Beneath The Surface

Beneath The Surface

There! Near the reeds, on the far bank

A sinuous, slow movement

Languid and lazy

A suggestion of a dark shape, a shadow

Beneath the silvered surface

The shimmering pond-water

Implacable, cold, lily-covered

Under a slow-warming sun

Its midge-infested meniscus

Disturbed by the easy-rising minnows

Conceals a waiting presence

Snout, and focused steady eye

Belie the beating gills and waving tail

Needled fins and razored teeth

Lie in silent patient deadly wait

Inside a green and grassy cover

Until it is time to strike

To kill and eat

Before disappearing

Back into the depth

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Honey Roast Gammon

Recipe for: HONEY-ROAST GAMMON HAM

Ingredients:

• 2-3kg unsmoked gammon joint (soaked overnight in water, if possible)
• 1 carrot, halved
• 1 onion, quartered
• 2 celery stalks in chunks
• 1 bay leaf
• 4 thyme sprigs
• 1 tsp black peppercorns
• 100ml honey
• 100g Demerara sugar
• 50ml Madeira
• 3 tblsp soy sauce
• 3 tblsp English mustard
• 2 tblsp Worcestershire sauce
• 50 cloves (to stud)

Method:

1. put the drained gammon & vegetables in a large pan & cover with cold water
2. bring to the boil, skimming off any scum
3. add the bay leaf, thyme & peppercorns, then simmer for 2 hours, topping up he water f necessary
4. meanwhile make the glaze: put the sugar & honey in a saucepan & slowly bring to the boil
5. when the mixture starts to foam, remove from the heat & add the Madeira
6. leave to cool slightly, then add the soy, mustard & Worcester sauce. Set aside
7. when the ham is cooked, lift out onto a large roasting tin
8. heat the oven to 170C/ fan 150C/ gas 3
9. using a sharp knife & scissors & fingers, cut the outer skin of the ham away, leaving an even layer of fat.  Score the fat in a criss-cross pattern.  Stud each diamond of fat with a clove
10. brush the glaze over the ham and roast/ bake for another hour, basting frequently
11. when browned, set aside to rest for 15 minutes before carving

Roundway Hill

Roundway Hill

Sitting at last, gathering breath,

From the hard climb up the track,

Staring across the ancient landscape,

Allowing myself at last to look back

Towards the far village steeple,

Rising through late morning haze,

Shimmering in the distance,

Attracting my sun-dazzled gaze.

Calves and feet gently aching,

Boots well covered in fine dust,

Kicked up by my plodding progress

Through the chalk’s crumbling crust.

Orchids peer shyly through the long grass

Of this upland meadow where calmly I wait,

Tiny, quick flashes of colour,

Right down the track to the gate.

Butterflies dance in gaudy profusion,

Fluttering round, ignoring the heat,

And a fox flees into the wood,

Less than fifty yards from my seat.

Far below me, down in the cornfield,

Seeming like dots, are boxing hares,

Standing, running, darting and feinting,

Pre-occupied with Spring-mating cares.

Recovered, exhaling slowly,

Back on my feet, I continue the climb,

The steady tramp, tramp of the boots,

Marking out the rhythm of time.

Head gently clearing, eyes lifting,

Up to the summit of the long hill,

Driving my aching legs forward,

With the sheer force of my will.

No thought for the tension and stress,

That can clutter my mind these days:

Exhaustion drives it all out,

And calms my soul in so many ways.

Daily detoxification

Can be found on this high ground,

And the tiredness of an aching body,

Works like a drug, leaving me sound.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Mission

Mission

We left upon a high tide

Of love and hope and enthusiasm

That pushed us gently off from home

Out into the starry night

To travel upon waves of faith

And the best of our technology

We embarked upon the journey

In our silvered ship of dreams

Carrying deep within the belly of its hold

Supplies and building blocks of life

Essentials for the colony

And a fragile early settlement

And now we can only wait

And voyage on regardless

Tracking our co-ordinates

On our pre-determined trajectory

A long-distance one-way ticket

Through cold and airless space

There will be no return

No coming back across the void

From this long-term venture

To a dry and dusty planet

With its darker horizon

Orbiting further from our Sun

But we may survive for long enough

To thrive and procreate the species

To build a tenuous foothold

Upon the rocky surface

Where we can stand defiant

And watch the Earth rise once again

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Snouts In The Trough

What is with these guys?  Don't they get paid enough as it is? Are they stupid? Or greedy? Or both?

