High Praise Indeed!

When an Italian tells me that my Ragu is as good as his mum's I guess I must be doing something right! How is that for high praise? After my painful and foolish venture into publishing one of my plates on the net that was a relief. Actually, much of my food is praised by others even if I am my own harshest critic.

My kitchen adventures tonight see me cooking sea bream for the first time. The original plan was to buy whole fish and stuff them with fennel, onion and oregano. I couldn't get any whole fish so had to settle for fillets. But no worries I will cook the fennel mix in the oven covered on a low heat and pan fry the fillets.

Today feels like a good day. The sun is shining and it's much warmer than the cold wet week. My windows and balcony door are open. Beethoven plays. Earlier I chose Puccini. The week at work was mixed but we got through it. Only a week of exams to go and the academic year is over for most. I do not get holidays as long as the students but it tends to be a little more manageable from May onward.

Finally caught up on my mood diary this week. As I feared it was mainly negatives and zeroes but nothing too bad. I think I have found a supervisor which was well needed. I meet her on Thursday week.

This Thursday I will attend my final council of governors meeting. My term of office runs out in June and having neglected the organisation for the best part of two years owing to illness and work there seemed little point in standing again. Why stand when I contribute nothing? Then I fade back into oblivion.

That can wait though. For now a weekend, a kitchen, good food and timely sleep are my ways forward. See you all in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Thunderous Downpours.

What a terrible day. Heavy rain, thunder, lightning and cold. I was glad to be home and able to warm up in my flat. Why do I need the heating on in May?

You find me on a Wednesday evening listening to Handel's Rinaldo and passing the time in another week. Past half way with the holiday on Monday. Exams are in full swing and although my diary was packed only one person turned up. A few things irritated me as they do most days but I'm okay. I've rather neglected my mood diary recently. Whilst not really in the negative a lot has been a boring zero. Good things are happening and I'm helping people but little irritations set me back. Having good advice ignored. Being sidelined from events that really should be in my world. Limits being artificially placed for the wrong reasons. It is ever thus if one attempts to have a career.

A good thing did happen today. After work I called a clinical psychologist who I hope will become my supervisor. We meet the week after next so we will see where it goes. I once described in Charon's Ferry supervision as being"what keeps professionals sane". I've been without it for two years. They keep hassling me to sort it out so it is a relief to finally find someone.

In the kitchen I've been busy. To China I turned tonight. In the West we find it odd to cook cucumbers and other salad ingredients. In China these are rarely eaten raw. Few here can contemplate cooked lettuce but it wonderful stir fried with black fungus and chilli bean paste. BBQed little gem lettuce is a revelation. I like my eclectic approach to food. Like two of my great heroes David Bowie and Rick Stein I am something of magpie when it comes to my love of food.

Must try and get down to see dad at some point. Had planned to go in two weeks but Alyssa heading home to Canada negated that. Who knows when I will see her next?

Let's hope the sun shines tomorrow, life brightens up then. Until next time, good night.

I Heard a Voice.

Dodging the Showers.

A huge black rain cloud hung over the centre of town this afternoon as I parked my car. By the time I got to Yang's the showers were under way and the bitter wind that had been blowing all morning made it pretty miserable out. Post noodles pretend smoke break the sun had once again arrived and an all together nicer outlook pervaded the world. Dodging showers has been par for the day.

Earlier I had been to see Gareth coming away with pork loin, chicken thighs, beef mince and duck eggs. Then it was off to Smallford to check out the new farm shop. It was great and didn't spend too much. It will be a cooking long weekend. Back home now there is a Ragu with pork and beef mince bubbling away on the hob, once again the showers are threatening and I'm listening to Beethoven.

My week was mixed. Thoughtful and slightly disturbing therapy, clashes as work then a triumph of my experience and knowledge over what I knew was a wrong choice. I will keep quietly plugging away trying to get it right. I think I triumphed in the end.

Mentally I'm okay but lurking is doubt. Will I turn up or down? Would be lovely to turn upwards but at what cost. In truth I'm relieved to be away from things and able to hide or show depending on how I feel. At the moment I'm hiding but I will emerge later.

There was an election on Thursday. I almost forgot the vote but did go down and cast my lot in a quiet polling station. It was mixed news for my political friends, my communist chum James lost his seat. My friend Rachel won a seat for the Green Party down in Kent. Are we any wiser for the upcoming European election? No. No one's really very sure why we are having them. A deal seems as distant as ever. It is marvellous to live in a democracy but sometimes that simply makes things more complicated. Time will tell I suppose.

Whatever you are doing out there on his holiday weekend, stay safe and have fun.

I Heard a Voice.

What to Say on May Day?

Some days I just don't want to talk. That is fine except that my job is all about talking. Therapy is all about talking. And I rarely stop talking. On this May Day I have done a lot of talking but with no real direction or purpose. Work was marred by being required to do things that I do not know how to do. I ask the question and get unhelpful answers. Therapy was marred by the fact I didn't know what to say and was so out of touch with my mood today that I didn't really want to be there.

The completely pointless therapy that I had twenty years ended with a final session where I had been to the dentist that day had two horrific fillings and my face was completely numb and contorted. When I said I wouldn't really be able to speak because of the dental work the therapist said "perhaps that means you don't want to talk today". Fuck you! That's the sort of bollocks I had come to expect from therapists. Fast forward twenty years that sentiment was right today. I didn't want to talk.

