Jambalaya

  It may seem strange for a recipe for this great southern dish to be created by an expatriate Englishman. The recipe came about largely out of frustration. Many years ago, I could not seem to find a cookbook recipe which sounded as if it would taste like the dishes I had enjoyed when working in the Carolinas. So, I set out to try and build a recipe using the ingredients I had detected when eating a dish of Jambalaya. Along the way, I got a little help from watching Justin Wilson on TV.
 MEAT BASE
  It seems best to use three or more meat or fish ingredients as a base, although I see no reason why this could not also be made into a vegetarian recipe. For this version, I chose chicken, sausage and bacon.

SEASONINGS:

1Tbsp Worcester Sauce, 1Tbsp Parsley-chopped, 1Tbsp Cilantro- chopped, 1/2 Tsp Cayenne Pepper, 1Tsp Creole File, 1/2Tsp Ground Cumin, 1Tsp White Pepper, 1Tsp Salt, 1/2 Tsp Red Pepper Flks, Juice of 1 lime, Black Pepper and Louisiana Hot Sauce to taste.

 INGREDIENTS :                                                                 

2 Tbsp Olive Oil                                         
2 Tbsp Butter                                            
4 Half Breasts of Chicken                         
4 Andouille Sausages                                 
1/2 Lb Thick Cut Bacon                            
2 Large Onions - chopped                         
6 Green Onions - chopped                         
10 Cloves Garlic - chopped                       
1 Green Bell Pepper - chopped                  
2 Sticks Celery (with leaves) - chopped     
1/2 Lb Mushrooms - sliced                         
2 Cups Dry White Wine                             
2 Cups Chicken or Beef Stock                   
2 1/2 Cups Long Grain Rice - cooked
1 14 Oz Can Stewed Tomatoes - not drained
1 Small Can Sliced Black Olives - drained
1 Can Black Eyed Peas - drained
1 Small Can Lima Beans - drained
1 Small Can Red Kidney Beans - drained
1 Can Okra - drained, or use fresh okra

DIRECTIONS:
Heat a large pot and add olive oil. Cut the sausages into 1/4 inch slices and brown on both sides in the pot. Then remove and set aside in a dish. Add the chicken and lightly brown on all sides. Remove from pot, cut into bite sized pieces, and add to sausage in the dish to collect the accumulated juices. Cut bacon into bite sized pieces and add to pot. When bacon is crisp, remove to dry on a paper towel. Add butter to pot, then add chopped onion and garlic. Cook, stirring occasionally. When onions turn transparent, add green pepper and celery and continue to cook for 5 minutes, stirring. Add wine and deglaze pot. Add stock, tomatoes, mushrooms, black eyed peas, olives, lima and kidney beans and okra. Add chicken and sausage and accumulated juices to pot, bring to a boil, then simmer for about 20 to 30 minutes, covered. Add rice and all the seasonings except the hot sauce and adjust the taste. Add bacon and green onions. At this point, if the mixture is becoming too firm, add water or, better still, more wine. Also at this point, maybe add some more wine anyway!
Note:- If using seafood, it should be added at this point., and continue when seafood is cooked.
  Finally, add the Louisian hot sauce to set the ATF (Appropriate Thermalitude Factor).
  It is best to let the Jambalaya sit, covered, for up to an hour at this point. This allows the rice to soak up all the flavors and gives you time for a drink before dinner.
Now......Enjoy!!

NOTE:-When I was updating this recipe recently, it occurred to me that, when setting the ATF, the accuracy achieved is, in itself, also partially dependent on  the current setting of the RVR ( Relevant Vocabularitude Ratiometer). It is important to keep this in mind.

