The Disreputable one and the nasty case of the travelator nun pile-up
My Disreputable Dad popped by for a cuppa today. He does make me laugh. He was telling me about his business trip to Santo Domingo (I don’t know either, you’ll have to look it up).
I’m really not sure he should travel alone. He was telling me about the amazing seats Iberia have in business class now – there are loads of buttons and apparently you can lie almost horizontal ‘although when I was just waking up, I pushed the button of the lady sitting next to me instead of my own and shot her bolt upright from her reclining position, in the process showering herself with hot coffee’. Oops.
He was also telling me about the nasty cut on his calf:
DD: ‘Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you’.
Me: ‘Go on, try me’
DD: ‘Well, I was on one of those travelator things in the airport, and there were a load of nuns pushing wheelchairs…’
Me: ‘Rrriiiiggghhhht… empty wheelchairs?’
DD: ‘No! Wheelchairs full of old people and people with no legs and things.. So we’re all going along this travelator, and there’s a nun pushing a wheelchair in the front, then another nun pushing a wheelchair behind her, then an old man, then me, then another nun pushing a wheelchair…’
Failing to see how this could possibly have caused the nasty cut on the back of his calf, I allowed him to push on.
DD: ‘So we get to the end of the travelator, and the nun at the front doesn’t realise that you’ve got to lift the front wheels of the wheelchair over the little lip. So her wheels stick fast and her wheelchair stops dead, then the nun pushing the wheelchair behind her piles into the back of her, then I pile into them, the old man falls flailing to the floor, then the nun behind us rams into the back of me. Hence the cut calf.
Me: ‘OMG! What happened next?’
DD: ‘Well then the first nun realised her mistake, lifted the wheels of the wheelchair up and everybody started moving again and fell onto the floor in a big heap.’
‘Nuns’, he informed me solemnly, ‘are the worst drivers in the world’ (this is actually true – ask anyone who’s lived in Ireland).
You just couldn’t make it up.
Disreputable apple crumble
My Disreputable Dad is back from his holidays. Bronzed and beautiful.
Two weeks in the south of France. They ate in the same restaurant every night.
‘Every night?’, I ask, incredulous.
‘Well yes’, he says, ‘except one. Their steak frites was incredible. We tried another restaurant for one night, but it wasn’t as good, so we went back to the original one’.
He’s a creature of habit, my father.
On my visit, we walked around his beautiful garden. The plum trees are groaning with hard, green fruit. A bumper crop.
And the apples got so heavy that they actually broke the bough of the tree.
I left with treasure of the appley variety.
Perfect for rustling up a simple apple crumble:
.
Apple Crumble
500g apple (weigh after peeling and coring)
Sugar for sweetening the fruit
175g plain flour
110g cold butter, cubed
110g golden caster sugar
Preheat the oven to 190 degrees/gas 5. Then just tumble the apples into a baking dish and sprinkle on a little sugar (these apples weren’t too sour, but taste one to judge how much sugar you’ll need to add). If your apples are a bit ‘floury’ (like Bramleys can be sometimes), you might need to add a splash of water or fruit juice.
In a bowl, rub the butter into the flour gently with the ends of your fingers until the mixture looks like breadcrumbs. Don’t make it too uniform – the odd lump of butter is nice.
Stir in the sugar. If you like here you can add a handful of porridge oats, some nuts, orange zest, cinnamon… whatever you fancy.
Sprinkle over the fruit and bake for about 30 minutes until the fruit is tender and the top golden.
So thanks Dad. I’ll be back when the plums ripen too.
Dressed fleas, the Disreputable One and free Pizza Hut pizza
When we were little, the Disreputable One (and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me saying this), wasn’t around all the time. He worked in foreign countries for long periods, and we missed him a lot.
When he was back, though, there was always great excitement at the mention of ‘a trip’. These trips were legendary. Oh, they weren’t holidays or vastly expensive days out (although we did those too – some of my happiest childhood memories involve screaming my head off at the field gun competition at The Royal Tournament, or making faces at waxworks at Madame Tussauds), no I’m talking about the adventures that don’t cost a bean – climbing to the top of Ashridge Monument and being gobsmacked at the view across the treetops, looking through magnifying glasses at the dressed fleas at the Natural History Museum at Tring (it’s still free to get in – I wonder if the fleas are still there).
My Mum and Dad always had great enthusiasm for days out – they’re both keen on building memories, and still often take my own two out on mini adventures. Kids remember the weirdest things – I have fond memories driving into London to see the Christmas lights (an exciting trip made after bedtime). It was absolutely magical.
So build a few memories for your own kids – you’ll be amazed at the simple things that will delight them. And on the way home, pop in to Pizza Hut where their Kids Eat Free offer has been extended until 9 January 2011 and for every adult main course or lunchtime buffet purchased, your child can choose from either a free 2 course kids meal including a drink or a free lunchtime buffet.
