Thursday

Watching



For breakfast this morning I am enjoying a large pot of coffee and a cinnamon bun delightfully laced with almonds, glazed cherries and a not insignificant splash of dark rum to bind it so very well together. I'm a creature of both comfort and habit. I have a morning ritual which has changed very little over the years. I eat light, I drink good coffee, I poop in my own private bathroom, I like it that way, why change now? This morning however, sees me raw-eyed and contemplative as I choose a somewhat quiet corner of the mock Piazza Navona seating area of the airport to ease myself into the day. I curse softly as the uneven feet of the metallic bistro table sends waves of hot coffee into the saucer. I brush away a tiny speck of sugar crust from my crisp white shirt sleeve as I lean dejectedly with my right hand supporting my weary head. Travel leaves me self conscious about a lack of dignity due to my size. I need to scratch sections of my appendage freely without creating attention for other people watchers hunched over laptops as I too disguise my movements behind my 17" screen. Size really does matter when it comes to scratching that itch! Departing and arriving is only one short stride away from other peoples comings and goings. I miss my wife, I miss my morning view from the upstairs windows, most of all I also miss my immaculately clean bathroom and toilet.

The human traffic that haunts most airports at this nonchalant hour never ceases to amuse me. I am a self-confessed people watcher. I have whiled away many an hour amusing myself at others unaware displeasure's such as facial twitching, grimacing, blinking and the flicking of hair. I have found myself awarding imaginary points for involuntary noises, such as coughing, grunting, clearing the throat and sniffing. Wrinkled noses and the widening of eyes is a favourite trait of senior citizens during the consumption of hot beverages it would seem. Japanese ladies have a penchant for spitting into handkerchiefs, while German ladies pull lightly at the concealed wax from many a conical ear. I cast an inquisitive eye over the tall Italian looking woman in her early 30s who on several occasions has risen from her chair and wandered off in the general direction of a quiet corner near to the discount luggage store. Her expensive suit tells me that cheap luggage is not what holds her attention. I notice how she coyly glances behind her before possibly passing a gust of silent wind. Her elegant hands smooths her suit as she flicks her expensive bangs before returning once more to her seat. High above us, a small cluster of pigeons flap hectically away from my view. Coincidence maybe, who really knows but me and her and of course the birds.

I immediately award her double points, but feel somewhat sympathetic towards her plight as I also overindulged myself the previous evening when it came to the rather rich food on offer. At 3am I had precious little time to empty my own ballast tank between hotel reception and awaiting taxi at the kerb as the doorman advanced to assist with my luggage. The expression on his face as we drive away tells me he has suspicions by way of the street drainage and its reliability to function correctly. I'm a man, I rarely feel guilt. I do however feel strangely disappointed that for all these years my mother, my wife, sisters, aunties and female cousins have all lied to me. Women, it would seem, also need to toot in order to refine their early morning relief. We all do things when we believe that other people are not watching.

My attention turns to the latest arrival to the seating area. A tweedy looking gentleman, in what could only be described as English clothes, flops seemingly rather lackadaisically into a waiting chair. He seems red of cheek and appears to have left home in the middle of a frenzied shaving session with a cheap blunt disposable razor. I notice the long wispy strands of nasal hair as they converge scruffily a small distance from his top lip.  The bridge of his nose seems to have come out in sympathy with the intruders from his nostril, three wiry silver bursts of bristle tell me that he seldom spends much time in front of the mirror. Comically, his eyebrows in order not to be outdone by the explosion in a spaghetti factory lower down his face, thrust long tendrils of wayward hair skywards as if waving at pewfodders invisible ghod. I picture him saluting at magpies, picking his nose at traffic signals and wheeling an antique lawnmower around an allotment somewhere in deepest darkest Hampshire.

I am about to rise when a rotund guy in a cream khaki jumpsuit enters my vision. He jabbers constantly into an unfashionably large phone which must have been plucked from the Velcro pouch attached to his belt. I genuinely fear for his safety should he need to bend down. I mentally run through the procedure for administering oxygen to those large people who run the risk of passing out while wearing tight clothing. I am half way through my minds rehearsal when I catch sight of the rather visual pee stains that appear to have formed an outline of Jamaica in his general crotch area. My interest immediately wanes. I can only hope that in his current state he doesn't fall over and becomes akin to a large woodlice on its back, feet waving frantically in the air. As if from heaven a mysterious booming male voice announces that flight 371 to Glasgow is about to board. I fall into line a few steps away from a young lady whose shapely bottom appears to be lip syncing with her underwear, either that or it is an extremely clever human advertisement for taking in washing.

