The Mole, the Cat and the Friendly Ferret

Last night Mrs AWB and I did something we don't do very often. We went out to a 'do'. A birthday 'do'. One of her colleagues was having a 40th and she was invited.

Neither of us are great ones for these events. Small talk with people you barely know in a noisy place. No.

I don't do small talk. My small talk is embarrassingly tiny as I cannot really think of anything meaningless enough to banter about.............especially when it's noisy.

And the noise. OK...................it was seventies stuff that brought back memories of when we courted. But hey............I don't feel comfortable with small talk and having to strain my ears to hear one out of three words of a conversation that barely merits the title, 'conversation' is something that just does not appeal.

I ended up enjoying a beer or four while people watching. That was fun and I made up little scenarios for all those involved and some became the animals of the title of the post. Mrs AWB was intrigued. She saw some of her colleagues through fresh eyes. We giggled like the youngsters we used to be when we first heard those songs 30 odd years ago.

And I saw her as she was seen by her colleagues. She looked great. I was proud. A striking woman. I couldn't help but notice that the 'cat' kept 'noticing' her. You know, those surreptitious glances that are meant to go unnoticed but linger a little too long for the observant.

An attractive interesting man nearly twenty years younger than her. I don't think she noticed........or pretended not to. I think he saw her..............sees her........as that unobtainable icon that fantasies are made of. I teased her.

She has always been a charismatic green eyed red head to me. She has never seen that.

I know my wife. Her poor self esteem will not allow her the joy of being admired by a younger man...........................or any man for that matter. How sad it was me who enjoyed it and not her.

That challenging prickly defense she had when younger was something that intrigued me. Still does other men I think.

But she rarely opens up that defense...........................and battling the those walls sometimes becomes a little too much.

Hey ho.............I'll stop there.

The Jelly Wopter

A pet name for the police helicopter given to it by a female colleague who I car-share with. I sometimes think of it as the 'Copper Chopper'.

Recently we had a presentation telling us how it worked, what it did and inviting us to spend some time with the guys who crewed it and...................go up in it.

Naturally, for the completely professional reasons of interdepartmental understanding and all that crap I decided to take up the invite.

Hmmm.....I didn't think you'd believe that.

After a cancellation owing to bad weather, Tuesday was the day..................woohoo! So, wearing a snug flying suit, a helmet complete with intercom and an excitement that is best described as a kid in a sweetshop I approached the machine for my first ever flight in one.

I'd already watched a DVD on flight safety, been shown how to open and close doors and what not to do inside the helicopter as well as how to approach it without getting my head chopped off. All necessary and informative.

I listened with one ear while the rest of me buzzed like a bee on poppers.

They were called out. Sorry, we were called out for I saw myself as an extra pair of eyes. We had two jobs, some thieves in the act on a roof and a missing person thought to be near a particular location.

Up we went. It wasn't as scary as i thought it would be and then a steady zoom towards our destination. I say zoom. More a gentle jerking motion.

The thing that struck me was how small the county seemed from a few hundred feet up. It made me think of that game....Sim City. And all destinations were in straight lines. Totally alien to what you have on the ground. We could travel to places in a fraction of the time it would take for a ground unit. The pilot, a good professional ex-army man would swing the craft around so that we could see the ground better. In effect turning the windows to our sides into either a roof or a floor. That was thrilling. It also made observation much more effective.

We found nothing. With all the heavy growth on the trees and so many people around it was literally like looking for needles in haystacks.

Apparently they are better able to find people......live people that is.............at night when thermal imaging is more effective in the cooler night air and there are less people to eliminate. I found that ironic. Thieves see night-time as a better option. Maybe not so with the helicopter.

On the return we flew over my home; and hovered a short while. Wow. Mrs AWB was at home but didn't come out to wave. She later told me that she hadn't heard a thing! Deaf bugger.

