Monday

Wham, Bam, Thank You Ram




Oblique yet enticing, we sat beneath a poetic melancholy evening Spanish sky. Laughter abound, I enjoyed many glasses of fine wine beneath the dusky painterly beauty that bathes nearly everything and everyone in sleepy torpor. Tempered by the poignancy of our anniversary supper beneath the stars we inhaled deeply upon the most wonderful essence of peace.

And then, in a moment of weakness, I checked my phone messages while my dear lady was away powdering her nose and whatever else that ladies do in those wee secret rooms at the back of every restaurant and bar across the globe..

Raoul, the pool guy, is a seemingly fine example of unflappable male Spanishness. He is calm of voice, slow of word and totally devoid of either haste or panic. His dexterity with a pool net and chemical cleaners is legendary and sits slightly above the achievements of Don Quixote himself. His ability to speak clearly into a phone however has the same resonance on the ear as a walrus vomiting onto rough cobbled stone. Raoul's swiftly spoken words and my lack of encapsulating the local language in its entirety had us both reaching for the divine intervention of the restaurant waiter.

"Señor, it would seem as though the sky has fallen in and there is much damage. You must go now and meet with the end." 

Siobhan, with her succinctly (sober) feminine wisdom, decided that she would undertake the three hour long drive back to our home while I frantically made calls to both a suddenly deaf Raoul and our neighbours to try to discover the extent of the Armageddon that awaited us. Alas, it would seem that during our short ten day sabbatical inland our neighbours had become devout Buddhists and now no longer required the complexity of answering their phone. Either that or they too had succumbed to whatever fate had befallen our hillside home.

Forty-five minutes into our journey, Siobhan managed to swerve to avoid 'a rather large moth' of which had become 'bedazzled' by the luminous white beams emanating from the headlights. A swift tug to the left and my beloved new 4x4 managed to collide with the only tree within a fifty mile radius. Luckily no injuries occurred, however I doubt very much whether the tree will bare much fruit for the remainder of its solitary lifetime. Many hours passed by the time the local polis had arrived, scratched his unshaven chins, removed many folds of surplus material from the crack of his arse, smoked the obligatory cheroot, coughed up something usually found growing profoundly in a petri dish, urinated against the side of my vehicle, shook his head a dozen times before declaring that we had hit the only tree within a fifty mile radius and left. We had contacted the vehicle recovery people (European AA service, ghod bless them) and help was on its way.

Just before the dawn broke across the morning sky, we trundled up, battered and bruised, still in our somewhat wrinkled evening refinery,(no, not a spelling mistake, just plenty of spattered oil from the impact) after a nightmare journey in a rather small lemon yellow Fiat 500. For those unfamiliar with small Italian motor vehicles, can I ask you at this point to imagine trying to place two thick cut raw pork sausages into a matchbox?

Raoul had gotten bored with waiting. He had left a brief note pinned to the wooden gate.

Señor... just over a week ago a large wild ram leaped 9mtrs off of the adjoining hillside and crashed through your glass sun roof. In its brief moments of remaining life it destroyed the patio furniture, completely smashed the glass furniture, barbecue, most of the potted plants and now resides in the bottom of the pool.

We stepped gingerly across many splintered slivers of shrapnel sized glass fragmented beads. My wonderful aluminium man-toy barbecue with its lifetime guarantee lay on its side broken and abused. My carefully smuggled imported herbaceous border plants lay dishevelled and forlorn amongst my prized broken glazed pottery and now looked as though the little singing fella had stayed the weekend. I've seen similar in my many years of suburban Saturday night soirees in busy down-town Glasgow of course, but it still hits you hard in the chest when you see your belongings strewn willy-nilly across a curiously disorganised courtyard, of which less than a fortnight ago had been anally manicured within an arse whisker from gardening perfection

As I knelt down amongst the sheep shite beside the pool I was met with the somewhat bloated corpse of a large dead ram the size of a small Belgian dwarf bobbing about quite merrily. Corpses tend to sink when water saturation becomes too immense, but after more than a few days in the hot sun the gases inside pop them back up to the surface where they can either give you a wee start if you are not expecting such a sight, or fifteen years in prison if the corpse happens to be of the human kind. Don't ask me how I know so much about corpses, let's just say that being Glaswegian I appreciate the value that the dead weight of a five kilo bag of quick drying cement can bring to a man's life. Unfortunately, I've seen my share of waterlogged corpses over the years, they aren't pretty and can empty the contents of a weaker mans stomach at the blink of an eye. Fortunately, my rather sheepish intruder didn't have to worry about blinking any of its dead eyes. There wasn't any. They were missing. No doubt eaten by the many large birds that frequent the Spanish hills eating prey only slightly smaller than a baby rhino. What it did have however, was an uncanny resemblance to John Travolta. The fleshy lips were curled back in a rather macabre smile. No doubt due to the fact that he had completely fecked my previous evenings planned bout of romance with Siobhan.

