Breaking In

Breaking In

I parked down by the Castle last week,

A fantastic spot in a little side-street:

Very handy for the shops and the stores,

A location quite difficult to beat.

But as I returned from doing my shopping,

I was in for a terrible shock:

When I tried to get into the car,

I found my keys wouldn’t open the lock.

It looked like I’d have to break in,

An action which could only perturb,

So I got myself into a helluva panic,

As I stood there, helpless, at the side of the kerb.

Then I noticed something that might be of some help,

When I looked into my car at the back –

I’d luckily left open the rear window -

It wasn’t much – it was only a slight crack.

If I could only get my hand inside,

And reach over the top of the glass,

I’d be able to pull up the door handle,

And inside the car be able to pass.

It was a good scheme, tho’ I say so myself,

I just hoped my arm was sufficiently thin,

It would save making a pile of smashed glass:

With a bit of luck, I’d soon be within.

I huffed and I puffed to get my arm in,

Tho’ my technique was terribly poor.

Eventually I pulled on the catch,

And, finally, I opened the door!

What relief! And how happy I was,

As I flopped onto the back seat!

I just had to climb into the front now,

Then I’d have the problem totally beat.

But that was easier said than done,

And it certainly couldn’t be done quick:

I got myself tangled up in the seat-belt,

And it’s painful to sit on a gearstick!

Then at last, I was where I should be.

In triumph I sat behind the wheel,

Getting ready to drive back to my home -

You can imagine how it would feel.

  

Then I noticed something untoward:

There were some gloves on the passenger seat,

And some de-icer in the door-pocket -

How they’d got there had me totally beat.

The air-freshener was different,

And there was a road atlas in the rear,

But I never carried such an old thing,

And that’s when, suddenly, I felt queer.

I should have realised that I’d cocked up,

I should have known it was all wrong,

For this wasn’t my vehicle you see –

Mine was parked three cars further along!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Lamb Shanks with Tomato & Stout

LAMB SHANKS with TOMATO & STOUT 

Ingredients:

·        2 lamb shanks

·        Large red onion, peeled & thinly sliced

·        2-3 cloves garlic, peeled & crushed

·        4-6 ripe tomatoes, chopped

·        3-4 mushrooms, finely sliced

·        Handful of fresh parsley, washed & chopped

·        1 tblsp honey

·        1 bottle Stout

Method:

1.      In a deep pan or casserole, quickly fry the lamb shanks in a splash of vegetable oil, just to colour them all over. Remove from pan & set aside.

2.      In the remaining oil, gently sauté the onions & garlic for a few minutes until they are soft & just starting to colour, stirring occasionally.

3.      Add the tomatoes, mushrooms & parsley.  Cook gently until the tomatoes break down into mush, stirring occasionally.

4.      Gradually add the Savernake stout, stirring constantly. 

5.      Stir in the honey, & season with salt & pepper.

6.      Once everything is combined, let the mixture bubble on a low heat for a few minutes. You should have a rich, dark sauce.

7.      Return the lamb shanks to the pan/ casserole. The liquor should more or less cover the shanks.

8.      Cover the pan/ casserole dish with a lid & cook on a very low heat for 2-3 hours. The liquid should have the occasional bubble breaking the surface. The key is very long, slow cooking.

9.      Half way through the time, turn the shanks in the liquor. Add a few ml of water if the dish is drying out at all (although you shouldn’t need to do this). The sauce should thicken slightly & develop good depth of flavour.

10.   Serve with buttered new potatoes (or mash) and a green vegetable.

Fairy Chimneys

Fairy Chimneys

Amid these ancient river valleys

In the river-hewn landscape

Bony fingers stretch upwards

Irregular sandstone columns pointing at the sky

Shielded from erosion of wind and weather

By basalt boulders perched precariously atop

Thus they sit

Wearing dainty caps

Stretched mushroom shapes

Tall fungal structures

Amid the tuff

Curved and crooked

Twisted, leaning

Top-heavy hat-stones

Defying gravity

Balanced high

Up in the air

Waiting for that moment

When the softer pillar

Will at last collapse

And rain down rocks

To the ground beneath

A fairy chimney no longer

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

That Takes The Biscuit

That Takes The Biscuit

They say a drink’s too wet without one,

And that’s not just a piece of somebody’s wit,

Cos when you settle down with a cuppa tea,

It’s no good without some sort of biscuit.

But finding the right kind can be tricky,

And there’s some myths need de-bunking,

Cos if it’s the wrong consistency,

Then it’ll be no good for dunking.

It’s got to home-baked and British,

Cos those foreigners can be a bit potty.

