Hurrah! Told you I could do it!
I got in from work last night at about 10.30pm. I knew the pancake mix needed to be used as soon as possible, but when I took the container out of the fridge and removed the lid, it was like looking at solid putty. I was torn between trying to rescue it, or give it up as a lost cause, but decided to head towards 'rescue'. After all, this was a learning experience, and if I could make it work with what was left, I knew what to do if I ever dared try it again in the future.
My big dilema was how to make it more liquified. I knew I'd already added more than the recommended 400ml of milk, but except for egg, that was the only liquid in it. I went for broke and chucked in another big splosh of the dairy juice, replaced the lid and shook vigourously. When I re-opened it, what I had was what I had dreamed of originally - a runny substance, that poured easily, and smelt like pancake mix.
First attempt with the new mixture. Tiny drop of oil in the non-stick pan, brought up to heat, mixture poured in.....and it moved around easily, a thin coating of pancake in seconds. a tiny pause then over it flips with a spatula. Another short pause and I can toss it over and over again to my hearts desire. Onto a plate, sprinkle of sugar and lemon juice, rolled up and on to the next.
Number 2. Exactly the same. Perfect colouring, even texture, we have a double success.
In total I made 4, each one rolled with sugar and lemon and then the ultimate test. Taste.
Nothing to worry about, they tasted exactly as they should. It was Shrove Tuesday all over again (although I think the last time I had pancakes on Shrove Tuesday would have been nearly 14 years ago).
So now I know. If I use that particular pancake mix again, I can follow the instructions if I want 'Scotch' style pancakes, but if I want 'Shrove Tuesday' pancakes.....
..add twice as much milk.
October 30, 2009
October 29, 2009
Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part IV
Pancakes. You know, those things that everyone enjoys just before Easter. I've made them before, and very successfully,but this time I was going to have to do it in a foreign country...
It's true, I have made pancakes before when I was married, and they were all exactly as they should be. Thin, lightly cooked, easily tossed etc. I knew it wasn't a difficult task. This time however, I was going to have to try it with a 'ready mix' and guessing at the amount of milk required.
Despite the fact the kitchen I have is equipped with more pots and pans than the restaurant of the London Hilton, The one thing I was missing was any kind of measuring tool. No scales, no jug, nothing. When the ready pancake mix said 'add two eggs and 400ml of milk' I'm going to have to do my best to work out what 400ml of dairy juice actually looks like.
A bit of Mathematics helped me out though. Take a litre carton of milk and pour it into two pint glasses until they are both level (thus making them 500ml each). Take a gulp out of one of them and hey presto you have 400ml of milk!
It wasn't just a weighing scales my kitchen lacked though, I didn't have a mixing bowl. No matter, I can use a 'Tupperware' bowl with a sealable lid. (That bit wasn't a problem, it did prove to be a suitable mising vessle)
I added the mix, the two eggs, the '400ml' of milk and stirred and mixed until my arm felt like it was going to drop off. What was I left with? A mixture so thick I could stand my spoon up in it. I could even turn the container upside down without it falling out. So I added a bit more milk...
..then a bit more...
...then a bit more...
It still had the texture of treacle, but it was starting to thin out a bit, so I decided to try an experimental pancake. I heated the tiniest amount of oil in my frying pan, waited till it was hot enough, then poured in a measure of the pancake mix...
Well, I say 'pour', it was more of a 'gloop' really. It hit the pan in the middle and just stayed there. I tried moving it around to thin it out and make the pancake bigger, but it refused to move. Granted though, I turned it over and it was a lovely golden brown, and when the other side cooked, I did have quite a nice looking 'Scotch Pancake' (I hope you all know what I mean by that).
Ok, next attempt. No oil, less heat. More mixture poured in, and yes! it moves around a bit faster! But not fast enough. Now I have something that resembles a paint splodge on a piece of paper. Little rivers of pancake mix running away from a central hub. Then again, flip it over and cook the other side, and once again it tasted lovely.
Last attempt for the night. More milk added to thin out the mix. Less heat and hey presto we have a pancake! Pours easily to the edges, cooks, to a light golden brown, can be flipped or tossed and tastes perfect. Chances are though I've added nearly a litre of milk by now, more than twice the required '400ml' but hey, who cares! I'm making pancakes!
But then we come to the other side of pancake making. The mess. There are drips, blobs, globules, smears of solid pancake mix everywhere! It has the texture of wallpaper paste when it starts to set and I'm scared it's now blocking up my sink drain. I still have half a tub of mix stored for later, but drips down the side of the box mean I have blobs of paste in my fridge too. I can't get rid of it! Reminds me of a fairy tale from when I was a child...
...The magic porridge pot.
It's true, I have made pancakes before when I was married, and they were all exactly as they should be. Thin, lightly cooked, easily tossed etc. I knew it wasn't a difficult task. This time however, I was going to have to try it with a 'ready mix' and guessing at the amount of milk required.
Despite the fact the kitchen I have is equipped with more pots and pans than the restaurant of the London Hilton, The one thing I was missing was any kind of measuring tool. No scales, no jug, nothing. When the ready pancake mix said 'add two eggs and 400ml of milk' I'm going to have to do my best to work out what 400ml of dairy juice actually looks like.
A bit of Mathematics helped me out though. Take a litre carton of milk and pour it into two pint glasses until they are both level (thus making them 500ml each). Take a gulp out of one of them and hey presto you have 400ml of milk!
It wasn't just a weighing scales my kitchen lacked though, I didn't have a mixing bowl. No matter, I can use a 'Tupperware' bowl with a sealable lid. (That bit wasn't a problem, it did prove to be a suitable mising vessle)
I added the mix, the two eggs, the '400ml' of milk and stirred and mixed until my arm felt like it was going to drop off. What was I left with? A mixture so thick I could stand my spoon up in it. I could even turn the container upside down without it falling out. So I added a bit more milk...
..then a bit more...
...then a bit more...
