Casual Bearers

Casual Bearers

“Wanted – Casual Bearers, No experience necessary, training will be given” -

So read the sign outside the under-takers,

Which had my heart sinking, but it got me to thinking,

When I studied the note on that door, did they really know what they were asking for?

I assumed there was an occasional call for someone to carry the pall,

That sometimes they needed a hand, to join their mourning band,

That it might be on demand and that they’d pay cash in hand.

But their lazily-worded expression had formed up a quite different impression,

For I saw “casuals” as those who wouldn’t care,

Turning up un-shaven, without washing their hair,

Appearing in trainers and leisure-wear, which would hardly be fair,

Upon the recently bereaved, who’d feel justifiably peeved,

Let down, and badly deceived.

As if the service were not of the best, at the Crem or the Chapel of Rest,

The casuals’ attire would be quite dire, as they waited for the fire, of the funeral pyre,

And would not be of black silk, not sombre, or owt of that ilk,

But chattering and nattering, cracking a gag, or having a fag,

With no respect for the one that had died, as they gawped at the graveside.

So - that note I think they should be re-writing, or else they’ll find themselves fighting,

For contracts of zero hours, set amongst the funeral flowers.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Honeyed Carrot & Thyme Loaf Cake

Recipe for: CAKE – HONEYED CARROT & THYME LOAF

Ingredients:

·        1 tblsp honey

·        1tsp + 1 tblsp olive oil

·        4 carrots peeled & grated (about 300g)

·        2 tsp dried or fresh thyme

·        100g wholemeal flour

·        125g plain flour

·        ¾ tsp baking powder

·        ¾ tsp bicarbonate of soda

·        3 eggs

·        50g natural yoghurt

Method:

1.      Heat oven to 160C (fan)

2.      In a bowl mix honey & 1 tsp oil then add carrots & thyme

3.      Season and stir well

4.      Tip onto a baking tray and roast for 10-15 minutes, tossing halfway through

5.      Line a 900g loaf tin with baking parchment

6.      Remove from oven and set aside to cool

7.      In a clean bowl combine the flours, baking powder and bicarb + pinch of salt

8.      In a separate bowl beat the eggs, yoghurt and 1 tblsp oil

9.      Add to the flour mixture, then add the roasted carrots

10.   Pour the mixture into the lined loaf tin

11.   Bake for 50-60 minutes

12.   Leave to cool before turning out and slicing

What else you need to know:

1.      Serve sliced with chutney and sharp cheddar, or cream cheese & honey

A Poem For Gail

A Poem For Gail

Who’s that haunting all the houses?

Running along on one of her rambles,

Barrelling down the Brittox,

And shaking down the Shambles?

Who’s that chasing round the churchyards?

Snapping angels, walking over bones,

Camera and notebook in her hand,

And gandering at the gravestones?

Who’s the gnostic at the altar rail?

In her weeds and flowing dress,

Of great renown, throughout D-Town,

Challenging us all to think and guess?

Who’s that performing in The Bear and Lamb?

Living life hard to find the thrill,

Then cycling through the country,

And running right up Roundway Hill?

Who’s the Phantom on Fantasy?

Or throttling along on the Thirty-Three,

That multi-coloured crazy diamond –

Whoever can it be?

Talking for the helpless and the homeless?

Stories of users, and pictures of dolls,

Fearless, gobby, telling it like it is,

Fighting back, and telling off the trolls?

A long life, and well lived-in?

Of drugs and drink, sacred and profane,

The mistress of the Market Place,

Keeping the rest of us honest and sane?

In her guise, around The Vize she cries,

A poetess who’s prepared to shout and wail,

Don’t try to mess, unless you’d press

The Fighting Force of Nature that is Gail.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Poetitis - A Public Health Warning

Poetitis – A Public Health Warning

There’s an epidemic sweeping the nation,

A disease that’s only going to get worse,

Cos of these poetry competitions and slams,

And those that have been exposed to… verse.

It’s a socially-transmitted disease,

And the oral tradition of which I write is

Derived from having unprotected sestets,

And it’s got the medical name of “poetitis”.

Once a rarefied condition suffered only by poets,

But now everyone has deciphered the code,

Through limericks, and haikus, and sonnets,

It’s now as prevalent as The Common Ode.

No longer the preserve of the Bards,

Its causes are certainly not vague,

Its symptoms are debilitating,

And couplets get spread like The Plague.