John Travolta had tumbled down the hillside, fell through my glass roof trying to break the long jump record from the last Olympics and now lay rotting in my pool whilst blindly laughing at my misfortune. I donned my gardening gloves while Siobhan set about making us a cup of tea. It's not only the English who revert to strong tea in times of crisis, especially when there is man's work to be done. I grappled it towards me with the extending mop handle and after a much frenzied mish-mash of J.T refusing to dance his way over, I finally managed to take hold of his front legs and heaved him starboard bound as I lay atop the small, rather bendy, diving board. Bad move...  Rotting flesh and brute force do not good bed fellows make. I was left with two ragged woolly shoulders of muttony fetlock, while J.T pirouetted away as if the delightful Olivia Newton-John had entered the pool naked and up for a wee paddle herself. Another bad move was me standing on top of the diving board and throwing the mop handle like oul Capt Ahab spearing the white whale from the fore deck of the Pequod.

In Glasgow we have an underground glossary of people providing a corpse-with-a-hole-in-it removal service. Usually these people can be found outside most city centre pubs smoking hand rolled cigarettes, wearing camouflage jackets and speaking in whispers. For the price of a pint they will also shotgun your enemies, dismember body parts and fill your car with stolen diesel while you wait. Sadly, not here. I was on my own while Siobhan, despite the last traumatic 24 hours, was wetting herself with laughter in the sanctuary of the kitchen with her husband busily demonstrating his hunter-gatherer skills in the wild eventually used a  perforated plastic shower curtain to scoop up the bloated gassy corpse. Decked out in scuba mask and snorkel, marigold gloves and a straw hat to protect myself from the greasy sludge that now oozed across the waters surface, I finally managed to bring Moby-John back to dry land. If only it was as easy as disposing of the weans goldfish by flushing them down the kludge, eh?


Have you ever tried  to dispose of a very gassy dead sheep full of pool water? The idea sounded good until the water from the less than golden fleece put out the fire and left the usually fresh breeze carrying the scent of a Jewish offal shop in London's back streets during the war. You can't just pop them outside with the trash here in Spain, they have laws against it apparently. Run over a dog and the polis will stand around it smoking until one of them eventually pulls out a gun and shoots it in front of a family of visiting German schoolchildren. But desecrating a woolly hillside beast usually prettier than some of their wives/mothers/girlfriends and you will spend a long night in a grey bar, cockroach infested cell while they play cards with the money from your confiscated wallet and argue about who now owns your shoes. Of course if my trusty 4x4 had not now lay upon a mortuary slab due to Siobhan's love of large ugly cabbage moths, I could have slung it in the back and driven off into the hills returning it from where it had originally derived. Trust me, you cannot fit the belly button lint from a polyester shirt in the back of a Fiat 500! I have tried...

Various rumours would appear to be grossly exaggerated in the community these last few mornings about dismembered bodies being removed under the cover of darkness from our home. I'm happy to let them continue, because strangely enough, my daily newspaper is now never delivered anywhere but onto the porch. The local plumber, uncontactable since he installed my iron guttering three months ago, has refunded the money owed in regard to his oversight with my rumbling pipework above the garage and we never have to wait for a table in our favourite restaurant any longer. Disconcertingly though, the local Spanish Nazi's have arranged a boys night in featuring cards and mutton broth, so should I vanish for a few weeks you will know that I have been pulled in for questioning due to the fact that a stinking, oozing, recently deceased ram has popped up in the town well. Och, you can take the man out of Glasgow....

This mornings recipe was to be lamb shanks, roasted to perfection and served on a sea of spiced and aromatic rice. Of course you will understand that lamb, not to mention ram, is now off the menu for the foreseeable future.

Honey Glazed Ribs

3 tbsp of soy or fish sauce
2 tbsp Heinz tomato ketchup
4 tbsp fresh honey
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tsp paprika
Grated zest of 1 lemon
4kg of fresh free range spare ribs, each cut into 2 or 3 pieces
 
 
Preheat the oven to 200°C (gas 6). Put the soy sauce, ketchup, honey, garlic, paprika and lemon zest in a small pan. Bring to the boil gently, then reduce the heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Place the pork in a lightly oiled roasting tin, in a single layer, and brush with the warm sauce. Cook for 15 minutes, then lower the temperature to 160°C (gas 3) and cook for a further 45 minutes, turning halfway through the cooking and basting regularly with the sauce in the tin. Add several spoonful's of water to the tin to prevent the juices sticking and burning. When cooked, the ribs should be golden and sticky on the outside. Serve immediately with jacket potatoes and seasonal salad. Wash down with chilled bottles of lager with fresh lime.