It still had the texture of treacle, but it was starting to thin out a bit, so I decided to try an experimental pancake. I heated the tiniest amount of oil in my frying pan, waited till it was hot enough, then poured in a measure of the pancake mix...
Well, I say 'pour', it was more of a 'gloop' really. It hit the pan in the middle and just stayed there. I tried moving it around to thin it out and make the pancake bigger, but it refused to move. Granted though, I turned it over and it was a lovely golden brown, and when the other side cooked, I did have quite a nice looking 'Scotch Pancake' (I hope you all know what I mean by that).
Ok, next attempt. No oil, less heat. More mixture poured in, and yes! it moves around a bit faster! But not fast enough. Now I have something that resembles a paint splodge on a piece of paper. Little rivers of pancake mix running away from a central hub. Then again, flip it over and cook the other side, and once again it tasted lovely.
Last attempt for the night. More milk added to thin out the mix. Less heat and hey presto we have a pancake! Pours easily to the edges, cooks, to a light golden brown, can be flipped or tossed and tastes perfect. Chances are though I've added nearly a litre of milk by now, more than twice the required '400ml' but hey, who cares! I'm making pancakes!
But then we come to the other side of pancake making. The mess. There are drips, blobs, globules, smears of solid pancake mix everywhere! It has the texture of wallpaper paste when it starts to set and I'm scared it's now blocking up my sink drain. I still have half a tub of mix stored for later, but drips down the side of the box mean I have blobs of paste in my fridge too. I can't get rid of it! Reminds me of a fairy tale from when I was a child...
...The magic porridge pot.
October 22, 2009
General Maltese Update
Just thought I'd check in with you all, let you know what's happening and upcoming in the world of Geoff at the moment.
Well firstly the weather stil can't decide what to do. One day I'm going to work in shorts and t-shirt and finding myself still feeling decidely hot, but then 8 hours later when it's time to travel home again I'm wishing I'd packed my water-proofs and thermal undies. The worst weather always seems to be in the night though, which helps (but not with trying to get a good night's sleep of course)
Which brings us on to sleep - or lack of it. I've been on a string of late shifts recently, but my body clock is still waking me at 5 or 6am everyday. 5 days off in a row coming up though, so perhaps a chance to relax and catch up on a bit of napping.
I've taken up a new hobby too. It's free, but might get me arrested one day (or beaten up at the very least). It's photographing Maltese number plates. Yes I know that's sad, but it becomes quite addictive looking out for amusing ones. All plates over here are 3 letters and 3 digits, and it would seem most people get to choose the combination they want (assuming it isn't already registered). This of course leads to lots of 'names' and 'words' being used. If I get enough I might be able to turn them into a complete sentence! Snapping a pic of the front of parked cars though has caused a few heads to turn...one of these days the vehicle owner is probably going to catch me at it!
..and talking of cars, last night as I waited in the dark for my bus home, I heard a screech of brakes. Just in front of the stop is a pedestrian crossing and a young driver had overshot the white line as the lights turned to red. He needn't have worried, the pedestrian who had pressed the button had crossed long before the driver turned up anyway. For some reason though, he decided to reverse. Again for no reason, he decided to reverse in two stages. Just when you thought he'd gone back far enough, he shot back another three feet....
...right into the front of the police car waiting behind him. The distinct sound of breaking tail-light was quickly followed by the officer in the passenger seat leaping out of his car and dragging the young driver out of his. What followed was like a scene out of NYPD Blue - the driver spread over his own bonnet, the contents of his pockets emptied onto the roof. I had been warned before that police over here have no sense of humour and can be quite brutal - I can see what they mean.
Think that about wraps up my life as I know it. Still cooking (had a HUGE rib-eye steak for lunch yesterday with a bit of veg, salad and new potatoes. photo available if required). Having my first trial of Maltese post as I've ordered a cheap DVD to be delivered to the office address. I can see how long it takes, and if it seems safe before ordering any others. If it never arrives, it's a lesson learnt and it wasn't expensive anyway.
..oh and I finally tracked down some lightbulbs in a DIY shop near work. over 8 Euros each though! If I decide to change apartments after 12 months when this lease runs out...
....I'm taking my bulbs with me!
Well firstly the weather stil can't decide what to do. One day I'm going to work in shorts and t-shirt and finding myself still feeling decidely hot, but then 8 hours later when it's time to travel home again I'm wishing I'd packed my water-proofs and thermal undies. The worst weather always seems to be in the night though, which helps (but not with trying to get a good night's sleep of course)
Which brings us on to sleep - or lack of it. I've been on a string of late shifts recently, but my body clock is still waking me at 5 or 6am everyday. 5 days off in a row coming up though, so perhaps a chance to relax and catch up on a bit of napping.
I've taken up a new hobby too. It's free, but might get me arrested one day (or beaten up at the very least). It's photographing Maltese number plates. Yes I know that's sad, but it becomes quite addictive looking out for amusing ones. All plates over here are 3 letters and 3 digits, and it would seem most people get to choose the combination they want (assuming it isn't already registered). This of course leads to lots of 'names' and 'words' being used. If I get enough I might be able to turn them into a complete sentence! Snapping a pic of the front of parked cars though has caused a few heads to turn...one of these days the vehicle owner is probably going to catch me at it!
..and talking of cars, last night as I waited in the dark for my bus home, I heard a screech of brakes. Just in front of the stop is a pedestrian crossing and a young driver had overshot the white line as the lights turned to red. He needn't have worried, the pedestrian who had pressed the button had crossed long before the driver turned up anyway. For some reason though, he decided to reverse. Again for no reason, he decided to reverse in two stages. Just when you thought he'd gone back far enough, he shot back another three feet....
...right into the front of the police car waiting behind him. The distinct sound of breaking tail-light was quickly followed by the officer in the passenger seat leaping out of his car and dragging the young driver out of his. What followed was like a scene out of NYPD Blue - the driver spread over his own bonnet, the contents of his pockets emptied onto the roof. I had been warned before that police over here have no sense of humour and can be quite brutal - I can see what they mean.