We were called out again. I was more relaxed, blase even, as I gazed over the beautiful vistas and hoping it would be me who would spot whatever or whoever we were looking for.

They have a tough job, those guys. We tend to think of helicopters as all seeing. They aren't. But one of them can be the equivalent, in many circumstances, of dozens of officers on the ground.

It was great fun. It was also very informative for me in my role at the front line of dealing with the public.

A perfect combination.

Spaced

6.45 am. Tuesday morning. I woke up and could hear the telly down below. I was tired but thought I'd get up and see Mrs AWB off to work. She leaves at about seven every weekday morning. I rolled out of bed and went for a wee. I could smell food. Unusual. Mrs AWB usual gets breakfast at her works canteen.

Whilst standing there in contemplative mood I became perturbed. I couldn't remember anything of the previous evening. I'd had some wine but surely not that much? I know I'd been very tired after finishing my night shift at seven in the morning and hadn't had a lot of sleep during the day. I remember going to bed again at about 4.00 pm but.................I wracked my brain. To no avail.

I was puzzled that I was still so knackered too. I must have had a fair bit of sleep. Maybe too much? Had I been asleep since 4.00 pm the previous day? I went downstairs and saw that she had the news on. Normal for the morning and asked her what she was going to do at work.

Mrs AWB looked at me, puzzled......and then smiled. Slowly my mind started to work properly. It wasn't 6.45 am. It was still Monday. 6.45 pm. I'd been asleep for less than 3 hours.

Oh dear. That was weird.

I went back to bed at eight..................slept 'til 2.am, got up for an hour and went back to bed.

So here I am. My body clock back to normal after the surreality of turning am into pm and vice versa.

....................and some lovely rest days to enjoy.

A Moment

We all get them don't we. Those little moments that hang a hook in our minds and linger for a long time if not forever......well, the rest of our lives which when you think about it is forever in mortal terms.

I'd picked granddaughter up from school. Mrs AWB usually does that as it coincides with her leaving work on four days of the week. She was delayed and I was around so I got the privilege.

She's good company is Granddaughter; chatters away about everything and everyone. Her thoughts spill out in words. Her times for reflection are when she is alone.

The routine carries on with Daughter arriving from work in her car and all of us having tea followed by gossip and then Daughter takes Granddaughter home.

Yesterday I suggested to Granddaughter that I walk her home. Haven't done that in a while. She jumped at it and even when the skies glowered at us with threats of rain she was not to be deterred. So off we went.

Near to her home we passed some rubbish. We all live in a working class area and, like all such localities, it is prone to lazy, thoughtless dumping of stuff. This was a pair of trainers and a t-shirt. I made some comment.

'Some people are just plain scruffy' she said with a world weary intonation that quite surprised me.

'You sounded like an adult there'

'I can be very adult sometimes Granda'

I laughed as we rounded the corner to her home.

'I'm sometimes more adult than mum.'

And do you know what. She is. A perceptive little girl.

Going Gold

The first rest day after seven long shifts. Tired but needing a walk.

It's been some time since Lotherton was graced by my presence. Whilst I've been absent it has taken on some new clothes. Golden ones. The Wheat and Barley have shed their youthful green and gone golden. A sign of the advancing year. There's still a hint of green amongst the gold but in a few short weeks the transformation will be complete and then it will all be harvested. I must try to get there while that is going on.

And whilst some of the fields were resplendent in their golden robes the hedgerows have changed too. The grass seemed to want imitate the refined and regimented commercial variety and thronged the hedgerows with a shaggy wayward look as though say to the Wheat and Barley.........'Hey, you stand in your rows if you want to but it's more fun to loll like us'

Amidst all the grass flowers still bloomed. Thistles, wild geraniums and so much more. Poppies too as you can see above.