This evenings meal will consist of steak, I can already feel my red blood cells rising as I smile my best 5am smile at the pretty princess in the flight attendants uniform as she checks my seat number on the ticket. Our hands touch for a brief moment, just long enough for me to notice an ever-so-slight facial tic. Here we go again, the in flight entertainment is about to commence.

Chefs Steak Fix

When choosing a steak, sirloin is a fine choice due to its tasty, melt-in-the-mouth succulence. Good sirloin has just the right amount of fat and nice marbling. Rump steak is slightly cheaper than sirloin but it’s still a great steak for griddling or frying, with more flavour than sirloin. However, it does tend to be slightly chewier, especially if it has not been matured properly. The age of the steak is extremely important, as the hanging process develops the flavour and tenderises the meat. So ask your butcher how long the beef has been hung for. If need be take him for a drink and ensure that his glass never falls empty if you are to ensure a fine feast for the dinner. As a rule, 21 days as a minimum and 35 days as a maximum is a good range to go for. Hanging is important, especially if the meat is freshly poached acquired from a friend.

Good beef should be a deep red colour, check the beef has good marbling – little streaks of fat running through the meat is a given! This melts when heated, helping the steak to baste itself from within as it cooks. A good layer of creamy-white fat around the top of sirloin steaks is also essential.

Heat your griddle or frying pan over a high heat, until smoking hot. Lightly brush the steak with a little olive oil and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. For the love of all things beefy, don’t griddle more than two steaks at a time, and keep them spaced well apart. If you add more than two steaks to the pan at once, the temperature will drop and the steak will stew, rather than fry.
Don’t turn the steaks until good seared markings are achieved, then turn them over and cook on the other side. You must let the steak rest for about 3 minutes before serving, to allow the juices that have been drawn to the surface to relax back into the meat. Serve with a good red wine or / and ice cold beer.
 

50 comments:

  1. Hubby and I still keep up a silly tradition from dating: trying to figure out a person's occupation and/or life story as we wait on a meal at a slow restaurant. Oh sure, sometimes I would know the individual when I would prod, "Man in red sweater" because it was fun to hear what Hubby would come up with. I especially liked that he thought a fairly well known attorney was a used car salesman...I wouldn't have trusted either.

    Safe travels. And may you soon find yourself in a bathroom fit for a King. ;)

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    1. Aye hen, we've also played the 'what's the occupation' game in restaurants and bars. We also select individuals at random and then try and pair them with their opposite sex equivalent in the same room.

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  2. People watching, great free entertainment.
    Funnily enough I do a lot of it when I am up on the stage, watching the watchers as it were. Over the years we (the band) have learned to communicate without words. Blinks, a certain sound on the drum, a specific leg or arm
    movement, and every other band member knows exactly what we mean. I suppose that's grand 'til one of us has a fit or a stroke while performing! ('What the fuck is he on about??!')

    My own private bathroom, one day. Speaking of which, I'm off to do a bit of shovelling.

    Cheerie-bye the noo.

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    1. I must admit that at times I have been slightly the worst for the drink in your company and have actually seen the strange tics of which I have listed above, manifest themselves in your good self. For example, when the barman approaches you with his empty hand outstretched, do you realise that your left leg shakes and your ears become bright red?

      As I've never actually seen you pay for a round of drinks twice in the same evening, I am slightly unsure as to what other facial tics present themselves under stress. I'm not saying you are tight here oul son, but nobody can match you when it comes to peeling an orange one handed in your pocket.

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    2. '..peeling an orange one handed in your pocket..', please tell me that's not a euphemism! :¬)

      C'mon so, pint, they're all on me tonight!

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    3. Aye, nae bother, seeing as how you have this abundance of extra cash at the moment. You've no been lifting empty pop bottles from behind the off licence again have yis?

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  3. When I first moved to New York as a young buck I was broke. All I could afford to do to entertain myself was people watch. What a pleasure! Since then I've paid good money to be entertained and have gotten a lot less in return.

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    1. People watching in certain countries can be fun, but it can also have a downside. I can remember being shocked and disgusted after watching a Somalian woman hawk and spit on a bar room floor in Turkey a few years back. She didn't bat an eyelid, the dirty mare.

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  4. Is it your lack of blog etiquette to include my name in a sordid blog post decrying women in such a foul way? You have no right to use my name without my permission and I am now taking legal action unless it is removed within 24 hours. You have been formally warned.

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    1. Decry women, eh? I will admit that with you I do like to opprobriate, asperse, derogate, calumniate, censure, reprehend, traduce and vilify you, but then you are not exactly a woman. A big girls blouse maybe, but a woman... nah.