Tuscan Soup

  Have you ever been to the Olive Garden Restaurant and had their Zuppa Toscana?. This is one of our favorite soups, basically a potato soup with Italian sausage. We asked for the recipe and were told that it may be on their website, but we could not find it. So, I set about trying to create my version of it. After several  tries and a couple of different versions, this is what I came up with and we think this version is pretty close to the original. 
  INGREDIENTS
2 Tbs Olive Oil
1/2 Large Onion, chopped small
1 lb Italian Sausage, skin removed, cut into small bite size
1/2 lb Bacon, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
8 Medium Potatoes, skin on, cut into 1/8 inch thick, bite size
1/2 Tsp Crushed Red Pepper
1/2 Head of Kale, chopped
2 Qts Chicken Stock
1/2 Pint Heavy Cream
1/2 Tsp Thyme Leaves
1/2 Tsp Herbes de Provence
1 Tsp Worcester Sauce
1 Tsp Garlic Powder
1 Tsp Salt
1 Tsp Black Pepper
1/2 Tsp White Pepper

  DIRECTIONS
   In a large saucepan, add olive oil and bring to medium heat. Add sausages and brown all over. Remove with a slotted spoon and reserve in a bowl. Add bacon to pan and cook, stirring. Add onions and crushed red pepper and stir to avoid burning.When onions are translucent, add chicken stock and bring to a boil. Add half the potatoes and bring to a simmer. Add all the seasoning items and continue to simmer for 20 minutes or until potatoes begin to crumble. Add the sausages and the remaining potatoes and simmer for barely 20 minutes. Add kale after about 10 minutes. Add cream and stir. Adjust seasoning and serve.

Those Bloody Kids!