It rained a little and puddles lay along the paths. I saw a few tiny froglets - adult tadpoles or young frogs? So tiny, so vulnerable and a long way from any decent stretch of water. A few dry days will put paid to the poor things assuming some animal doesn't get them first. There is always that underlying cruelty in Nature isn't there..............a cruelty as seen from a human perspective. I was tempted to pick them up to take to a pond. I didn't. Who am I to interfere with Nature. Humans have a habit of doing that a little too much.

I found my money tree too. No more money. So I added to it.

I reckon I'm buying that tree trunk in instalments.

I got home, made a curry, drank some wine and fell asleep.

Bliss.

Missing pieces

'I've just come home from a night out and there are all these people in my home. Can you send someone to get them ?'

She sounded a little miffed but not too distressed. She sounded old too. That was the clue.

'What are they doing?'

'They're just sitting there. We've only a small house and there's just too many'

'Are they threatening you?'

'No, they're just sitting there. They won't talk to me'

She sounded flustered so I took the details. I got her name, her address.

But............

She couldn't remember her date of birth. Nor her age.

I asked for her telephone number,

'Oh, Fred knows that'

I heard her ask Fred; her husband. No answer. I imagined he wasn't there. Probably long dead.

'Oh, he's playing silly buggers and not answering' She kept asking him.

I could hear her voice and nothing else. I imagined her alone with her memories that had become a kind of reality. I wondered if it was best to leave her amongst her imaginary world.............except she did sound anxious. She knew something was not quite right but didn't have a clue as to what.

I got a unit out quickly to her......................a 'Welfare Check'. The call had come in at about 10.00pm.

We get a few calls like that. Aged people losing contact with reality; slipping into oblivion.

Imagine if that were your mum. Alone late at night and not really having a clue. Imagine the predators who lurk looking for vulnerable people like that. That call sent a little shiver down my spine.

It did the dispatchers. They didn't query my concern.

The police can often be clumsy. They are often stupid and often insensitive too.

But they do care. I've known officers attend funerals of some of these confused old people who they have maybe visited several times. Much nicer visits than those to some of the idiots they have to deal with on a day to day basis.

I liken the mind of people like that lady to jigsaws. We all grow up and build this beautiful jigsaw. Then the pieces start going astray. That lovely picture starts losing bits and pieces day by day until nothing is left.

Tonight I spoke to a poor old lady who had lost a few more pieces. I wonder how many more she must lose before the authorities finally decide she must be taken under their wing.

Thankyou for being so kind

Sometimes when I walk out of the door towards my car at the end of a long shift a line or phrase will dance in my mind. The title of this post was one from tonight and dangled in my memory as I left.

Not long earlier an old lady had rung, distressed and with that tremulous vulnerable voice that only the old can deliver. Her neighbours were having a violent domestic - not the first - and at midnight it had become too much. She'd rung just minutes before but dropped the phone and was now panicking that her first call hadn't got officers out.

I reassured her that we had most of the details. She burst into tears at the relief.

'Are you on your own?'

'No, my husband is in bed. He's 80'

I listened to her woes and made soothing noises all the while watching the screen to see if anything was on its way and telling our dispatchers how distressed she was. I added her age too. It's a game in a way. Stress the vulnerability and you get a response as we have a duty of care.

It worked. 'Dispatched' came up on the screen. I told her that they were on their way.

She broke down with relief again and uttered those words.

Not something we get very often.

Her words sung to me as I drove off, under the barrier to leave the car park. At just after one it was quiet. I like listening to the radio on my way home. They tend to play classic rock on Radio 2 at that time and tonight was good.

So up went the volume and the poor old lady receded into the background.

I like my ride home in those small hours. It's only fifteen minutes or so but I leave my headset behind and most of the job too.

Except tonight when I brought my little old lady with me so you could share her angst.

An end to a life

Someone died tonight.

No-one I knew.

But I know the address.

I know how she died too.

And in a way I shared her death.

So did a lot of others.

Strange really. Death must be such a lonely experience. Yet it is a one off that everyone experiences. That and birth are the only things that all of us have in common. We don't realise we have birth in common until after the event................but death?

