Shed and Virus

We have a garden shed. It has eight on sides, six of which are glazed. We love it as an escape place, almost as a second-home-in-the-country, like the owners of such who are now using theirs to escape the coronavirus plague.
In this garden retreat of ours, other than in the cold weather, we eat, drink, write and listen to the radio. From it we look out onto a small, walled, London garden, its arbour of vines, flowers, trees in pots - and our pets.
Having no dog as an excuse to go out, we have chosen self-imposed isolation, as is recommended for old and vulnerable people during the period when the dreaded virus is rife. And because we have no tame pets to exercise, we take extra pleasure in our wild ones - animals that look after themselves (with a little help from us).
Our garden robin shares our shed where it eats grated cheese, goldfinches guzzle niger seeds from two feeders, a pair of great tits nest in a box each year, wrens, blue tits, blackbirds and wood pigeons visit and, nest nearby. I rather miss meeting the fox on my way to get the paper at 7 am, now that I am not allowed out.
But we do have one unusual pet. One day, I heard squeals from across the road where a dentist friend found a toad on his doorstep. I put this creature in our garden, intending to ask around if anyone with more space and a pond would take it. But it disappeared.
A year later, as we sat in our shed during a downpour, what should appear but our pet toad. It marched across the garden over wet flagstones. Then it disappeared until the following year, appearing once again in a rainstorm. And we  saw it again the year after that.
It lives somewhere among the loose bricks and cascade of flowerpots, eating, presumably, slugs, worms and snails.
It is a useful pet, and happily oblivious of the goings-on around it that are peculiar to the human race.
It could even outlive us.

Virus

Writing in early 2020 as the Coronavirus is engulfing the world, I think of Vesuvius and Titanic when the people involved were oblivious of what was to come. They enjoyed their food and wine in the  normal way, not knowing that the end was nigh. Today we can but guess what might occur, be it a hiccup or cataclysm. In so doing, I certainly have doubled my enjoyment of the food and drink available.
Nature has a way of balancing unsustainable populations by reducing numbers with a plague of this or that. So this particular plague in which we are involved is really a natural, global, phenomenon which, in its way, should be welcome.
How was this virus so clever as to almost instantly spread itself around the globe?
What did we all breathe or handle about the same time? To my mind the availability of cheap travel is one, others are currency and the post. We may never know. But by whatever means it has been a very clever virus.
Outcomes will be both good and bad. Bonds, especially self-isolating us, we have been both surprised and delighted by so many of our near and not so near  neighbours offering help. Such generosity of people's time and the risks they have taken, have been examples of human kindness at its best. We give them our heartfelt thanks.
These really are fascinating times. 

More Dreams

I was a new reporter for a local newspaper.
A theft had occurred in the local village hall where a wedding reception was to be held on the following day. I was sent to write on the present position.
Lined up with the cake were lots and lots of glasses, half of which had been drained by the thieves and the other half still charged with Cognac and Angostura bitters in readiness for cold sparkling wine to be added for them to become Champagne cocktails for the wedding guests.
The local policeman was already in the hall, apprehending the usual suspects, any of whom he hoped might admit to the theft if having the smell of alcohol on their breath.
I wondered if the thieves might have also have drunk from the charged glasses and substituted water for some of the Cognac. So these had to be tested.
It occurred to me that if I drank too much, then my piece might become incomprehensible. But that would be fun to do. So I tested a few and wrote my report containing slurred words and drunken phrases. And to add some legitimacy I added, as if from the editor, the fact that I was not available to answer for my drunken effort because of a monumental hangover, and that my bicycle had been found abandoned in a ditch. He printed my piece word for word.
Readers, used to the usual dull reports, laughed and loved it. My reputation as a journalist, and, even humorist, had been established. 

Dreams

I suppose that I have dreams much the same as anyone else but dismiss them as of little or no consequence. But if any amusing ones turn up, I make a point of remembering them to tell Margreet. Two such have surfaced recently.

I was investigating the current plague of Coronavirus and inspecting the dead body of a man who had died of it. I noticed that there was a black substance between his toes, so had a sample of it added to a petri dish of the live virus. The black stuff killed the virus immediately. I became very famous and immensely rich - two states of life that I will do my very best to avoid.

We had a bet. I said that there was no rail link between England and Ireland. Margreet said there was. On looking at my map of the UK, I saw a dotted rail line across the Irish Sea. I'd lost.
We took the train to Ireland. It was through a single-track tunnel, just wide enough for the human frame. We sat, each on a board, one behind the other. The driver pulled on a string, which rang a bell to tell those in the half-way central station under the Irish Sea that we were on our way. Two hours later we arrived at that station to find the train from the Irish half of the system had already arrived, with its Irish passengers waiting to take our vacated seats to continue their voyage to England. "All change". Our original driver changed ends and pulled the string to ring the bell in England. They were off. We boarded the vacated train for Ireland. The string was pulled, and two hours later we were in The Emerald Isle, where we were greeted with steaming mugs of tea and currant buns. 