Think that about wraps up my life as I know it. Still cooking (had a HUGE rib-eye steak for lunch yesterday with a bit of veg, salad and new potatoes. photo available if required). Having my first trial of Maltese post as I've ordered a cheap DVD to be delivered to the office address. I can see how long it takes, and if it seems safe before ordering any others. If it never arrives, it's a lesson learnt and it wasn't expensive anyway.
..oh and I finally tracked down some lightbulbs in a DIY shop near work. over 8 Euros each though! If I decide to change apartments after 12 months when this lease runs out...
....I'm taking my bulbs with me!
October 17, 2009
Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part III (Again)
Look! I had to show you this! It's been two successes in a row, and this time it's captured on camera.
I think the main reason for the success has to be given to the non-stick frying pan. I guess in the past I've always relied on oil to stop the egg from sticking, but you can't beat proper non-stick for making it easy to lif the omellette out of the pan to fold it over.
This one is bacon and cheese. (I cooked the bacon whilst the oven chips were cooking, chopped it up and mixed the bits in with a small handful of grated cheese).
See, I can eat sensibly when I put my mind to it :D
p.s. The rest of the plate is carrot, swede and peas with a nob of Flora light (that hasn't melted yet) A bit of iceberg lettuce and a few rustic oven chips.
Agatha Christie: The Case of The Missing Lightbulbs...Again!
Well in actual fact no lightbulbs have technically disappeared this time, so there is no need to call in Miss Marple to investigate...
...I just can't find a shop that sells them!
So far two bulbs have gone in the apartment. Both of them are in the small corridor between the lounge and bedrooms, so neither of them are particularly vital. When the second one blew though, I decided to add lightbulbs to my on going shopping list so that I could pick up a few spares in readiness for a third one dying on me. So far, I've been unable to buy one.
First port of call was obviously my regular supermarket, Scotts. I was up and down the aisles desperately looking for them. I tried the hardware section with the brooms and mops. Nothing. I tried the cleaning section with the Jay-cloths and sprays. Nothing. I tried the kitchen section with the frying pans and spatulas. Nothing. In the end I gave in and asked an assistant. With a smile and a spring in his step he led me to the furthest corner of the supermarket (in the fruit and veg section) and pointed to one shelf at the same height as my ankles. "there you are sir" he said cheerily, pointing at a small selection of bulbs.
Well yes, they were lightbulbs, and there were a mixture of bayonette and screw fittings, but they were all 'lamp' bulbs. The smaller sized lights. There were none that were the right size for my needs.
Next day, coming to work, I pass a small 'corner shop'. It's not actually on a corner, but you know what I mean. If we were in Doncaster right now it'd be called 'Awkrights' and there would be a stuttering man behind the counter giving his assistant a clip round the ear. This shops sells everything. Last thing I got from here was a triple pack of mosquito spray.....
...side note. The mosquito spray I use is called PIFF PAFF. The instructions for use on the back state: Directions for use: Shake well and spray on insect for 2-3 seconds for instant kill. For flying insects spray in the air for 3-4 seconds. Do they expect the mosquito to stay motionless while I'm spraying it for 2-3 seconds? In reality you end up using half a can just to eliminate one bug!
...back to the shop. They may sell fly spray, but once again, no lightbulbs. Has someone cornered the market in them? Is someone panic buying them all and is planning on selling them for a profit when the demand hits epidemic proportions?....
...I'll let you know if I ever find any. Hopefully before my flat is plunged into darkness forever.
...I just can't find a shop that sells them!
So far two bulbs have gone in the apartment. Both of them are in the small corridor between the lounge and bedrooms, so neither of them are particularly vital. When the second one blew though, I decided to add lightbulbs to my on going shopping list so that I could pick up a few spares in readiness for a third one dying on me. So far, I've been unable to buy one.
First port of call was obviously my regular supermarket, Scotts. I was up and down the aisles desperately looking for them. I tried the hardware section with the brooms and mops. Nothing. I tried the cleaning section with the Jay-cloths and sprays. Nothing. I tried the kitchen section with the frying pans and spatulas. Nothing. In the end I gave in and asked an assistant. With a smile and a spring in his step he led me to the furthest corner of the supermarket (in the fruit and veg section) and pointed to one shelf at the same height as my ankles. "there you are sir" he said cheerily, pointing at a small selection of bulbs.
Well yes, they were lightbulbs, and there were a mixture of bayonette and screw fittings, but they were all 'lamp' bulbs. The smaller sized lights. There were none that were the right size for my needs.
Next day, coming to work, I pass a small 'corner shop'. It's not actually on a corner, but you know what I mean. If we were in Doncaster right now it'd be called 'Awkrights' and there would be a stuttering man behind the counter giving his assistant a clip round the ear. This shops sells everything. Last thing I got from here was a triple pack of mosquito spray.....
...side note. The mosquito spray I use is called PIFF PAFF. The instructions for use on the back state: Directions for use: Shake well and spray on insect for 2-3 seconds for instant kill. For flying insects spray in the air for 3-4 seconds. Do they expect the mosquito to stay motionless while I'm spraying it for 2-3 seconds? In reality you end up using half a can just to eliminate one bug!
...back to the shop. They may sell fly spray, but once again, no lightbulbs. Has someone cornered the market in them? Is someone panic buying them all and is planning on selling them for a profit when the demand hits epidemic proportions?....
...I'll let you know if I ever find any. Hopefully before my flat is plunged into darkness forever.
October 15, 2009
Cookie Junior: A Star is Born
Finally, after literally months of waiting (and an extra 10 days for good measure) Jackie has finally given birth to little Emily.
Weight: 7lb 10oz (That's the exact same weight as the largest Chub fish ever caught in the River Ribble. Well done to Martin James who landed the whopper back in 2005)
Labour time: 90 minutes (About the same running time as an episode of Midsomer Murders if you cut out the advert breaks)
Time of birth: 16:05 (the last time a full solar eclipse was visible on earth was back in Jan 2009 visible from several areas in Asia. The eclipse began at 4.05pm on that day).