We are all in death's waiting room.....we are all aware of it waiting.

The lady I refer to died a lonely death yet it ended up involving a lot of people. Every death does.

When I die that moment of passing may be lonely. Even if I'm not alone it will be on my own.

However there is no avoiding the fact that no matter how lonely our deaths are it is one event in our lives that probably involves more people than just about any other event.

The biggest irony of our lives.

Forgive me.......................finishing work at this kind of time leads to melancholia.

Looking Back

I'm getting - well, I'll correct that - I have got to the age where I have more time behind me than ahead. That doesn't worry me. Far from it. It makes me more determined to enjoy the second third or whatever of my life.

Whilst I do not not to dwell on the past I do like to think about it occasionally. And what better way than to trawl through old photos. Digital is easy. I log and look through old files. They go back 8 years or so. Beyond that is all up in the loft.

One day.

Granddaughter was one and a half when these were taken. The smiling one is typical. Ever the happy child. A pleasure to be around. The one below, I think, is the only one we have ever got of her being sad. It didn't last though. I think she enjoyed the drama.

A Day at the Races

"With grim determination he takes the curve.............." I won too..................I lapped at least one other driver. It was surprisingly difficult. Bumpy. No power steering and with your arse almost on the floor the sedate speed, as it seemed to the observer, was like formula one to the driver and passenger. Granddaughter enjoyed it as you can see.

Well, you get the drift. We went to Lightwater Valley early today; all four of us. Grandma, Daughter, Granddaughter and me. I got elected to be 'The Ride Companion' for Granddaughter. It worked out quite well as Granddaughter is not one fr the really scary rides and although I would have gone with her I much prefer the fun things.

Like the one you see.

And the Dodgems. We got soaked on the 'Rapids'.

..........and as for the 'Raptor Ride', well that was 'weird' to use Granddaughter's words. A sort of scary version of the ghost train; remember those?. This was a roller coaster in the dark with flashing images of.....yeah......raptors. We queued for an hour for that.

Just me and her. It was nice.

There are some days you remember, that stay in your mind. This was one. Hence the post and the photo. I took loads more.

I'm lucky. I get to bond with my Granddaughter in a way that most Grandfathers cannot. I don't have a dad to compete with you see. It's sad for the little girl but she seems to cope.

I do my best but I do worry that her view of men is not as good as it could be.

But then I suppose that she has as much if not more of me than some daughters do their fathers. And she gets an unconditional love that I'm not so sure I was able to give to my daughter when I look back.

You can only do your best.

Month by Month..........

...........the garden do change. That fresh growth of spring and early summer has now turned into what sometimes seems like a floral bun fight as plants compete for space. Sometimes this can work and look glorious. Sometimes not. I like the blue Geranium, in its last flurry of energy, intertwined with the Mauve Hosta flowers with the yellow -Chrysanthemums I think - hovering to the side. It kinda works.

But the garden does take more work now. Tying up, weeding, dead-heading amongst other things.

Today was a close, sultry day. The slightest exertion bringing on a sweat.

And an excuse for another cold beer.

A Public Execution?

We haven't changed have we. We think we have. However, give us some powdered wigs and three-cornered hats and we'd fit nicely in with our ancestors of 250 years ago who regarded a hanging as an afternoon out.

I'm talking about Raoul Moat. I'm not providing links because I don't want to join in.

I looked at the news earlier this evening and spent five minutes watching one of the broadcasters talking to a guy who had seen Moat. The man described what Moat had been doing. He'd seen him put a gun to his own head. The broadcaster then repeated, pretty well word for word, what the guy had said.

And then the whole thing seemed to get repeated but with a variation in the words. It took about a minute for me to get the message; get the news.

That's rolling 'news' for you.

I switched over and, thankfully, caught a lovely film. A romantic film, A Good Year. Lovely. Wistful. The cinematography was sublime.