Find more details about the offer here.
For more information on the little Natural History Museum at Tring, click here
Go on, build some memories.
The Friday photo: please look after this bear
So after months of planning, #1, the Mad Professor, has gone to visit The Disreputable One and EnglishGrandma (not together, obviously) - they have five days of carefully planned custody each, plus two neutral territory days with my brother, the Lycheeni demon: Uncle I, Auntie L and the fleas (what? no of course I wouldn’t let him stay with Mad Uncle Alg. Are you mad? – he’ll no doubt take him out for alcohol and loose women somewhere during the trip).
The build up to this event was more than stressful, and involved me doing this approximately every five minutes:
‘So keep your passport and boarding card safe, and don’t talk to anyone, and don’t wander round the shops and lose track of time, just get to your gate quickly okay? And don’t put your bag down at all. And leave plenty of time to walk to your gate…’
#1: ‘Yup’
I was worrying that it wasn’t all sinking in, especially when, in the car on the way to the airport, his précis of the task in hand went:
‘and I have to go to the checkpoint place and, like, sign in yeah?’
Oh God.
So anyhoo, I took him to the airport, I signed a disclaimer at the Aer Lingus desk (basically a piece of paper that says ‘no of course I don’t give a shit about my child, otherwise why would I be letting him travel on his own all the way to England without anyone to look after him?, and if you happen to lose him or kill him well sod it, that’s fine with me, I didn’t want him anyway’), and walked him through to security.
We hugged. We kissed. We hugged again. I squeezed tighter. I might have detected a little tremble.
He went through.
He looked back at me with a slightly wobbly smile and all of a sudden didn’t look like the clever 14 year old Mad Professor, but like a little lost and slightly bewildered toddler again.
I sent him a text from the car park which said: ‘now remember, don’t go shopping, just get to your boarding gate, it shuts at 4.30′.
No reply.
I send another: ‘oy. Are you at your bloody gate or not?’
Finally the phone beeps:
‘Yeah mam. Of course. Lol.’
So I drive home, worrying, and by the time I get home he’s in the air (hopefully) and there’s nothing I can do but wait for the phonecall. It comes. It’s my Dad’s mobile. Oh good grief…
Disreputable One: ‘Did the child not get on the flight? I waited ages at arrivals and there’s nobody here…’
I think I might actually be sick.
And then…
#1: ‘Ahaha yeah, I’m here. Everything’s savage. Grandad was here to meet me. Oh and I spent all my money at the airport. What? Yeah, the Euro and the Sterling. What? On some savage PSP games! Ah it doesn’t matter, I’ll get some off Grandad. Yeah, and I had to sit squished between these two massive Polish blokes, and one stole my window seat. No of course I didn’t say anything, he was, like, HUGE! Yeah love you bye’.
So that’s it. My world is a quieter place for a week and a half. Bert will have to find other comfy perches in the garden:
And his Grandparents? Well, I hope they’ve got plenty of food in…
Which leads me swiftly onto other news and here, in all its glory, is Anouk’s rather luscious version of my Rhubarb Crumble Traybake thingy, which has the right amount of rhubarb, and which looks a lot more gorgeous than mine:
The oldie but goodie photo challenge: results so far
First up, there’s little teeny Don’t Bug Me - isn’t she cute? Who’d have known she’d grow up to be a really clever doctor of insecty stuff (erm, bit foggy on that bit). And she assures me she didn’t receive any splinterage to her tender places…
And here’s me Ma, frolicking in the surf with her cousin. Ahhhh….
And finally, here’s a little #1 telling his Disreputable Grandad something of vital importance:
And here’s Val’s Kodak moment - ooh, sparkly!! How’s your hunt going? Anyone else found some crackers?
Ooh, and here’s Natalie’s one over at Eire Rules – cuteness!!!
The Friday photo: more oldies (no nudies this time)
Ah, there’s a lot of girly squealing around English Towers at the moment. No, it’s not Hubby chopping the wood and missing, that was last week – it’s me Ma with the photos. From the same batch as the last lot, here’s me and the Disreputable one getting off the plane. I LOVE this - only DD would wear the full shiny buttoned blazer/sunglasses/shirt and tie ensemble to go on holiday. Mind you, he looks rather dashing (lovin’ those sideburns Dad dad daddyo):
And here’s Mad Uncle Alg in the same fancy dress party (but looking a lot less pleased about it):
And this is the one that caused all the hilarity. Look at Sensible Uncle I (although we really should think of a new name for him after the Lycheeni debacle at Christmas). Giddyup!:
And who says I’ve never been fashionable? Here’s me working the jumpsuit, years ahead of my time:
I’m loving this, Ma. Next!