If you’re not careful it’ll be Amaretti,

A Florentine or a biscotti.

The Flap-jack, Cereal Bar and Blue Riband,

The Club, the Domino and all of that,

These fancy types are all very well,

But they don’t measure up to a Kit-Kat.

But you’re surely asking for trouble,

If you start off with chocolate in fingers.

You see, it melts off in the hot tea,

It covers everything, and it lingers.

Any kind of a sandwich, can be a real bitch,

And an Oatcake’s insufficiently hard,

And a Jaffa Cake’s a bit of a fake:

So’s a Garibaldi, called a Flies Graveyard.

People go to grand cities, to find a McVities,

To find Mis-Shapes, (those biscuits in bits),

To be daintily fed, on slices of Shortbread,

Or crackers with cheese, sometimes called Ritz.

You’d be knackered, with any kind of cracker:

You’d not want to suck, on one of those TUC,

Might even be safer, with some kind of wafer,

But a Bath Oliver’d give you no luck.

Of Ginger Nuts and various Cookies,

Their supporters would sing a grand tune:

Of Marie, Butter Pecans and Fig Rolls,

The Jammy Dodger, the Coconut Macaroon.

Now I don’t want to stand here and Hob-Nob,

About Oreos and Wagon Wheels:

For it would seem, that like Custard Creams,

Each of them turns into goo and congeals.

  

Crispbreads and Mini Cheddars ain’t the thing,

It’d even be neater, with a Ryvita.

Oats and nuts, just ain’t got the guts,

But a Digestive’s a world-beater.

It can be Nice to have a Rich Tea,

A Lincoln, or a Morning Coffee,

But a brown Bourbon, would be frowned upon,

And can’t match a Digestive for toffee.

So taking all into consideration,

My conclusion’s more than suggestive:

Just forget every other kind of biscuit -

You know where you are with a Digestive!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Dervish

Dervish

We sit quietly beneath the Earth, hushed within a hollowed cavern

facing an empty central circle, and shiver in the dark, dimly-lit,

anticipating the coming mystic rite

Four figures enter, heads bowed, black-cloaked, hats like tombstones

dervish-devout, focused upon drum, pipe, and strings

improvising, building slowly to steady, hypnotic rhythm

calming the air around them

The semazen arrive, arms criss-crossed, testifying the unity of God

intoning Qu’ranic eulogy to the Prophet, their delicate first movements

salaaming with care and exactitude, performing sufic rite

describing the spiritual journey towards a new perfection

man’s submission of ego, annihilation of self to God

and ascension towards an ecstasy

the very rapture of being

Black cloaks cast aside reveal the ego-shrouds, white skirts of Mevlana

and, slowly, the turning itself begins, revolving right to left around the heart

turning ever-faster into whirling, like the blood around the body

protons in the atom, their own steady orbit around space

arms spread widely open, one hand pointed up towards the sky

the other back down towards the Earth

connecting God with Man

Eyes closed in concentration, heads inclined upon their shoulders

in the spirit, in the moment, submerged in love

the spinning circulation frenzied for a while, then finished

before returning silently to their cells for further contemplation

and quiet meditation

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 26th July 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 26^th July 2020

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

                                              

1.      In a shock move last night, the town Council announced an immediate change to the arrangements for those travelling to D-Town from Trowvegas.  People returning to The Vize will now have to be quarantined in a pub for at least 14 hours to ensure that they are not infected with the deadly Covegas bug.  People complained that the changes were too sudden, and that bus journeys to and from the Costa Del Quarantine had been thrown into chaos.

2.      Meanwhile, in another announcement, the Council has decided that D-Town citizens are getting too fat.  A programme of weight-loss activities will be launched, including Picking Up The Pork Pie & Pint, Cycling To The Pub, The Face-mask Shuffle, The Social Distance Two Metre Two-Step, and The Covid-Testing Lottery.  It is expected that citizens, if they don’t lose weight, will at least lose the will to live by October.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