   A few evenings ago, I was watching TV on the history channel and they mentioned the fact that, during World War 2 around 1941, British commandos used to raid German installations on the coast of France armed with crossbows. These were used until the enemy started firing at them. Since the gunfire ruined the previous silence of the operation, the commandos then switched to using their Sten sub-machine guns. But the crossbows intrigued me, and still do. 
   During World War 2, we lived in the country about 20 miles west of London. Most of the large country houses around us had been taken over by the government and had become army camps. We were always in and out of these camps. During one visit, I asked about the crossbows and was shown one, and became even more intrigued. I had a pretty good workshop with all the woodworking tools and even a small metal working lathe. So, I thought I would have a go at making one. After several days of designing and building, I had a prototype. But , it took a very long time to get a working model and it did not work too well.  Winter was upon us, and we had quite a bit of snow, so I set about building a half scale crossbow, mostly out of wood,  for shooting high velocity, super accurate snowballs. This was a great success. We  practiced shooting and, pretty soon, we could hit anything at up to 20 yards or so. One day,  we were out in the lane outside my parents house and we saw the vicar cycling down the lane on his tall bicycle on his way to the church. He always wore a very tall black hat, rather like an opera hat with rounded corners. I have never seen another hat like it. I loaded a 2 inch snowball and, as the vicar came abeam our position, I fired...... and his hat flew off his head. That amazed me!  We threw ourselves down in the deep snow to hide and silence our laughter until he retrieved his hat and cycled on. We were absolutely soaked when we got up. But, it was worth it.
   We also had a lot of fun with the mini crossbow on the local golf course. This was a long course on a large area of land between two villages. There were very few houses around it so we could walk all over the golf course away from the fairways without being seen by many people. There was one section where the fairway ran uphill and the green was just over the crest of the rise. To the left of the fairway was an large area of tall grass and gorse bushes which rose above the fairway and had a small bowl at its highest point. We could lie in the bowl and see the whole fairway and the green to our left, without being seen. We had found that the crossbow was excellent for firing golf balls and had a pretty good range. When we saw a foursome shooting up the hill, we started firing balls at the green on a low trajectory. There were no golf carts in those days, so it took the foursome a while to walk the length of  the fairway. You could not see the green itself from the fairway, only the flag. When they got to the crest, instead of seeing their four balls on the green, there were probably a dozen or more. We had plenty of ammunition.  We heard murmerings like "those bloody kids must be around here somewhere" Yes, indeed! 
   Thinking about this made me chuckle to myself and got me thinking about other pranks we used to pull at that age. Another weapon we used was a slingshot or catapult as we called them in England. They were easy to make and fitted in your pocket . We became very proficient in using them and spent hours at target practice.
   One Sunday, we were in the field adjacent to Clock House Farm, about half a mile from my house. This was a very imposing red brick building with a small clock tower above the front door. The farmer himself seemed to be a miserable old devil who never smiled and certainly did not like small boys. I often used to wonder if he had ever been one himself. Adjacent to the hedge running along the edge of the field was a large barn and we noticed this day that the barn door was open and the farmer was loading a small four wheeled, rubber tired wagon to which his little horse was harnessed. This was a nice friendly little horse and we quite often made a fuss of him when he was loose in the field. Little boys tend to notice strange things and we had commented before that this horse was extremely well endowed for his size and his penis always seemed to be " in the down position". It was on this day and we were discussing the idea that, if we fired a small rock  and hit him in the apendage, what would it do apart from make his eyes water?  The horse was fairly close to the hedge so, we took aim through the hedge and both fired at the same time. One or both of us must have hit him because he let out a loud whinnie and reared up on his hind legs then accelerated to a gallop down the hill towards the farm gate. He roared out into the road, oblivious of any traffic and galloped up the hill toward the next village. The tailgate of the wagon was down, so things were flying all over the place. The farmer came out of the barn looking totally perplexed and went running after him. The horse and wagon were now out of sight but we could hear car horns in the distance so he was probably causing some problems somewhere. A few minutes later, we heard the clopping of hooves and back came the little guy, still on full throttle, down the hill. The farmer tried to stop him but he was having none of that and roared through the gate and up the hill to the farm.  He came to a halt at the water trough where he proceeded to drink water by the gallon. We never did notice if his eyes were watering,  but we had our question answered. There would be no use in reloading the wagon, the little chap was done for the day.
   The field on the other side of Clock House Farm had a stream running through the center of it. The stream was only a little over a foot wide and a few inches deep but was fairly fast flowing. We often used to play in this stream and would sometimes narrow it down with mud to increase the rate of flow or we would create a waterfall. One Sunday afternoon, we had diverted the stream slightly while we built a waterfall in the main stream. Then, we let the stream flow over the waterfall and we were very pleased with the result. So, we built the waterfall up, using sticks to hold back the mud. Now, we had a dam about 2 feet tall. We built a sluiceway to one side of the dam to  limit the level of the water.  It was now beginning to get dark, so  we left it and went home. The following weekend, we went back to the stream and found the dam to be intact and the sluiceway still working. We were really excited by our engineering feat. Behind the dam, the stream had now become a small lake running the whole length of the field and about 20 feet wide in places. As we were congratuating ourselves, we were suddenly joined by Stan, the village bully and his elder brother, commonly known as the village idiot. We learned a lot of new words and found out that the stream flows past the back of their house, one of about a dozen council houses about half a mile away. Apparently, the swollen stream had flooded the kitchens of these houses. While still cursing,  Stan and his brother quickly demolished the dam. We decided to take off before they found another use for their plentiful muscles. As they cleared the dam, the sudden rush of all the entrapped water poured over the banks of the stream and formed a temporary lake in the farmyard across the road.
  We never could make out why a dozen or so families had allowed their houses to become partially flooded without investigating the cause.
   Another item we found which made an excellent plaything were the little rubber tubes filled with gasoline which were used for filling cigaret lighters. These were about 2 inches long and a little over half an inch in diameter. They had a small nipple at one end and you were supposed to poke a pin through the nipple to make a hole. Then you could squeeze the liquid into the lighter. We found that when you made a hole in the nipple, you could light the gasoline with a match. Then, if you squeezed the tube, a long flame would shoot out. We thought that if you lit the tube and then fired the tube with a catapult or crossbow, you would have a sort of Molotov cocktail. The only problem was that it didn't work. When it hit the target, the flame went out. We were playing with one of these one day when standing at the crossroads near my house. I accidentally dropped the burning tube and it fell in the road and the whole tube caught fire. When the gasoline had burned off, it had caused about a four inch circle of the tar to burn. So, there was a little fire in the crossroads. We were thinking that, if we left this, it would burn for hours. So we did, and we went and hid in the hedge to see how drivers would handle it. Some car drivers drove over it without even noticing it. We just hoped their cars did not blow up a few minutes later. Most drivers squeezed between the fire and the verge. Nobody bothered to get out to investigate what the fire was. They could easily have stamped on it to put it out. I guess they were too busy. Then a double deck bus came up the road. He was too big to get between the fire and the verge, so he drove the bus right up on the verge to avoid the little fire. Then, along came the village policeman riding  his tall bicycle and wearing his tall helmet. He stopped and dismounted and studied the situation. He rubbed his chin for a bit, then removed his helmet, scratched his head and put his helmet back on. Then he got back on his bike and pedalled off towards his house. He was probably going home for lunch or going to call a fire engine. After about half an hour, we figured we had seen enough. So we walked over, stamped on the flames to put them out, and also went to lunch.
   Talking of buses, another silly story comes to mind. One day, after school, Stephen and I were sitting upstairs on a No 442 bus at the railway station waiting for it to take us home. We were sharing a bag of cherries and they were good. Normally, we would flick the pips  at people between ouur forefinger and thumb. But, we decided against that this day. Sitting in front of us was a very nice elderly gentleman who was always very polite and nicely mannered. He was wearing a very nice gray bowler hat with a hard, turned up brim. This brim looked just the place for our cherry pips. So, I gently sneaked one into the back of the brim, and he didn't seem to notice. Then, Stephen tried the same and it worked fine. By the time we had finished all the cherries, there must have been 30 pips in his brim. The other people sitting around could see what was going on. Some were smiling, some gave disapproving looks.When we got to Granville Avenue, he got up and went downstairs to  get off. We were looking down out of the window and we saw him get off. He met a well dressed elderly lady who was waiting to get on the bus. In typical polite fashion, he greeted her and tipped his hat to her, and showered her with cherry pips. There was a lot of confusion and embarassment and, as the bus pulled away, he glared up at  our smiling faces in the window.... and then smiled. As I said, he was a nice gentleman.
   Well, I think that's enough trivia  for now. For some reason, if something makes me think of one of these stories, it usually leads to an avalanche of others. This had better be the end of this one.