The Friday photo: a film about Morris dancing? Yay!
So remember that every time we visit the Disreputable One we have to go and watch bloody Morris dancing? The kids love it and to be honest, it’s a bit of a craic so when I found out that a friend of a dear friend made this cracking movie about Morris dancing, I just had to have a shufty. And seriously, it looks really good fun.
Starring Greg Wise, Sir Derek Jacobi, Sophie Thompson and the lovely Richard Lumsden (left in photo – remember him in the Catherine Tate show?) it’s right laugh, and a bit reminiscent of the sort of tongue in cheek Hot Fuzz stuff that my kiddlies adore. Here’s the trailer. Go and visit the website here and sign the petition for the film to go on general release. Those Morris dancers need you.
EDIT: I’ve had to remove the trailer because, frankly, it’s driving me crackers every time I log in. But you can still see it on the website.
Oh, and for all of you who send me an email every time I don’t put Bert up as the Friday photo, here he is giving his shoe collection a quick cuddle. Enjoy!
Altogether now: Oh. My. God!
So lovely Kieron the postie’s back at work today. And true to form this morning found him whizzing up the drive to English Towers in his little green van. He bought me a parcel. Not just any parcel though; the best parcel a girl could possibly wish for. Four big fat slabs of chocolate from the divine, sublime Hotel Chocolat from the Disreputable One. He may well think I’m still 18 but bloody hell, I don’t care if he sends parcels like this little baby. Hell, I’ll even backcomb my hair and sing ’99 Red Balloons’ if it makes him happy. First up, then people, we have the classic fusion of milk, dark and plain chocolate – a big, huge, chunky wodge of it:
Bit ‘conventional’ for you, maybe? Okay, perhaps you’d prefer the scrumptious Caramellow: “caramel milk chocolate drops, cinder toffee and tiny pieces of caramelised hazelnut stirred into a swirled fusion of caramel chocolate and milk chocolate”. Oh yeah. Drooling yet? But hang on, maybe – just maybe - you’d prefer some Rocky Road…
“Handmade chocolate chip cookies, generous white chocolate chunks and lively pieces of puffed rice all stirred into a silky smooth Belgium 70:30 milk and dark chocolate fusion”. My favourite, by a country mile, though, is the Praline White chocolate. I can’t find the official description on their website, but no matter, because shortly it will have been devoured.
Pop round and share it. No, really. I’ll save you some.
In which the Englishes visit Bellinter
Back live, then, after a bank holiday weekend of fun and frolics with the Disreputable One and his better younger other half (seriously, someone’s got to rein him in – she has her work cut out). Bert lubs his Disreputable Grandad and the feeling’s slightly mutual – although he drew the line at being accompanied into the bathroom (Bert had to be hoiked off Grandad’s towel, where he’d curled up and gone to sleep).
First off, then, we went down to the lough where the smalls spent a happy hour messing about in boats while we got the Guinness in (when in Rome, and all that):
The smalls set sail
I have to say that I did get a teeny bit worried when they pedalled so far out that they became just a idgy speck on the horizon, but nothing that a few beers in the bar wouldn’t solve.
Yesterday, though, was the highlight of the visit when we finally got to visit Bellinter House in Navan. I’ve been dying to go for ages and it was definitely worthwhile. Here’s the smalls with their beloved Grandad outside the front door:
Say cheese!
Worryingly, to get to the restaurant you have to climb down a very scary spiral staircase (bit dodgy for RoboGrandad with his titanium knees, but he managed – could probably smell the wine), but once you’re down there, the dining room is light and airy with quite a trendy 60s feel to it (as usual my photography is more David Jason than David Bailey):
Dig those funky chairs, baby
The food, though, was absolutely spectacular, complemented perfectly by a couple of bottles of amazingly good chilled Rosé. Highlights included Eden Smokies (smoked haddock, spring onions, crème fraiche and cheddar – yum), and our roasted cod main course on a bed of bashed up potatoes (I’m sure there’s a technical term) and the most amazing asparagus:
My roasted cod - no drooling, now.
The desserts were nothing short of mindblowing. Get #1′s beautifully presented raspberry and chocolate gateau (sorry about the tongue, he was desperate):
'Corrrrrrr, flippin' eck!'
…and my Iced Nougat in some sort of apricot coulis stuff:
A masterpiece (didn't last long)
#2 with Diarmuid's balls *snigger*
So I’ll give you two guesses who unscrewed one of the balls and bowled a googly with it down the garden. Tsk.
Pixmania: could they GET any more crap?
Right, indulge me here. I’m going to dazzle you with incompetence, the like of which you’re never likely to see again in your lifetime. You may know part of the story but hey, indulge me.
Monday 14th July – we’ve received your order!
