Plum Jam

Recipe for: PLUM JAM

Ingredients:

• 1.5 kg plums, or damsons
• 1.25 kg granulated sugar

 Method:

1. halve & stone the plums.  Keep about a dozen stones
2. using nutcrackers, break the stones & extract the kernels
3. put the kernels in small bowl & cover with boiling water for a few minutes
4. drain the water & slip ff the brown skins, leaving the creamy-white kernels
5. put the plums, skinned kernels & 400ml water into a preserving pan
6. bring to a simmer & cook gently until the fruit s tender & the skins soft (about 20 minutes, but depends on size & ripeness of fruits)
7. add the sugar, stirring until dissolved
8. turn up the heat & boil rapidly until setting –point is reached (see TESTING FOR A SET), usually about 10-12 minutes.  The fruit should not still be bobbing to the surface – it’s probably not sufficiently cooked
9. pot the jam into warm, sterilised jars
10. cool, seal & label

 What else you need to know:

1. the kernels add an almond-like tang to the jam, and are a good source of pectin
2. this recipe also works with damsons, bullaces, greengages

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 14th September 2014

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 14^th September  2014

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

1.       With only a few days to go before the referendum voting on Seend independence gets under way, pundits are already saying that the result is just too close to call.  Campaigners for the “Yes”, “No” and “Couldn’t Give A Toss” parties have been lobbying hard in the High Street all week, and a media frenzy has developed outside the village shop as the press watches whether people are buying the Seend or Bromham edition of the Bromham Bugle.  Said Mrs. Hermione Piglet of Rose Cottage just near the shop: “I just wish they’d all bugger off and leave us alone”.  It seems impossible to put it fairer than that.

2.       A man has been arrested in connection with a fire which was believed to have been started deliberately at the village’s main rescue home for unwanted pigs.  Several animals were killed in the fire, and roads nearby have been choked in grease as people attempted to get near to snag some fresh crackling for themselves.  Apple sauce and stuffing vendors did a roaring trade as fire-men half-heartedly attempted to douse down the porcine disaster site.  Police commented that it was “a real pig of a situation”.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014

Call Girl

Call Girl (or how telephone sex is not as good as it’s cracked up to be)

I’m a great fan of online banking,

And I use it to manage accounts.

But last week I ran into a problem -

On the screen were the wrong amounts.

So seeking to sort this problem at once,

To the bank’s Call Centre I rang.

I listened to music for minutes,

As on the phone I was forced to hang.

Then a recorded voice quite sharply said:

“Press 1 for this, and press 2 for that”.

So I worked my way through the options,

Trying not to feel like a prat.

My digits blazed over the keypad,

Pressing this, pressing that, and then you

Think you’ve finished at last,

But there’s always one more menu.

At last I got to where I wanted,

After this long game of hide and seek

For it was just with a human being,

That I desperately wanted to speak.

At last came a female voice quite confident -

I wasn’t trying to be choosy.

She asked if she could help me,

And told me her name was Susie.

I stumbled through with my problem,

But really I hadn’t much of a choice.

I’d become all kind of nervous, you see,

Seduced by the sound of her voice.

So began my fantasies & questions:

I went right through the book.

Was she young, and was she pretty?

In fact, how good did she look?

I started to imagine for myself:

What was the colour of her hair?

For her voice was so gentle,

I decided she had to be fair.

Could I ever get to know this girl?

I could feel my cheek starting to heat.

Could we take this relationship further,

And arrange somewhere cosy to meet?

I wanted to take this thing off-line:

I felt that she was waiting to be whirled,

Away from her Call Centre employment,

To something more solid in the real world.

  

She carried on talking, working her script.

She was a mistress of her profession.

She was confident & well-drilled.

Would she listen to my confession?

She worked her way through my problem,

But the solution had started to vex.

Did a one-sided fantasy like this,

Count as telephone sex?

I wanted to keep her talking, you see,

And try to keep her involved.

I felt we needed to build up some rapport,

So I brought up new things to be solved.

Her voice was so delightful & sexy,

But always in command, never a fall-girl.