You Have To Fight For It

  This is a story about Megan Sawyer. You may not have heard of her but, I can assure you, she is just about the sweetest young lady who ever walked the face of this planet. Of course, I may be just a teeny bit biased because she is also my granddaughter.

  Megan was born on December 30th, 1997 and she began life as a typical very healthy baby, very active, extremely alert. In the summer of 1999, her mother, Vanessa, had told us that Megan seemed to have been drinking excessive amounts of liquid over a period of several days.. My wife, Joy, advised her to take Megan to the doctor and have her checked for diabetes. So, her father, Doug, took her to the doctor. Later, he called to say that the doctor had confirmed that Megan  did indeed have Type 1 diabetes. She was then transferred straight to the hospital where she spent several days while they gathered all the vital statistics and prepared her for the ordeals to come. That was the beginning of a long story, a story of how diabetes can affect one young life.

  This news about the diabetes caused the Sawyer family to shift gears and enter a new phase in life. Doug and Vanessa had to go back to school to learn about caring for a daughter with Type 1 diabetes. A lot had to be learned. Her blood sugar had to be taken every few hours around the clock, insulin values computed and shots given to correct the blood sugar . This became the schedule for the foreseeable future until one day when a cure for Type1 diabetes will be found.

  Vanessa linked up with the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) and became a very active participant in the South Sound chapter. Megan learned to cope with her new regimen in very short order and it became a new feature in her life.

  Vanessa used to talk at fundraisers to banks and other companies and would frequently take Megan with her. For her part, Megan liked to participate also and, at 5 or 6 years old, she would get up and say a few words. Pretty soon, the few words grew and grew and before long she would, if allowed, give a whole speech.

  JDRF also organizes the South Sound Walk To Cure Diabetes, a yearly event in May. This is a five mile walk, now held in downtown Tacoma and is a major fundraiser for the cause. A team called Megan's Mighty Marchers was formed to take part in the event and raise money for diabetes research. The MMM team of members has now grown over the years to be a larger body of people and for several years in a row, it had been the team to raise the second largest amount of money of all the teams. Megan had a lot to do with all of this. In the early days, she was pushed in her stroller around the course of the event. Nowadays, she and her friends form a considerable component of  the walkers. For a couple of years, she was also an Ambassador for the Walk.