On the Monday, we decide to buy my Dad a camera. I go to Pixmania.com, find a nice black one that’s in stock and order it. I pay for it, and receive an email confirming that the delivery will be 3-4 days. Fab, says I, that means it’ll deffo be here by his birthday.
Tuesday 16th July – oh dear, it’s not really in stock after all
But uh-oh, Pixmania have other ideas. They send me another email telling me that the camera is out of stock. This is not good news.
Every time you contact them, you have to find the little FAQ bit on their website, pick the heading and the subheading that best apply to your problem, and then fill in a little box. A customer service email address? Pah, that would be too easy.
I fill in the little box explaining that it’s my Dad’s birthday and I don’t want him to be disappointed. Isn’t there another lovely camera that you could send him please?
Ooh, I get an email – ‘yessiree‘, say ‘Team Pixmania’, ‘we’ve got green, red or orange in stock!!!‘
I go to the FAQ bit, pick the heading and the subheading and fill in the little box again. Please can you send him a red one? I’m in a bit of a fucking hurry.
Wednesday 17th July – erm we think we’re sending the red one – are we?
I get another email from Pixmania. This time it says ‘I would like to inform you that your request has been sent to the After Sales Department. As soon as we have an answer from them, we will get back to you with further information.’ Have I ordered the red one now, then? I’m not rightly sure.
Thursday 18th July – don’t know what the hell’s happening with your order, but do you fancy a barbie?
No reply from Team Pixmania, but they send me an email telling me they’ve got 58% of barbecues! Woop de fucking doo.
Friday 19th July – we’ll just ignore her. She might go away
I don’t hear anything still, so guess what?
I go to the FAQ bit, pick the heading and the subheading and fill in the little box again. I’m getting a bit cross now, I tell them, it’s my Dad’s birthday on Sunday. Please can you send him a fucking camera? I don’t care if it’s red, black or sky blue bloody pink. Oh, and get someone with a brain to contact me. OKAY?
Guess what? I’m ignored. Dad’s birthday comes and goes and he gets… er… fuck all.
Tuesday 22nd July – I know, let’s really piss her off and send the black one
So then I get another email pretending nothing out of the ordinary has happened and informing me that they’ve received my order for a BLACK camera and it’ll be delivered in 3-4 days! So guess what?
I go to the FAQ bit, pick the heading and the subheading and fill in the little box again. Hang on, I say, I thought you were sending a black one last week? What happened to the red one? Am I going to get a camera at all? Please? Pretty please? I suppose I’m not really in a hurry now because the poor old sod’s birthday has come and gone, but still, I think he’d still like a camera, don’t you?
And guess what? They reply!
Further to your last e-mail, I would like to inform you that the Black Camera has come back to stock as the Red one is out of stock at the moment. A request has been sent to the After Sales Department to resend you the Black Camera.
Friday 25th July – we’ve got our fingers in our ears: la la la la!
Still nothing. I’m REALLY REALLY CROSS now, so I get my bloody telephone and I bloody ring them. Eventually I am put through to perhaps the stupidest woman in the whole world, who tells me that yes, my camera is in stock and being prepared for despatch. Yes, it will be despatched shortly She thinks it’ll arrive on Tuesday. And no, she can’t tell me exactly when, and no, she can’t put me through to a supervisor, or a manager, because they’re in Paris, and no, she can’t help me any further. Good day. I stare at the phone for a long, long time.
And then I go back to the website, I go to the FAQ bit, pick the heading and the subheading and fill in the little box again. This time I’m really rude. I tell them they’re useless tossers, that all I wanted was a bloody camera for my Dad’s bloody birthday and they couldn’t even handle such a simple fucking request without messing it up. Adding, for good measure, that they should all go and boil their heads.
I get another email. The order’s being prepared in our warehouse and is due to be despatched shortly!
Saturday 26th July – I know! Let’s REALLY piss her off!
I get another email. This time, it’s serious. We take great care when we process orders so that deliveries are made within the deadlines stated…
it says, without barely a hint of a smirk. But wait…
…however, a technical incident in our logistics platform has delayed the distribution of your order. Your order will therefore be delivered with a delay of 24 to 48 hours.
Ha.
Monday 28th July – send it? Ooooh, we might. Then again, we might not. It depends how we’re feeling…
So that’s it. That’s how the land lies so far. Just for the hell of it, just for FUN, I’ve gone back to the website, gone to the ridiculous FAQ bit, picked the heading and the subheading and filled in the little box again, this time asking exactly what a technical incident in our logistics platform is, and whether maybe, just maybe, my Dad’s likely to ever see a camera before he gets so old he can no longer hold the bloody thing.
Right, if you’re still here well done. I’m boring myself now. I’m off out into the garden where I’m going to find a nice solid object and smash my head against it repeatedly.