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  5. Being able to get a good steak again was yet another delight on moving to Costa Rica from France....the stuff they sell there would put you off beef for life and I have to remember not to order it when returning on visits....

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    1. I'm with you there doll, what gallops poorly at three often ends up sizzling nicely at the back of four.

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  6. 'Formally warned'! I should have done that years ago, it's no wonder my growth was stunted! But then we never would have become the friends we are today eh? And with the lovely Siobhán to represent you I'd have cracked instantly!

    Pint?

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    1. Listen son, the only reason I suggested you shaved your head and stunted any growth was for no other reason than I was tired of being your pal and holding your hair out of the toilet when you was being sick.

      You know that Glesca men are no comfortable with the whole touchy-feely thing, apart fae when we are shaking hands.

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    2. And there was me thinkin' ya just wanted a 'Mini-Me'! :¬)

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    3. Och, there you go again son, trying to think. You know it doesn't suit yis, eh?

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  7. there is nothing to do on early morning airport detail BUT watch people... like you, i'd set up camp with my back to a wall, sunglasses on, and visually track the involuntary morning entertainers. on occasion, i'd catch other voyeurs. suspect that if we are ever in the same morning airport scene, i'd pick you out of the crowd.

    as an aside, did you know that there's a term for what your Italian woman was doing when the maneuver is executed along the aisle of an airplane? "crop dusting".

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    1. You are quite correct. I am not arrogant enough to think that I have not been watched many, many times by people doing exactly the same thing with me. I am sure I have come across as the archetypal Scotsman, scars, kilt, shaved head, hands like pianos, occasionally swallied and teetering (usually with fatigue) on some anonymous blog somewhere in Sweden or Beirut.

      I am still laughing at the crop dusting, I have to ask though... are you guilty or not guilty of such a crime.

      I think we already know the answer to that one, eh?

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    2. did you say 'kilt'? perhaps we've met... i was the drooling woman wearing mirrors on the toes of her stilettos!

      me? crop dust? as if... gases do not escape this delicate flower! oh, no! it is not possible for a sweet innocent, such as myself, to leave a trail of silent, but noxious, fumes behind me as i mince my way to the loo.

      this gal? my arse bleats like a trombone, striking a dramatic pose at every opportunity! bonus points for getting the perfect resonance off a metal folding chair!

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    3. Ah well now, your mirrors would have revealed once and for all exactly what is worn beneath the kilt. The answer of course is nothing is worn, everything is in fine fettle and grand working order!

      The term crop dusting still makes me laugh, only it is with disbelief that I hear you admitting to foul obnoxious gases... Not my daisy hen, it cannae be so. I do like a gutsy lady who admits to be human, so much better than some of the toffee apples who would have a man believe otherwise. I shall miss you doll, and then some.

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    4. "The answer of course is nothing is worn" -- why do you think i was drooling?

      Will indeed miss you out here in the ether, good sir, but wishing you a fine, restful retirement. Sitting in a rocking chair. Growing out the hairs in your nose. Yelling at small children to stay off your lawn...

      you'll keep writing, of course? perhaps the occasional e-mail...

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    5. Holy Jaysus, all that is missing from your vision is a Gran Torino and a wee Korean boy.

      Will I stop writing? Will the Pope fella stop smiling at his alter boys?

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  8. One of my favorite past times and one of my favorite meals.
    However, since I have recently been advised to toss out my food in favor of liquid nourishment, I may not be able to enjoy much of either.
    lol

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    1. Och hen, your favourite past time is crop dusting too? Remind me to seat your lovely self and Miss Daisy at the back of the bus next time, eh?

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  9. You have been officially notified that I intend to report you and prosecute you unless my name is removed as of immediate effect. You have until today to remove and apologise.

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    1. LOL good luck with getting an apology out of the chef mate. Are you really nuts?

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    2. Oh right, I'll be sure and get right on it as soon as I have stopped laughing.

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  10. What is it about the elderly male and their appallingly long nasal hair? I'm with you on the fat guy in the jump suit. I had one guy vomit on me after he complained that his belt was too tight after a big meal. I was like, hey feckwit, nobody forced you to eat so much. Shock, horror, women fart?

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    1. Unkempt nasal hair is not a good look. I remember meeting a chef I had always wanted to meet, only to find that he had dew drops in his nasal hair that glistened like stinging nettles in a rainstorm. The only thing worse than his pubic nose was his halitosis. I've smelled some bad things in my time (the little singing fellas mutton stew for one) but I had to step back a few feet as his hot malodorous breath reached my own delicate nose.

