A speedy blog to catch the date and then to return to add more. Picture 1 was taken deliberately as 'blog material' and as I said yesterday I used my tripod. It's strictly 'as is' of Hardwick Lake, close to the car-park.Comments......Bungus, I don't understand why yesterday's snap was hard on Duggie? Striding manfully in front, shows him in a good light, I thought. Re tonight's 'judging' - he was fine with the projected images, except for missing what seemed to me (and Roy) to miss the cloning-in of a ballet-dancer in the winning picture. We could be wrong I suppose but rays of sunlight in a wood passed straight through her without illuminating her at all. I suppose she could have been a fairy and sunbeams are in the same category as the devil not casting a shadow. Nice picture though, even if chocolate-boxy. Close-up scrutiny would be necessary.
Sorry - I didn't return. More will follow tomorrow......
1 comment:
What was hard on Duggie the pathfinder was that the picture wasn't there. Now he has appeared, exiting Stage Left
The ramblings of the ballet dancer/fairy in the woods mean nothing to anyone who hasn't seen the evidence.
There are relatively few new experiences for septuagenarians but I managed one on Thursday, namely, sprats.
I had a pound or so for my lunch, dusted with seasoned flour and dry fried, eaten with a light sprinkling of cayenne, a generous dose of lemon juice, and a cob & butter. I only managed half of the silvery little fellas before I was sated, to the delight of Ralph. For anyone else who has never tried them: the taste, as might be expected, was much like the parent herring or pilchard and they are very easy to eat with the fingers, the flesh just falling off the bones. Against fish-book advice I had removed the heads and guts.
This is the season for them and, although I enjoyed them, once a year sounds about right. But I think I may try fresh sardines once more, in the early Spring, cooked the same way. It seems that what are now known as sardines are what used to be called pilchards – but nobody wanted pilchards so they canned them with tomato sauce and people bought them to feed the cat. The power of marketing and fashion, hey?
They sprats, however, did swim more or less straight through me, aha - but my stomach do be a bit delicate at the moment, Jim lad.
Sandra bought them Wed night off Tesco’s reduced counter, from which she also obtained a good looking, dark red piece of Scottish rump steak, complete with details of origin and lengthy hanging. It looked lovely on the plate, straight from the George Foreman, when I had it later for my supper with roast veg (potatoes, parsnip, shallots, a large mushroom and a tomato). Excellent. Except that the steak was tough as old boots (shades of Charlie Chaplin in 'The Gold Rush') I accept that I do not chew as well as I once did (I have been instructed to clean my teeth three times a day and floss every night – but the gaps between teeth are now so wide that I would need to floss with a washing line).
Fortunate it was indeed that the roast veg made a tasty meal in themselves.
From ‘Waterloo Road’ (BBC1):
Headteacher: Can I count on your support?
Deputy Head: Truss me.
(that is what it should have been).
The more I read it, the more I like the following quote:
“God is a comedian, performing for an audience that is afraid to laugh.”
Friedrich Nietsche
Almost enough to make belief seem worthwhile.
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