Ok, I jest. I'm over the moon for her and Mark. The brief description I have is she's got her daddy's face but her mummy's hair, which means we have another red-head on the planet!
I was debating for a long time what I could get her as a present. Anyone who knows me would guess I would plump for a teddy bear, and of course, they'd be right - but that's the kind of thing I'd want to take with me when I visit. The present now, to celebrate the birth, would have to be ordered online, and delivered, so giving it a personal touch would be hard.
...and then it came to me.
On the 12th October 2009 a new star was born on the planet. On the same day, a star in the constellation of Andromeda, was offically renamed 'Emily Vardy'. It's something that will always be there. No matter where she is, little Emily can look up and know that one of those tiny specks of light is there just for her.
If you're wondering why I chose Andromeda, there were two reasons. (a) it's visible with the naked eye if you're in the Northern Hemisphere nearly all the year round and (b) Andromeda means 'princess' so I thought it was quite appropriate.
Welcome to the world Emily, I can't wait to meet you in December.
x x x
October 13, 2009
Pulling the Plug
Don't panic, I'm not calling an end to the blog. I know you all couldn't function without it. Just writing an entry to let you know I've experienced my first Maltese power cut.
Apparently they can be quite common over here. I'm pretty sure I've had one before, at least I woke up one day to find my electronic alarm clock blinking at me, so something must have happened. This time is was the middle of the afternoon. I'd just got in from work, so it must be around 2.30pm. I needed to go out for a few essentials, but I remembered the old maxim of never going food shopping on an empty stomach. I made a toasted sandwich with what was left of the chicken I cooked a few days ago. I sat down to eat it and began watching an episode of the Victoria Wood sitcom Dinnerladies but as I took my first bite, the television turned itself off.
You must all have been in a power cut at some point. The first thing that happens is a moment of confusion. Is it just the TV? is it a fuse? You try a few lights. Then you try a few more lights to see if it's just the lounge that's gone. You try other appliances, still in a state of disbelief. Then you try waiting for a few minutes to see if it's just an accidental switch off by some trainee at the power station.
Not sure how long I waited, but in the end I decided to go shopping anyway, and hope it'd be back on by the time I returned. Picked up my rucksack, put some money in my wallet and stepped into the lift...
..which of course didn't work (thank God the power didn't go whilst I was inside it)
Ok, back-stairs. I'd never actually used these before. I can see why. Very narrow, very steep, and with a low handrail. Flat 4, two floors below me had covered their section of the stairwell with junk and old boxes which had to be negotiated too. Anyway, safely down, out the front door and off to the supermarket. Hotel down the street is in darkness and ATM on the corner is also off. (This is actually quite reassuring. Tells me it wasn't something I did in the flat. Believe me, that's good news from my perspective!)
Three quarters of the way there I have a moment of clarity. Is there any point going to the shops? Electric doors won't open. People stuck at the checkout waiting for the till to come back on. Aisles in darkness. As it happens the store was all lit up and operational, must be on a seperate circuit, or have their own generator.
Bought my essentials (milk, cereal, deodorent, juice, iceberg lettuce, margerine and Bold 2 in 1 liqui-tabs amongst other things) and trotted off home. Still no ATM, still a hotel in darkness. Oh dear....
...which also means 6 flights of steep, narrow stairs, now with two bags of shopping and a heavy back-pack. I really didn't think this one through before I set off. I arrived at my 'front' door looking like the creature from the swamp. Sweat dripping out of every pore, my fingers about to detach themselves from my hands because of the shopping bags - but I was home.
I put the shopping away and quickly checked what was the most likely to be ruined if the power was off for a while. This is where I had one of those stupid conversations with myself. (and don't deny it, you've all done it too during a blackout).
"Ok, frozen chicken is fine if it defrosts, I can cook that tomorrow, but that frozen pizza will have to be eaten. I'll have that for tea" - and cook it in an electric oven?
"In the meantime I'll just watch some more Dinnerladies until the power comes back on"
"Silly me I can't watch Dinnerladies on my DVD player! I know, I'll use my laptop and watch it on that. Just need to charge it first"
You get the general idea. Everything I thought of doing, and genuinely stood up to do, involved electricity of some kind. In the end I sat with a can of beer reading a book, until I heard the lift whirr back into life. Then the TV came back on and it was all back to normal. It was out for about ninety minutes in total....
...so I saved the pizza for another occasion
Apparently they can be quite common over here. I'm pretty sure I've had one before, at least I woke up one day to find my electronic alarm clock blinking at me, so something must have happened. This time is was the middle of the afternoon. I'd just got in from work, so it must be around 2.30pm. I needed to go out for a few essentials, but I remembered the old maxim of never going food shopping on an empty stomach. I made a toasted sandwich with what was left of the chicken I cooked a few days ago. I sat down to eat it and began watching an episode of the Victoria Wood sitcom Dinnerladies but as I took my first bite, the television turned itself off.
You must all have been in a power cut at some point. The first thing that happens is a moment of confusion. Is it just the TV? is it a fuse? You try a few lights. Then you try a few more lights to see if it's just the lounge that's gone. You try other appliances, still in a state of disbelief. Then you try waiting for a few minutes to see if it's just an accidental switch off by some trainee at the power station.
Not sure how long I waited, but in the end I decided to go shopping anyway, and hope it'd be back on by the time I returned. Picked up my rucksack, put some money in my wallet and stepped into the lift...
..which of course didn't work (thank God the power didn't go whilst I was inside it)
Ok, back-stairs. I'd never actually used these before. I can see why. Very narrow, very steep, and with a low handrail. Flat 4, two floors below me had covered their section of the stairwell with junk and old boxes which had to be negotiated too. Anyway, safely down, out the front door and off to the supermarket. Hotel down the street is in darkness and ATM on the corner is also off. (This is actually quite reassuring. Tells me it wasn't something I did in the flat. Believe me, that's good news from my perspective!)