  When Megan was three years old, she was typically having 5, 6 or more insulin shots a day. She asked her Mum to show her how to do the shots. Then, she began giving herself the shots. She did not then know how to calculate the size of the shots, but that would come in another couple of years. She was then showing that she wanted to do it all for herself......she was fighting for it.
 She does not have to give herself shots any more as she now has an insulin pump fitted. The location of this pump  on her body has to be changed every three days but, naturally, she can do this herself. After each time she eats, she calculates the amount of insulin required to cover the food and drink, checks the value with Mom, dials in the value, presses a button and in goes the insulin
  She goes to a diabetes camp every year at Camp Leo. Here, all the diabetic children and young adults get together to play, learn and compare notes. The spirit of camaraderie is tremendous. It seems they are all lit by the same flame and they all benefit from it. They are all in the same fight.

  I think that the fact that Megan has diabetes may make her even more competitive. She gets very upset with herself if her grades slip at all. She also competes in just about every sport. Whether it be track, soccer, basketball, softball, lacrosse, she is in them all and she is good at them all. She is also an awesome skier, water skier and swimmer. Recently, she competed in the Middle School District Track Meet. She is a very fast sprinter but there was one girl, a good friend of hers, who she could just not seem to beat in the 100 meters sprint. She went into Route 16 Running and Walking and had some coaching advice from Miguel Galeana and Alexa Martin. Apparently, the next day at the track before the race, the renewed determination could be seen in her eyes. Time for the race, and she blasted out of the starting blocks and down the straight to win the event. She had again fought for it.

  It seems that what had been the handicap of the diabetes has become the pendulum that drives her very mechanism. Like a pendulum in a clock, it provides the energy which makes her tick. It all happens in her subconscious but I see it as the driving force within her.
  The fact that she has one more hurdle to cross, one more hill to climb than her compatriots seems to make her fight extra hard for everything.
  We began to realize early on that Megan was a fighter and she has maintained that attitude all of her young life. She will not let the diabetes hold her back.

  How many times have we heard someone say "Why did God let this happen to me?" This question must have been answered in thousands of pulpits around the world, and yet I have never heard a convincing answer.
  I believe the story of Megan can provide an answer, even if not the only one. As I have said, Megan is a fighter. She may be a fighter naturally but I am sure that the diabetes has strengthened this urge. It has made her more competitive and it has also made her a winner, a guaranteed winner. So, in answer to the question "Why did He allow this to happen to me?", she could say "So that I can be an example to others, so that I can become a champion".

  To return to the subject of diabetes, there will also be an answer. In time, the cure will come. There are now many, many people fighting to find it and there are also now many champions. It is just a question of time.  The fight goes on.

  Postscript:- Megan is now 15 and continues her life as normal. She now is going to Camp Leo as a counselor and so will now pass on to other youngsters the knowledge she has gained in managing Type 1 diabetes. As I said, the fight goes on.
 
 

What is the Word?

   I have always been a keen reader and, a couple of times, I have almost committed to writing a book. I enjoy writing but I also like finishing what I write, so no book from me in the foreseeable future.
  I also harbor the thought that, as much as I enjoy reading, I sometimes think that I should be doing something more productive or taking exercise rather than just sitting with a book. When I am reading, I try to maintain a variety in what I read. I like to read history books covering the last hundred years mainly. I also like novels which are historic, or partly technical or political. Also novels which are romantic or involving some sort of intrigue. Lastly, I like books about some technical issues, including cooking, or travel.

  Every now and again, I take stock of what I have been reading during the last year or so, to ensure that I am maintaining a balance in subject matter. Taking stock is what I am doing at this moment.