A hard slog up the climbing roadway

Through the Toros mountains

Wide sedimentary formations

In bold zig-zag patterns

Gash their way across the hill-sides

Into the forbidding landscape

Yet dwarfed by volcanic cones

Whose igneous stones lie scattered

Forgotten playthings

Among the canyons and valleys

Isolated boulders amongst the scrub

Sparse trees and shrubs

Struggle in the high, dry climate

Amongst the debris and tuff-pinnacles

The ground itself crumbling and flaking

Between high rock-hewn promontories

Cheese-hole riddled

With caves and grottoes

Church-studded once

Faded frescoes and carvings

Sheltering monks and acolytes

And the very poorest people

Who eked a living from this place

And in this colour-bleached waste

The basalt and the sandstone

Engage in unequal battle

Pitted against unrelenting elements

Of driving desert-dry winds

Which sand-blast every feature

Smoothing into roundness

Revealing little of the harshness

Of this high plateau’d land-locked steppe

Where strong light casts hard shadows

Of tumbling pigeons

Which flutter here undisturbed

Small creatures in a vast landscape

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Turkish Delight

Turkish Delight

Into the Eastern lands of Anatolia

Hemmed around by ragged Turquoise coastlines

Through the narrow Dardanelles

Amid the seas of Black and Marmara

To Aegean and Mediterranean

Across the Bosphorus via Istanbul

No longer Constantinople, nor yet Byzantium

Sentinelled by soaring Aya Sofia

Once a church turned to mosque

Now monument and testament

To a long and bloody history

And inland a rugged landscape

Of ancient theatres and temples

The architectural artefacts

And stony remnants of many races

From warlike Hittites and their foes

Phrygians, Hellenes, Lycians and their ilk

Greeks, Romans, Kurds and Gypsies

Through many caliphates

And Ottomans of Empire

To the modern state

And legacy of Ataturk

Once, out of mankind’s nursery

In the basin of Tigris and Euphrates

And unknown distant places in the East

Along the ancient silk-road trading route

Carrying cargoes of gold and precious metals

Opium, silks and spices

Knowledge and know-how

Astronomy and astrology

And mystical religions

Came the camel-trains

Calling at the caravanserais

To break their arduous trek

Towards their Western markets

And now the groves of fruits and olives

The piles of teas and spices

The gemstones and the carpets

The flocks of goats and sheep

And the colours, sounds and smells

Of Turkish tastes and flavours

In the bazaars and hamams

Assault the very senses

Yet can give no explanation

Of this modern ethnic melting-pot

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Mini Cheese Rarebits

Recipe for: CANAPES –MINI RAREBITS

Ingredients:

·        Rarebit mixture:

o   Grated cheese

o   Mustard

o   Splash Worcester sauce

o   Egg yolk

o   Salt & pepper

o   Beer/ cider (optional)

·        Bread, muffin, crumpet – any toastable base

Method:

1.      Mix the rarebit mixture together in a bowl, adjusting ingredients for taste & spreadability

2.      Lightly toast the bread bases

3.      Spread on the cheese mixture

4.      Pop under hot grill until browned & bubbling

5.      Either:

a.      Cut into round or square bite-size pieces

b.      Cut into small cubes & thread two onto a cocktail stick

Beige

Beige

As I get to be another year older, I think I’m starting to change.

My taste has gone right out of the window in a way that seems spooky and strange.

It all began with magnolia; other paint colours just seemed to gawp.

I could no longer stand any bright shades, and I developed a fondness for taupe.

I believe that it’s a rite of passage, one you reach at a certain age.

Everything else appears far too jazzy, and you get your first craving for beige.

It used to be brown, the colour of ear-wax, but the appeal of that tint’s started to fade.

What I was really looking for, I realised, was something matched to my hearing-aid.

It’s the same thing with clothing - attractive material now makes me retch.

I find I’m shopping for easy-care fabrics, and trousers with waistbands that stretch.

“No-iron”, and “Sta-prest” things that are cosy, and easy-clean, so long as they’re not green.

Slacks, wind-cheaters and cardigans, in a nice Polyester, or in Crimpelene.

I’m becoming an old person, I think, I’m obviously reaching that stage,

Where I don’t care any more what things look like, but it’s more important to be beige.

I crave a jacket with leather elbow patches, and trousers with vents and with slants,

Anything that will hide the volume, and the shape of my incontinence pants.

I’m not looking for sex, but my reading specs; with bright colours I’m near sated,

And it’s no longer the style, but the comfort, which is why everything I wear’s elasticated.

I’d rather be dead, than wear anything red: in fact that would drive me to rage,

And I wouldn’t feel mellow, dressed up in yellow; no – the only thing that’ll do now is beige.

I’d put up a fight, never to wear white; the loss of the rainbow I’m not going to rue.

I’m just same about purple or black, and don’t even mention royal blue!