Public Health England has issued a warning,

That sticking to prose is no longer a barrier:

Once you start worrying about metre,

You’re probably a contagious carrier.

The best treatment is isolation,

But that’s easier done than said.

It only takes a careless quatrain,

For the virus to be much further spread.

For poets tend not to be continent,

With their infectious sense of bad timing -

Before you know it there’s iambic pentameter,

And a constant tendency to rhyming.

So take the right steps and be careful,

Behave, now you know what course the right is,

Avoid those mad, raving rhymesters,

And save yourself from “poetitis”.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

This Toilet Is Out Of Order

“This Toilet Is Out Of Order”

The note was quite simple, but ambiguous –

a statement of fact, or merely an opinion?

Was it not working, or had it simply gone too far? 

Was it un-functional, or had it overstepped the mark?

Apologies are all very well for having no loo,

but when one’s desperate, what should one do?

Not just number one, but also number two?

Like someone from Eastenders,

it’s easy to say “leave it – it’s not worf it!”

But if bladder and bowels are holding a surfeit

Of matter that needs to be voided,

the lavatory can hardly be avoided!

I had a new thought, and it were this:

it made me wonder what else may be amiss,

What else had failed in ability,

to work well within that facility?

Because you see,

apart from spending one pee,

It’s not just the WC,

what else could there be?

Had the wash-basin gone down the drain? 

Was the bidet running hot and cold? 

Was the bath too full of itself?

And as for the shower,

should we just draw a curtain over that?

I was not a loofah to any of this,

I didn’t want any flannel,

Nor anyone to give me the soft-soap treatment.

I was completely awash with emotions,

as I stood there, outside of the Gents:

I just hated to be flushed with such disappointments!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 26th May 2019

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 26^th May 2019

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

1.      In a tearful statement on Friday, her voice cracking with emotion at the thought of finally escaping to a quieter life and having to spend more time with her awful husband, Council Leader Lettie Sleef finally announced the date of her resignation.  In equally tear-jerking and gut-wrenching statements a line of approximately 250 former colleagues reluctantly announced their candidature in the race to replace her.  The Town Hall cat is also thought to have hoined the race.  The queue for the political summit of local politics has now become routine and very crowded, and it is feared that many will lose their lives, if not their dignity, on either the way up or the way down the greasy pole.

2.      But in a more positive announcement, a local entrepreneur, Mr Alf Resco has welcomed the current boisterous round of politics, and is to expand his facility which manufactures political projectiles.  Up to one extra job may be created, which is good news for the local economy.  “Demand for our 16oz milk-shakes has been phenomenal, so now we’re introducing 32oz and 48oz bumper sizes, to say nothing of our new bargain bucket.  We now have something disgusting to fit all sizes of self-serving, venal politician.  The containers are re-useable and recyclable, so you only need to waste the milky confection itself.”  Several local dry cleaners have welcomed the news.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

I Am A Computer

I Am A Computer

Of course I’m not devoid of emotion

How could you have such a notion?

It’s just that I not sure what I should do,

I’m struggling to interface with you

It’s a situation that’s not very clear

For we’re no longer working peer-to-peer

I find your instructions a distraction

I can’t work with such a transaction

I think we’re both in a rut

I’m struggling for throughput

I don’t have the bandwidth to cater

For crunching through all of your data

I continue to love you, but

There’s too little input/ output

The calculation is completely mine

But I think I need more time offline

I’m no longer feeling alive

I think I’m losing all of my hard drive

My ROM feels like a time-bomb

My RAM’s in a jam

You see - the pattern all fits –

Can’t you see I’m in bits?

I need time for some healing

To process every feeling

I don’t want to be seen

As if I’m just a blue-screen

Our programme’s gone crappy

Our chat’s not snappy

And my software’s not ‘appy

I feel I’ve run out of luck

And I just can’t face Book

I’m feeling rather demented

My memory’s very fragmented

I stare out of the Windows

We ought to do well, we ought to Excel

Haven’t you heard? What is the Word?

Let’s try and find the lost chord

In the letters of our keyboard
I don’t want us to fail

I’m a male and you’re my e-mail

So let’s get off the fence

And use our broad-band of experience

Let’s take a byte out of storage’s root

Let’s try to re-start and re-boot

We don’t want to calculate with some terror

And end up with an Unknown Error!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Courgette

Courgette

It’s a great life having an allotment,

To get your muscles and sinews to harden -

Your produce can be all fresh and organic,

And you can have your own market garden.