I wanted this to go on and on,

To take things further, with my dear call-girl.

Her accent betrayed nothing at all,

But she seemed like an English rose.

I’d no idea where she was,

But she certainly felt very close.

Eventually, I screwed up my courage,

And asked her if there could ever be more.

That’s when she said it was against the rules,

And besides, she was talking from Bangalore.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014

The Death Of The Quango

The Death Of The QUANGO

I want to bring to your attention

Something that’s very hard to relate,

For we’re about to lose something precious,

Something we all love to hate.

It’s a beast that’s been around a long time,

And has long lived on these shores,

But if we don’t act and do something,

We’re about to see it no more.

It’s been hunted for its precious flesh,

For it has a body of distinction.

But the numbers are starting to dwindle,

And the precious beast is facing extinction.

It’s covered in a beautiful plumage,

And has a rich varied diet,

But its habitat is now shrinking:

I’m sure you wouldn’t like to try it.

Years ago there were thousands:

It was found in all walks of life.

But now it’s becoming endangered,

And runs in fear of its life.

Yes, the Commission for Orange Juice Quality,

And the Advisory Board for The Colour Brown,

Are both up against the wall

And about to be run out of town.

The Office for English Sea Shanties,

And The Council For The Protection Of Folk,

Are being prepared for the bullet,

And I’m afraid it isn’t a joke.

The Chocolate Fondue Set Equality Partnership,

And the Old Raffle Sellers’ Board

Cannot be lost to the nation,

Nor be allowed to be put to the sword.

Where would we be without the Inspectorate For Choruses,

Or the Office of Musical Strife?

We can’t carry on in this vacuum,

And expect just to lead normal lives.

Don’t we still need the Candle-Length Standards Board

And the Old Guitar Players’ Trust?

They’re all vital to our enjoyment

And keep them all we must!

How can we allow these poor creatures to die?

How can we let this thing come to pass?

Don’t we need them to flourish

Rather than let them all crash?

You may think that there’s plenty QUANGOs around,

A fact I’d like to dispute.

At the last organised count-up,

Numbers had gone right down the chute.

 And now there’s to be an authorised cull,

And a bonfire to burn up the dying.

I can’t see how they are going to save money,

But you can hardly blame them for trying.

For the QUANGO is a much misunderstood beast,

Not often seen in the light.

It hides itself away quietly,

Creeping about mostly at night.

It may cost a lot to preserve it,

But we really ought to give it a try.

For if we lose the last QUANGO,

We’ll always be wondering why

We didn’t do some more to preserve it,

Just hold back one or two,

To give our children something to stare at,

Or at least to keep one in a zoo.

So if you want to keep one of these creatures,

Please send some money today.

Mark the envelope “Keep The QUANGO”

Don’t let them all just…..fade away.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014

Doing Porridge

Doing Porridge 

They’ve found it in the long-dead stomachs

Of ancient peat-bog dwellers so old,

For it’s a very durable substance,

Once it’s set and allowed to go cold.

Scraps of it still adhere to kitchen walls,

Where a pan of it once exploded,

And it carries many a memory,

Once it’s been analysed and de-coded.

It’s a reminder of times quite distant,

A material that’s said to be fissile,

And, once rolled into a tight little ball,

It can even be used as a missile.

Now this food-stuff’s something of a winner,

And its utility takes some beating,

For it’s popular North of the Border:

A Scottish substitute for Central Heating.

Yes - I speak of a dish of hot porridge:

High in fibre, vitamins and protein,

It lowers cholesterol & blood pressure:

A meal that’s fit for a queen.

A humble bowl is so full of goodness,

Low in sugar and easy digestible,

Not like one of your fancy breakfasts,

But a food that’s a wholesome comestible.

It’s much better than a full English,

Yoghurt, muesli or hominy grits.

It tastes much smoother too,

Because it doesn’t come with the bits.

It’s not fishy like old kippers,

Nor crunchy like you get with fruit and with nuts.

It slides down all soft and seductive,

Then it sticks to the sides of your guts.