Three quarters of the way there I have a moment of clarity. Is there any point going to the shops? Electric doors won't open. People stuck at the checkout waiting for the till to come back on. Aisles in darkness. As it happens the store was all lit up and operational, must be on a seperate circuit, or have their own generator.
Bought my essentials (milk, cereal, deodorent, juice, iceberg lettuce, margerine and Bold 2 in 1 liqui-tabs amongst other things) and trotted off home. Still no ATM, still a hotel in darkness. Oh dear....
...which also means 6 flights of steep, narrow stairs, now with two bags of shopping and a heavy back-pack. I really didn't think this one through before I set off. I arrived at my 'front' door looking like the creature from the swamp. Sweat dripping out of every pore, my fingers about to detach themselves from my hands because of the shopping bags - but I was home.
I put the shopping away and quickly checked what was the most likely to be ruined if the power was off for a while. This is where I had one of those stupid conversations with myself. (and don't deny it, you've all done it too during a blackout).
"Ok, frozen chicken is fine if it defrosts, I can cook that tomorrow, but that frozen pizza will have to be eaten. I'll have that for tea" - and cook it in an electric oven?
"In the meantime I'll just watch some more Dinnerladies until the power comes back on"
"Silly me I can't watch Dinnerladies on my DVD player! I know, I'll use my laptop and watch it on that. Just need to charge it first"
You get the general idea. Everything I thought of doing, and genuinely stood up to do, involved electricity of some kind. In the end I sat with a can of beer reading a book, until I heard the lift whirr back into life. Then the TV came back on and it was all back to normal. It was out for about ninety minutes in total....
...so I saved the pizza for another occasion
October 11, 2009
♫ La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha, Na Na Na Na Na Na.♫
I hope your Spanish is good enough to know what the title means. If not, I'm sure the following tale will help you out.
I was working the late shift last night. I finished at 9.30pm and wandered down the hill to the bus stop. Catching the bus home on a Friday an Saturday night is not the most pleseant of experiences at the best of times - the route I need to take carries on to Paceville which I've explained before is the island's nightclub area. Every bus that comes past is packed with scantily clad females and boys with far too much hair gel and after-shave on.
I stood at the bus-stop for well over half an hour. The first few buses to go past weren't any use to me, they were 'party' buses that by-passed Sliema and went on to the clubs. The next two were ones I could have caught, but they were already over filled, and the driver wouldn't let any more on. I was five minutes away from giving up and walking home. I kept telling myself 'one more bus, and then I'm off'.
..of course if I'd just set off on foot straight from work I'd probably be walking in my front door at this point...
..anyway, I'm at the bus stop, around me are more party animals. Girls in skirts that were smaller than my belt, lads in brilliant white shirts, half open and more grease in there hair than the deep fat fryer in a Mcdonalds. Next to the lay-by is a food outlet window. It sells pies, pasties, pizza slices - the kind of thing that's quick and easy to eat and perfect for lining your stomach before a night in the bars. No, I didn't buy anything, but it might be related to what happens next.
At some point I looked down and saw a cockroach scurry past on the pavement ahead of me. It almost made me jump, the speed it was travelling. I looked around and saw another one disappear under the Coca Cola vending machine off to my left. I then looked down at my own feet....
....can you guess what's coming? If you think I'm about to say there was a cockroach on my shoe, I'm afraid you're only half right...
..there were TWO big cockroaches crawling across my left ankle, and over my shoe. Not just over it, from one side to the other, but crawling back and forth. A tough man would have just flicked them off, with a deft kick of his foot. A brave man would have reached down and lifted them off. Me? I went into a girlie dance waving my leg in the air (and both my arms for some reason) until they decided to let go of my footwear.
I'm guessing it wasn't the best way to impress the ladies, but I'd like to see what they would have done if they saw two cockroaches crawling on their foot heading north!
After a further 10 minutes (a full hour after I left work) a packed bus turned up that would let us on. Standing all the way home, squashed in like a baked bean, subconsiously rubbing my ankle with my other foot, just in case...
...I dread the day I spot one in my apartment.
I was working the late shift last night. I finished at 9.30pm and wandered down the hill to the bus stop. Catching the bus home on a Friday an Saturday night is not the most pleseant of experiences at the best of times - the route I need to take carries on to Paceville which I've explained before is the island's nightclub area. Every bus that comes past is packed with scantily clad females and boys with far too much hair gel and after-shave on.
I stood at the bus-stop for well over half an hour. The first few buses to go past weren't any use to me, they were 'party' buses that by-passed Sliema and went on to the clubs. The next two were ones I could have caught, but they were already over filled, and the driver wouldn't let any more on. I was five minutes away from giving up and walking home. I kept telling myself 'one more bus, and then I'm off'.
..of course if I'd just set off on foot straight from work I'd probably be walking in my front door at this point...
..anyway, I'm at the bus stop, around me are more party animals. Girls in skirts that were smaller than my belt, lads in brilliant white shirts, half open and more grease in there hair than the deep fat fryer in a Mcdonalds. Next to the lay-by is a food outlet window. It sells pies, pasties, pizza slices - the kind of thing that's quick and easy to eat and perfect for lining your stomach before a night in the bars. No, I didn't buy anything, but it might be related to what happens next.
At some point I looked down and saw a cockroach scurry past on the pavement ahead of me. It almost made me jump, the speed it was travelling. I looked around and saw another one disappear under the Coca Cola vending machine off to my left. I then looked down at my own feet....
....can you guess what's coming? If you think I'm about to say there was a cockroach on my shoe, I'm afraid you're only half right...
..there were TWO big cockroaches crawling across my left ankle, and over my shoe. Not just over it, from one side to the other, but crawling back and forth. A tough man would have just flicked them off, with a deft kick of his foot. A brave man would have reached down and lifted them off. Me? I went into a girlie dance waving my leg in the air (and both my arms for some reason) until they decided to let go of my footwear.
