Just found the missive below in my spam bin, ostensibly from that bunch of cnuts at mediamatters, an organisation so polarised that a certain Mr A Hitler has been heard to say; “Mein Gott! Zat’s a bit extreme chaps. Heff you tried a chill pill?”
Well chums I’ll try and let you down gently but no, I won’t be on your side on this one. And I sure as all shooting don’t want people like you as ‘friends’. I don’t want to be in ‘solidarity’ or even the same room with a bunch of poisonous perversion pushers like you. And I am quite happy for you to publish this website on a ‘list’ as one that ‘will not respond positively’. Then will you please take the time and trouble to fcuk right off.
By the way, if you’d actually bothered to read my ‘about’ page before posting your barely veiled threat you would be fully aware that I consider that men are men and women are women, and “vive la difference!” You can’t rewrite the laws of biology for the mentally ill. And gender dysphoria is officially classified as a mental illness. Only crazy people want to be chemically sterilised and surgically mutilated because they’ve got the notion that they’re the wrong sex. They can’t change their DNA. XX is XX and XY is XY. Biology is biology. That bit of science is settled.
Nor do I consider Elon Musk ‘evil’ for buying out Twatter. The people mediamatters work for on the other hand who indulge in ‘cancelling’ other voices…. Nah, I’ll let you lot ponder that one. If you have even the least shred of self-awareness.
By the way, you can’t do anything which ‘won’t be good for my business’. This blog is a hobby. It is not monetised in any way and I derive no income of any kind from it.
Don’t care what anyone else thinks, but moving money, especially my own and paying large amounts of it to someone else is always stressful. Especially when the other party has all the get up and go of roadkill. Fortunately the people I’ve chosen to do the job are heads up and on the bounce.
Right. My part in the house and land purchase is done. All I have to do is oversee getting the Interweb connected and arrange to fill up the oil tank so we can warm our new place up before the movers do their stuff. The worst is all over bar the shouting, and arrangements are made for the last of the vendors rubbish to be removed, accounts for water and leccy sorted. So, all I have to do is turn up on time to oversee works and stand there looking masterful. All right, stop laughing. I can look masterful when required. Allegedly.
Frankly I’ve begun tuning out all the panicky hand waving COVID stuff. If anyone tries to use it as an excuse not to do things I contract for they won’t get paid, simple as that.
Any whining noises won’t be coming from this end of the house. For my part, recently I’ve had a headache, a minor cough, sense of smell a bit off kilter and felt a bit snotty, but you know what I’m going to do? That’s right. Ignore it. Just like I ignore all minor symptoms. What am I saying?
OH MY GOD! I’VE GOT THE DREADED LURGI! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! Full Hazmat everyone! Distribute testing kits! Bill’s got the plague!!!! Emergency! Emergency! AWOOGA! AWOOGA! We’re all DOOOOOMED!!!
Sorry, no idea what came over me there. Take a breath everyone. Panic over. As you were. I’m perfectly fine. A paracetamol took care of the headache, I caught a nap to catch up on the old Z’s and the snottiness and cough disappeared by ten am after a large mug of tea and a couple of biscuits. I’m a great believer in the healing power of a cuppa.
Anyway, there is whiskey, lots of wine and beer left over from crimble, so we’re all good. Apart from Mrs S turning round three or four times a day to say “Bill… have you thought about?” you can hear my eyeballs rolling from over the interweb, can’t you?
That said, there’ll be plenty to do over the next week, but I’m all geared up and as ready as I can be. My office is packed up and ready to go, has been for weeks. As has Mrs S’s. We’ve both been working off the kitchen table, and you know what’s really great? No-one died.
They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Hi ho. If that is true then I must have negative Karma coming out of every orifice because there’s always something clamouring for my immediate, repeat immediate, like do it this minute Bill, attention. It is all, as they say, part of life’s rich tapestry.
Having just been (Or should that be nagged into going?) for my second SARS/COV-2 jab, I was in the queue for getting the needle yet again, I found my mischievous brain rearranging a popular song lyric into the one below.