91 comments:

  1. hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Notice how I didn't mention you by name, merely hinted at your camo clothing and the stench of your cheap tobacco?

      Delete
    2. It might have been much worse. You could have described my lack of hair product and my Rangers shirt.

      Delete
    3. I'm curious, tell me, a R*****s fitba shirt, are they still sponsored by Wonga.com?

      Delete
    4. Aye, and before you say it, yes, the entire club history is printed on the inside label.

      Delete
    5. Oh aye, just above the full washing instructions no doubt?

      Delete
  2. Sounds like an al fresco version of a modern student flat when the landlord comes to clear up.

    Oh, and could you put me in touch with some of the gentlemen who operate the takeaway service in Glasgow?

    I have a brother in law in need of their services...not that he will be doing the ordering himself, you understand...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Helen, for a thorough cleansing & removal service, may I recommend the gentleman above. A thoroughly untrustworthy type, but above the rest when it comes to removing detritus from beneath the shoes of decent folk. He can be reached at the Shotgun & Badger public bar in Corby between the hours of 10am - midnight.

      Tell him Jimmy sent yis!

      Delete
  3. Those will wage war against the Lamb, and the Lamb will overcome them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those who are with Him are the called and chosen and faithful.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hmmmm.... you do like your animal references Pew. Something you're not telling us?

    I digress... News just in: Police find 16 lambs crammed into 2 cars near a church in Surrey.

    A polis spokesman said they believe they have cracked yet another christian sex trafficking ring.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Amazing how he can take any subject and bring it around to his usual dull blather. A real talent.

      Delete
    2. On average I receive at least a dozen comments per day from Mr Pew. He has had to cut it down a tad due to his religious commitments.

      Delete
  5. Award winning tale my tall friend! (I'll be be in the kitchen with the lovely Siobhán!)

    This kind of thing never happened when ye left me in charge of the chapel, I have a bag packed and ready. :¬)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Tis funny, whenever the drinks, freshly pulled atop the bar, taxi drivers paid, disastrous mess cleaned, gas-filled bloated corpse away, only THEN do you offer your services and reappear.

    I will admit to looking very hard into the water at the size and shape of the floating intruder. For one awfie moment I really did believe that my uninvited guest might well have had an Irish limp.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dear Ghod! You know I'd never make it to the pool once I found the good stuff!

      Besides, I couldn't find me white Speedos! :¬)

      Delete
  7. At the next dinner party ensemble I am planning to seat you aside oul Pew in order for him to bring some christian values into your life my friend. Taking the drink and the wearing of white Speedos on the Sabbath is a SIN!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Good luck to him with that! :¬)

      Delete
    2. It would be an interesting battle of wits I'm sure.

      Delete
    3. Now you'se are just being cruel! :¬/

      Delete
    4. Cruelty has very little to do with de-winging flies my Speedo wearing friend.

      Delete
  8. Anonymous2:39 am GMT+5

    You might have carried the flag for your tight countrymen and at least made warm jumpers out of the fleece cheffy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ahh now, the oul Scotsman jokes eh?

      Try this one for size.

      "Judging by your accent," says the butcher, "I'd say you're a Glaswegian."

      "Aye," says the customer, "and judging by your sausages, I'd say you're a feckin' welder."

      Delete
  9. (i really love the new color and font you're using!)


    so, does this mean that there will be no more lamb recipes here, sugarpie? i think i'll try this recipe when i get home! xoxoxoxo

    ReplyDelete
  10. Lamb will be back on the menu dear lady, right after I cleanse my mind of the sight of boiled rams head once and for all.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Well, I just about spewed my drink on the computer screen reading that one!!! "Boiled" ram's head? No... I think it was tepidly steeped at best. I can imagine the stench... and Siobhan's laughter! I'm pretty sure I would have been laughing along side her, but when I read the bit about you trying to harpoon the thing from the diving board, I had visions of you falling in... ;-)

    ReplyDelete
  12. Good job you didn't have to call on your more hardened former fixers in Glasgow. I'm not sure to what extent asking them to help you remove a ram from a swimming pool, using a Fiat 500, would have done to burnish your reputation.

    What a tidying job that must have been! Have you got any sort of insurance, with a clause about rams in it, to get someone else to sweep the place free of horn, wool and glass?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. To gather interest from those types I once associated with in Glasgow, I would probably have had to have hatcheted Raoul's kneecaps several times and stashed him beneath the other gassy occupant floundering and doing the backstroke in the pool.

      Luckily for me I have the gawky girl from CIS Miami who had several bit parts in series 2 and 3 living quite closely by, she was a tower of strength in rearranging the crime scene prior to the arrival of my insurance ombudsman. Again, luckily for us, my insurance company do actually believe in 'acts of god' when it comes to suicidal animals flinging themselves from 40 storey buildings, high rise apartments and good old steep, rocky hilltops beside the sea.