After it finished I briefly had a look at the news again. Still going on.

Not for me. This isn't news anymore. The guy is cornered and he will either give himself up or shoot himself.

Yet people will be watching. And for the BBC it is some people's job to be involved in this.

I find the whole thing uncomfortable. Glad I watched my film.

Joy

If you look for joy you'll find her. She's not always obvious and sometimes hides behind frustration and other negative characters. Unobtrusive she may be but if you make the effort and seek her out she will reward you with a view of your life that the others can never emulate for they only look inwards.

I finished the last of my 'half nights' last night - sorry, this morning. Half nights are the '5.00pm to 2.00 or 3.00am shifts. They are the hardest. Days are steady with a high proportion of 'normal' people. Full nights - 9.00pm yo 7.00am are just strange and surreal. They can be great fun at say, 4.00am. Just try to imagine the sort of people who will ring the police at that time. Half nights are just constant. This last few were the busiest I've known.

Anyway, I'm rambling as I often do. I got back not long after two and there on the kitchen top was a new bottle of whisky and a bottle of ginger ale. My wife had been out after a busy day and thought of me.

It set me up. A large whisky and ginger and I was ready for my 4 day break. Joy.

I was supposed to be going for a ride in our helicopter today but, alas, it was cancelled. Frustration hovered at my side waiting to join in any negativity I might want indulge in. He didn't get far.

Instead of riding in the skies I've been preparing a meal that has some of Mrs AWB and Granddaughter's favourites. Granda's home-made pesto, Granda's meatballs - sorry - and Granda's special garlic mushrooms.

I'm going to make a pesto sauce for some broccoli that she loves and greet her at the door with a spoonful of the pesto. Her smile and appreciation will be my reward.

Better than the 'copter ride really.

Joy.

Like I said. She's there if you look.

I'm tired now..........think I'll take Joy to bed.

A Ghost in the Night

A 999 call. Early hours. Young female voice, sounds of heavy traffic for this time of night/morning.

'I've run away. They're after me'

'Who are?'

Garbled answer. Something about being hurt by someone. The line was poor. This was going to be a stinker.

'Where are you?' Location, location, location. The most important part of our job. We are powerless if we don't know where to go.

'Near the Bus Depot'

'Which town?'

'Don't know. I'm not from round here' Oh dear, we are talking about an entire county. At least she was talking and the line was better. She was articulate too.

'Find a street sign please', I explained why.

After a minute or so of trying to get one she found one that gave me a result on my mapping system. Bingo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Now to find out what the problem was. I sent it off to dispatch for them to find a unit to deal with it. They watched my log with interest.

'Where are you running from?'

'Nowhere' Oh dear.

'Can I have your name?'

'No. I'm nobody' I tried a few ways to get an answer but met with a similar response. This was an emergency, but not for the reason I had originally thought. I suspected an escapee from somewhere. She did tell me she was 18.

'Are you warm?' Silly question? No. I'll tell you why. I've learnt that some people with emotional or mental health issues play a kind of game. They give you enough information to get the help they know they need but if asked anything direct they'll fob you off and become unpredictable. It's a sort of game...........with the potential for a nasty result.

I wanted to know if she was in nightwear.

'No, I'm not' It was a mild night.

'What are you wearing?' I figured that although it was direct it did sort of link with what we'd talked about.

'Pyjamas and a coat' Bingo again!!!!. She'd played along and there was enough for the officers to find her.

I waited to hear the sirens. I knew a unit had been dispatched. Nerve wracking.

'There's broken glass' she said, 'I've not hurt myself'. I suspected she was teasing me now.

I kept her talking while I waited. She asked me to stay with her. She was lonely. She told me stuff.

I kept typing.

I waited.

A voice.

A soft female voice, 'Are you alright?'...............and the signal on my log from dispatch that the unit had arrived. I cleared and took a deep breath.