   I find my reading habits have changed slightly of late, mainly in regard to favorite authors. Tom Clancy, for example has been one of my favorites for many years. Every new title of his I would buy without reading reviews. Nowadays, I don't even pick up his books when I see a new one. So, what happened? Well, when an author begins to put on the cover of a new book "By Jerrold Nutterbuck with Liliana Dullsworthy", I get very suspicious. However good an author Ms Dullsworthy may be, she cannot utilize Mr Nutterbucks brain. Thus, there is a considerable loss of continuity involved. Increasing quantity seems always to decrease quality in this respect. Beware, another favorite of mine, James Patterson. The effect of such an enormous change on an author's writing style would be rather like finding out that my favorite brand of pate de foie gras is now made from the entrails of Chinese chickens and is available mainly through Walmart. Simple statement, catastrophic effect!

  My two most consistent favorite authors both come from the UK. They are Jack Higgins and Ken Follett. I was first attracted to them by their novels about World War 2. Their writing style reminded me strongly of the late, great author Nevil Shute. I believe I have read all of his books, and there were a lot of them. These two authors have continued to write about spies or international intrigue. Ken Follett has also ventured into writing a major historical epic, "Pillars of the Earth" and a successor "World Without End", The former is a great history book as well as a novel, the latter I have not yet read. He has also written the first book of a promised trilogy "Fall of Giants", which covers the fortunes and misfortunes of five families in different countries during World War 1 and subsequent years. This book is in my "to read" pile. 

  I have never been caught up in the Harry Potter scenario and have not wanted to read any of the books or see the movies. To me, they were kids stuff. However, recently, my daughter convinced me to read " Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone", the first book of the series. I was absolutely astounded. It was like reading a firework display.......a blue and yellow flash here, a red and green blast over there. Everything was happening at the same time. Wow! What a brain J K Rowling must have. Her writing style just sucks you in and I could not put the book down. So, now, I have six more books on the "to read" pile. But, before I go on to book 2, I have interjected a re-issue of an old Jack Higgins novel.

  Another first for me this year has been to read a just released first novel by a new author. This was Alexa Martin's debut novel "Girl Wonder". This is a Young Adult novel and thus I would not normally have read it except that Alexa is a very good friend of ours and is also our "adopted granddaughter". I had been wanting to read it because I particularly like her writing style. The book arrived in a package on May 3rd, the day of release. I opened it and started reading and I found it was like a burst of morning sunshine coming over the eastern skyline, a real pleasure to read. I look forward to reading more from her.

  During the last year, I have read a trilogy by the late Swedish author Stieg Larsson. These books are titled "The Girl Who Played With Fire", "The Girl Who...............", etc and they are three of the most interesting novels I have ever read. He has an extremely easy going and exciting writing style that makes reading so enjoyable. What a pity he died so young. If you are into good, well written, fast moving crime fiction, these are for you.

  A subject which has kept my interest for many, many years now has been the revelation of the development and use of cipher technology in international relations from the late 1930's to beyond the Cold War period after World War 2. I must have over 20 books on this subject. I know this sounds boring but, I worked in this sphere when I was in the British Army in my twenties and I have been interested in it ever since. I have read two new books on this subject in the last few months. They keep popping out of the formerly secret cocoon as new papers are released from secrecy each year.
  
  I have read two travel related books in the last year. The first one was a so far unpublished book by a so far unknown author about renovating an old house in the hills along the French/Italian border.  The other was Frances Mayes "Under the Tuscan Sun". This covers the same sort of subject in nearby Tuscany. So they both cover an interest of mine in an area which I love and the second adds another great interest of mine, French/Italian cooking. Both of them a great read.