I'm guessing it wasn't the best way to impress the ladies, but I'd like to see what they would have done if they saw two cockroaches crawling on their foot heading north!
After a further 10 minutes (a full hour after I left work) a packed bus turned up that would let us on. Standing all the way home, squashed in like a baked bean, subconsiously rubbing my ankle with my other foot, just in case...
...I dread the day I spot one in my apartment.
October 06, 2009
"It is a very sad thing that nowadays there is so little useless information"
"Treat all disasters as if they were trivialities, but never treat a triviality as if it were a disaster"
"Why is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person?"
This entry perhaps will you give you another insight into how my brain works. On the other hand you might just realise how sad my life can be. You might also treat this entry as a complete waste of time and skip past it. Either way, here it is.
I was reading a funny, and quite inciteful book in the loo yesterday. I've read it before, but it's been gathering dust on my shelf since then so I decided to give it another go. It's called 'Brainmen' and it's a humerous insight into quizzes, expecially pub quizzes and the kind of people who take part in them. It also gives a brief summary of the origins of the 'very British' phenomenum, including that memorable Christmas of 1987 when every decorated tree in England had a box of Trivial Pursuits underneath it. (including ours if I remember correctly)
You all must know by now I love trivia. I've written more pub quizzes than I care to mention, hosted big events for whole companies in plush hotel suites, (including spoof versions of Millionaire and Weakest Link). Appeared on three TV shows (well the third one is yet to air, but we hold out hope for November now) In all this time, there is one thing that has never occured to me...
...Where does the word trivia come from?
Ok, at first glance it's a Latin word, and to most people that would be enough, but my brain didn't stop there. My Latin GCSE studies are a long time ago, but I still recognise the two parts of the word. Tri realing to the number 3 and via which relates to roads and passages. If that is correct then trivia really means three roads, or perhaps where three roads come together. What has that got to do with knowing the capital of Venezuela or who scored the winning goal in the 1985 FA Cup Final?...
...so I looked it up.
Here comes the explanation of the origin of the word. If you're already bored you can switch off now.
It is a Latin word and it does relate to an area where three roads come together. If it were four roads it would be a quadrivia etc. Still doesn't explain the current usage though does it.
Well now you have to jump forward to Medieval education. Teachings in the early part of a student's life would be concerned with three forms, Rhetoric, Grammar and Logic. After these were mastered, a pupil would move on to the next four stages of learning, Arithmetic, Astronomy, Geometry and Music.
They kept the Latin words too, the three ways of learning to begin with were the trivium or trivia and the four advanced pathways of learning became known as the quadrivium. By that token, trivia was seen as the things of little or no importance compared with the more important quadrivia.
....aren't you glad you know that now!
(p.s. The capital city is Caracas and Norman Whiteside scored the winning goal for Man Utd against Everton despite being down to ten men after Kevin Moran became the first person to be sent off in an FA Cup Final)
"Why is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person?"
This entry perhaps will you give you another insight into how my brain works. On the other hand you might just realise how sad my life can be. You might also treat this entry as a complete waste of time and skip past it. Either way, here it is.I was reading a funny, and quite inciteful book in the loo yesterday. I've read it before, but it's been gathering dust on my shelf since then so I decided to give it another go. It's called 'Brainmen' and it's a humerous insight into quizzes, expecially pub quizzes and the kind of people who take part in them. It also gives a brief summary of the origins of the 'very British' phenomenum, including that memorable Christmas of 1987 when every decorated tree in England had a box of Trivial Pursuits underneath it. (including ours if I remember correctly)
You all must know by now I love trivia. I've written more pub quizzes than I care to mention, hosted big events for whole companies in plush hotel suites, (including spoof versions of Millionaire and Weakest Link). Appeared on three TV shows (well the third one is yet to air, but we hold out hope for November now) In all this time, there is one thing that has never occured to me...
...Where does the word trivia come from?
Ok, at first glance it's a Latin word, and to most people that would be enough, but my brain didn't stop there. My Latin GCSE studies are a long time ago, but I still recognise the two parts of the word. Tri realing to the number 3 and via which relates to roads and passages. If that is correct then trivia really means three roads, or perhaps where three roads come together. What has that got to do with knowing the capital of Venezuela or who scored the winning goal in the 1985 FA Cup Final?...
...so I looked it up.
Here comes the explanation of the origin of the word. If you're already bored you can switch off now.
It is a Latin word and it does relate to an area where three roads come together. If it were four roads it would be a quadrivia etc. Still doesn't explain the current usage though does it.
Well now you have to jump forward to Medieval education. Teachings in the early part of a student's life would be concerned with three forms, Rhetoric, Grammar and Logic. After these were mastered, a pupil would move on to the next four stages of learning, Arithmetic, Astronomy, Geometry and Music.
They kept the Latin words too, the three ways of learning to begin with were the trivium or trivia and the four advanced pathways of learning became known as the quadrivium. By that token, trivia was seen as the things of little or no importance compared with the more important quadrivia.
....aren't you glad you know that now!
(p.s. The capital city is Caracas and Norman Whiteside scored the winning goal for Man Utd against Everton despite being down to ten men after Kevin Moran became the first person to be sent off in an FA Cup Final)
Holy Grail of the Kitchen Part III
Actually, it's just another attempt by me to make an omelette, so in reality this is an extension of Holy Grail Part I...