      The cleaning up process was tricky, especially as we wanted to leave everything in situ for the insurance company to see. Now though, progress is well under way and by the weekend I anticipate everything (apart from the shrubbery) to be back to normal.

      As Siobhan was quick to point out, if we had been at home and relaxing on the patio beneath the glass roof it might have been a completely different story. The ram weighed the equivalent of a medium sized chest freezer.

      Delete
    2. Excellent, well I suppose God acts in culturally- ang geographically-specific ways, and I'm glad that the insurance company recognise this.

      P.S. I am blushingly flattered to have made an appearance in the hall of infamy on the RH side. I only want to say that if your computer has flagged up a flagrant attempt at image theft, I was only narcissistically right-clicking on the associated image in order to open it in a new tab.

      Delete
    3. Ha ha--just worked out omphalopesychite. I much prefer that way of saying it to the vulgar.

      Delete
    4. In God we trust... just behind used car dealers, double glazing salesmen and any given politician kissing a baby.

      Fear not for your recent bout of idiopathic craniofacial erythema in regard to making my guest list, I once failed to control my anal sphincter in front of a well known Bishop at Royal Ascot after a heavy indulgence of real ale. My sudden spot of unfortunate borborygmic reaction caused my face to redden quicker than a kiddy fiddler running from the polis.

      Many ampholopesyschite moments occur in the preparation of this small portal of blog space, you are not alone sir.

      Delete
  13. Harpooning, it would seem, is all about the stance. A younger, lighter man would have balanced perfectly poised on the balls of his feet. I on the other hand reverted to the 'bull in a china shop' position and made a bit of a pigs ear out of the recovery operation. The damage repairs are under way, however I now find myself considering the purchase of a snipers rifle and picking off any further high jumpers up there on suicide ridge prior to the new glass roof being fitted. Sadly we never got the licence plate of the rogue moth, Range rover parts do not grow on trees, not even solitary ones.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Not once did I read above a single line expressing remorse that an animal may have suffered severe injury and then a very obvious painful death. Perhaps those who bask in delight at animal cruelty took time to realise that wildlife casualties are on the increase and must be stopped. May I suggest that you take time out to reflect?

    ReplyDelete
  15. An interestingly somewhat abrasive comment, although slightly monocoque in your presumption that any particular delight was taken at the suffering of a particular animal. Unless, of course, you are referring to the large moth-like creature the size of a light commercial aircraft that my good lady wife took evasive action over trying not to injure an insect.

    Remorse is indeed felt when a deed or an act of badness has been committed and the perpetrator then has a prick of conscience in regard to their actions. The delight that you refer to was levied by way of description of the situation as it unfolded in its entirety, not as you seem to claim, "animal cruelty".

    May I suggest that you review your own thoughts and reflect that you probably commented in haste before you explored fully the facts?



    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thomas, Lord Erskine, CRUELTY TO ANIMALS BILL.

      Delete
    2. Och hen, I am trying hard here to be polite as I am assuming that you are probably a rather well meaning lady defending the rights of abused animals from those who fox hunt in rural Cambridgeshire or run over the tails of domesticated fat cats napping in bicycle lanes around your city limits.

      I am all for the power of free speech and even applauded loudly when the Siberian People's Tractor Factory No.47 was raised to the ground after the last engaging politburo's diktat from the commissariat back in the early 90s.

      Regrettably, stunted Spanish polis officers shooting injured stray dogs is not a pretty sight, however you are seemingly preaching to the converted when you enter into my small piece of the blogosphere with a Bill by Lord Erskine. You didn't stipulate exactly which Lord Erskine you are seemingly quoting.

      Was it Sir Thomas Erskine of Haltoun and Brechin, royal secretary to James V of Scotland from 1524, Thomas Erskine, 1st Earl of Kellie (1566–1639) Thomas Erskine, Lord Erskine (1705–1766) Thomas Erskine, 6th Earl of Kellie (1732–1781), British musician and composer. Thomas Erskine, 9th Earl of Kellie (1746–1828) Thomas Erskine, 1st Baron Erskine (1750–1823), British lawyer and politician, or Thomas Erskine (1788–1870), Scottish revisionary and theologian?

      If I am honest, I prefer to pull the wings off of my regular commenters who come here to gloat usually at my own misfortunes, not those of any living creature, be them of scale, fin, fur, feathers or hide.

      Mind you, with that said, I am partial to a good slab of meat in front of me, so unless you have high morals in regard to the preparation of good food I suggest you rattle your drum for a very worthy cause elsewhere. Thanks' for stopping by.

