Fast Fruit Chocolate Pots

Recipe for: FAST FRUIT CHOCOLATE POTS

Ingredients:

• 50g/ 2oz dark chocolate, broken into small pieces
• 250g mascarpone cheese
• 2 tsps orange zest
• Fresh fruit/ berries/ compote (e.g. cherries, blackberries, currants)
• Shortbread fingers (to serve)

 Method:

1. melt the chocolate in a small bowl over a pan of hot water
2. cool slightly
3. in a bowl, stir the chocolate into the mascarpone and add the orange zest
4. spoon into small pots and chill
5. when ready to serve, top with the prepared fruit/ compote
6. serve with the shortbread fingers

 What else you need to know:

1. this is SOOOOO simple to do!
2. any fruit will do, but something soft with juice works best

Old Lady

Old Lady

Under shady branches

Gnarled and knuckled

Scabbed and twisting

Lie windfalls softly cradled

Grass-cushioned in the dew

Bruised and slowly browning

In the morning-hazy sunshine

Sweet juices fermenting

Into heady cider

Intoxicating the lazy wasps

And the bickering blackbirds

Which feed upon the crop

Sipping at this late abundant nectar

Hobbled, she leans slightly to one side

Her trunk bent beneath the weight

Of aged limbs

Of twigs and leaves and fruits

Weathered, wind-buffeted

Her bark rough and leathery

Skin rotted and cankered

Her shape crooked and disfigured

Diseased, hard and broken

By the passing seasons

Yet still the sap rises within her

Re-awakened every Spring

To produce abundant blossom

Pulling in the pollinators

To create a canopy-full

Fertile with hard and heavy fruits

Of such acid sharpness

Silhouetted in her twilight years

Still fiercely rooted

She stands defiantly alone

Never part of any orchard

Crabbed in her corner of the garden

But still verdant, fruitful, useful

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Icarus About To Fall

Icarus About To Fall

How is it possible to climb

So far, so high, so clear

Into this acid-blue, cloudless sky

And to feel the warmth

Upon naked back and limbs

After so many years

Of cold confinement

Down there in the dark

With dearest Daedelus?

Who would not wish to flee

From an unjust captivity

Subject to Minos’ punishment

For earth-bound earlier sins?

Or desire to end the pain of a father

Whose cautious warning

Betrays his fractious fearfulness?

And how may mere wax and feathers

Fashion human wings

That may lift a sluggish body

Prising it from the clutching fingers

And heavy prisoning grip of Earth

To let it soar and glide

And fly, dazzled, towards Helios?

And why not tempt the gods

By reaching the height of eagles

Stretching sinews

Facing the blinding glare

Of solar brightness?

Or glance down towards the sea

To gain a glimpse of Paros, Delos

And Samos far below?

How close might one fly

To the hot, burning disc

That radiates its vital force

Before being forced to turn away

To avoid tumbling from the heavens

Falling headlong to a certain death

And perishing beneath the ocean spray?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Mermaid In Heaven

Mermaid in Heaven

‘Twas upon a stormy day that I chanced,

To walk the shore in thought deeply enrapt,

When I heard a pitiful sound of woe,

And saw a poor girl on the rocks, entrapped.

It was her fishy tail and scaly flukes,

As the waves on the rocks crashed all around,

The fins and a strong smell of haddock,

That revealed her watery background.

Her flowing hair it shone like seaweed,

And around her naked shoulders all arrayed,

She wore a long necklace of pearly shells:

And at once I knew she must be a mermaid.

I helped her to wriggle herself free,

And pulled her out on to the wind-swept strand.

That’s when I realised, in a sudden flash,

That what was in it for me - was sand.

There and then I plighted my troth,

In love I’d fallen – I had no real choice -

She was young, and beautiful and sexy:

It wasn’t by mere chance, but on porpoise.

But she was demure, and she was shy -

She resisted, and questioned my taste.

She said “it’s all very well up here on top,

But it’s all different below the waist.”

I said that it was just a red herring,

And that we’d soon learn to get along.

In the name of all that was coley,

Together, with cod’s help, we’d be strong.

And so it was that we were married,

By the sea-shore, with gentle lighting.

