonderful sight. One day there is nothing, and the next there is a carpet of white dots. 

I wonder if anyone remembers the photo I once posted of a perfect circle of Daisies? I must have mowed a couple of days before, then the plant flowered again from its perimeter, leaving a perfect circle of white flowers.

These Daisies are 'mine'; they live on our small communal lawn beside the house. No doubt the executioner (gardener) will come along before long, and take their heads off.

And I'm very pleased to see that the newly planted Fig tree, in the dog-walking garden, has survived and is sprouting leaves. 

The Death of a Magpie

Often wild, and/or domestic, animals seem indifferent to the death of a fellow species family member. I do remember being shocked at the total indifference by our dog Bok to the death of his best friend Monty. Even though Bok had attended Monty's funeral, he showed no emotion whatsoever.

So, to see these Magpies obviously mourning the death of (I imagine) a family member is very heartening. They are upset, and occasionally try to revive him/her, without success.

I like Magpies; I see them as exotic, Parrot-like, creatures. And, of course, if I encounter a lone bird I always salute, and say 'Bonjour Monsieur Pie'. 

Doesn't everyone?

Name that man!

AI is a wonderful thing, but it can also be a tad worrisome.

This photo is of someone who doesn't exist. It has been regenerated from how he looks now, but has given him a good head of hair, unbleached his beard, and taken away a thousand wrinkles. He looks about 30 years younger than he actually is, and almost looks human.

He is of course ME! Although I would hardly have recognised myself looking quite so youthful.

Oh to have that hair again!

If only AI could actually change me, rather than just my photo.

 

Flyers.

Probably like most households, we receive an inordinate number of 'flyers' through the letter box.

Mostly they are for pizzas, Chinese take-aways, house cleaning services, and mobility scooters. Rarely do we receive 'occult' material, so I was fascinated to see the below come through the letter box yesterday.

Frankly, I was amazed to see that 'god' has returned to earth under a 'New Name', and to see that he is here 'to rule, to unite, heal, and renew'.

On the reverse we read that the 'New Name' is in fact one Olumba Olumba Obu, who is the founder and 'sustainer' of this new 'Brotherhood'. He informs us that the whole world has been waiting for him! I'm sure they have!

His aims are all very laudable, no sin, and plenty of love and peace. He also promises that he will answer all your problems. So hallelujah, praise be Mr 'god' Obu.

Olumba doesn't really look like my idea of an omnipotent god, and what are those 3 suspicious looking dots on his photo?

I have nothing against anyone starting a new business venture, but being a suspicious kind of person, I suspect that any new convert to the 'Brotherhood of the Cross and Star' might well be asked to contribute to Mr Obu's lifestyle and huge property portfolio prior to their problems being answered or solved. 

I have never really approved of private 'god businesses'. They always appear cynical, and have but one financial aim. Occasionally they also involve sex with either multiple wives or children, which is despicable. Why am I not surprised to see that Mr Obu comes from Nigeria?

We have enough gods already, so we really don't need another one. Anyway, I would require some proof that Olumba really is god before I hand over all my money. Turn some water into Merlot, walk across Loch Ness, and heal all cancer sufferers; that'll do for a start.

May I suggest otherwise that he boards his own 'ark of salvation', and sails away into that perfect sunrise.