They hadn't put the sirens on. They'd slid up beside her and arrived without fanfare, without potentially scaring her into something stupid. And they'd found a female officer. I was impressed.

Sensitive.

The Police?

Yeah, sometimes. She was safe.

Oh how sad.

Never did get her name.

After that I talked to a sweet old lady who was convinced that 'they' were coming to steal her bedclothes. Huh? She wanted reassurance that daylight wasn't too far off. I gave her that and chatted nicely to her. She thanked me for being kind and cleared the line a little less anxious.

Isolation

Some jobs can isolate you. All sorts of reasons. With some it's the nature of the work. I can't imagine an abattoir worker being chatty about his work, 'Slaughtered twenty lambs today'. Or someone working in some sensitive government department, 'I bet you didn't know that the shop on ####### street is really a...............'. And what about the sex worker, 'I showed someone how to do double entry today' - I hope you get the joke.

Some isolate you because you have to keep a secret. Others because of society's perception of what you do.

Mine isolates me because of the times I work. It's a purely physical thing. I'm here now when most are at work. I'll drive home when most are in bed.

This morning I emailed and phoned several friends. You learn who your real friends are. One of my best friends I hardly see at all now. I used to do all the running and now that I cannot it is not reciprocated. On the other hand I had two old friends chase me on the phone this morning.

And another loyal friend sent me a nice email.

Sometimes when things become that little bit harder you realise that some people are not prepared to make that effort, to jump through that extra hoop.

It's not a bad way to find out who matters.......................and who you matter to.

And just to confuse you more............

............all the comments arrived at once just like the number 6 bus and are now on.

Even though they are hiding behind '0 comments'.

Click on the comments button and you'll see them

What's going on?

I've had a couple of comments disappear for no reason. I click on the comment to view and the 'No unmoderated comments' appears. They will probably turn up. It happened a couple of weeks ago with one of 'Klahanie's' and that popped in after a couple of days.

So folks, I'm not deleting your comments, it's this bloody system.

I wonder if it's because I've changed my template?

Revisiting the past

I got a phone call from an ex client this morning. A lovely woman who I 'serviced' for a fair few years, including advising through a messy divorce. I made a lot of money from her, got recommends for new clients and also did a lot of work 'gratis' too. She was one of those who I really looked forward to seeing and who I regarded as a kind of friend. I had a lot of contact with her. Latterly she'd needed less work from me so I saw her less often, maybe once in the last year of my business.

When I sold my business I tried to ensure that all my regular clients got to know. Unfortunately I overlooked her and so when she phoned me this morning it was for financial advice. When I told her what I had done and told her why it wasn't a case of being disappointed for not being told. No, she was curious and after being told was genuinely pleased for me. I got a twinge of regret that I probably wouldn't see her again. I was able to do a friend still in the business a favour though. He's got her as a contact now.

We had a long talk about work, careers and such like. She is well paid and good at her job. A top saleswoman in a niche market. A male dominated market in a macho business. I respect her immensely for what she has achieved.

However it has come at a cost. We discussed how work can affect your health. Hers is showing signs of being affected now. She envied me my ability to have the kind of work that I can leave at the door. I couldn't with my old job. She can't with her current one. And she does not have the luxury of being able to take a lower paid job to escape that too. So yes, she did envy me.

And I realised that, though I miss some aspects of what I used to do........and the money........I have no real regrets.

OK, there are some limits to what I can do financially compared to what I could do a few short years ago. They are, however, minor sacrifices compared to what I have gained.

And those things that I have had to ration? I just savour them and value them even more than I did before.

Win win really.

An Army of Plants

This morning I took a ride over to Temple Newsam specifically to see the Delphinium collection. I went there last year and it was exquisite. I'm sure I will have blogged it. The thing with the place is that there is just so much; parkland, fomal gardens, lakes, flower collections.

A fox ran across my path as I walked down towards the walled garden.