      Delete
  16. What a fantastic, harrowing tale! Thank Bog no one was hurt (except for one unsuspecting tree and one suicidal ram). That's your reward for living in the rugged wilderness. Couldn't Raoul have removed the offending caucus? That's not in his contract, I suppose.

    I was in the Coast Guard for six years and learned that drown, bloated bodies have to be handled with delicacy. If you try to haul them up out of the water with a stokes litter basket and not cover the bottom, the flesh will fall through like a sieve.

    Maybe my favorite post ever. You seem to attract an overabundance of sour-pusses and complainers. What a talent.

    Congrats on your anniversary! Mine is this Wednesday. Onward through the fog!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You're forgetting the gargantuan moth-like creature that sadly Siobhan took out with the windscreen as she kamikaze landed our vehicle on the Port de Pollenca road my friend. Who knew that a forest of one was waiting to catch us as we fell from the highway, eh?

      Raoul is a complex man. His contractual hours are whenever he feels like turning up, usually every second day, but he has been known to vary that by a week... or two whenever the mood takes him. Although he is paid (handsomely) for his services, I neglected to realise that due to his Catalonian heritage he is doing me the favour by showing up to skim the pool. Body removal would be extra.

      I can quite believe the flesh-sieving operation, body mass turns to goo very quickly when diluted it seems.

      Sour-pusses and complainers, I see them merely as a challenge. Congrats for Wednesday my friend.

      Delete
  17. Being able to use God’s Word against Satan is one of the most important marks of spiritual maturity. You have been believers so long now that you ought to be teaching others. Instead, you need someone to teach you again the basic things about God’s word. You are like babies who need milk and cannot eat solid food.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm lactose intolerant meself. :¬)

      Delete
    2. Solid food passes through my system on a daily basis Mr Pew. I see the remnants have a habit of returning quite often in your comments however.

      Delete
  18. I reckon it might have been best to have drained the pool first... as it would need draining after having a gaseous ram in it. Though I may have stayed in the kitchen laughing until you'd worked this out for yourself :-)
    Sxx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dearest Scarlet, a humble man cannot begin to explain the complex inner workings of a swimming pool filtration system to a mere woman of pure innocence and substance. However with your good self being rougher than a slate layers nail bag I shall carry on.

      1. Large chunks of gristle, bone and skin do not fit easily through very fine mesh filters.

      2. Very fine mesh filters retail at around €400 each.

      3. The pool has 24 filters.

      Much easier to skim the remains as best as one possibly can while wearing a child's snorkelling kit and manoeuvring underwater with the shower curtain outstretched (which will be going back up in the guest bathroom once it is dry)hence making sure that the big bits do not block the filters.

      With me so far hen? Silly question... eh?

      Basically, the big bits have to go first before the water can be drained, the filtration skimmer system cleansed, sterilised, re-cleansed, rinsed, pump and heater cleansed, sterilised blah de blah de blah.

      Probably best for me if you do stay in the kitchen and tidy the fridge sweet-pea. I'm going for a lie down in a dark room for a wee while.

      Delete
  19. I laughed. I almost cried. And I damn near came close to losing my breakfast. But the stomach churning might've been from unpleasant conversation. (We won't mention the Speedo part). ;)

    Glad you and your beloved survived this saga. And that's what the complainers missed: that you care more for each other than the "things" in life which can be replaced. (Stand down, animal cruelty people...I'm sure the Ram has children to carry on his name...just hopefully with better footwork skills). A good spouse, especially one who is understanding AND capable of laughing when life gets tough, is priceless. Please give your good lady a "southern hug" of comfort from me. Mr. Speedo can buy you southern comfort by the glassful. ;)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah, once again it takes the intelligence of a lovely southern belle to read between the lines so beautifully. No animals were shot, murdered or molested during the entire saga, merely an aged ram decided that it was time to move on to the afterlife. Technically we did splatter a pigeon size bat/moth/honey-badger as it hit the windscreen at 70mph, but hey ho, no one is perfect.

      Laughter, as you so tenderly explained to us all, is priceless. Everything else is just stuff.

      Come, sit with me in the kitchen dear Hope, I can feel an apple strudel coming on.

      Delete
  20. Bury Animals Group11:55 pm GMT+5

    Hi, Animal owners should be aware that if during an RSPCA prosecution they give permission for their vet to discuss their animals with the RSPCA or the policeman seizing them, they are waiving all future rights to client privilege during pending court proceedings.

    This becomes important if your vet is ( or later becomes as a result of RSPCA involvement) critical in any way.

    It is of use to the RSPCA in some cases where the owner's vet examined the animals but is not being called for the defence, with a view to issuing a witness summons to the vet.