Her uncle Turbot gave the bride away,

And the darling girl was dressed in whiting.

Our friends thought we were too different,

And they said so, right from the start.

And the cats were always a bit suspicious,

Sniffing around her nethermost part.

But we embarked upon our married life,

We set up home and, as is often the rule,

Soon our little herrings came along -

No trouble getting them into school!

Of course we had a few differences,

For she’d been born as a marine being:

She couldn’t dance, was hopeless at football,

And it was pointless taking her skiing.

  

But there were a few positive things too:

She swam by the side when we went on a cruise,

You never needed more salt in your food,

And she never went shopping for shoes.

Naturally we had a plaice of our own,

And, at first, we had a whale of a time,

But she began to spend more time in the bath,

And to dream of the salty sea’s rime.

Of course, it was all doomed not to last -

She developed a slow swimming motion.

The Dolphin shower just wasn’t enough,

And she began to pine for the ocean.

I knew that I could never stop her,

I couldn’t be such a Pollack, or so fake:

I had to let her eel her way back home -

You could say I did it for her own hake.

And so it was that we finally parted,

And she went back to her home in the sea.

It’s all left me quite badly affected,

And I don’t fancy fish and chips for my tea.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 27th May 2018

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 27^th May 2018

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.   The on-off diplomatic talks on de-filthification of the 49 bus route vehicles, took a new twist yesterday when Trowvegas continued to insist that they were ready to meet D-Town representatives “anywhere, anytime….with the possible exception of Swindon”.  D-Town had previously called off the talks after citing “unacceptable language” coming from the other side, but this was claimed to be just a diplomatic ploy, in order to avoid the hard discussions required over such contentious issues as cleaning the bus windows, and emptying of the used tickets bin.

2. Street-cleaners in the borough are threatening to go on strike in protest against what they claim are the hazards of “rougue” confetti which is still clogging up pavements, gutters and drains more than a week after the Royal Wedding.  “The number of street parties held represented, in our opinion, a hazardous level of confetti waste.  Our operatives are not trained, nor paid, to clean up such tiny micro-pieces of litter.  We want to get back to empty coke bottles, crushed lager cans, discarded colostomy bags and dog faeces – you know: proper litter!”

3. For details of these and all other Devizes stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station D-Town F-Off.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Origami

Origami

I wonder at the trickery of it

Yet there is no attempt to deceive

Only length and depth in a single plane of being

The paper being plain and unadorned

The flattest white sheet

Twisted round

Tucked and creased

Folded into shape

Its razor-sharp edges

Turned in upon itself

And back inside again

Flatness transposed to three dimensions

By force of skill and gentle sorcery

Into lines and angles

Squares, triangles

Delicate dodecahedrons

Living trapezoids

Giving strength and articulation

Suggesting shape and shadows

Depth and meaning

Buried deep within the paper

A bird, a rabbit, a frog

Creatures which are not there in any normal sense

Suddenly appear and have life and substance

Their heads erect, alert

Sitting upon the hand of their creator

Between the dextrous fingers

Of the manipulator

Held for a fleeting moment

For wonder and admiration

Before slowly allowed to unfold before my very eyes

Vanishing whence they came

Into an empty page of nothing

The faintest crease-marks upon the paper

The only evidence

They ever had existence

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Vive La Difference!

Vive La Difference!

I could never learn a foreign language:

I’m far too proud of the English for that,

And, as for French, in particular,

My attempts at it always fall flat.

I’m too laissez-faire, I don’t really care,

But I think I should mention, en passant,

That I’m happy to enjoy their French food,

In a café with coffee and a croissant.

Some hors d’oeuvres would go down quite a treat,

Or the tastiest plate of Coq au Vin,

Moules mariniere and a bowl of frites:

I could eat them all, with chic and élan.

The grand fromages of France I simply adore:

Camembert, Brie and Roquefort for a start.

The fierce Maitre D’ holds no fears for me,

Working my way through the a la carte.

And the great wines of Burgundy and Loire,

From the Cotes Du Rhone, Provence and Bordeaux.

No sommelier’s gonna put me down,

Though far off-piste I’m willing to go.

Entre nous, I’m probably just lazy.