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    2. ...oh, I nearly forgot, no... women do not pass wind, apart from tall Italians, the lovely Blazng Scarls and the delectable daisyfae.

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  11. It is in your interest to sit up and TAKE NOTE of my last warning. I will not tolerate being used by such an animal who mocks others when he really should LISTEN. Remove my name from your post. Legal action will be imminent. You do not have my permission to use my name. This is my LAST WARNING.

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  12. Are you aware of the laws regarding defamation of character? Do you have any idea of how much trouble you are in if you do not remove my name? This is your last warning.

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  13. You have NO IDEA just how much trouble you are in. This is your very last chance.

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    1. Hmmm... after an enjoyable meal which included several bottles of very pleasant vino shared with family and friends, I eventually retired to the comfort of my large soft comfortable bed with my wife and discussed the days events. We mulled over our plans for the weekend, the amount in which my latest grand wean has grown and the sudden arrival of so many new blooms in the lower pastures. As is normal behaviour between man and rather lovely wife, we began to show our affection towards one another in a very pleasant way. Sadly, my communication device on the dresser kept repeatedly pinging up incoming messages indicating yet another email arriving marked urgent. You can imagine how it may have put a lesser man off his stroke when your rather silly final warnings kept popping their ugly head up and spoiling the mood. However, my dear lady wife said it all when she read the part about litigation and other such nonsense.

      "James, remind your misguided, not to mention lonely, wee friend that at this moment in time you are currently 'above' the law."

      I think I need say no more on my position in this tiresome matter Mr Pew, eh?

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  14. Lol, if ever there was a prize for a witty blog post reply pal, you just won it. I might just whip up a celebration cake and send it to you for starting my day off with a hearty laugh.

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    1. I'd rather have one of those truffle dishes you made last time around Tony, I'll make the sauce, you conjure up the oul magic.

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  15. The problem, dear Chef, is that you aren't playing by you-know-who's rules. His own blog states, "It’s anonymous (or perhaps pseudonymous) simply so that I can refer to life and people in my parish without them being too easily identifiable."

    I guess it's easier to cast aspersions anonymously. The rest of us simply have conversations which can be witty,educational, moving, hilarious or simply human. And in the spirit of civilized conversation, I will not speak of Father Pew again, lest he begin a list of those who fall short.

    After all, we already know I'm so short, I make the Wee Fellow look tall. ;)

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    1. Oh go on, it's mock the little fella day is it? :)

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    2. Everyday is mock the wee singing fella day. Apart fae the 31st of Julember, which is a national holiday in Glasgow.

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  16. Hi Chef. Am I the only one to notice the fact that this terrible fool describes you as an animal while he continues to bray like a jackass?
    Nice sirloin steak, but I usually prefer a nice big thick rump. More flavour and easier to chew with plastic teeth.

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    1. Ah Viv, I am assuming that you are a lady of stature and that your liking of good meat pushes you in the direction of beef haunch, rather than Vic being short for a gentleman's name and that your predilection for large bottomed men states your private needs?

      Either way, the 'animal' remark did not go unnoticed, it was however mere water of a thick skinned platypus's back.

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  17. Ah dear Hope, the pew fella has no comprehension of wit, irony and humour does not compute with his blinkered intellect. Religion has eaten his soul and left a gaping hole where once stood an intelligent man. In parts of India he would be reverred alongside the faith-based church of two headed animals, the man who's body is shaped like a crab and of course the woman cursed with the face of a hairy wolf. Pew is not a stupid man, neither am I, but he is suffering from low self esteem of which he wears like a shield about him as he seeks to deflect his own failings onto others.

    Pew also operates under the radar and goes by the name of John:316, a handle he uses when he wishes to curry favour as, and I quote, "a peace-maker" to troubled souls straying from the winding path of xtian life. He can be rational and articulate, but sadly still deluded when it comes to being a sheep rather than a shepherd. In truth, the pew fella is desperately lonely and seeks to be noticed for his alternate self rather than the man who entered the world in the same way in which we all came, via evolution.

    In reality he can be amusing and somewhat charming, he has an IQ much higher than he portrays being the hapless fly constantly having me pull his wings off. I have suspicions that he has Scottish roots, hence his desire to attach himself to my coat tails just to be part of the patter and actually belong to a specific group. His bus probably passes by several Glasgow pubs on his way home fae his work, he longs to join the various groups of men gathered with their pals enjoying a pint and a blether after a hard day's graft. He yearns to belong to any group which will greet him with a smile, a bunch of pals that will clap his back and call him 'pal'.