    If the accused has waived their right to confidentiality the vet can then disclose to the prosecution any adverse advice or reports that would otherwise have remained unseen, and give evidence against the defendant.

    The answer is:
    1.
    Dont allow your vet to talk to the RSPCA or the police until you have a report in writing ( possibly handwritten on the day) that you know is favourable to you.

    2.
    Wherever possible your vet should not disclose or say anything that has not been specifically cleared by your solicit

    ReplyDelete
  21. Let me start off by saying that you might want to rethink the name of your organisation. Are you serious? 'Bury Animals Group' conjures up a mean looking bunch of vigilantes meeting in someone's garden shed under the cover of darkness, armed with shovels and spades you head out looking for poor unsuspecting animals to cover in dirt?

    Someone is yanking my chain here methinks...

    ReplyDelete
  22. Well, you attract them, that's for sure.

    ReplyDelete
  23. Aye, but you should see the ones that don't make it to print!

    So, what's the Buddieschef handle all about then?

    ReplyDelete
  24. Something of nothing really, I was a chef for one of a chain of local American themed diners called Buddies. Now I slum it in a café by day and a hotel kitchen by night. I guess I should ditch the Buddies bit, but might just wait for a total blog revamp.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Excellent idea, however, Tony exBuddieschefnowworkinginacafeandagainatnightinahotelkitchen might just become tiresome after a wee while. Good luck with that anyway.

      Delete
  25. Oh Calamity James! Now I understand the significance of Scarlet's pump.
    Does one have to renounce one's S.O.H. to join the RSPCA I wonder?
    Full marks for not making a single derogatory remark about lady driving.
    I was going to berate you for having a holiday away from your holiday home but then remembered we used to do the same from our holiday cottage in Yorkshire. I'd nearly forgotten.
    They are the days of wine and roses. Savour them and thank you foe a smashing read:)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dear lady, Scarlet's pump and her infernal refusal to understand the mechanical dynamics of a marine purpose filtration system, using quite clear diagnostic lingo has left me with somewhat of a sense of forthcoming defenestration in her gingernesses general direction.

      I digress..

      It would appear that you are correct in regard to renouncing ones sense of humour before joining any officialdom that requires wearing a uniform. Why, only the other day I used my best pigeon-Spanish to explain to a traffic warden chappie in sleepy downtown Alcudia, that if he proceeded in writing the ticket out for my obtrusion into the next parking bay (2" if that) I would have no choice but to introduce him to a new way of carrying his ticket machine whilst keeping both his hands free.

      It took him a moment to consider the options, but my winning smile obviously won him over in the end.

      Lady driving comments have been suspended for a few weeks until you have recovered from your slight altercation with 27 parked cars and half dozen or so bus shelters. Thankfully you are fine and dandy, although I wasn't best pleased to read in print that you were surrounded by a baying mob with hackles raised looking to stone you for your driving misdemeanour.

      Still, the Sun newspaper have to make a living I suppose.

      Berate away dear woman, it was blatant capitalism from me by shelling out on a luxurious stay within a stay. However, what price can a man put on the love he has for a good woman on our anniversary? Besides, they have some smashing shoe shops in certain parts of our chosen area, I've always been a sucker for a good pair of brogues. Of course one then has to find a new belt and wallet to match... unless, that is, unless one is from Limerick, in which a good blacksmith and a fish supper is far more important.

      Delete
    2. My apologies. A fish supper with peas...

      Delete
  26. So... you didn't get 'congressed' that night? Quite surprised. i find that nothing relieves the stress of a roadtrip-gone-bad like a proper romp in the pool under the stars. Oh. Wait. Right. J.T. was making a guest appearance...

    Pretty sure i'd have abused the Fiat for doing the deed. Do you know the difference between a 4x4 and a rental car? You can go ANYWHERE in a rental car...

    Great tale, well told...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah sweet Daisy, where were you when my darkest hour approached? I believe it was in between inhaling some of the fatty deposits of ram-grease from the surface water and choking on the appalling taste of mouthpiece rubber from the snorkel that you first sprang to mind. Not that I spend too much time thinking about you with large objects being ingested, but I did betray a sly smile as I thought of how you would laugh inwardly at my inability to cope with my nightmarish underwater experience.

      The Fiat 500, what can I say that hasn't been said before? They look grand in the TV commercials as a normal height sapling of a man slips easily into the plastic seats and happily coo's at his attractive even shorter and thinner companion beside him. Driving along with your head sticking out of the sunroof can be recommended for keeping ones self awake during the wee small hours, but sadly not when you have to open the trunk lid to scratch your arse at the same time.

      Moving swiftly on.... which is something else you cannot do in a car that beeps and farts every time you go near 7mph.

      Delete
    2. Good gawd, that sounds wretched! Cleaning the festering sheep shrapnel out of the pool sounds pretty horrible as well!