A Cabbage and Frankfurter Dish

Around my way greengrocers' market stalls offer part of their stock in metal bowls at £1 a time. This was, I believe, originally to sell their fruit and vegetables to those who do not know our language. So no words were needed to buy goods. This is fine, as any purchaser can now see exactly what they are getting for their £1.
It so happened that I saw two fine cabbages in such a bowl, and bought them. With the cores and outer leaves discarded and put in the compost bin, the cabbages were cut up finely and put into an iron casserole with salt, pepper, olive oil and white wine. This mixture was turned around by hand until all the cabbage was glistening.
It also so happens that our German-owned supermarkets sell excellent frankfurters at a very reasonable price. So all those from a packet were laid on top of the cabbage and a layer of chopped potato placed on top of it all.
Into the oven went the casserole, and two hours later out came a most delicious dish or two, or more.
Any cabbage left over became the start of a soup. 

Recipes

It so happened that immediately after penning my return to blog-writing I wanted to describe our first dinner - nothing special but nice. This is it.

The main course consisted of king prawns and brown rice. The prawns came from a fishmonger in my nearest market. They are fresh (his most popular item), delicious, ridiculously cheap, and shelled for you on the spot (6 each is enough). They bear little in common with the supermarket, processed variety.

I cook them in a pre-cooked sauce of olive oil, grated fresh ginger, grated garlic, powered chilli and salt. They were served with brown rice (some rice leftover became the basis for the salad the following day). The prawns in their sauce took but a few minutes to cook, and the rice 25.

That was preceded by a tomato salad. This particular one was made with cold, fried, halved plum tomatoes cooked in olive oil, covered with plenty of chopped, peppered, salted, a dash of home-made, sharp red wine vinegar, and topped with flat parsley leaves.

To finish was our oft-enjoyed dessert of seasonal fruit, chopped into a bowl, and steeped in spirit (any). We are, at present, using a gift of Cointreau for its liquid content. 

Re-blogging

I am asked why I have no longer written for my blog. The answer is simple. My Windows 95 computer has broken and will no longer allow me to form a new document without deleting it. This is a shame, as when I reach a difficult passage of painting, I have, in the past, been able, as a change of creativity, to write something on the computer instead.
What I have missed most is writing recipes - dishes which are seldom made the same way and often from my imagination.
Armchair philosophy, too, is a pleasure to record. These opinions are based on tenets, one of which is "everything is missable". Another is "never become too rich or too famous". A contentious one, though often agreed with, is "children steal your life".
I believe that to enjoy life it should be simplified as much as possible. All one really needs is a roof over one's head to keep off the rain, warmth in the winter, and to be able to eat and drink reasonably well. Of course there are many objects that help or hinder, like marriage, health, children, education, birth, death, and all the rest - much depending on choice, luck, work and attitude.
It is also worth remembering that everyone you meet or see on the street, in the country, bus, underground, train or aeroplane, is that their life to them is just as important as yours is to you.
I cannot see why our wonderful National Health Service, staffed by dedicated people, is so maligned. I think it is one of the best things that has ever happened to this country, having seen the poverty and unavailability of medical care in other lands. I can still recall many years ago seeing and being shocked at someone spitting blood in the street in "God's Own Country", the USA, and, more recently, the countryside in the Far East.

For those who "follow" me, Margreet will kindly now put my occasional longhand words into the ether via her more modern electronic equipment.

My new series of painting (pastels actually) is an autobiography in pictures. Each one has an explanatory piece attached to it.
As I have just finished an A4 on when I designed for television, I thought I'd restart my blog with its description.

After working in Children's Theater, I was asked by the BBC to design some programmes for the young. This was in the days of black and white broadcast live from Alexandra Palace.

The design work was rather boring, being mostly drawing up ground plans around the scenery of grey-painted flats to prevent the wheels below cameras from running over cables.

For this particular scene, the funny man was to fall into a fireplace as if from the chimney flue.
I arranged for a flat, painted with a mirror, to rest on a fireplace surround and be well secured. It was time for rehearsal.
The producer stood in front of the fireplace. The funny man jumped down from his stool, as if from the chimney. Soft bricks and soot substitute were ready to follow his entry to the scene.
The flat with painted mirror came loose from its moorings and fell on the producer, who was unhurt but carted off to hospital as a precaution. Except for him, all were delighted. The assistant producer became the producer, the assistant to the assistant became the assistant and so on.
In such an organisation someone had to be blamed.
It was my last job for television.