    He suffers from that foul Edinburgh disease known as 'stick up the arse syndrome' a terrible affliction that if left untreated will result in a career in either conservative politics or find him singing hyms in church of a Sunday morn wearing a dark suit, cheap shoes and a penchant for small French cars. His long suffering wife dreams of being taken with passion by a man full of life, love and a spark about his personality of which other women's husbands possess. Sadly pew is repressed, his underwear grey and sensible, his love making is reserved, his shame finds him tinkering in the potting shed rather than pleasuring the one person who once saw the man that he longs to be.

    Conversation is limited as he sits down at 5pm of an evening for his plain grey dinner. Heaven help his good lady if she should serve up the devil's garlic or present him with a dish not readily available in a xtian supermarket under the bland food section. She longs for the local builder who has been fixing the patio area for her, the one that pew could not do himself through his lack of manly skills. Her lust runs deep, but he only has eyes for his Hornby train set out in the garage and his place with the other grey churchgoers who also long to be the men they are not.

    Which brings him quite neatly back to the probable target of his frustrations... me. Stop me if I am wrong Mr Pew.

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  18. Since men became enemies to God, they have been very ready to be enemies one to another. And those that embrace religion, must expect to meet with enemies in a world whose smiles seldom agree with Christ's. Recompense to no man evil for evil. That is a brutish recompence, befitting only animals, which are not conscious of any being above them, or of any existence hereafter. And not only do, but study and take care to do, that which is amiable and creditable, and recommends religion to all with whom you converse. Study the things that make for peace; if it be possible, without offending God and wounding conscience. Avenge not yourselves. This is a hard lesson to corrupt nature, therefore a remedy against it is added. Give place unto wrath. When a man's passion is up, and the stream is strong, let it pass off; lest it be made to rage the more against us. The line of our duty is clearly marked out, and if our enemies are not melted by persevering kindness, we are not to seek vengeance; they will be consumed by the fiery wrath of that God to whom vengeance belongeth. The last verse suggests what is not easily understood by the world; that in all strife and contention, those that revenge are conquered, and those that forgive are conquerors. Be not overcome of evil. Learn to defeat ill designs against you, either to change them, or to preserve your own peace. He that has this rule over his spirit, is better than the mighty. God's children may be asked whether it is not more sweet unto them than all earthly good, that God so enables them by his Spirit, thus to feel and act.

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    1. Favourite quotes eh? Try this one on for size, as close to any religion as I am prepared to get.

      "What I noticed when I walked into the dressing room was the jerseys hanging on the pegs - the colours seemed special. I think it was the sunlight, but the jerseys seemed like sparkling Green and White like I have never seen before. They looked special."

      Bertie Auld - Lisbon 1967

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  19. So enjoyable to read - great observations - you should do it more often.
    As usual I'm consumed with curiosity: have you ever cleaned your immaculate bathroom, why are you alone and can you keep posting after the move?

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    1. Ah dear Patricia, so many questions from such a fine lady. The answer to the first question is no, I am the bread winner, I have a brood of females constantly in the house, many of them relatives who are only to pleased to keep such a unique space free of all things mucky. Besides, men are cleaner in the bathroom than women, that is a fact. Of course you already knew that hen, eh?

      Why was I alone? Simple reply, business... although I no longer am hands on in my own trade, I still keep a watchful eye and continue to ensure each division has enough contracts to keep me in early retirement. A swift jaunt across to Ireland to sign paperwork keeps the pennies rolling in.

      Will I post after the move? A good question hen, one still to be decided. I enjoy blogging, but I am extremely tired of the pressures of Scottish life, my time away may just find me golfing, cooking and never reading the dire economic and political news that can drag a man down after a while. I change like the wind, so I cannot give you an answer at present.

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  20. Just to let you know I'm doing your lovely steak pie today but as it's just for me I'll skip the pastry and have a baked potato instead.
    Alastair loved it.

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  21. A jacket spud sounds good Pat, I like to caramelise a few onions and throw in a good red cheddar, a spoonful of sour cream and a good dash of pepper. Alastair had good taste in food as well as women it would seem.

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  22. The people who read your devils filth should be aware that you are really a sinner. There are some sins that even God cannot forgive. You are guilty as charged and will swim in a lake of fire for all eternity. Enjoy your flippant remarks as Lucifer takes your soul.

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  23. At least Lucifer doesn't look down on people...

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Thank you, the chef is currently preparing an answer for you in the kitchen. Do help yourself to more bread.