It is beautifully cared for by an army of gardeners. This guy matched the Sun Flowers; green body with a yellow head. I chatted to him and he was happy to exclaim how privileged he was working there. It's a privilege seeing the work of guys like that come to fruition. The wide borders within the walled garden are some of the best around.

The centre of the walled garden is the domain of swathes of Rose beds. This one struck me.

And at the top end of the walled garden you have a long hot house full of colour.

A glimpse of the scale of the borders and the rose beds

Finally I got to what I had come for. It didn't open until 11.00 am and I was there half an hour early. A gardener with a hand pump came out of the gate and saw my disappointment.

'Hang on for ten minutes' he said, 'The spray will have evaporated by then and then you can pop in. The gate's open'

So I got to have the place to myself, although there weren't many around anyway.

Those delphiniums look like so many soldiers standing to attention. I took loads of photos. this is just one of a small section of the place to give a flavour.

I enjoyed reviewing the Harlequin Army.

A base thing

It's the start of many a cooking session isn't it, particularly curries. Chopped onions softening gently as an appetiser for all the things you'll add to them as you proceed. I love that beginning when all is promise and any mistakes are as yet unknown. You still have the dream of a perfect meal ahead of you. Above there are 6 onions with 2 or 3 chopped garlic cloves and a similar amount of chopped ginger. It's worth it for the smell alone.

In the little bowl to the left is a tspn of ground Cumin, 2 of ground Coriander, one half each of Chilli and Turmeric. on top you can see a tspn of those Fenugreek leaves I went chasing after to the market. All that way for a bloody teaspoon of the stuff. Added to that were a couple of Bay leaves, 5 crushed Cardamom pods and a tspn of my home made Garam Masala.

Cooked off for a while it smelt glorious. I then added a pack of sieved tomatoes and a splat of Tomato puree and then let it simmer for a while.

Once cooled it went in a processor and was transformed into a lovely Balti sauce. A great base for all sorts of things.

You can see the result below in the red saucy dishes and it's something I'll repeat. You can freeze the finished product.

And it was pretty good too. Granddaughter did not want to be interrupted.

A Mission

Yesterday I announced that I'd like to create a great curry feast for today. I fancied doing the whole thing from scratch and once I have that mindset I get tunnel visioned. Some people would call it focus. It stemmed from a read through an old recipe book I had. 'Balti' it's called and I think I got it at some second-hand shop.

I found some recipes that I liked and thought I could do and decided to try something I've never done; make my own Garam Masala.

I drew up a list checked what we had in stock and off I went shopping. I managed to get everything except one thing; dried Fenugreek leaves. That meant a trip to the market and a specialist spice stall. It all took some time. See what I mean; a mission.

This morning I was up at six and had the pan on to roast the whole spices for the Garam Masala. Cumin seeds, Cardamom pods, Cloves, Black peppercorns, a Cinnamon stick, Star Anise, Bay leaves and dried Mint are all in that little pan.

And the aroma. Oh my word. I whizzed it up in a whizzer and ended up with the most exotic smelling creation I think I've ever made. I made a spice mix for the Baltis and a sauce as well as all sorts of other things. Seven dishes in total. And yes, the Fenugreek leaves did get used in the Balti sauce. I made chicken dishes, a Lamb dish, a dish with baby aubergines, another with mushrooms and more.

I was in heaven while making it and stayed there when it was appreciated. I've come to the conclusion that spices for me are what chocolate is for a lot of women; a sex substitute. You get all the nuances, undercurrents and variety - just like sex - with spices more than you do chocolate though LOL.

I don't think I'll ever buy ready made Garam Masala again.

And what is the Pestle and Mortar doing down there? Ostensibly to crack open a few Cardamom pods for a couple of the recipes.

There is another reason too. The Pestle is a stone that Granddaughter found on one of our beach combing days last year.

When I use it I always think of her. I made her a special Korma.