I’m blasé you can easily see,

For I just won’t put in the effort:

I want it all as a fait accompli.

Mon Dieu! I’d love to be a linguist,

But I find it tricky and hard:

So many Gallic twists and turns:

One has to be constantly en garde!

There’s the masculine and the feminine:

From these genders I’d need to be spared.

Sacre bleu! If you don’t watch what you say,

It’s easy to end up in the merde!

I could cause a major brouhaha,

My feckless faux pas considered crass.

The entente cordiale might be at risk,

Before I deliver the coup de grace.

There’s no obeisance in my renaissance,

I think I would lack the je ne sais quoi;

I just wouldn’t look right in a beret,

Casually smoking a Gaulois.

  

My daily entrée to every new day,

Is too lazy for many to ignore:

I just can’t get myself ensemble -

I think I lack the esprit de corps.

You see - I can’t speak a word of the French.

It’s obvious and easily seen,

So I sit and fume, with my nom de plume,

And on the debate bring down the guillotine.

Yes - I’d best stick to ‘Allo ‘Allo,

And try and do the best that I can.

I’ll hang on to my plain old English,

And sadly say “non – je ne regrette rien”!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Hot & Sour Soup

Recipe for: HOT & SOUR SOUP

Ingredients:

• 1 small onion, very thinly sliced
• 1 carrot, peeled & very thinly sliced (julienned)
• 1 stick celery, washed, trimmed & very thinly sliced
• 2 large green chillies, thinly sliced, seeds & all
• 3 cloves garlic, peeled & thinly sliced
• 6 spring onions, sliced thinly on the diagonal, white & green parts
• Small knob of fresh ginger, peeled & cut into tiny strips
• 2 limes – zest and juice
• 50ml white wine vinegar
• Handful fresh coriander, including stalks, very finely shredded (divided into two piles)
• 750ml water
• Handful fresh prawns, or strips of cooked chicken (optional)

 Method:

1. put all of the ingredients into a large pan (except the prawns/ chicken, and one half of the fresh coriander), and bring slowly up to a simmer
2. cook until the vegetables are just cooked, but still have a slight crunch (you don’t want them soft)
3. add the prawns or chicken (if using) & warm them through
4. add the rest of the fresh coriander & serve at once

 What else you need to know:

1. take the time to cut & slice the ingredients very finely & to the same size
2. don’t over-cook – the dish needs to be very fresh & zesty
3. serve on its own, or in a large bowl poured over a pile of egg noodles (to form a more substantial meal)

Three tampons

Three tampons

I was clearing out the cupboard yesterday

When I found the small green rucksack

The one we used to take when we went out walking

The one I kept when we went our separate ways

And I thought that I would use it once again

So I cleaned it up, and cleared it out

And there inside, within the hidden inner pocket,

I found three tampons that you must have packed

One time, long ago, in case of any accident

Not to be caught short, bleeding, in the countryside

And it made me think how time soon slips by

How easily we forget things, the provisions we once made,

How things that we expected do not come to pass

And how simply one can throw things in the trash

And start again without a second thought

A fresh period in one’s life

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Coming Second

Coming Second

It’s the position to be avoided

Silver-medal placed

Coming in as the runner-up

Speaks of being but second best

Almost a champion

But there is little consolation to be derived

Standing one step down upon the podium

Holding the rictus smile of pleasure

Hiding the bitter tears of disappointment

And pent-up frustration

Whilst congratulating the winner

Who, on this occasion

Has clearly been the better man

And perhaps remembered

To be so for ever

And in the eyes of the world

He is the best of men

The joyful victor

True focus of attention

And he who gives the interviews

To the waiting press

Allowing the beaten loser

To quietly slope away

And reflect upon

What might have been

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Hadrian's Wall

Hadrian’s Wall

At last I could make it out

A narrow walkway

Rising from the grasping earth

Loose and crumbled stones

Tumbled from once-good order

And straight alignment

Random fallen

Among coarsest tussocks

Of grass and mossy ground

Out here on the stormswept moor

Leagues from civilisation

Amongst ice and bitter cold

Lie lichen-covered blocks

In faint traceable patterns

Which snake and wind their way

Across the louring landscape

Here sits long-abandoned evidence

Of mouldering ramparts, towers, turrets

Interrupting the regular line

And there a garrison fortress

Perhaps provided simple shelter

And some rough respite

Haven against adverse weather

And painted barbarians

Invading from the North

But is this all that’s left?