      Delete
    3. I've done worse in my time... Enough said hen.

      Delete
  27. I will again ask you to remove the blasphemous photograph from your side bar.

    Mark 3:29 - But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation:

    Luke 12:10 - And whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but unto him that blasphemeth against the Holy Ghost it shall not be forgiven.

    Revelation 13:6 - And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Mapstew 52:34 - Glabrous eh? Now I understand what the auld wan of the Sweeney's was shouting after me the other night on the way out of Ginty's! :¬)

      Delete
    2. Jimmy 16.25 - He that standeth in dog poop shalleth be cast out of his own house and made to cleaneth the fecker up.

      Jimmy 19.27 - He thateth maketh the mess will have no choice but to surrender to watching rom-com with wifeth in order to not be ignored in the Lords bed.

      Jimmy 23.29 - He that poureth the holy wine shall maketh sure that he dwelleth not to long in the kitchen beforeth wifey retires for her bedeth.

      Delete
  28. Actually my good friend, no. The word you are getting confused with was in fact 'Gluttonous'. If you remember correctly, it was shortly after you stole the Sweeney woman's chips off of her plate whilst she was away relieving her bladder pressure after a gallon or so of Jinty's best milk stout.

    Or am I confusing her again with Scarlet and her frequent bathroom breaks?

    ReplyDelete
  29. Heroic deeds, humorously told. How did that Pagan Beast know to come to the one man with the skill-set to handle it?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well now ER, I can only assume that even amongst our four legged friends, the raw, guttural tone of the male Glaswegian voice echoing around the hilltops must sound reminiscently akin to the trumpeter at the gates of the mighty elephants mysterious graveyard.

      Either that or oul Pewfodder has mightier connections up there than we give him credit for...

      Delete
  30. Sidennham Riechter12:17 am GMT+5

    i always thought that sheep couldn't jump and that they see things differently, more horizontal than the human eye. uncle boris had a sheep station in queensland in 77 and the sheep would come to a gate and jump a bar that wasn't there. kinda swell that you were out that day.

    ReplyDelete
  31. Strangely enough Sidennham, I always believed that sheep could swim. It very much seems as though we have both been labouring under the misapprehension that sheep are far more interesting than they actually appear. As for the eye theory, well, let's just say that any substantial evidence now rests delightfully somewhere within in a crows belly.

    I do have a sample of purulent fluid still attached to my gardening gloves if you would like to perform an autopsy of your own.

    ReplyDelete
  32. On a Tuesday we sit down and discuss the menu for the forthcoming weekend. I got some starnge looks when the suggestion of both lamb and flounder was mentioned. Hahahahahahahahahaha

    ReplyDelete
  33. Many a time the 'esprit d'escalier' is upon me also Anthony, but alas only an empty chair for company on dark Autumn evenings and not one witty riposte to comfort my weary bones.

    Full marks for the 'flounder' my friend.

    ReplyDelete
  34. Anonymous2:34 pm GMT+5

    speak English dude and chill out.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for stopping by. I do hope it didn't make you late for school.

      Delete
  35. Anonymous2:52 pm GMT+5

    I just read a description of you as being an ex leg breaker back in the dark 60s of old Glasgow. Did you choose the lesser role of a neanderthall because you hadn't the brains to run the operation yourself?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Och,somebody is playing with fire here.

      Delete
  36. I'm outraged by your lurid suggestion! It was the dark 80s of Glasgow, not the 60s, I wasn't long grown from being a mere sperm in the decade you dare to suggest.

    The greater role was already filled by a stronger personality, a more intelligent individual who had a greater knowledge and experience of life in general. The lesser role was mine due to my inability to think. My passion for stumbling when I should have strolled held me back. More importantly I had to learn that respect is earned, not taken.

    The whole scenario I have described is spookily like me talking to you now, only back then. Do you think there might be a lesson in here somewhere?

    ...by the way, it's 'Neanderthal' not neanderthall. Or to use the correct scientific terminology, 'Homo neanderthalensis'.

    Next time stand up straight and take your foot out of your mouth before you address me. Run along.

    ReplyDelete
  37. I have a theory...

    Might yon ram have espied his own reflection in the glass which used to cover your pool from the mountainside that he jumped/dived from? If the angle of the glass is such that this may be the case, you may wish to:

    a) think up a more efficient ram disposal process, or
    b) consider changing the angle/reflectivity of said glass.

    Just a wee thought...

    Andrew M

    ReplyDelete
  38. Well now, Mr Andrew M, quite a thoughtful and avuncular comment you have kindly offered me here. Your theory is relatively simple and makes perfect sense, especially when the gradient of the hill is examined and the actual ground substance is analysed even further. However, the original architect who designed the said glass canopy must have taken into account the rakish angle of the structure in order to reflect both heat, light and moisture in such a way that it did not contribute to reflecting excess light towards the hill in case of sunlight combustion causing a hill fire.