No – it’s time to accept that time has moved on, my taste has declined, and I’ve turned over a page,

So you can keep all shades and variations – there’s only one colour for me now – and it’s beige.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Fielding An Illegible Player

Fielding An Illegible Player

I thought at first it must be a slip of the tongue

A simple error that anyone could make

But as the marmalade congealed upon my toast

I heard him explain some more about it

And I better understood what it was that he was saying

When he announced that my local club

Would be punished with a points deduction

A reprimand and a swingeing fine

It appeared the team had broken the rules

And fielded what he said was an illegible player

Which is a rather different thing

And as the sports reporter’s voice carried on

The breakfast table faded before me

And I was transported back to the touchline

From where I’d watched on Saturday last

And where I’d sought in vain to spot the winger

His whereabouts were uncertain, if not obscure

I just couldn’t make him out at all

A pass went out to him, to run down the wing

In an attempt, perhaps, to defeat the off-side trap

But he just wasn’t there, and the ball ran into touch

His position being indecipherable

His off-the-ball movement unreadable

He was totally anonymous in the game

Occupying a lacuna of space out on the right

An unseen presence, missing in action

His role in the side no more than a mystery

The meaning something I couldn’t even guess

The room swam sharply back into focus

With the shelf and the radio all present

The toast still soft and buttery in my hand

My mug of tea gone cold and un-drunk

And the announcer now on a different story

Having moved on from the offence and investigation

To the scores elsewhere in the league

I’m still not sure that I’d heard him quite right

But upon more sober reflection

I think he’d used the right word after all

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Inappropriate

Inappropriate

How can it come about?

How can it happen yet again?

These allegations and accusations

Made recently against you?

For are you not supposed to be a shepherd

Set in Holy Roman authority

Over the sheep within your flock?

Are you not supposed to lead them

On the paths of righteousness

Rather than into temptation

Created by the weaknesses

Of your personal failings?

Are you not a consecrated priest?

Entrusted with the sacraments

And the care of willing souls?

A reverend cardinal indeed?

Not fiddling with the altar-boys

Or inappropriate touching

But a role-model for all believers?

A ministry of care for others

Lived in unnatural celibacy

In a position of respect

Where others dare not challenge you?

And is it not bad enough

That you ask of others

What you cannot do yourself?

That you should abuse such trust

By your dubious behaviour

Without you making victims into liars?

And compound your unclean crimes

By pretending that you are pure

And hiding behind your church

Which conceals your crimes

And helps to cover up the scandal?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 19th July 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 19^th July 2020

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

                                              

1.      Citizens were left puzzled this week about the apparent u-turn by their much-reviled Town Council.  Following ceaseless political pressure from Chippers & The Sham, with whom D-town is in a Special (although clearly not Exclusive) Relationship, it has been announced that Leyland Woohoo vehicles will no longer be allowed within the First Group (5G) bus infrastructure.  Existing vehicles must be withdrawn by 2024, and no new Woohoo vehicles can be bought after the end of this year.  A spokesbot for Woohoo said this week that the decision was very disappointing for his company, and that it could lead to delays of 2-3 weeks between buses on the 49 route.

2.      But joy was unconfined on Friday when the populace learned that the youngest child of that bloke who lives in the big house in the park had got married to a fellow bottom-feeder.  The wedding was held in absolutely complete secret, with no-one knowing.  The only people attending, or informed, weere their extended families, their friends on Faceache, TickleTockle, Instatwat, Grindr, Wobblr, Tremblr, LinkdIn, Twatter, the local press, the national press (including The Fail, The Stun, The Grauniad, The Torygraph and The Sexpress) and the international press (Australia’s Outback Times, USA’s Covid-19 News and Russia’s Pravda). But otherwise, absolutely no-one else was even aware of the ceremony, especially not the local florists, hairdressers & caterers. Nor the owners of The Corny Bin, where the wake reception was held, with disco dancing into the early hours of the morning.  The father of the bride could not be found, with rumours circulating that his services had been procured elsewhere.  He said he could not be there because at the time he was treating his other daughter to a Bargain Meal in the local branch of Neverspoons.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Casino

Casino

You can tell they’re coming in, the guide confides

By their happy, smiling faces!

They still have all their money!

We stop and watch the coaches

Filled with many Chinese men

The punters and the gamblers

Bussed in to the casinos

Brought here free of charge

To come and lose their cash

And later in the day

We wander cautiously inside

Out of prurient curiosity

Across the sticky carpets

And through the gaming rooms

To see them huddled round

The dealers and the croupiers

At the carefully spot-lit tables

Unsmiling now, grim-faced

Eyes glazed in worry

Brows folded in concentration

Wagering on the roll of the dice

The turn of a single card

Or the number on the spinning wheel

In games of blackjack, poker and roulette

And though they know the odds

Are stacked against them

They see the pile of chips before them

Their stakes slowly shrinking

And still they chase their daily dream

Trying out their latest System

For the one big win that will beat The House

And save them from their losses

And in the glitzy entrance lobby

We gaze in wonder at the floor

Where bars of solid gold

Are set in glassy blocks below our feet

A tantalising glimpse of the riches

That lie beyond the grasp

Of long- addicted losers

And then we see them on the bus again

Their faces hard and set

Being taken back to where they came

Now watch them leaving, says the guide

Not so happy now!  He laughs

Their money’s gone, gambled away

With all their hopes, poor suckers!