Of course it’s much more than we can possibly eat,

So there’s loads of it left over, you can bet -

In fact there’s simply too many to use -

Could I possibly offer you a courgette?

There’s so many ways that you can use them:

In a flan, or perhaps in a quiche, if you’re in Surrey,

As vegetable wine, or maybe in salad,

Or chopped up small in a nice curry.

No, really, we’ve got absolute sack-fulls,

And I’d be forever in your debt.

Try them hot-roasted, or thinly toasted,

But, please, just take a courgette?

You can’t really moan, they’re completely home-grown,

But I’ll admit that one’s turned into a marrow.

You won’t believe your eyes, it’s of magnificent size,

And it completely fills up a barrow!

We can’t keep up with the harvest, you see,

There’s hundreds of them filling our hut -

All of dubious quality, but such a huge quantity,

You could say that we’re dealing with glut.

We’ve wept and we’ve cried,

We’ve moaned and we’ve sighed:

The recipes we’ve tried, cannot be denied

Some we couldn’t abide,

We’ve even had them fried!

My friend said he’d had some…. but he lied!

Then proceeded to run off and hide,

And his wife shut the door, and pretended he’d died!

Honestly – these critters are lovely as fritters

How persuasive do I have to get?

Go on – you know that you want one -

Just help me out – and have a courgette?

To be honest - the whole patch is over-fruitful:

We’ve got tons of tomatoes, and bundles of beans,

There’s pounds of potatoes, and boxes of beetroot,

We’ve got shed-loads of leeks, and copious carrots,

Plus oodles of onions and pot-loads of peas,

  

But of all these wonderful veggies,

There’s only one that makes me upset,

So, after all of the seeding and weeding and feeding,

Go on – treat yourself - have a courgette!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Crisp Rosemary & Olive Oil Flatbread

Recipe for: BREAD – CRISP ROSEMARY & OLIVE OIL FLATBREAD

Ingredients:

·        230g plain flour

·        1 tblsp chopped rosemary + 2 sprigs

·        1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

·        ¾ tsp salt

·        125ml water

·        75ml olive oil + extra for brushing

·        Salt for sprinkling

Method:

1.      Heat oven to 220C

2.      Lightly oil three baking trays

3.      In a bowl stir together the flour, rosemary, bicarb and salt

4.      Make a well in the centre and gradually add the water and the oil

5.      Stir in until a dough forms

6.      Knead gently 4 or 5 times

7.      Divide dough into three pieces

8.      Cover two with clingfilm

9.      Roll out the other into 9” round and place on an oiled baking tray

10.   Lightly brush the top with oil, sprinkle bits of rosemary and oil

11.   Bake for 8-10 minutes until light brown

12.   Transfer to a rack to cool

13.   Repeat with other two dough pieces

What else you need to know:

1.      Will keep at room temperature in airtight container for a couple of days

Sorry - An All-Purpose Apology

Sorry – An All-Purpose Apology

Ladies and gentlemen – listen to me please:

There’s a reason that I’ve come here today,

And it’s with a very heavy heart,

That I must spit out what it is that I have to say.

I’m deeply sorry for what has happened,

It really should not have occurred.

If there was any way to undo what is done,

I think that’s what I’d have preferred.

But we are, unfortunately, where we are:

I have to speak of something that’s not good -

My only plea in slight mitigation,

Is that I was misunderstood.

My retraction is totally unreserved,

I hope that any bad feelings can be paused,

I’m looking for some forgiveness here,

And I’m sorry for any offence that I caused.

I may have given a false impression,

Of what it was that I really meant.
I suppose that I may have mis-spoken,

That my words came out all tangled and bent.

These situations can cause such ill-feeling,

When one party ends up being offended,

So I hope that we can draw a line under this now,

And that any misunderstanding is ended.

It’s shame-faced that I stand here before you,

I’m not feeling proud you can bet,

And it’s been a great learning experience,

When all I’ve got to express is regret.

So let’s clear the air if we can -

Banish ill-will and things of that guise

I haven’t the foggiest what I’m supposed to have done

But, nevertheless, I’d like to apologise.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Garden Centre

Garden Centre

Let’s go to the Garden Centre,

Cause I fancy a real cracking day out,

Let’s throw caution to the wind,

Let’s pile in the car together -

We’ll have a great time, without any doubt!

