I have to tell you about the arcane delights of eating ripe nectarines straight from the tree. Perhaps this does not equate to such pursuits as winning the national Lottery and then being able to make monetary advances to George Clooney(wasn't he just so beautiful in 'Burn Without Reading') Yes I am a bloke, no I only bat with a straight bat and I can say stuff like that because (a) it is true (b)it is 2009(c) and if my bat was only slightly out of shape he would be the first I would pay money to.
But eating ripe nectarines is one of life's real pleasures, and straight off the tree is sublimity in a nutshell. First off I have to explain all about this particular nectarine tree. I (we) built this house about 9yrs ago now and as befits the way she wants to live one of the first things we put in was a compost bin. Yes, yes, I know the chickens are supposed to eat all the kitchen scraps, for heavens sake there are only two of them, you want the poor little things to burst? They stuff themselves with pasta anyway and sometimes are just to full and would rather sit in the dust and burp.
The second thing was the fabled chicken house, and about two weeks after the chicken house was all ready ,carpeted and fully fitted out with hot and cold running chickens the first batch of compost was spread around. Wonder of wonders in about three weeks a little tree started growing in front of the chicken hut. Pretty soon this little sprout grew into what my canny eye knew was a nectarine tree. Quoth I to her in my best imitation of George, that girl, hurrrumph, is a nectarine tree. "OO she trilled, now we will have lovely nectarines" Oh no says I, this is a self sown tree and as such will never bear fruit, however, because I am full of bonhomie and love for my chickens I will let it grow to provide shade and such like to the hens."My hero" she replied, you are so knowledgeable about life and things" "come she said, I will anoint your brow with unguents and cooling oils then prepare a sumptuous repast for you"
Actually I do stretch the truth somewhat. all she really did say was "what do you know" and then walked off.
The tree grew and darn well grew ,by next season it was about six ft. tall, almost that across. She kept saying how good the compost must be (she is in charge of that), all I could repeat was that because it was self sown, blah blah yudder yudder. Did I tell you that I was on an orchard (we had 8thou trees) as such I knew all about what grows or what don't. As a male also I am full of all sorts of great knowledge like that, practical stuff that only males very much like George Clooney seem to possess.
Was 'bout this time 2003 the robbi waltzed out early one morn to get the eggs and with jaw dropping/ double take/ shock horror/ awe noted that there were four nectarines growing on the by now ten foot tree. You guessed it,each year the tree grows even bigger and fruits like bunches of grapes. To make matters really worse the damn thing is one of the old white varieties that is the very best and sought after fruits, one that you never see in the greengrocers either.
Robbi Humble pie is one of my very favourites, as well, hers too. Happens heaps at chez robbi.
Fantastic isn't it Hortense. You know me well enough now and can attest to the fact that when I am wrong I will admit to it.No, I never have my fingers crossed, well maybe that once I did.
Barack? nope, can't see him ever having that(humble pie) on the menu at the White House. he seems to be a pretty clever chappie, one not prone to just shooting off his mouth without considering the consequences. Just jumped right into work too didn't he, our new bloke here did that as well, just as he said he would. Only one difference there though, Barack doesn't need a paper to read from, our bloke can't open his mouth without reams of it spilling out, and none of it makes sense either. They still think(our government) that their silly carbon trading scheme can just go ahead full steam and not cause any downturn in our economy. The only folk who will win out of this will be the people who get the licences to do the carbon trading, the folk who will suffer will be the OZ public and the businesses that will go under.Sure we humans have wrecked the planet, are we wholly to blame for global warming, not on your nellie, just ask the 650 eminent scientists who say we are not and that the Earth could be actually heading for another mini ice age.
Oh Hortense, no, gelato is off the menu tomorrow but I promise we will do it all again on Sunday 'Tis the great bike race tomorrow, that top Texan Lance Armstrong will be there also about 133 other bike riders all in stretch Lycra, you are blushing Horty old girl, that is a maidenly blush I see. You only go there to read the lettering on the Lycra Hortense, yes I guessed that
Wednesday 21 January 2009
Sunday 18 January 2009
ink marks on a blank page Sunday 18th January
So, chickens don't know when it's Sunday. That might just come as a surprise to some folk, as I know it did and sort of didn't to me. Perhaps a fuller explanation would be in order. Since leaving the farm , building a new home in that hills village and then subsequently moving down here we have kept up the farming facade by having chickens in the back yard. She says it is so I can have some(one)thing to talk to during the days when she is off ministering to the sick etc. Actually how the chickens manage room and board at Chez robbi is by supplying the household with fresh eggs on a daily basis. Therein is my little epiphany about chickens not knowing it is Sunday.