    In common parlance this would indicate that the camber of the glass would have to be angled at a minimum of 27° if a correct typographical symbol is to be achieved without prejudice to the general reflux of the hill. Therefore, the ram would not have been able to see his own reflection in the glass until he was vertical and at least 9 metres away and travelling at over 117kph.

    This leads me to my own thesis.

    a) A God really does exist and threw the said ram down from heaven as a sure sign of things to come.

    b) The clumsy auld fecker whilst on the run from possibly wild dogs, slipped on the substrate, misjudged the distance between rock and the illusion of distant water (the glass) and his momentum created a fusion which somehow enhanced his carrying distance. The actual glass canopy is situated approximately 6 metres from the pool. The question really does remain as to how does a sheep's eye really differ when it comes to judging vertical and horizontal objects?

    An early warning siren has now been installed on the roof to indicate further falling rams, plus I have also beefed up the filtration system and increased the diameter of each flue to the size of a slightly above average bovine creature. As a belt and braces solution I have also upped Raoul's visits to thrice weekly and issued him with a larger net.

    ReplyDelete
  39. Question Chef! What are the chances of getting hit on the head by a falling ram in Glasgow and do you think that God has put a hit out on you?

    ReplyDelete
  40. That's actually 2 questions Anthony, you have now left me riding the horns of a dilemma over which one of then I am to respond to.

    When the subject of a notorious fatwa issued by the spiritual leader of Iran’s Islamic revolution Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini who branded a certain authors book “blasphemous against Islam”, was first made public, the name in the frame went into hiding until it had all blown over. 23 years later he is still with us and the fatwa is still in place. I can only think that he is hiding away in Belgium where all the other foolish people tend to frequent.

    Seeing as how all religious doctrine to my mind is all lumped under the same umbrella, I would have to say that if one the many alleged gods has greenlit me for a full metal jacket, I have no choice but to either brush up on my Flemish, French & German. Or I just turn up the TV and pretend I am not home.

    ReplyDelete
  41. Point taken Chef. Ram's horns perhaps?

    ReplyDelete
  42. Pišeš dobro in uživam zgodbo o jagnje, ki spada k oknu. Pred mnogimi leti sem videl preveč mesa pada iz neba, vendar ni bilo Božja volja, da je bil ukraden in vrgli iz strehe. Hvala Chef Datoteke za obuditev ta spomin se mi na ta dan sem dal blagoslov za vas od vašega Jezusa.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Vsaali, it took me a while to translate loosely your comment from Slovenian, not a language that I have come across before (thank you Google) until now. The fact that you have witnessed meat dropping from the sky that did not come from Jesus is an interesting one. I have replied, all be it through a free translation service, as best as I can, so I do hope that you can make head or tail of my polite wittering's. Good luck - Chef.

      Vi ste zelo dobrodošli Vsaali, je bilo precej zanimivo zgodbo, ki jo prav tako nanašajo. Ali vas prosimo, da spustite spet, tako kot meso in uživajo svoj čas tukaj.

      Delete
  43. Always entertaining Sir Chef, one of your best.

    Perhaps J.T. was depressed after hearing about the Siberian People's Tractor Factory No. 47 fire and decided to end it all with a dramatic exit. Or should that be entrance?

    Either way, he gave it horns.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah Eileen, a valued commenter with such elegance, always witty, always humorous. Prey tell, are rams a safety hazard in South Africa, or come to that, any of the other 299 mammal species currently at large?

      Delete
    2. Indeed, SA has it's fair share of run away ruminants.

      Why just this week in the news: http://mobi.enca.com/south-africa/escaped-bull-shot-down-animal-lovers-fume .

      Not our local law enforcement's finest hour. Those are saved for Sundays when miracles are performed.

      Not.

      Delete
  44. I'm honoured to have made your wall of fame Chef, but what the hell is a cicisebo when it's at home? Your security won't let me right click it ffs!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aw c'mon now Tony, use your Glesga wits and find out son, eh? I'll give you one clue, you'll no find it amongst the latrinalia on the wall of the gents.

      Delete
  45. Got it! Love it! Just laughing at the latrinalia word and its meaning. Don't come back to Glasgow with your fancy words they'll think you are probably an English spy.

    ReplyDelete
  46. Only if I grow a mono-brow, use saccharin and carry an umberella my friend.

    ReplyDelete
  47. Somehow I will never be able to see Saturday Night Fever the same way again

    ReplyDelete
  48. Aye, it was quite an eye-opener pal, I got chills, they're no longer multiplying however.

    ReplyDelete

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