It’s signposted from miles away,

With a range of those little brown signs.

The car parks are the size of an airfield,

The traffic all arranged into lines,

It’s a long walk - that can’t be denied,

So then you have to decide, whether to pick up a guide

Or to go with the Park and Ride.

Cos the long path weaves around and around,

Till you hear the loud shrieking sound,

Of youngsters in the children’s playground,

Going right past the meerkats’ mound,

And then suddenly you’re found

Near animal corner with its small pets,

Beside the picnic and patio sets,

Ornamental features with water jets,

Fish-pools, fishing equipment and nets.

See - it’s not just about plants, or about trees,

And flowers that appeal to the bees,

Cos grandma likes to go to the café for teas,

Where she sits amongst the cabbages and peas:

No – there’s so much more to amuse,

Many more things from which you can choose,

Cos when you finally get to the main complex,

As you poke your head through the swing-door,

Penetrate much further inside the store,

The panorama across the vast floor,

You’re taken on a grand tour,

Across a huge range of departments.

By now you’ll be desperate,

So it’s first stop at the toilets,

To prepare you for the rigours ahead,

As through long snaking aisles you’ll be led,

In case you’d like to buy a new bed,

For it has to be said, get it into your head,

Things have changed in these days -

Retail is different in so many ways.

You’re drawn deep into a maze,

It all becomes a thick haze,

A kaleidoscope of offers you’re copping,

A blitz of ideas that are topping,

But it’s tiring, you’re ready for flopping,

You need a rest from all of this shopping….

Yes, let’s go the Garden Centre,

Just let me be your mentor -

How much more could you want?

There’s three cafes and a restaurant!

Indulge in their Special Meal Deal,

We can eat and drink whatever we feel,

We can wait for our blisters to heal,

Then we can finally steal…

…Through interior furnishings,

Give the sofas a test, be our guest,

Sit down for a rest, pick out the best,

Then to household wares,

Without any cares, gloves and wellies in pairs

The gift shop with its presents,

Dream-catchers and candles with scents,

Then another quick trip to the gents,

A wide range of new knick-knacks,

Arranged in long tempting racks,

And low-priced multiple packs,

Stationery and multi-coloured tacks,

It’s the unnecessary taken to the max….

Oh please, let’s go to The Garden Centre,

Let’s have a wild, mad adventure,

It’s no longer a horticultural bore,
That’s not what it’s there for,

It’s more of a department store,

It’s a Grand Day Out for pensioners,

And those who have nowhere else to go,

A meeting-point for those in the know,

A real destination that puts on a show,

You don’t need to mow, to hoe, or to sow -

Just turn up and go with the flow,

Till you develop a warm glow.

Warm in the Winter, and cool in the Summer,

There’s a bookshop, a crèche, a bar to get blotto,

There’s even a year-round Christmas grotto,

A biosphere, a Nature Reserve right here ,

And multiple concession stands,

At week-ends they even have bands!

Finance and credit facilities, building supplies,

Landscaping services, no-one denies,

With tool and machinery hire, this place is on fire!

Vouchers and tokens, a loyalty card…

Our pleasure would only be marred,

And it would be too hard, if we were barred

By the security guard….

But, look now, it’s started to rain -

Just forget everything I previously said -

Perhaps we should go to the seaside instead?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

A Cup Of Coffee

A Cup Of Coffee

Dragging round town is a thirsty business -

I can’t manage shopping for toffee -

So I popped in to one of the chains,

Cause I needed a large cup of coffee.

I don’t think that it’s too much to ask,

Just to go to the counter and order a drink,

But it’s a whole lot more complicated these days:

It’s a lot tougher than you’d ever think!

Now I don’t count myself as too stupid,

And I think I can make an intelligent choice,

But it was hard to give a straight reply,

In answer to that pre-pubescent voice.

“To drink in-house or to take away?

Piccola, media o grande?” she said.

What the hell was she talking about?

What was she doing to my head?

“I’ll just have a…. coffee,” I ventured,

“With no sugar, and some cold milk.”

This puzzled the young till-puncher

Who referred to the board and all of that ilk.

“Mocha, Flat White or an Espresso?

Americano, Latte, Cappuccino?

Café Caramella or a Hot Chocolate?

Macchiata, or Frappuccino?”

Can I have a coffee, with milk please….

“Chai latte or Mocha Cortado?