More background information is as follows; when on the farm we had up to 20 chickens all running about the place laying furiously so what the crows didn't pinch I used to pick up each day.In all those years what with the crows swiping eggs and new chickens coming in there was never any need to know who laid what or when. Eggs just appeared, were gathered either by crows or self and life just tumbled on.
The shift to the village changed all that as it took a while to get a hen house going and then we sold that house to move and build here. Of course in between all that there was a sort of limp career to consolidate after being on the farm for so long, life was at that time a tad odd and mixed up for a goodly while. Once here and the garden done , hen house built ,two chickens were installed. two seemed to be an optimum number as we were unsure how the neighbours would react to hens bawking about the place early on a frosty morn. They appeared to be placated with the odd egg or three and also some nice plums or nectarines from the fruit trees.
You may or not know that chickens do not lay every day,even when as well cosseted as they are at Chezrobbi. These two lovely red hens laid two brown eggs everyday except, wait for it ,Sunday. This went on for some three years and when we had several trips to the UK for 3months at a time the folk who looked after the feeding and care reported that two eggs rolled in every day except Sunday. Some Sundays there would be one egg but most Sundays were eggless. That lot of chickens eventually had to go to a friends farm out in the sticks , a sort of old chickens home in the hills, where they could live out the rest of their days in peace,(or the pot) we hoped.What we didn't know wouldn't hurt , so to speak. Another two chickens joined the happy band here and they soon settled into the same routine, as did their main carer, me. Oh heck no, I don't lay the eggs, it's the chickens stupid!Two eggs a day excepting of course Sunday. Last year off we went to the UK for another couple of months so those red hens had an early retirement trip to Mt Pleasant. On return we off to the red hen shop for two more, but once they started laying, shock and horror the routine changed. Now , some of you might think and say, so what, do I really care diddly what day his chickens lay or didn't?
Perhaps it is retirement, or sloth, or just a general loss of neurons that stopped me from realising until last week that these hens didn't not lay an egg on any specific day( such as Sunday) but their particular habit was not to lay on alternate days.Are you confused, what I mean is one week they didn't lay on Monday, next week it was the Wednesday and so on. But there was always two eggs on a Sunday. I know , I checked on the calendar where all the egg production is marked down in a very efficient manner, as befits a well regulated household(she says I should get out more). There you have it, a conundrum Miss Marple would love to crack. Worrisome to a small degree and you dear folk can be rest assured that the matter has been discussed at length with the two red hens but as yet there is no actual consensus in sight.
Of course I'm not batty Hortense, the good folk know that I don't really talk to chickens at great length, just short little asides about the weather and such is all.
I should stick to rubbish I make up instead Horty old girl, is that a question old love or a demand? Maybe you are right perhaps a little comment on current affairs.Is it okay to say that word when one talks about an American president?. Tuesday the good folk in the US are going to do that thing they do so well, install a new one. What a cracker he looks as well Hortense, damn but he looks the goods. This is just one of the really great thing the Americans do isn't it, oh heck Horty it is far far better than inventing liquid white out. You were joking? write me a note next time Hortense. He is rather sweet and seems to be quite bright but he has a big job to do. Methinks Hamas might just be escalating the situation just to make it hot for the young fellow, and don't they look like a bunch of losers . As this is being written they have just sent five rockets into Israel,pathetic isn't it. There are always two ways of looking at any perplexing situation,so lets hope the chickens settle down into a better routine or a higher authority might just answer the call.
Missed out on Sunday Gelato this week Hortense, shame about that but it was all down to those pesky red hens y'see. Next week I promise.
More background information is as follows; when on the farm we had up to 20 chickens all running about the place laying furiously so what the crows didn't pinch I used to pick up each day.In all those years what with the crows swiping eggs and new chickens coming in there was never any need to know who laid what or when. Eggs just appeared, were gathered either by crows or self and life just tumbled on.
The shift to the village changed all that as it took a while to get a hen house going and then we sold that house to move and build here. Of course in between all that there was a sort of limp career to consolidate after being on the farm for so long, life was at that time a tad odd and mixed up for a goodly while. Once here and the garden done , hen house built ,two chickens were installed. two seemed to be an optimum number as we were unsure how the neighbours would react to hens bawking about the place early on a frosty morn. They appeared to be placated with the odd egg or three and also some nice plums or nectarines from the fruit trees.