I'd actually made the effort to buy a few different things for my fridge/freezer, rather than the same old frozen stuff and sliced meats. I had cheese (of course) but now I also had bacon, fresh frankfurters, onions, tomatoes, a cucumber, and eggs. I'm in the middle of a set of early shifts at work, so when I got in from the office I was halfway between what you'd call dinner-time and tea-time (or if you're of a higher class I was sandwiched between lunch and dinner)
I knew I was planning on an early night. I'd just got hold of 5 James Bond films in a sale and I was trying to watch one per night, in bed, all this week. I opened the fridge door to decide on what to make for my main meal of the day and plumped for another attempt at an omelette, accompanied by a few rustic oven chips. (What a stroke of genius by some marketing guy. Cut the chips into less even chunks, don't bother peeling them in the first place and you can call them 'rustic')
Now we have the first of several problems. My new apartment is stocked to the gills with kitchen paraphernalia, but it seems to be lacking a couple of essentials. There is no jug, nor is there a proper frying pan. There IS a round saucepan with very shallow sides that resembles a frying pan, but it comes with a lid (that has a steam hole in it). I think I've seen them use one of these on the telly, usually ends with them pouring half a bottle of red wine over some concoction and 'leaving to simmer'. For me this was going to have to become an omlette pan and a half pint glass was going to have to double as a mixing jug for my eggs.
Ok, chips cooking nicely in the oven, a bit of cheese grated on a plate in readiness (the Mexicana cheese I mentioned in a previous entry), half an onion chopped and lightly fried to soften, three eggs cracked into the glass and beaten with a little added salt and garlic pepper...here we go.
The 'pan' was warming with a small amount of oil. I wasn't convinced it was non-stick, it certainly didn't look it, hence the oil. I poured in the eggs and moved the liquid around. It began to cook instantly, I continued to move the liquid egg to the edges, keeping it as even as possible. Next problem. No proper spatula, having to make do with a wooden one. I lift the edges away all the time, and my first indication of a problem. It's not lifting nicely away. Despite the oil, it is beginning to stick to the pan. Ok, lets get it done ASAP before I'm left with a charred mess. Cheese and onion mix added to half of the 'omelette', wooden spatula forced under the opposite side and......fold!
...well of course it didn't work. What did you expect? The underneath was the right colour, and it was the right 'thickness' to have been able to lift up in one piece, but of course it just came up in bits. I did have one trick up my sleeve though...
The half of the omelette that I had put the fillings on hadn't beeen 'lifted' yet. When it came to serving it onto a plate, instead of sliding the mess out of the pan I decided to tip it right over, exposing the underside of the untouched half. This half was still perfectly intact and now it was on the plate it was on the top. It perfectly masked the crumpled bombsite that was now cowering underneath. The few chips served along side, half a tomato for decoration and it actually looked like a half decent meal. Only I knew the guilty secret that underneath was just a mass of egg, cheese and onion....
...and it tasted lovely.
p.s. The pan was a bugger to clean though!
I'd actually made the effort to buy a few different things for my fridge/freezer, rather than the same old frozen stuff and sliced meats. I had cheese (of course) but now I also had bacon, fresh frankfurters, onions, tomatoes, a cucumber, and eggs. I'm in the middle of a set of early shifts at work, so when I got in from the office I was halfway between what you'd call dinner-time and tea-time (or if you're of a higher class I was sandwiched between lunch and dinner)
I knew I was planning on an early night. I'd just got hold of 5 James Bond films in a sale and I was trying to watch one per night, in bed, all this week. I opened the fridge door to decide on what to make for my main meal of the day and plumped for another attempt at an omelette, accompanied by a few rustic oven chips. (What a stroke of genius by some marketing guy. Cut the chips into less even chunks, don't bother peeling them in the first place and you can call them 'rustic')
Now we have the first of several problems. My new apartment is stocked to the gills with kitchen paraphernalia, but it seems to be lacking a couple of essentials. There is no jug, nor is there a proper frying pan. There IS a round saucepan with very shallow sides that resembles a frying pan, but it comes with a lid (that has a steam hole in it). I think I've seen them use one of these on the telly, usually ends with them pouring half a bottle of red wine over some concoction and 'leaving to simmer'. For me this was going to have to become an omlette pan and a half pint glass was going to have to double as a mixing jug for my eggs.
Ok, chips cooking nicely in the oven, a bit of cheese grated on a plate in readiness (the Mexicana cheese I mentioned in a previous entry), half an onion chopped and lightly fried to soften, three eggs cracked into the glass and beaten with a little added salt and garlic pepper...here we go.
The 'pan' was warming with a small amount of oil. I wasn't convinced it was non-stick, it certainly didn't look it, hence the oil. I poured in the eggs and moved the liquid around. It began to cook instantly, I continued to move the liquid egg to the edges, keeping it as even as possible. Next problem. No proper spatula, having to make do with a wooden one. I lift the edges away all the time, and my first indication of a problem. It's not lifting nicely away. Despite the oil, it is beginning to stick to the pan. Ok, lets get it done ASAP before I'm left with a charred mess. Cheese and onion mix added to half of the 'omelette', wooden spatula forced under the opposite side and......fold!
...well of course it didn't work. What did you expect? The underneath was the right colour, and it was the right 'thickness' to have been able to lift up in one piece, but of course it just came up in bits. I did have one trick up my sleeve though...
The half of the omelette that I had put the fillings on hadn't beeen 'lifted' yet. When it came to serving it onto a plate, instead of sliding the mess out of the pan I decided to tip it right over, exposing the underside of the untouched half. This half was still perfectly intact and now it was on the plate it was on the top. It perfectly masked the crumpled bombsite that was now cowering underneath. The few chips served along side, half a tomato for decoration and it actually looked like a half decent meal. Only I knew the guilty secret that underneath was just a mass of egg, cheese and onion....
...and it tasted lovely.
p.s. The pan was a bugger to clean though!
October 05, 2009
"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once"
Quiz time again. Try and guess who is credited with the quotation I've used as the title of this entry. Answer at the bottom.
Thought I'd make an entry on the subject of time. Chances are it will go off at a tangent to tell you about an unusual bus journey I had this morning, but we'll see how things pan out.
I never really thought I'd get used to the time difference. I remember when I came to Malta for a three week stint near the start of the year I was constantly converting my watch back to UK time in my head. Time for sleep, time to get up, time to eat - everything was being done at the moment I would have done it in Southampton. Of course I was still on Hampshire time for work anyway so in many ways that made sense.