Iced Risretto, with Raspberry Sauce?

Iced Tea, or Belgian Chocolate Cooler?

With Vanilla, or Cinnamon of course?”

Just a coffee….

“I want to know which milk would you like:

Is that Skinny, Medium or the Full Fat?

We also have soya, almond or cream?

Which one do you want out of all that?”

Just ordinary milk….

“And what temperature would you like it?

Fridge-cold? quite hot? or all silky steamed?

In the coffee? on the side? iced or just frothed?”

She looked at me and she beamed.

  

I don’t really know…

“And there’s the topping to consider:

Fruit sprinkles or hazelnuts roasted?

Chocolate, cinnamon or gingerbread?

Or even marshmallows all toasted?”

Really….?

“How about an extra shot for a change?

Summer Fruit Punch or a Piccino?

Play with flavours, the foams and the finishing

Or can I tempt you to a Babyccino?”

I’m not sure…

“It all depends on how you like your caffeine:

Velvety smooth or all rich and thick?

All dressed and drizzled – it’s your choice -

Our Five-Star Barista knows every trick!”

Er, look….

“You must understand our philosophy:

To Freetrade Independents we’re quite bound,

And Rain-Forest Alliance producers,

Of single-estate beans, simply roasted and ground.”

“To give you a hand-crafted beverage,

Of artisanal dexterity and thence,

Whilst within our establishment,

A total bean-to-cup experience!”

I have to admit this whole “concept” had me beaten,

I felt that I’d run right out of luck,

I muttered “No Thanks” and fled from the shop,

And went for a pint in The Old Dog And Duck.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 19th May 2019

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 19^th May 2019

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

1.      Once again D-Town covered itself in musical glory in the annual WiltshireVision Song Contest, held this year in the exercise yard of Erlestoke Prison (Doris Day Memorial Wing).  After a few lacklustre performances from has-been rock-stars including, in one case, the brother of the bloke who used to be the drummer in Showaddywaddy, the contestants from all over the known County gave it their all.  The D-Town entry was sung by a recovering meth-addict discovered busking in the streets, a Mr Alf Resco.  Unfortunately, his rendition of “Don’t Cry For Me Our Theresa” was deemed to be making a political statement on Brexit, and was therefore disallowed on a technicality.  However, that “nul points” allowed D-Town to come last yet again, and to claim a new World record for most consecutive last places.

2.      And in a drastic clampdown on personal behaviour, and what may be seen as a return to out-dated Victorian principles of moral rectitude, D-Town Council has just voted to ban people having sex every alternate Tuesday night.  The offence, punishable by public humiliation in the stocks in the Market Place, and forfeiture of any Tesco Clubcard points, is intended to be strictly enforced by a special force of Nookie Agents, reporting directly to a Nookie-Finder General.  Further moves are expected next week when a range of offences, including spitting, loitering, littering and having an offensive wife, are expected to be punishable by death.  Or else a really strong telling-off.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

What Made Britain Great

What Made Britain Great

How great is our civilisation?

And the evolution of mankind?

How advanced is our technology?

A superior species I think that you’ll find.

How far spread the great British Empire?

When the world map was covered with pink?

Where the Sun never set upon our Dominions,

We were at our greatest I think.

But, to what could we ascribe this grandeur?

What driving force took us so far?

Was it the invention of fire? Or the wheel?

Of steam power?  Or of the motor car?

Yes they were important, I’ll agree,

Their places in history are taken,

But surely more vital to any progress

Was the idea of a sandwich – with bacon!

Who first thought to cure the meat of the pig?

In a mixture of spices and brine to soak it?

To give it the gift of preservation,

And then to go on, and to smoke it?

What’s better than the smell of pork cooking?

An aroma that forces the senses to waken -

A sure cure for vegetarianism,

Is the grilling or frying of bacon!

Two slices of white buttered bread,

And great dollops of brown sauce,

Rashers of streaky, with the fat running,

Is a feast for a king, the very best course.

Yes, they invented a prime delicacy –

About that you must not be mistaken.

Crisp slivers of meat with a rind on,

The heavenly substance known as bacon.

So get yourself a flitch or a roll,

Don’t leave yourself God-forsaken,

It’s not something for faking,

Forget all about baking,

You know that you’re aching,

A bap or a butty to be making,

The thing to eat upon waking,

The very best meal to be taking

Yes, the force of the Universe….is bacon!

