Mission Creep.

Who would have thought a quick trip to get petrol could turn into such a mission? As I'm wont to do when needs be I set off for the 5 minute drive to Asda for petrol at lunch time. My intention was petrol and cakes before a swift return to the office. Nearly an hour later I made it back wondering what on earth was going on minus the cakes. Self paying unmanned petrol stations are fantastic....as long as the card readers work. When I got there a whole load of drivers simply shrugged their shoulders in bafflement as to why all of the pumps were malfunctioning.

Onward so I thought to the next garage. Unfortunately heading for the back exit to the car park a diversion took me and several other drivers down a blind alley. Why divert into a dead end? And try to turn round when it is backed up? Having finally extricated myself I went to the next filling station. Cash only yelled the man over a tannoy. I had no cash. So I had to raid the cashpoint there. The woman in front said beware, this machine eats cards. Frying pans and fire. So it was with huge relief it reluctantly gave me money, I bought my petrol and somewhat frustrated headed back. Apparently every card machine in Hatfield was down for some reason.

The challenging start did however give way to an okay day. After work tomorrow I am on the train to Cambridge, Jayne and Don Giovanni await. There could be an interlude tomorrow afternoon as although it seems perfectly clear I will never be given a management job I am firmly in command as no managers are available at all. So any crises will be mine to deal with. Nothing new there then.

And now, a touch a Masterchef, a couple of beers and an hour or so of tonight's NFL draft. My beloved Rams have the first overall pick and I'm calling Carson Wentz all the way.

See you in May when I'm back.

I Heard a Voice.

A Northerly Chill.

Winter decided to bite back today. A bitter wind from the north has made life decidedly chilly on this Sunday afternoon. The London Marathon is on although I've never had a particular interest in that. There is also a cup semi final being played at Wembley. No interest in that either. For me the usual quiet day of rest, cooking and opera is in full swing.

The pork chop last night was a revelation, the best I have cooked since leaving Kent behind and losing Mandy as much butcher. Today it is a chicken. I will stuff it will lemon and thyme then give it a couple of hours to cook. The last of my Albarino will be consumed with it.

As for the opera I have been blessed thrice over. Offenbach this morning, Verdi with my trip out in the car to a country pub. And now Mozart as I move ever closer to an evening before the day after. Yes the weekend has gone too quickly as ever. My intention today was to get up a little earlier and have more of Sunday to enjoy. Come 10 am I turned out for another half hour. Next I knew an hour and a half had gone by and my plan went awry.

What will next week bring? Another long slow burner I suspect. The last few weeks have taken an age to go by when I'm working, and flown by when I'm not. But with each passing day I get closer to my trip to Cambridge for Don Giovanni. Jayne is looking forward to it so much she got the wrong week and was expecting me yesterday. We must wait.

Wherever your week takes you , have a good one.

I Heard a Voice.

For Harry and St George.

I'm ashamed to say my knowledge of Shakespeare is limited. I discovered his work aged 13 courtesy of a brilliant and now dead teacher. King Lear at 13? Pretty extreme. My later ventures were against a background of an angry and emotionally volatile teenager where most things pissed me off. And with that my interest in Shakespeare waned.

Many years later I used to watch The Globe theatre being built on my walks from the psychiatric unit that formed a sort of home for 4 months. Yet I have never been there.

On this day, Shakespeare's birthday and St George's Day, it is to my shame that I do not know Henry V despite my hero worship as a child. Despite my ignorance I feel the need to honour this day as I am English. Our flag has become alarmingly linked to the far right idiot racists who have sadly come to a disgraceful prominence since 9/11. That fateful day. But our flag belongs to us not them.

I was contemplating roasting some beef today for the occasion but everyone is busy or away. So it was that I set forth this morning under threatening skies wondering what culinary adventures would mark my weekend. I settled on a simple pork chop today and chicken to roast tomorrow.

My travels afterwards took me to The Sun at Lemsford after an aborted trip to The Waggoners which was full of kids so nowhere to sit down. A sandwich and a beer, a nice plan on a Saturday afternoon.

I wish you all a splendid weekend and may it relax you all before the chaos starts again in Monday.

I Heard a Voice.

Smuggling Tales.

My love of the English pub will be self evident from simply reading a single week's worth of posts. So it was a great delight to me that the famous English foodies the Hairy Bikers are appearing in a new series on British pubs. A short gentle stroll through this institution has been a delight. Tonight they were looking at smuggling pubs in Cornwall.