Everybody’s doin’ a brand new dance now (Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle) I know you’ll get to hate it if you give it a chance now (Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Your little crabby grandma has forgotten ID She’s here under ten minutes and she needs a pee So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me
You gotta scuff your toes now Come on baby, step up, step back Well, I think you got the knack, ohh
Now you’re at reception, forget your phone now (Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle) Patting at your pockets like a mindless drone now (Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Do it nice and easy now you ain’t got control You ain’t got no rhythm and you lost your soul So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle Come on, do the Covid Shuffle Come on, do the Covid Shuffle Come on,…
I’m not here for the rest of the week. Play nice
Just in passing; why did the person giving me the jab feel the need to cover the vaccine phial over with a papier-mâché kidney dish? Answers in recycled grey wood pulp please.
I’ve been watching this branch of technology develop over the last year or two. All sorts of applications come to mind, which have already been trialled by the UK Royal Marines, Royal Navy, Special Forces, Mountain Rescue and even as a sport.
Or the new sport of Droneball….
I think the phrase I’m looking for is “Cool or what?”
You will believe that a man can fly. Because he can.
I’m used to living and working online. It is, in some respects, something I’m fairly good at. For other things there is a phone, and as a trained communicator (Two ears, two eyes, two nostrils and one mouth, use in proportion). Unfortunately, when I need to talk to an overseas contact, our landline is down. Like today. So no business gets transacted. People don’t get paid on time and this reduces the sum of human happiness. Not something I like being even partially responsible for.
I could of course, if I had money to burn or an international data package, use my cell phone. But I’d rather put my funds to better use than paying cell phone companies for millivolts and sitting in a call centre queue for an hour or more while my remaining brains trickle out of my ears in tune with the bland awfulness of wait queue Muzak and their interminable adverts.
So what to do? Let my blood pressure be pushed beyond safe limits because the vagaries of fate preclude action? Or do I bugger off and do something slightly more interesting and successful while the phone company fix the lines? Dear reader, I chose the latter. Life, especially under the current pointless restrictions, demands little victories, those micro successes that bolter the shreds your self-esteem can be reduced to when utilities fail, and despite it not being your fault, guess who is first in line to get it in the neck when things aren’t done? Got it in one. Guess whose turn it is to be the office cat? Yours. Enjoy.
Here’s an interesting little life hack; did you know that an air fryer can make toast and fried bread? Well this one can. Saves putting the oven grill on. Don’t have a toaster, and didn’t fancy doing the old skillet toast trick. So my air fryer was put into service. 6 minutes at 200 Celsius lightly browns the bread and makes a nice hot slice to receive marmalade or whatever topping you fancy.
As an FYI; cast iron skillets can make seriously good toast and fried bread, which is where they score over the average toaster. Get the pan good and hot, stick in the bread and frying medium of choice (Olive oil, butter or nothing at all), flip when ready. There are more ways to make top notch toast than are thought of in anyone’s philosophy. All that is needed is a little outside the box culinary thinking and Robert is one’s father’s brother.
You can’t do fried bread in a toaster either. They’re a bit one dimensional as far as kitchen appliances go. Try putting anything but dried bread in them and the next thing you know it’s sparks and flames all round like a fork in a microwave. So I have the more versatile air fryer instead.
Another little culinary parlour trick I have to pass on is to stop your garlic going off. If, like me you don’t use more than a clove every other day, the trick is to peel the individual cloves and drop them into a jar of Olive oil. Result; garlic that doesn’t go off in a week and which keeps fairly well for a month. This also gives you a ready supply of Garlic Olive Oil, which commands a far higher price in the shops than the usual. So it’s a money saver too.
Anyway, supper beckons. Just soup and a small charcuterie and cheese board. There’s probably another glass of Pinot Noir downstairs too. And here’s me with this terrible thirst.
As none of the muppets in power seem to have any bright ideas of to get us out of the mess they, and they alone, have gotten us into. May I offer some minor ridiculae to ease my occasional reader’s inner pain.
The European Union. Having a sing of it’s anthem to cheer itself up (and failing) post Brexit.
A screenshot of the World Economic Forums top secret COVID Recovery plan, in it’s entirety.
