Falafels

Recipe for: FALAFELS 

Ingredients: 

• 225g tin chick peas, drained
• 1 tblsp sunflower oil
• 1 onion finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tblsps dark tahini
• ½ tsp ground cumin
• ½ tsp turmeric
• ½ tsp chillie flakes or powder
• 1 tblsp tomato puree
• 1 egg beaten
• 100g bread crumbs
• Sml bunch fresh herbs, finely chopped
• Pinch salt
• 1 tblsp cumin seeds
• 1 tblsp sunflower oil

Method: 

1. sauté the onion in the oil for 2-3 minutes.  Add ground spices & cook for another 2 minutes
2. blend chickpeas in processor until fine.  Add garlic, tahini & cooked onion, and the rest of the ingredients, except for the cumin seeds & sunflower oil
3. once the mixture is soft, but not sticky, remove from machine &, using wet hands, mould into little balls or patties. 
4. EITHER place these onto a lined baking tray & sprinkle with cumin seeds & oil, then bake in oven 190C/ 180C fan for approx 20 minutes
5. OR shallow-fry in oil four about 4 minutes a side

What else you need to know: 

1. best served hot, with warmed pitta bread, salads & dips

Nightime Navigation

Night-time Navigation

I hope you won’t mind me telling you this,

But there’s something I have to confess:

I’ve got this disembodied voice that I hear,

But how it all works - I just cannot guess. 

Sometimes whilst I’m sleeping and dreaming,

That is to say, this happens during the night,

Being of a certain age, you see,

I often find that my bladder is tight.

I find I have to get up for some relief,

And I desperately want to go to the loo:

I’ve got to find the bathroom quite quickly,

In order to do what it is I’ve got to do. 

But as I disentangle the covers,

I cannot but observe that it’s pitch black,

And if I wake up the old lady,

She’ll surely give me a smack. 

So I have to find my way to the toilet,

Without the aid of a lamp, in the dark.

I’m half asleep, and I can’t really see:

In fact, there’s no sort of landmark. 

That’s where my automatic pilot comes in:

As I quietly slip out of my bed,

Through many years of custom and practice,

I can hear a voice speaking in my head.

“Go forward four paces, then turn to the left,

Carry on - right to the end of the wall,

Exit carefully into the next room,

And be careful that you don’t fall!” 

“Proceed three steps, and the toilet you’ll find:

You are located before the loo station,

Now stop and switch off your engine -

You have arrived at your destination!” 

It’s curious I can do this whilst asleep,

I think it’s just a gift that I have.

I’m thinking of selling on the idea –

Tom Tom could market it as “Sat Lav”!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Bloomers At The BBC

Oh Auntie!

They say a week’s a short time in politics;

In broadcasting I suppose it’s the same.

Fifty-four days - seemed like a phase,

Poor bloke had hardly got into the game! 

But Humphrys doesn’t muck about much,

And he went straight for the chap’s gristle.

Fifty four days - and still in a haze!

Now it’s good-bye to old Entwistle! 

For George seemed completely bewildered,

In the interview he just couldn’t mix it.

Fifty-four days – caught in the maze!

Still trying to explain how Jim’ll Fix It! 

Now he’s “spending more time with his family” –

Left with a year’s salary – what a wheeze!

Fifty-four days – My God but it pays!

When the staff are all left with a pay-freeze. 

Yes, Auntie’s been caught with her bloomers down,

Despite being funded by the tax-man.

Fifty-four days – looks like a craze,

Let’s hope they don’t hand the job over to Paxman! 

Dimbleby says “are there Any Questions?”

That we, the viewers, might like to ask?

Fifty-four days – that we will raise,

As we take the BBC roundly to task. 

But are there to be Any Answers?

It’s more puzzling than old Doctor Who.

Fifty-four days – was he in space?

I’m Sorry, I Haven’t A Clue. 

But Just A Minute! I hear you all cry -

Wasn’t the guy just a bit of a louse?

Fifty-four days – how many ways

Are there to make cock-ups in Broadcasting House? 

It’s time to wonder “Are You Being Served?”

With editorial control in Newsnight?

Fifty-four days – fix on your gaze –

How the Beeb’s fallen from a great height. 

Well - that’s it this week for Strictly Come Chancing,

And for the taking of unwarranted risks.