But you have to make it the true way,

Neither too heavy, nor too light.

Neither too hot nor too cold,

If you want it to be just about right.

Oatmeal and water and some salt

Is the method that really rocks,

And then you must stir it all clockwise,

If you want it to suit Goldilocks.

For the stirring keeps the Devil away,

And forces him to run and to hurtle,

And if that doesn’t seem to work,

You can despatch him with the spurtle.

   

Tho’ it’s Scottish, it don’t use a sheep’s stomach,

So from this dish there’s no need to hide.

You don’t need to eat it with Irn-Bru,

And, unlike Mars bars, it’s not even deep-fried.

They sell it in Prêt -a-Manger to take away,

And even McDonalds are in on the game.

So there must be profits in oatmeal,

But it’s good for you all the same.

It may be a guard against cold weather,

But here’s the point – if you want to take notes:

They say it’s an aphrodisiac -

So there’s more than one way of getting your oats.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014

Quince Jelly

Recipe for: QUINCE JELLY

Ingredients:

• 900g/ 2 lbs quinces
• Juice of one lemon
• 454g/ 1 lb + white granulated sugar

 Method:

1. wash & roughly chop the quinces (no need to peel, pip or core)
2. place into a large heavy pan & cover with water
3. bring to the boil, then simmer gently until the fruit is completely soft.  If the quinces are very firm, this could take more than an hour.  Add more water if needed
4. when cooked, tip the lot through a sterilised jelly bag & leave to drip overnight
5. do not squeeze the bag or the jelly will be cloudy
6. measure the juice you’ve collected, then add back into the (clean) pan
7. add 1 lb/ 454g  sugar for every 1 pt 570ml of juice + the lemon juice
8. heat gently, stirring to ensure that all the sugar has dissolved, then bring up to the boil
9. boil hard for 10 minutes then test for a set (see TESTING FOR A SET).  Keep testing until you get to the setting point
10. remove from heat & pot into warm sterilised jars
11. cool, seal, label & store

 What else you need to know:

1. it’s hard to get a set with quinces, but possible if you keep boiling & testing

All Hung Over

All Hung Over (or the morning after the night before)

If you could all talk a bit quieter,

And keep some of your noise down,

I’d be grateful to you for the favour,

For I’ve been a bit of a clown.

My head is terribly throbbing.

My mouth’s the bottom of a bird-cage,

And my tongue it’s all coated

My skin is burning in rage.

My limbs are all of a tremble,

And my throat is feeling all furred.

The room it is spinning round slowly,

And my vision has become decidedly blurred.

I can hardly bear to open my eyes.

I can’t stand this too-piercing light.

I’m suffering real badly this morning,

For the major sins of last night.

I badly need some Alka-Selzer,

To settle my stomach real quick.

I can’t stand here for much longer.

In fact, I think I’m going to be sick.

I’ve over-indulged – that’s clear.

I obviously don’t know when to stop.

But I’ll be alright tomorrow,

And I’ll never touch another drop.

The pounding pain in my head is real bad.

I think I started drinking last November,

But how I made it home again last night,

You know – I really can’t remember.

I guess it must have been quite a session.

I know that we started with beer,

Then we went on to spirits & cocktails.

After that, nothing’s quite clear.

There were drinking games and some forfeits.

I must have drunk lots and lots.

Just a few tequila slammers,

Then “drink your way through the bar” using shots.

My clothes are all of a mess,

And now I’m starting to worry.

For the brown stains on my shirt,

Shows that we must have stopped for a curry.

Or it could have been even worse.

If so, I’ll have to go into re-hab,

For the truth is I might have succumbed

To the charms of a doner kebab.

  

I’d like to lie down for a while,

At least until I’m feeling more chipper.

I’d like to get undressed,

But my fingers may not cope with the zipper.

They say the best cure is a full English,

Or an omelette with ham & quite cheesy,

But now every time I smell food,

I just start to feel queasy.

But, I’ll have just have to get a grip of myself,

And shake off this beer-smelling fog.

For the pub’s open again quite soon

And it’ll be time for some hair of the dog.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2014