And a more chilling message, from the Outer Limits.
It’s Christmas, and one of the things this means is that it’s Jigsaw time. Put simply, this means that Mrs S and I get the most fiendish puzzle available in the shops, and proceed to complete it. Usually a map or montage of some kind of around 1000 pieces.
Personally I find completing a jigsaw an engrossing and wholly cerebral pleasure. Helps me think clearly because it forces me to focus my dusty frontal lobes on the task at hand. It calms me down and dispels the darkness from my soul. And there’s a lot of that at the moment. Governments reneging on promises to their populaces not to interfere with Christmas, then U-turning over a relatively mild viral mutation that’s been around for ages without bumping the death count outside of the seasonal norms. Go figure.
Whenever I’m annoyed or unsettled, I go down to the kitchen table and force myself to focus on the task of completing the puzzle, normally a process that takes up an hour or so a day over two weeks. Such is the Tao of Jigsawry, the Zen of a thousand pieces. To be honest I find it very relaxing. Focussing on the emerging pattern brings a crystal clarity that would take a zen master six months to attain. Me, I find it inside an hour of settling down to bring order out of the semi-chaos of a puzzle.
Regrettably this year we may need yet another Jigsaw as I’ve already almost completed our current one inside seven days. Mrs S is not best pleased, but she appreciates what is driving me to spend three times my normal schedule. It’s all these on again off again lockdowns that are driving me to distraction. Not that the lockdowns work. They’re all just an excuse for the political classes lack of courage and vision. The politicians haven’t a clue, and as the saying goes, if the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.
Fortunately we have a few days before the fascist state tries to drive us all nuts with yet more tiers and more restrictions and one of my tasks if to buy another bottle of Jameson’s for me and a Vodka for Mrs S, thence yet another, more fiendish puzzle still. I think I’m going to need all the Jigsawry and associated calm available over the next few weeks.
One upside is that we’ve been promised a white Christmas. Which should annoy the living fuckwittery of the SJW mob. Does this mean though that the idle little shits will risk getting blisters shifting all the raaaaaacist snow? Not holding my breath. Although I wish they would.
Now as a grown up I’m told you don’t exist, but if, on the off chance you somehow do, I’d like to point out that I’ve been very, very good this year and would like to ask for a few things. If you think some of my listed items are a bit of an ask, I’d like to point out that I haven’t asked or begged for anything from you before in my entire life, but I would very much appreciate one or all of the following;
1. An end to all the palaver over BREXIT. I’d just like to see no deal happen so the EU wakes up and give the UK a Canada style free trade deal so we can all move on.
2. An end to the relentless propaganda over this virus thingy. Some unpleasant accidents to befall those constantly advocating for lockdowns. The demise or shutting down of Piers Morgan and his entire propaganda team would be nice. Something messy and public please, so we’re left in no possible doubt why it’s happening to them and their fellow travellers.
3. An end to the lockdowns and mask restrictions please would be appreciated. They serve no useful purpose.
4. Some kind of legal safeguard to be put in place so that these lockdowns can never ever happen again.
5. A return to pre-COVID normal life and sanity please.
6. Some kind of serious poetic justice against the most enthusiastic COVID enforcers and snitches would be much appreciated.
You see Santa, I’m not asking for myself, but for the rest of humanity who are continually watching their human rights and livelihoods being trampled. Not by any virus, but by stupid panicky people whose brains have shut down with all the fear being pumped out by the politicians and media.
Would really, really appreciate some intervention. Please and pretty please with sugar on it.
Many thanks in advance and a happier 2021 to us all.
P.S. For me, a small Christmas stocking with a Satsuma orange or two, a small bar of chocolate and maybe a packet of wine gums would be highly appreciated on Christmas morning. There’s a large bottle of vintage Port in the drinks cabinet. Put your boots up, give the reindeer a breather and have a large drink on me.
Food post. As if you didn’t know from the title, but literacy is so neglected in these times that sometimes one is forced to reiterate. Right, this mousse comes with a mental health warning. If it were human it would be a bullwhip-toting dominatrix clad in white stockings, leather basque and no knickers. And heading your way with a knowing smile. Seriously. This little dish is salacious.