You may or not know that chickens do not lay every day,even when as well cosseted as they are at Chezrobbi. These two lovely red hens laid two brown eggs everyday except, wait for it ,Sunday. This went on for some three years and when we had several trips to the UK for 3months at a time the folk who looked after the feeding and care reported that two eggs rolled in every day except Sunday. Some Sundays there would be one egg but most Sundays were eggless. That lot of chickens eventually had to go to a friends farm out in the sticks , a sort of old chickens home in the hills, where they could live out the rest of their days in peace,(or the pot) we hoped.What we didn't know wouldn't hurt , so to speak. Another two chickens joined the happy band here and they soon settled into the same routine, as did their main carer, me. Oh heck no, I don't lay the eggs, it's the chickens stupid!Two eggs a day excepting of course Sunday. Last year off we went to the UK for another couple of months so those red hens had an early retirement trip to Mt Pleasant. On return we off to the red hen shop for two more, but once they started laying, shock and horror the routine changed. Now , some of you might think and say, so what, do I really care diddly what day his chickens lay or didn't?
Perhaps it is retirement, or sloth, or just a general loss of neurons that stopped me from realising until last week that these hens didn't not lay an egg on any specific day( such as Sunday) but their particular habit was not to lay on alternate days.Are you confused, what I mean is one week they didn't lay on Monday, next week it was the Wednesday and so on. But there was always two eggs on a Sunday. I know , I checked on the calendar where all the egg production is marked down in a very efficient manner, as befits a well regulated household(she says I should get out more). There you have it, a conundrum Miss Marple would love to crack. Worrisome to a small degree and you dear folk can be rest assured that the matter has been discussed at length with the two red hens but as yet there is no actual consensus in sight.
Of course I'm not batty Hortense, the good folk know that I don't really talk to chickens at great length, just short little asides about the weather and such is all.
I should stick to rubbish I make up instead Horty old girl, is that a question old love or a demand? Maybe you are right perhaps a little comment on current affairs.Is it okay to say that word when one talks about an American president?. Tuesday the good folk in the US are going to do that thing they do so well, install a new one. What a cracker he looks as well Hortense, damn but he looks the goods. This is just one of the really great thing the Americans do isn't it, oh heck Horty it is far far better than inventing liquid white out. You were joking? write me a note next time Hortense. He is rather sweet and seems to be quite bright but he has a big job to do. Methinks Hamas might just be escalating the situation just to make it hot for the young fellow, and don't they look like a bunch of losers . As this is being written they have just sent five rockets into Israel,pathetic isn't it. There are always two ways of looking at any perplexing situation,so lets hope the chickens settle down into a better routine or a higher authority might just answer the call.
Missed out on Sunday Gelato this week Hortense, shame about that but it was all down to those pesky red hens y'see. Next week I promise.
Saturday 10 January 2009
Ink marks on a blank page Sunday 11th Jan
Okay, so here I am on a quiet Sunday and it really isn't all that hot outside, but I thought I should perhaps get in out of the sun. Like most folk of direct English extraction I am easily burnt to a crisp. Already in my short life I have had some 20 skin lesions dry iced from my face and an active BCC gouged out of my neck. So in I came, what to do ,what to do, sang that crazy woman who I can never remember her name, but she warbled on about Heathcliff and has a huge castle somewhere in Ireland. Y'all know the woman I'm sure.
I have been busy of late though, scurrying down here most nights working away on my book. The days I spend mostly in heavy contemplation of my navel, as well of course reading about the times when things were young, real, and dinosaurs ruled. I have on my desk a pile of genuine dinosaur poop, yes indeed I do right next to the petrified wood and only an inch or so from the crustacea I found up in Coober Pedy. That's an arthropod to you folk, opalised it is and all. There might be a few of you who went to the movies and saw my hero Mel Gibson in the film series Mad Max. I think in the US they were re-badged as 'The Road Warrior'. Well the one Tina Turner was in was shot in Coober Pedy, on location just out some way of the town at a place called the 'Moon Plain' ,given that it looks a little like the surface of the Moon. That is where I found lots of lovely little fossils, all sorts of shells and little pieces of opalised bone, and lots of very very old oyster shell. Coober Pedy is of course some 3-400 miles from the now sea but back then of course lots of sea covered the land and even right the way up to Alice Springs you can find fossil sharks teeth and shells. I have to confess a little backsliding here folks, I do have another life, strange as it may seem. That life encompasses all sorts of weird and not so wonderful things, Paleontology is one, writing poetry and photography another one or three. Travel though is my real vice and the book I am writing is a series of photo books of my last visit to the UK. Some time ago I confessed to this very vice on here but then got distracted by Hortense, trying to save the world from itself and Gelato. Wonderful pursuits in themselves but I lust for my thoughts of England and greenery. To this end I shall devote this blog to a wonderful place and person,Bess of Hardwick, and endeavour to show you why on your very next vacation you should rush off to that green and sceptered isle.