Much of the English speaking world will have heard of Jamaica Inn the title of Daphne Du Maurier dark novel. Beka is a great fan of her works. I've never been to Bodmin Moor where the inn is situated. But being from Kent I'm know a few tales of smuggler's pubs.

The Bell Inn in Hythe played a huge part in my life. I call it the "pub at the bottom of the hill" in A Pillar of Impotence, many of my Kent friends met me there. Long before it was my local it was a smuggler's pub. They say the tunnels going through to the mill house behind still exist. In the 1960s the then landlord decided he wanted to open up the chimney to have an open fire. They did not expect to find the skeletons of two customs officers complete with decaying uniforms and identification bricked up in there. That is precisely what they found.

I love a pub with a good story. All along the coast are such places. Dymchurch down on Romney Marsh holds the annual "Day of Syn" after the smuggling local vicar of years ago. The Ship is at the centre of the day.

Far away from the sea as I am now there are still great stories to discover. The Horns at Datchworth is rumoured to be haunted by a highwayman who was killed by locals and his body to taken to the pub over night. A great party ensued and he has haunted the place ever since.

Such a shame this wonderful mark of the British is losing so many establishments every week. The smoking ban, high taxes and cheap loss making supermarket booze all take their toll. So long live the pub and enjoy them before they are gone.

I Heard a Voice.

Squally Showers and Heaving Sea.

This day in 2012 was cold, windy and wet. The sea outside Folkestone Harbour was churning away and the little fisherman's church on the top of the hill was buffeted by squally, swirling showers. With any sense on such a day we would have stayed indoors. Yet we were in that little church surrounded by people who knew us one way or another focusing on a wicker coffin. For that was the day of mum's funeral.

We are apart today. People I have spoken to cannot believe it has been 4 years. Time has marched on more rapidly than any of us imagined. But today we think and remember her.

Work wise there has been a lot of death in the last couple of weeks. We are busy trying to pick up the pieces. For me personally it has also been several months of death. That part of my life has abated a little.

I try to take it gently on those days that marked the end of her life. So a quiet evening of TV, a light supper and contemplation awaits. I'll come up for air hopefully restored later in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Not a Good Start.

Why on earth am I dreaming about work at the weekend? In fact not just dreaming, a torment of nightmares tripping after one another from around 6 am. Just as I had given up on sleep a single further turn in did the trick. I slept until midday.

A glorious day awaits outside although it is not that warm. I have the West Ham Leicester game on TV, we just went 1-0 down. I have just put the pork in the oven seasoned with salt, pepper and thyme for a long slow roast. Then I think a jaunt in the country beckons. Quite fancy a trip out to The Rose and Crown at Tewin.

Thinking of tomorrow is not the best idea, I'm back to back from 10 am. After last week I hope it is a little easier. A long week is something I could do without.

On a much kinder note I had an e mail from my former student Nikki asking for my address to send a wedding invitation to. How kind is that? I think she overestimated what I did for her. Perhaps the greatest thing I did was to try to teach how to live with long term mental illness.

Dreams aside it has been an okay weekend. As ever it passed far too quickly but there we go. This term always goes so quickly then the long quiet months of summer. My 9th year there is nearly over. I never envisaged that when I caught the train up in June 2007 for an interview that changed my life. I wonder where the next twist of fate will take me. And when.

See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Three Weeks In.

It is hard to believe that the Boat Race took place three weeks ago. And with it the Pimm's season. Yet the lack of sun, abundance of heavy rain and the cold of the last couple of days have rather curtailed my guilty spring and summer consumption. A single glass is all I have managed. And none today either.

After a long week of loss, breakdown and near misses I was relieved to limp home yesterday still standing. I had a couple of possible plans, Borough Market or St Albans but with the rain and the exhaustion I stayed home. Made it out of bed fairly early but all I managed was a bit of TV, a little shopping and now back for more TV.

Of course I'm cooking as well. Trying out a sort of beef and pasta stew from Croatia featured in Rick Stein's most recent travels. It smells good so far. Inspector Morse is on but I only have half an eye on it.

What of tonight? A film maybe. Tomorrow brings roast pork, a walk, a little reading and my new Verdi opera Oberto.

Might come back on here tomorrow, will see how the mood takes me. Bye until next time.

I Heard a Voice.