Snouts In The Trough

It’s good that we live in in a democracy,

With flags blazing and banners uncurled;

Here in the Mother of Parliaments -

An example we hold out to the world.

And we take this stuff damned seriously:

We’re not mere amateur hobbyists,

But now we’ve taken our eye off the ball,

And let in the canker of lobbyists.

But it takes two to tango they say,

Someone who needs a question to be asked,

And someone whose position is privileged,

With a streak of greed that’s thinly masked.

There’s a lack of transparency

In this access for cash

Their action is rash

Trying to look flash

As they sit in a sash

Making a huge mash

And principles into trash.

Where’s honesty and integrity gone?

Public service in office?

It’s gone down the abyss

They’re taking the piss

By behaving like this

Let’s give them a hiss

Tell them to kiss

Their cushy jobs good-bye.

Only hidden cameras and microphones

Have blown this thing open -

Insider access is a wheeze

They start with a tease

Then outline their fees

Soon acting with ease

They should be on their knees

Not slopping in grease

And wallowing in sleaze.

And to add insult to the injury,

By using these tools, they take us for fools,

And with faces all innocently turned,

Claim “I was only following the rules!”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013.

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 2nd June 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 2^nd June 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·         1. The world of Bromham politics has been rocked onto its backfeet by the scandalous events reported in the village this week.  In a secret, undercover “sting” operation mounted by the Bromham Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) two senior Parish Councillors were secretly filmed apparently agreeing to actually turn up, and perhaps ask questions in the Council chamber, in return for substantial rewards.  The implications of this “Questions For Carrots” situation are still being absorbed.

·       2.  Meanwhile the village is celebrating after one of its most fearless people Major Tim “Bonkers” Piglet was selected to begin training for the long mission to Trowbridge.  The mission, whose stated aim is to get a team of people into the shopping centre at Trowbridge, and to return them safely to Bromham, has long been a dream of the community.  The long-distance crew will have to endure a lonely journey of up to an hour to reach the remote town.  When they get there, they will endure an airless, and soulless, environment.  They will have no means of external support, and will depend for their survival on remembering where to catch the No, 37 bus back to the village.

·       3.  For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Organic Panic

Organic Panic (or why Mud can be Good)

Each time I go off to the market in town,

There’s something I see,

Which brings to my face a terrible frown.

It annoys me and it’s getting me down.

I feel they’re treating me like I’m a clown.

It’s when I see the label organic,

That I enter a mood near to panic,

And people nearby think that I’m manic.

It’s when I read the back of the label,

That it alarms me.

For in among all the country fable,

Is all the truth that’s not on the table.

This really ought to bug and annoy you,

That even in summer, and this is not new,

Green beans are being flown in from Peru.

What madness is this that they are doing?

To fool us all badly.

It’s causing pollution we’ll be ruing,

On this planet that’s now started stewing.

There’s trouble ahead that we’re brewing.

We can’t go on madly.

We’re killing seasonality and taste,

Raising food in too much hurry & haste,

Leaving behind us trails of carbon waste.

I don’t want hormones or drugs in my meat:

It’s not natural.

Nor genetically modified wheat,

But nor do I want a planet that’s beat,

Or a climate that will soon over-heat.

But we’re exhausting what’s left of the land,

And it’s time that we took it back in to hand,

Before the time comes that it’s panned.

The supermarkets must share in the blame,

With their approach.

They are taking us for fools in this game,

And their excuses are becoming more lame.

They ought to be reddening in their shame,

For covering up all of these airmiles,

And all of their plastic packaging guiles.

I’m putting their marketing in the frame,

Cos knobbly veggies taste just the same.

They don’t need to be perfect & straight,

To be edible.

Nor do they need to have a sell-by date.

We can work it out at our own rate,

Whether it’s best to eat now, or to wait.

But I’d certainly object if I could,

That farmers’ markets shouldn’t try to be good,

And charge more for carrots covered in mud.

This whole thing’s become tattered and frayed,

At the edges.

Words like “free-range” and “pure” have become greyed,

And nobody’s sure any more what’s Fairtrade,

Or who’s making the profits or being paid.

There’s something confusing about food,

Where real meanings have become skewed,

And the labels try to shape our attitude.

Wasn’t all food once “organic” and real?

Or am I naïve?

What we want back right now is the real deal,

With veggies that you can fondle & feel.

Let’s get rid of the packages and labels,

Get the stuff all laid out on the tables,

And banish this marketing-house Babel.

So let’s have dirty spuds and bent parsnips,

And let us get back to having real chips.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013