As they leave to find more money

To come and lose it once again

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Underdog

Underdog

Everyone said they had no chance

That they would surely lose

Against a better team

Of superior skill and guile

And of greater strength

That their outlook could not be hopeful

That they would surely be defeated

Outclassed, overwhelmed

And all their efforts overcome

And be badly beaten

Just for their impertinence

Of even daring to take the field

And the bookies gave the poorest odds

Saying their challenge could not be rated

But every underdog may have his day

And turn the situation round

By finding those hidden reserves

That no-one knew they had

Springing the sudden surprise

And cause an unpredicted upset

Snatching worthy victory

From out the very jaws

Of expected defeat

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Chocolate, Orange & Hazelnut Biscotti

Chocolate, Orange & Hazelnut Biscotti

Ingredients:

·        50g ground almonds

·        20g cocoa

·        180g plain flours

·        ½ tsp baking soda

·        2 eggs

·        100g sugar

·        1 orange

·        50g toasted hazelnuts

·        50g chocolate chips

Method:

1.      Heat the oven to 180C/ 170C fan

2.      In one bowl mix together the ground almonds, cocoa, flour & baking soda

3.      In a second large bowl whisk together the eggs & sugar

4.      Tip the flour mixture into the eggs & sugar & mix together

5.      Grate in the zest of the orange, then all of its juice

6.      Add the toasted hazelnuts and chocolate chips

7.      Mix everything together well

8.      Line a large baking sheet with baking parchment

9.      Using wet hands knead the mixture, then shape into a long, thin loaf

10.   Place onto the parchment & bake for 30 minutes

11.   Take the “loaf” out of the oven & very carefully slice into thin pieces

12.   Lay the pieces flat on the parchment & bake at 130C for 15 minutes

13.   Remove from oven & allow to cool

What else you need to know:

  

1.      The slices should have dried out and be hard & crispy

2.      Eat with coffee or tea, or with a glass of chilled white wine

The Sett

The Sett

Hidden by the corner of the path

On the rising ground

Where the mound runs into the bank

Are the newest excavations

The latest extensions to the scheme

The diggings being carried on at night-time

A nocturnal construction project

Creating a modern morning earth-work

Revealed by heaps of spoil

The crumbled soil deposited neatly

Outside the D-shaped hole

Which leads darkly down

By under-ground pathways

Into a dark, black home

A subterranean complex

Of tunnels and hidden chambers

Beneath the grassy surface

That provides protection from the cold

And a nesting-space for gravid mothers

Where, in future days

The curious heads of cubs

May appear blinking to the light

A small study in black and white

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

The Ringers

The Ringers

Tramping one by one

Along the church-yard path

Which bends and turns

Between the weathered headstones

Of long-neglected graves

Testament to forgotten souls

That trod this path before

Around the nave and chancel

To the almost-hidden staircase

Harbouring narrow steps

Which twist and wind, well-trodden

Spiralling upward into the tower

To the musty ringing room

Concealed behind the clock

Where hang ropes and sallies

Through the wooden ceiling

And now the heavy bells

Are rung slowly down

The tenor and the treble

Prepared for ringing

That practice may begin

Of rounds and methods

Changes and hunting

The Bob and Grandsire Doubles

And the Quarter Peal

Aching arms

And brows of concentration

To get the timing right

Ready for every occasion

Of morning service every Sunday

Or joyful summer Saturday weddings

Or the simple sombre tolling

Of a single funeral bell

That may ring on any day

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Fiercely Independent

Fiercely Independent

‘Yes’, she said, observing all the graces,

And pandering to my waning self-esteem,

‘You’re fiercely independent’

Which made me think of all the old men

First the one who lives upon the shore

Beachcombing for his living

Battling the turning silver tides

Taking only what the sea would give him

Then the one who wanders empty streets

With his bagged-up sole possessions

Searching for an empty doorway

And refusing offers of a night-shelter

The one who was found dead on Tuesday

Cold and stiff in his living room

His body not discovered for several days

Because he kept himself to himself

And the one who was buried yesterday

Whose epitaph could easily apply to me

For he did not suffer fools gladly either

And was beholden to no man

Yes he was eccentric, sometimes strange

Sometimes awkward, could be difficult

Liked to plough his own furrow

And to follow his own shining star

Nor would he let others help him

Nor brook their well-meaning interference

Because it was his independence and his freedom

That were the very things that defined him

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020