All evening I have been debating whether to come on here. Not sure if I made the right decision to do so but here I am. Not enjoyed today.

Immersing myself in opera and E M Forster hasn't really helped much but it passes the time. I did cook and was moderately pleased with the outcome. Mozart is as sublime as ever. And I'm away from anyone having any expectation. That must be a good thing.

I'm hoping next time I come to speak to you I'm happier. Not depressed today, merely pissed off. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Too Old for Parties.

Were it not for the blossom on the trees one might almost have mistaken yesterday for October. Cold, blustery and grey. The wind has died down today but I still have the heating on. Compared to last weekend of glorious sunshine this one is a damp squib.

You find me at home having a quiet Sunday to myself. The smell of slow roasting pork shoulder wafts around the flat and I'm getting hungry. With The Magic Flute my afternoon companion I'm contemplating last week and last night. Friday was a day of disagreement after a very quiet week. I get paid to give advice and am usually right. But others don't always listen. So they tie themselves in knots frantically referring on cases that will never get to the outcome they would like. It was ever thus.

Last night I went to Gary's 50th birthday and was once again reminded that I'm not always comfortable at parties. That I'm too old seems the obvious excuse but I recall many parties in Cambridge where I felt so out of place I wanted to run. I didn't exactly run last night but busy places full of people I do not know ushered me towards an early exit. I was home by 11.30 pm with a glass of Rioja and cooking programmes on TV.

I concluded last night that a party for my 50th might not be a good idea. Perhaps just making people aware where I'll be and see what happens may be a better ways forward.

Term starts tomorrow and the students get straight into exams. It is the season of "I need a letter". Hate that expectation. In my day yes we were anxious and we were fearful but one just had to get on and do it. Somehow I got a 2.1 from Cambridge whilst on the verge a nervous breakdown, full of despair and sunk into the depths of psychotic depression. Actually the exams kept me going. I simply had to finish. Then with nothing left I succumbed to the coming breakdown and so the history began.

Have I achieved anything since then? The emphatic answer has to be yes but perhaps not what I might have done. Who knows what history would have bequeathed me in other circumstances? But there would have been another girl, another emotional hammer blow and eventually I would have crashed anyway. Some saw it coming. But no one said anything at the time.

For now I will leave you. Must attend to dinner. Enjoy your Sunday.

I Heard a Voice.

It's a Matter of Taste.

You may recall that yesterday when I post I talked about rare rib of beef, Sarah visiting and a glass of Rioja. Against my better judgement late last night I tentatively posted a photo of said roast beef on a site called "Rate my Plate". A friend in Kent invited me to join a few months ago. What ensued was a barrage of comments, over 700 last I looked, most of which were negative, some horrible and a few praising it. What is it with people? I had hoped sites would celebrate people's achievements in the kitchen not abuse them. Sadly it is the same on the classical music and cricket sites I follow, the Rams sites and all manner of other places. Is so much of the world that unpleasant that they have to attack others?

For a long time I was a bit of barbarian when it came to consumption. I only switched from lager to ale at the age of 41. Until my mid 40s I only ever ate the mildest cheapest nastiest cheese. I didn't drink wine until my 30s. Nuts have been out most of my life. Horseradish, mustard, cranberry sauce, apple sauce. All no nos until recently. And rare beef? Forget it.

But I hope I'm now more refined. Sarah's comment on the rib of beef was sublime. I nailed it and had a superb evening celebrating things English. In the interests of European unity and burying ancient rivalries in the past we had French cheese. And Spanish wine.

I suppose each and everyone of us have different tastes. I refused to cook for my mum because she always told me I got it wrong and picked each piece apart as if I was trying to poison her. My taste as a child was different. And I hope I can respect diversity. I just hope that with my more refined tastes of middle age I can enjoy fine food and fine drink in peace. Others can do as they like.

With opera night under way I'm torn on what next, do I marinate tomorrow's ribs or do I turn to reading? Whatever I choose I'm in a good mood having survived the dentist without having to go for root canal. And as an added bonus Alyssa has turned up. So I must be off.

I Heard a Voice.

How terribly English!

Can there ever be anything more English than rare roast rib of beef? It is after all St George's day on which I'm proud to champion my roots and celebrate an identity that can be much maligned but is every bit as legitimate as others. True we are all British, and for a little while longer European. The battle to celebrate our day and our flag and rescue it from people of hate who espouse hatred and attacks on others different to themselves. The world seems full of hate. So on this day I will celebrate peace, relaxation and kindness to others by the only way I know how; through food.

Tonight Sarah is coming round. The potatoes are roasting away. I will sear the beef of both sides then roast for half an hour or so then rest. With luck a beautiful rare joint will ensue. Whilst we are gaining quite a reputation for fine white wine and fizz, red is not our forte. So I will go to my old friend Spain and drink a hearty Rioja.

Already people are lining up for what is left. My colleague Sue will be getting some. Some may go home with Sarah. And some to the pub. What's left for me will go into a Vietnamese pho.

The long weekend is over. A week of tragedy in Paris and Sri Lanka has shocked the world. There have been so many shocks over the last years I feel not as compassionate as I could be. Well perhaps not not compassionate just powerless to do anything about it.

If there are two things that mar my battle with mental health it is insomnia and powerlessness. That terrible combination. Yet today you find me more at ease, less anxious and feeling more stable than for a few weeks.

On that note I must leave you and tend to my cooking. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.