I've been playing

Fancied a change. Don't be surprised if it morphs again.

It's rather fun tweeking my little world.

The July Garden

In my mind Summer has reached the pinnacle now. Most seem to think of August as the height of Summer and yes, it is usually the warmest time of the year.

But in another month that view of my garden will change. The Hostas will look tired. The Campanulas will have died off. The lovely blue Geranium (I think it's the common old Johnson's Blue) will be past its best.

In May all is new and fresh, plants fighting to grow. June sees the results of much of that growth with everything big and bold but still new. July starts to see the first signs of fatigue in the year as more of the early risers die off to give way to the late bloomers. Things start to get a bit messy, you have to tie stuff back, stick restraining hoops in - that Geranium must have at least three holding it in. And the dead heading starts in earnest now.

Just as with people maturity comes with those first signs of aging, of decay. Next month we will see more of that even as the summer reaches its peak of balmy warmth - our weather permitting of course.

It's all lovely but in the weeks to come when I look at those magnificent Hosta leaves beginning to look battered and brown I will think of how I have aged too - no longer the magnificent Hosta but a tired old leaf. The year, for me, has started to don the clothing of middle age.

The garden, like a middle aged human is still beautiful. In fact, like a middle aged human it has, and will, develop a grand magnificence that fresh youth cannot compete with.

But within that beauty there will be reminders of what will come. Those tired old Hosta leaves will be one of those reminders just as my grey hairs are now for me.

An Open Book

Are you?

Few are. I like to think I'm open but in reality I'm probably as closed as the next man. To most people. I choose who I reveal my pages to. And I bluff as much as anyone I suppose.

Yesterday I met a close friend and opened up more than is normal for me. I said things about myself that I haven't told anyone else; not even Mrs AWB who is privy to most of me. My friend questioned and challenged me too. Made me think.

Made me a little uncomfortable even.

It was good. I had a mirror held up to me.

I've often held that mirror myself and don't always like what I see. Having it held by a friend was new and not as frightening as I thought it might be; it allowed a discussion about it too.

Allowing someone else into your inner thoughts is a dangerous and nerve wracking experience.

But maybe not as dangerous as wandering around amongst your own doubts and inner self, alone without anyone else to provide a more balanced view.

That someone has to be trustworthy though.

An Interesting Link

I've added it to my sidebar.

Sobering;

http://breathingearth.net/

Carefree

This is a post designed for me to read maybe in the middle of a set of tiring shifts when my nerves are brittle and I'm starting to feel the effects of the stress that is part of the job.

You see, once we walk out of 'The Room', we leave the job behind. Any mistakes, any cock-ups will have been dealt with and the next shift, the next phone call, will be a brand new job with no legacy left over from what you have done before.

That, I can tell you, is such a boon that I still celebrate it. I've never really had a job or career that I can leave when I'm not doing it. How many of you take your work home; if not physically then as baggage within your mind? How often do you lie in bed at night mulling and fretting over what has happened, or worse, what you've got to do tomorrow. How many of you, on a Sunday night, fret over that deadline or meeting you've got to deal with on the Monday. Been there and, on occasion, had weekends spoilt by the worry.

I don't have that. Yes, I have the unknown to look forward to and occasionally get nervous about, but the upside is that I don't get any worries about impending work that 'needs to be done'.

I think I'd rather have the fear of the unknown as to the fear of the known.

So here I am at the start of four rest days. I'm not back until Monday evening. It's like a mini holiday.

Today will be chilling, a little shopping, maybe a walk, maybe.................ooh I don't know; whatever I want. the only thing I HAVE to do is pick up Granddaughter from school. Not onerous is it,

Tomorrow I'm seeing a lovely friend who is always good fun to meet up with.

Then a weekend with family and messing about.

Oh my word, I cannot express how nice it is to be me at this time with so many good things to see, do and be a part of.

I'll try to remember that when I'm feeling low.