There are some times you luck on to something which teases some taste buds, putting the rest in chains then bending them over a chair. Similarly, this is a recipe for the BDSM crowd that punches back through your salivary glands and leaves you with a sensation of pressure at the back of your shoulders. Well it did for me. Mrs S is reporting similar sensations. Caveat; this is very, very grown up. Children will not like it because it is not very sweet. Grown ups will because it isn’t.
Mousse is normally a fairly mundane dish. Soft and billowy in the mouth, tasty and refreshing, but fairly unmemorable. Mousse can be the base of a pleasant savoury starter or a lightweight dessert but this one is neither. The texture is light and billowy like a ballerina’s tutu, but with the bite of a lime flavoured mongoose on methamphetamine.
To experience this sensation you will need;
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar, no more
Half a pint of whipping cream
1 dessert spoon of full fat Greek Yoghurt
A large bowl and a whisk
3-4 raspberries for garnish per serving
The above recipe will make enough for three people. You may also need a bucket of water with five pounds of ice in it. Or not, depending upon your personal predilections. The great thing is that it’s very unfussy. No eggs, no gelatin, no unpleasant bending, just simple ingredients in proportion.
Squeeze the juice of both the lemon and the lime into a small glass. Remove pips but not the pulp.
Put the cream in the mixing bowl and whisk until it begins to thicken.
Add sugar and continue whipping until the cream stiffens.
When mix is stiff enough that most of it forms a soft lump inside your whisk, fold in the Yoghurt.
Mix in the lemon and lime juice.
Decant into serving bowls. I use small Ramekins.
Put in fridge for half an hour to finish setting.
Garnish with raspberries.
You may also garnish with a little lemon and lime zest. If you dare.
Eat and enjoy the savage tartness. At this point you may need to use the bucket of iced water. As for the rest, well disclaimer alert; this blog takes no responsibility for your actions during or after consumption. Do not eat in public. We will not pay your bail money.
Now I must go and polish my mistresses high leather boots.
The main heating went down today, so while we’re waiting for the heating guy to come and fix it, I went looking for recipes for a traditional rice pudding for some good old stick to your ribs comfort food.
Frankly me deario’s the results of my digital perambulations left me distinctly underwhelmed. Is it just me or do some Interweb chef types keep trying to make things far more complicated than they should be? Eggs in rice pudding? Do me a favour.
So I went back to the recipe I learned at Ma Stickers knee, which was an occasional but avidly anticipated treat to accompany Sunday dinner. One which I have adapted for the 21st century and simplified to produce a rich, creamy rice pudding to outdo anything you can get out of a can or packet. And it doesn’t leave you with an unpleasant eggy aftertaste.
You will need:
A three pint saucepan and wooden spoon.
A half cup of Pearl or short grain rice.
A quarter cup of sugar
One pint whole, full cream milk
One half capful of vanilla essence or half a de-seeded vanilla pod if you want to be ‘authentic’
A pinch of Cinnamon or ground Nutmeg if you have it, if not, don’t worry, this dish is great without either.
Throw rice and sugar in pan. Heat up half your milk in the microwave and add to rice and sugar. Stir. Put on a low medium heat until it begins to bubble. Stir again. Add half capful of vanilla essence. Stir again. Allow to bubble gently but do not boil. Stir again every ten minutes or so until milk has been absorbed by rice and sugar and the mix has thickened. This will take a while. About an hour. Add milk and stir in to reach the desired texture. Some like it milky, I like mine as a creamy glutinous mass. Sprinkle with a small pinch of nutmeg or cinnamon if you want and stir again. Chacun à son goût.
Serve hot or cold with a dab of jam. I like raspberry, but this is a cooks choice. Kids love this as they get to stir the jam into a warming pink mix which isn’t too sweet yet is very grown up. This has always been an instant hit Chez maison Sticker, and in these times when economical and low cost comfort food is an essential to keeping sane, will gain you high praise and esteem, even from teenagers, been there, done that and survived with kudos. May you be accorded the same success.