  So, what do I do to keep up with the events of the modern world? One thing is certain, you cannot do this successfully by reading the average newspaper or listening to and watching major network TV and radio.
  Time for digression. When we first came to the United States over 43 years ago, most people used to ask us "What do you like most about the USA?" We used to reply truthfully that we like almost everything. But, nobody ever asked us how far the "almost" stretched. So, I started asking people "Why don't you ask us what we don't like?". Most people would look shocked that there was actually something we did not like. If they then asked what it was, I used to tell them "I think the news media has to be amongst the worst in the world". Some of them then looked even more shocked and yet many agreed with me. In the 43 intervening years, not much has changed. The media has got worse and the rest of the world is trying to keep up with the worsening. I do not see much chance of any improvement when the media management is so hopelessly biassed and they employ correspondents who seem to be encouraged to use inaccurate, similarly biassed reporting methods. The end result is that "news" now has a smattering of truth trying vainly to stay afloat in a morass of liberalese gallstones.
 It matters not in which direction the biass is applied. Whether it be to the left or right, whether it be towards Iran or Israel, whether it be towards sweet cream or unsalted butter does not matter one iota. Regardless of direction, one undisputed fact stands proud. This is that, if the truth becomes biassed, it is then no longer the truth.   Hopefully, some day in the not too distant future, some of the news moguls will realize this.
  Well, now that I have let my hobby horse loose to canter a couple of  laps around the paddock, I think its time to change the subject. So what do I do to keep up with what is going on? I choose my TV and radio stations very carefully and ignore the major newspapers almost entirely.

  The foregoing describes what I do in tracking the written word. I  endeavor to ensure that what I read covers most of the facets of my interests and of the world at large. So, it depends on which book I pick up on which day to let me know for that day.......What is the word?