Fifty-four days – before he’ll laze

As the next guest on Desert Island Discs!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Bungle In The Jungle

Times They Are A-Changing

Times was when you knew where you stood,

But things just aren’t what they used to be.

Now, if you want to have a serious debate,

You’ve just got to get yourself on TV. 

Once, MPs appeared in Parliament,

To sort out our messes and bungles,

Or to discuss the issues of the day,

But now they head straight off to the jungles. 

As if being a “celebrity”

Endowed these people with great skills!

And gave them some critical insight,

As to the cure for all of our ills! 

Just how does a “bush-tucker trial”

Help them to think anything through?

There’s only one kind of insect to see,

And that still leaves us in a helluva stew. 

What does Dorries think she is doing?

Does she imagine this is reality?

What happened to honesty and respect?

Have we seen the last of integrity? 

Now the Tories have withdrawn the whip,

Which is not quite as good as it sounds.

She’ll be selling her story to The Mail,

And there’ll be gossip doing the rounds. 

So what happens to her constituents,

Whose problems she’s decided to shun?

Who is it she’s representing,

While she’s away having her fun? 

There was a time when you needed achievement,

Something solid to be deserving of fame,

But now all you need is a pretty face,

And be prepared to take part in a game. 

So farewell to honour and democracy,

They’ve got no scruples left at ITV.

But, thank goodness, you can always rely

On the old standards at the BBC!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 11th November 2012

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 11^th  November 2012

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

·       The Chief Executive of Bromham Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), George Wetmywhistle, resigned from his role last night with immediate effect. He claimed that, in an interview the previous day on Carrot FM, John Humpty-Dumpty had made him look like a complete idiot, a bungling fool, and to have had no idea what was going on.  He felt it was unfair for him to be expected to know what was being broadcast when he was already down at the Wounded Ferret getting bladdered with other key BBC executives.

·       And in a narrow contest, which went all the way to the barbed wire across the top of Farmer Piglet’s gate in his North field, Barack Piglet finally won the Presidency of Bromham Parish Council for another four years.  Mitt Piglet, the defeated candidate, is thought to be considering his future in politics.  This is thought to have been the most expensive contest in history, with more than seven rounds of drinks having been bought in the Wounded Ferret in the past two weeks.

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

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Leopard

Leopard

A shout and then a scramble

Engines revving, jeeps reversing

A finger points toward the tree

There, there! - up on the branch

Cameras snapping

Binoculars focused

Jostling for position

To get the clearest sighting 

There, there! – reclining

Relaxed and lazy

Dozing through the day

Conserving energy till drowsy dusk

And night-time hunting

A fearsome predator in the dark

Stalking killer

Silent assassin

Striking without warning 

Calm and camouflaged

Spotted, sandy, black

Among the shimmering leaves

This shy, retiring cat

Elusive at noon-time

Yawning, revealing razor teeth

Blinking yellow, slit-like eyes

Which gaze, bored, at his admirers 

Lithe and muscular

His deceptive power concealed

Hidden in his restful pose

A paw casually hanging down

Towards the ground

Awesome in his beauty 

And as the sun sinks low

Burning into the horizon

Casting long shadows

The nervous herdsmen

Move their lowing cattle

Inside their flimsy compound

Away from night-time danger

And stare after the retreating jeeps

As they roll away, back to camp

Amid rising clouds of dust

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Remembrance

Remembrance

On the eleventh day

And at the eleventh hour

In a cold and wintry November

We choose that very moment

That specific time

At which we will remember 

At the moment of the Armistice

When the big guns ceased to fire

Memories that will never cease

Thinking of those poor Tommies

Forced to fight for King and Country

In pursuit of lasting peace 

Now at that lumpen marble stone

The whitened Cenotaph

Gather men in darkened suits

Wearing poppies on sharp lapels

Holding rounded, heavy wreaths

Within the sound of marching boots

The sombre tolling of Big Ben

A minute’s empty, windy silence

The Last Post sounding clear

Thinking of The Fallen

Blood spilt, lives lost

In many lands, both far and near 

Respect for those departed

Who laid down their lives in war

Red and white flowers on this Sunday

But soldiers coming home

Face a daily battle

Like how to cope with Monday

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012