This time though, I seem to have adjusted to the difference relatively quickly. Ok, it's only a sixty minute switch and yes, there is no English office to work along side, but I don't find myself converting the hours anymore....
..well that's not strictly true. I do catch myself out on occasion. If I know there is soccer on the telly I always sit down to watch it an hour early by mistake. Saturday afternoon games are still 3pm to me, not 4 and my brain tells me the midweek European games start at 7.45pm, not 8.45.
Ok, I knew I'd get onto the bus journey story one way or another. For the past two weeks we've been experimenting with 6am starts, and in return the late finish is brought forward to 10pm from 11pm. Covering the office 7am til 11pm was a direct result of the UK office hours which were 6am until 10pm. (Are you following this?) So now it was time to go back to 6am until 10pm, but on Maltese time. Good God I'm confusing myself now!
Ok, so this morning was my first attempt at getting into the office for 6am. Remember that's actually 5am if you're on UK time. I knew there was one bus line that started it's service at 5.30am, came through Sliema and went past work, so it should just get me there ontime. I'm waiting at the stop at exactly 5.30am and after about 15 minutes of waiting the bus arrived. (not waiting in the cold as you might expect either. I had shorts and a light summer shirt on and that was perfect for the temperature)...
...here we take one of my usual sidesteps. The route the bus takes is to begin in an area called Paceville, through a baytown called St Julians, onto Sliema to pick me up, next it's Pieta (where I get off) before it heads onto the depot at Valletta. All you need to know about those places is Paceville is the main area for the whole of the island to go for a night out. It's a small place, but every building is either a bar or a night club (or both). IT's also packed with fast-food outlets and more neon than the Las Vegas Strip.
..Ok, so this bus has set off from Paceville at 5.30am, pulls up at my stop and I get on. For that time of morning the bus is surprisingly busy and the first thing I notice is an overpowering smell of stale alcohol. As I pay the driver and look down the bus, all I can see is a crowd of deshevelled men and women, slumped over chairs and each other, hair all over the place, make-up smeared, true 'party animals' who've partied a bit too hard over the weekend. Ah, but that makes sense of course, clubs and bars would finally kick out the stragglers at about 5am. Most of them probably not in a position to pay the extortionate cab fares, just hang around until the buses start up again. I was basically on what we'd call 'The Night Bus' in the UK. I sat next to an older lady on the front row. I don't care if I am supposed to give it up for the disabled and elderly, I wasn't going anywhere near the rabble at the back. I was getting drunk on their breath as it was!
But I arrived at work at exactly 6am, so as far as the experiement goes, it will be possible for us to run the office 6am until 10pm....
...but I dread my first 6am start on a Saturday or Sunday when the REAL party animals are dragging themselves home!
ANS: Albert Einstein
Thought I'd make an entry on the subject of time. Chances are it will go off at a tangent to tell you about an unusual bus journey I had this morning, but we'll see how things pan out.
I never really thought I'd get used to the time difference. I remember when I came to Malta for a three week stint near the start of the year I was constantly converting my watch back to UK time in my head. Time for sleep, time to get up, time to eat - everything was being done at the moment I would have done it in Southampton. Of course I was still on Hampshire time for work anyway so in many ways that made sense.
This time though, I seem to have adjusted to the difference relatively quickly. Ok, it's only a sixty minute switch and yes, there is no English office to work along side, but I don't find myself converting the hours anymore....
..well that's not strictly true. I do catch myself out on occasion. If I know there is soccer on the telly I always sit down to watch it an hour early by mistake. Saturday afternoon games are still 3pm to me, not 4 and my brain tells me the midweek European games start at 7.45pm, not 8.45.
Ok, I knew I'd get onto the bus journey story one way or another. For the past two weeks we've been experimenting with 6am starts, and in return the late finish is brought forward to 10pm from 11pm. Covering the office 7am til 11pm was a direct result of the UK office hours which were 6am until 10pm. (Are you following this?) So now it was time to go back to 6am until 10pm, but on Maltese time. Good God I'm confusing myself now!
Ok, so this morning was my first attempt at getting into the office for 6am. Remember that's actually 5am if you're on UK time. I knew there was one bus line that started it's service at 5.30am, came through Sliema and went past work, so it should just get me there ontime. I'm waiting at the stop at exactly 5.30am and after about 15 minutes of waiting the bus arrived. (not waiting in the cold as you might expect either. I had shorts and a light summer shirt on and that was perfect for the temperature)...
...here we take one of my usual sidesteps. The route the bus takes is to begin in an area called Paceville, through a baytown called St Julians, onto Sliema to pick me up, next it's Pieta (where I get off) before it heads onto the depot at Valletta. All you need to know about those places is Paceville is the main area for the whole of the island to go for a night out. It's a small place, but every building is either a bar or a night club (or both). IT's also packed with fast-food outlets and more neon than the Las Vegas Strip.
..Ok, so this bus has set off from Paceville at 5.30am, pulls up at my stop and I get on. For that time of morning the bus is surprisingly busy and the first thing I notice is an overpowering smell of stale alcohol. As I pay the driver and look down the bus, all I can see is a crowd of deshevelled men and women, slumped over chairs and each other, hair all over the place, make-up smeared, true 'party animals' who've partied a bit too hard over the weekend. Ah, but that makes sense of course, clubs and bars would finally kick out the stragglers at about 5am. Most of them probably not in a position to pay the extortionate cab fares, just hang around until the buses start up again. I was basically on what we'd call 'The Night Bus' in the UK. I sat next to an older lady on the front row. I don't care if I am supposed to give it up for the disabled and elderly, I wasn't going anywhere near the rabble at the back. I was getting drunk on their breath as it was!
But I arrived at work at exactly 6am, so as far as the experiement goes, it will be possible for us to run the office 6am until 10pm....
...but I dread my first 6am start on a Saturday or Sunday when the REAL party animals are dragging themselves home!
ANS: Albert Einstein
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