Copyright Andy Fawthop 2019

The Drinker's Guide To Real Ale

The Drinker’s Guide To Real Ale

Welcome to this Real Ale hostelry,

With sixteen hand-pumps covering the bar.

All the beers are from local breweries,

The town’s biggest selection by far.

We’ve got none of your mass-produced stuff here,

Your taste-buds we’d hate to traduce -

There’s no alcopops or fizzy lagers,

Nor ciders, which we refer to as “tramp juice”.

No it’s all hand-made in back-street facilities,

By dedicated brewers with a passion,

Using old, weird and arcane recipes,

To meet modern taste and the new fashion.

With a single-minded pursuit of excellence,

Artisanal, unfiltered and unpasteurised,

Producing ales of such esoteric taste,

That as beer it’s hardly recognised.

They only use the best of ingredients -

Water, barley, hops and some yeast -

To create flavours that range from the gentle,

Via strong, right through to some beasts.

Take Bodgington’s Skull-Cracker for example:

It comes out as eight percent ABV -

A few pints of that and I promise you,

Next day you’ll hardly be able to see.

Or that Death-Rattle IPA:

So strong you have to drink it in shots.

It’s pure, unrefined and organic,

And in the morning it gives you the trots.

There’s Wazzington’s latest offering:

It’s a double-mocha coffee-infused porter -

Drink three pints of this wonderful brew,

And your legs won’t work like they oughter.

I could go on wittering, about methods of bittering,

Of Black Stouts, and Pale, Red and Brown Ales,

Of secondary in-cask fermentation,

Which makes natural gas without fail.

About top, bottom and late hopping,

How it sings on the palate and amuses the nose,

Its aroma can induce a coma,

But sometimes that’s the way that it goes.

  

Then, of course, there’s Futtocks’ Dog-Beater,

A session ale that goes down rather well -

It’s a bloody good beer, that makes you feel queer,

And gives you the hangover from Hell.

My favourite, though, is Bowel-Wrecker:

It’s subtle, amusing, and quite Gluten-Free,

But it does smell like a wrestler’s armpit,

And, if not kept well, tastes of stale pee.

Last night we had a bit of a lock-in,

Tried our best to drink the place dry:

I must have had sixteen pints to my name -

I’m not feeling too good – can’t understand why.

So don’t tell me I don’t know about Real Ale -

I’ll drink anything that calls itself “craft”,

I won’t touch water or soft drinks -

No thanks – d’you think that I’m daft?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Kite

Kite

Holding on against the tug, the pull of line,

face in shadow, back against the sun,

never daunted by tumbling thermals

but using the physics of lift and drag,

surfaces tensioned, taut

exploiting atmospheric pressure,

elemental feel and flow of forces

to climb, heavier than the air

to defy the very force of gravity

up to exhilarating height

Distant now, but still in sight,

scudding rough across the sky,

silken fabric facets flashing,

straining bamboo frame, pigtail waving,

soaring, swooping dizzying ascent,

looping , lifting, lurching,

aerial aerobic ballet, angled acrobatic flight of fancy,

unruly child who stretches and strains,

tests my strength and patience,

cannot be steered, merely guided

Its own brute force not yet marshalled,

high aloft upon the careering wind,

yanking on the leash that holds it back,

restrained and tethered by the umbilical of thinnest cord,

yet anchored to the ground,

connecting Earth and Space

with its head up in the clouds,

but my feet firmly planted on the ground

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Parmesan Fried Brie

Recipe for: PARMESAN FRIED BRIE

Ingredients:

·        225g/ 8oz ripe Brie

·        75g/ 3 oz white breadcrumbs

·        40g/ 1 ½ oz freshly grated parmesan

·        2 large eggs beaten with 2 tblsp milk

·        Oil for frying

Method:

1.      Cut the wedge of Brie into triangles

2.      Combine breadcrumbs with parmesan, adding salt & pepper, spread out on plate

3.      Dip each piece of brie into the egg, then into breadcrumb mixture

4.      Repeat by dipping again into egg then breadcrumb

5.      Place crumbed wedges on a plate and place in fridge to firm up

6.      When ready to cook, heat oil in pan until fairly hot

7.      Fry brie wedges briefly, about 45 secs on each side until browned

8.      Remove with slotted spoon and drain on crumpled kitchen paper

What else you need to know:

1.      Serve with a dipping sauce such as sweet chilli