Uncle Stanley

  My father was known in the family as "Pop", as I am known today. But, to the outer family and many other young people, he was known as "Uncle Stanley". As I think I have mentioned in a previous blog, he had a somewhat outrageous sense of humor. He used this sense of humor particularly to amuse the children. This story is about that part of Uncle Stanley.
  The story starts when I was only four years old, so I am relying mainly on the memory of other people for this period. During the first few years I was on this planet, we went on our family summer vacation to Boscombe, on the south coast of England, near Bournemouth. We used to stay at a small hotel along the waterfront. This one year, on our first night at the hotel, my parents had put my sister and I to bed and were going to bed themselves. My mother was already in bed and my father was turning the light off at the switch by the bedroom door. Then, without warning, he yelled "yippee" and took a flying leap from the door onto the bed, which promptly collapsed as two legs of the metal frame folded up. They thus had to sleep on a bed with a 20 degree list to starboard. The next morning, after breakfast, we were ordered to leave by the management. They had heard the crash in the night. So, we spent the first day of our vacation walking the streets with our bags like a family of refugees, looking for another hotel room in this overbooked town.
  My father loved children and they loved him as he was always playing with them on the beach. On the last morning of our vacation, he apparently used to come to the beach shortly before lunch dressed in a business suit and tie, black shoes and a bowler hat. He would then walk around saying goodbye to all the kids and their parents and then walk into the sea and keep on going until his hat floated off his head and he disappeared, until he popped up somewhere else. This apparently became a ritual. Each year, the kids waited for it. This was typical of Uncle Stanley.
  Pop, as I always called him, was at his most devilish, when food was being served with guests at the house, either family or close friends. My mother was grateful at least for this last part, he normally did not behave like this when comparative strangers were eating with us.  Pop was a master at carving meat. Whatever the animal or the particular joint, he carved it beautifully. He always used to carve at the head of the table, and then the plates were passed around. Oftentimes, some people would have seconds. So, Pop would stand up and say "would you like another slice of beef, Grandma?" If Grandma said "yes", he would then carve a slice very quickly, before her plate was passed, and then he would flick the slice with the end of the carving blade so that it flew across the table onto her plate, or so he hoped. He became quite good at this and sometimes hit the target. Grandma also had a hell of a sense of humor and always laughed at his antics.
  He was at his wildest when serving desserts. If there was some sort of non solid pudding or something in a bowl, he used to love to demonstrate his prowess at spinning the bowl between his fingertps through 360 degrees vertically. My mother would try to stop him but, the more she tried, the more determined he became. He was very good at it and I can only remember one occasion when a rice pudding was spread along the length of the table. I remember one particular time when, amongst the desserts being served was a large bowl of orange jelly. He said "Who would like some jelly?" He got some replies so he then said "Well, would everyone like some jelly" He then picked up a large serving spoon and slapped it into the top of the jelly as hard as he could. The bowl disgorged its contents in all directions, so it seemed like everyone was going to get some. My mother was not at all pleased, she had not wanted any jelly. 
  My mother used to invite people to tea on Sundays. These used to be quite formal events with one or two different types of sandwich, with the crusts cut off, of course, scones with clotted cream and jam, fruit cake or rock cakes and some sort of cream cake. The tea was poured by mother out of a big silver teapot. The cups and saucers and the sandwiches were wheeled in on a tea trolley and the cakes on a portable cake stand. While all this was being brought in, Pop would get in on the act and might bring in a plate of muddy potatoes straight out of the garden and maybe a few  small lumps of coal on a plate and just put them on the trolley without saying a word, until my mother saw them. She had a lot to put up with.
  With so much food in front of them at these teas, people seemed to eat quite generously. If someone had an empty plate, Pop would frequently say "Can I pass you a scone Mrs G?" If Mrs G  said "Yes", he would say "here, catch!", then quickly throw one at her. If my mother criticized him for this behavior, he would look all hurt and sulky.
  Pop had watched some comedians remove the tablecloth from a totally set table without spilling or breaking anything. He was convinced he could do this and he explained to me how it was possible. All you had to do was give the tablecloth a sharp pull and continue the pull at the same speed until the whole cloth had cleared the table. But, he had never done it, yet.  Frequently, as we were ending a meal with guests present, he would stand up, move his chair back out of the way, grab two handfulls of tablecloth and announce that nobody should move and he was going to remove the tablecloth. Of course, all of us kids would egg him on but Mum would plead "No, Stanley, no, please no." Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he never did it. But, it would have been interesting to see what would have happened if he had done.
  Another thing Pop used to love doing was to dress up for the kids. Sometimes, if the family was ready to go out and maybe already seated in the car, he would suddenly appear in the most ridiculous outfit. My mother would have to get out of the car and go back in the house to stop him going like that. Other times, he would appear in such an outfit just as guests were arriving for lunch. He particularly loved dressing up as a priest, by wearing a white dress shirt back to front with a dark blue sweater, also back to front. He would also part his hair in the middle. He really looked the part.
  Pop also enjoyed spinning tales with the young children. He had a set of fictitious characters around which he would spin the tales. There was Og Noble, Harry Fanackapan, Squadron Leader Farnes Barnes, Fred Bloggs, Sam Lonk and others.  I remember hearing him talking to my nephew and niece, Tim and Caroline about these characters and what they had been up to. He also used to show the children how to dig holes and then move these holes around the garden. Sometimes, I would see Pop and Tim, struggling between them to lift a very large hole out of the ground and put it into the wheelbarrow to carry it up to the house. Or, I might see all three of them walking up from the bottom of the garden with their arms outstretched as they each carried their own pretend hole. If they had too many holes, they used to lean some of them against the garage wall until they needed them. I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that some of these spare holes are still there unless somebody else has found a use for them.
  Pop seemed to go through life without a care in the world and always was in a good mood. I know he really enjoyed life and he made life fun for all those around him. I am enraged when I think that a man who was such a pleasure to everyone should pass away in such an unfortunate and disagreeable manner. He died having become almost a vegetable for a few years after a stroke caused by being beaten and kicked by a team of burglars who broke into the family home. I think he was cheated out of an honorable end to a great life. He was, I believe, 84 years old when he left us.
 
 
 
 

Who Dropped the Lemon?

 To me, the most satisfying drink in the world is the Martini. But, on a hot day, I am also partial to the tang of a good Margarita. There is a relative newcomer in town called a Lemon Drop, and this sort of falls between the two of them. It has a wonderful caustic sharpness which seems to make the whole world pukker around you. I think it should have been called the Pukka Pounce. Here  is how you assemble a posse of them.

  INGREDIENTS
3 oz Lemonade (make sure its a good one)
1.5 oz Citrus Vodka
1/2 oz Triple Sec

  Wet the rim of a martini glass with lemon juice and dip top of glass in fine sugar. Put all ingredients into a shaker with ice and shake at least 63 times. Pour into glass.

  Cheers!!! Stand by to be pukkered.