So little sign these days

Of the forbidding Roman structure

Only the merest thin grey line

Of no great height

Threading through the frozen land

To be defended at all costs

By shivering Legionnaires

At the very end of Empire

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 20th May 2018

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 20^th May 2018

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.   Citizens of The Vize were out in force yesterday, lining the streets, sometimes one deep, hanging out the red, white & blue bunting, together with special tea parties and street parties, in order to celebrate the wonderful news that Poundland might be having a sale next week.  Civic rejoicing continued long into the night to wish the happy shop staff “god speed” in their attempts to mark up the “50% off” stickers in time for Monday morning.

2.  D-Town escaped its share of the nation-wide chaos caused when every train company in the country decided to completely change its timetables, in a belated attempt to make more trains run on time, thus avoiding financial penalties from the government for running delayed services.  Whilst it would be possible to assume that this was because of excellent forward planning by the local rail company, and the near-faultless customer service provided by its staff, the real reason is much simpler – there hasn’t been a train station in the town for over 50 years.  Problem solved!  Who knew?

3. For details of these and all other Devizes stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station D-Town F-Off.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

More Than Enough

More Than Enough

You heard more than enough

When you listened in the night

To me talking in my sleep

Whispering a name that was not yours

And sweet endearments that were not meant for you

You felt more than enough

When you stood and shivered

Cold and fearful, as I tried to touch you

And make it right again

To fix what could not be mended

You said more than enough

When you walked away from me

In a trail of burning anger

That would not settle

Which hung around you, dog-like, snarling

You did more than enough

When you disappeared

Without any final words

Leaving no explaining note

For me to dwell upon, or find any consolation

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Sunflower

Sunflower

A slate-grey cloudy sky

Glowers from above

Hangs heavy on the morning

Low ceiling’d over daytime

Shading each dew-damped surface

With sombre tints of black and grey

A palette washed of any colour

Provides no point of focus for the eye

But among the general wash

Of drab and dripping greenery

Rises one tall defiant stick

Huge leaves drooping sadly

Towards the sodden earth

And almost proudly

Bears its over-loaded head

Faces up towards the light

And spreads one sudden smile

In a gash of vivid colour

A burst of golden yellow

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Hasty Pudding

Recipe for: HASTY PUDDING

Ingredients:

• Some jam or fresh stewed fruit (Rhubarb, plums etc)
• 100g unsalted butter, very soft
• 100g caster sugar
• 2 eggs
• 100g self-raising flour
• 50g ground almonds
• 1 tblsp flaked almonds (optional)

 Method:

1. heat oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ gas 5
2. spoon the fruit or jam into the bottom of a pudding dish
3. in a separate bowl mix the butter with the sugar.  Beat until smooth & creamy
4. beat in the eggs, then the flour, then the ground almonds
5. spoon the mixture over the fruit in the dish
6. top with a few flaked almonds (if using)
7. bake in the oven for 40-50 minutes, until the sponge is cooked through
8. remove from oven & allow to stand for a few minutes

 What else you need to know:

1. serve with ice-cream, cream or custard

Gigolo

Gigolo

Your back arches slightly

Settling into my confident embrace

As we take our turn around the floor

Dancing late into the night

Under the sparkling necklace

Of deck-lights

Flickering in the breeze

Reflected across the silent sea

Your hand squeezes mine tightly

To tell me that you are happy

With my commanding movement

My manicured appearance

My attentive service

And my obvious devotion

You murmur quietly

That we make a lovely couple

Despite the difference in our ages

Dressed to impress

Our smiling faces

Turned to the world

The envy of others

You tread lightly

Calm and collected

For tonight you may have anything

Whatever you desire

My time is completely yours

To do with as you please

I whisper what you wish to hear

My nightly work

Professional and paid-for

Personal and discreet

Tailored to your requirements

And whatever you can afford

You have your life

And I have mine

We are both content

With the nature of our transaction

But there can only be this evening

And we do not ask each other

Too many questions

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018