The place: Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire
The Person: Elizabeth Shrewsbury (Bess of Hardwick)
Bess was born of humble origins in 1527 and by dint of four successful marriages to some of the richest men in England became a confidant of Elizabeth 1 and the second only to her as the richest woman in all of Britain. She died in 1608 at 80 yrs of age in her beautiful home, Hardwick Hall, which she had designed and built in 1573. The hall is set in some of the prettiest rolling downs and pasture country I have ever seen in England, the magnificent gardens and surrounds are maintained by the National Trust who have owned the property since the late 1960's. The Dukes of Cavendish who are the descendants of Bess had to gift Hardwick to the crown in order to pay the massive death duties that had built up over time. The house itself is almost as Bess had just left it with all the original furniture and wall hangings still in place. Her design for the exterior used, for the times, huge amount of glass and the wits of the day had a rhyme that went, in part" Hardwick Hall, more glass than wall" The Trust have done a remarkable job in keeping the place going as she would have run it as a working farm selling produce ,running free range pigs and the like. The on-site restaurant which is run from the original kitchen and scullery uses all their own produce so what you see all around is what you get.Have the Hardwick own pork sausages in red wine/onion gravy when you go,they are just superb! If I had a problem with the visit, then the day we spent there wasn't enough. Next time !
No Hortense I didn't have the Gelato as I am true to my very own Cocolat. We had some new flavours Friday after seeing that terrific movie 'Slum Dog Millionaire', didn't we Horty old girl, was just yummo too wasn't it.The film was well worth the ticket, so do yourselves a favour and go.
I have been busy of late though, scurrying down here most nights working away on my book. The days I spend mostly in heavy contemplation of my navel, as well of course reading about the times when things were young, real, and dinosaurs ruled. I have on my desk a pile of genuine dinosaur poop, yes indeed I do right next to the petrified wood and only an inch or so from the crustacea I found up in Coober Pedy. That's an arthropod to you folk, opalised it is and all. There might be a few of you who went to the movies and saw my hero Mel Gibson in the film series Mad Max. I think in the US they were re-badged as 'The Road Warrior'. Well the one Tina Turner was in was shot in Coober Pedy, on location just out some way of the town at a place called the 'Moon Plain' ,given that it looks a little like the surface of the Moon. That is where I found lots of lovely little fossils, all sorts of shells and little pieces of opalised bone, and lots of very very old oyster shell. Coober Pedy is of course some 3-400 miles from the now sea but back then of course lots of sea covered the land and even right the way up to Alice Springs you can find fossil sharks teeth and shells. I have to confess a little backsliding here folks, I do have another life, strange as it may seem. That life encompasses all sorts of weird and not so wonderful things, Paleontology is one, writing poetry and photography another one or three. Travel though is my real vice and the book I am writing is a series of photo books of my last visit to the UK. Some time ago I confessed to this very vice on here but then got distracted by Hortense, trying to save the world from itself and Gelato. Wonderful pursuits in themselves but I lust for my thoughts of England and greenery. To this end I shall devote this blog to a wonderful place and person,Bess of Hardwick, and endeavour to show you why on your very next vacation you should rush off to that green and sceptered isle.
The place: Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire
The Person: Elizabeth Shrewsbury (Bess of Hardwick)
Bess was born of humble origins in 1527 and by dint of four successful marriages to some of the richest men in England became a confidant of Elizabeth 1 and the second only to her as the richest woman in all of Britain. She died in 1608 at 80 yrs of age in her beautiful home, Hardwick Hall, which she had designed and built in 1573. The hall is set in some of the prettiest rolling downs and pasture country I have ever seen in England, the magnificent gardens and surrounds are maintained by the National Trust who have owned the property since the late 1960's. The Dukes of Cavendish who are the descendants of Bess had to gift Hardwick to the crown in order to pay the massive death duties that had built up over time. The house itself is almost as Bess had just left it with all the original furniture and wall hangings still in place. Her design for the exterior used, for the times, huge amount of glass and the wits of the day had a rhyme that went, in part" Hardwick Hall, more glass than wall" The Trust have done a remarkable job in keeping the place going as she would have run it as a working farm selling produce ,running free range pigs and the like. The on-site restaurant which is run from the original kitchen and scullery uses all their own produce so what you see all around is what you get.Have the Hardwick own pork sausages in red wine/onion gravy when you go,they are just superb! If I had a problem with the visit, then the day we spent there wasn't enough. Next time !
No Hortense I didn't have the Gelato as I am true to my very own Cocolat. We had some new flavours Friday after seeing that terrific movie 'Slum Dog Millionaire', didn't we Horty old girl, was just yummo too wasn't it.The film was well worth the ticket, so do yourselves a favour and go.
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