That is to say, a trip to Borough Market to stock up on beef and cheese, having decided that Ginger Pig might do our business on this occasion. What I had not known until this morning was that they originally grew their own meat, although they may have outgrown that: 'The Ginger Pig story really began when Tim Wilson was asked to be one of the first traders in Borough Market in the 1990s. For many years we farmed our own North Yorkshire pasture, producing our own cattle, sheep and pigs, with a passion for sustaining rare breeds. As we have grown, we have worked to build a network of like-minded farmers to help us supply our butchers’ shops with the best produce in the country. We now support the very best producers found in the UK today, many of which are old friends of Tim's. At the heart of everything we do is good animal husbandry and welfare; livestock that is looked after well in the field simply tastes better on the plate'.
There were a couple of talkative young dancers near me on the train, chattering away about their first postings. I caught the odd word through my dozing, enough to think that they had done better than cruise liners.
Pulled a Bullingdon off the pole position on the ramp and pedalled off to London Bridge without incident. Started off with a whole rustic (or perhaps rustique) loaf from Olivier, never having been bold enough to buy a whole one before. I then almost went for a nice looking shoulder of lamb from a butcher's van. All the bones in, the right shape and colour. The only catch was that it did not look very big. I thought to try the second van, but failed to find it, and wound up at Ginger Pig after all.
Plenty of meat on offer, including beef in a glass fronted freezer cupboard, all the thing in butchers these days, and including a shoulder of lamb that had been more trimmed than I like. Plenty of beef, but on closer inspection there was not as much choice as might have at first appeared and all the forerib was much more trimmed than I like. O no sir, we can't do that sort of thing. This is the way it comes. But at least I learned that the cracked, grey outer layer of the hung beef can be cut off before sale, leaving regular red and white meat underneath. Confused by the price ticket, which priced by the 500g. Notwithstanding, I ended up with three kilos or so of good looking if trimmed beef. Plus a kilo of small beef bones for the gravy.
While this was being attended to by my counterhand, a resting photographer, the other chap, who sounded more like a trained butcher, was carving T-bone steaks out of another piece of forerib. They must have been coming in at around £25 each.
From there to the cheese shop for my usual kilo of Lincolnshire Poacher. Passed on Gubbeen and on cherries. My rucksack was full and my purse was empty. Furthermore, the bag was heavier than I would have cared to carry any distance. But it could not have been more than 10 kilos - from which I deduce that I would not be any good at unloading kiln-hot, hundredweight bags of cement off a flat bed these days, something I could take in my stride half a century ago. Trade gone soft in that time: bags of cement a piffling 25kg and no-one unloads flatbeds by hand. And what about the bushels of peas out on the fens, which were double that? As I recall from a conversation in the saloon bar of a fine public house in Hambledon. Perhaps someone was overdoing it a bit.
Took position two on return to Waterloo. After which I was treated to another dancer, a slender young lady in a thin, skin-tight body stocking. Not quite what one expects at the top of the ramp at Waterloo.
Powerpoint can manage something like the colour, snapped above at [116-242-236], but neither Bing nor Google could manage the contents without getting a bit silly about it. Interestingly, the Powerpoint fill option seemed a better way to get at the colour that I remember than poking around on the colour charts turned up by Bing.
I climbed on a train to Hampton Court which soon started, but did an emergency stop before we had properly left the platform. Guard chatter on his intercom, but we were on our way again in less than five minutes. Not something that happens very often.
Broke my journey with the 39 steps at Earlsfield and the Half Way House. Various snacks on offer and mindful that the chicken sandwich of reference 3 was too big, opted for the fish finger sandwich, a delicacy last attempted in October last year, as noticed at reference 2.
It turned out to be a quite decently made thing, very lightly toasted, and they managed to leave out the salad on the side. More small pieces of fried fish than fish fingers, but pretty good. Perhaps not as filling as the chicken triple decker, but a substantial snack for all that.
In the course of which I pondered about 'Belle du Jour', an old film which we had reviewed the previous evening, perhaps the first time for fifty years. I thought that it had worn well.
But I did have the same problem that I have with crime dramas, in that I remember scenes, but do not remember them quite right. Various things get changed. I used to claim that this was because there were various versions of popular dramas in circulation, slightly tweaked for one reason or another. Now I think it is probably just a memory problem. Some bits going missing and other bits being taken in from elsewhere. The binding problem that people who study consciousness talk about really is a problem.
I also made inquiries about asphodel, said to be used by the French at funerals and which the subtitles translated as lilies. A family from which the asphodels have now been expelled. But the white asphodel, snapped above, seems to be common enough, growing in upland meadows around the Mediterranean, and it was associated with death in ancient Greece. See reference 4. But I can't remember now whether the flowers in the film were asphodels or not, and I have failed to find out whether they are or ever were a funeral flower in France.
Somewhere along the way, I learned that 'Belle du Jour' is a French name for morning glory, otherwise convolvulus. With the white convolvulus being common enough around Epsom; a handsome flower which BH goes to some trouble to eliminate from our garden, which is probably just as well considering what a strong plant it is. But the French sounds a more promising name for a tart than 'Miss Convolvulus', Georgia O'Keeffe, the snap above and reference 5 notwithstanding.
Back up the 39 steps and onto the platform at Earlsfield Station, where there was a steady procession of ones, getting lost in the western trees on the way down. Then I moved slightly and did much better, nearly scoring the odd two.
At Raynes Park, I noticed that the Railhouse, having been closed for years, is seriously on the move, movement which looked to include extensions. More or less empty and very dull on the one occasion that I used the place. We did use the Wetherspoon's on the other side of the tracks from time to time, but that has gone too now.
I think, once the Railhouse of 641, Kingston Road, Merton SW20 8SA. Now destined to be a block of flats with a spot of retail below. Looks more like a serious rebuild, rather than demolition and start over. A little surprising, given that people find it worth their while to buy estate houses in our area, with a view to demolition and rebuild. Perhaps with some soggy directives about sticking to the old foot print to keep the heritage people at bay.
Snapped by the door. I now know that Juniper is the class name for a fleet of trainsets working the South Western Trains franchise. One might have thought that I would have noticed this plate in all the years I have been travelling: perhaps Juniper did not do much service on the Epsom line. See reference 6 for the full story.
Chickened out of walking back up the hill at Epsom and caught a taxi. As it was, the back was a bit creaky for a bit longer, having already been put out by playing in the garage in the margins of the kitchen refurbishment.
The bread weighed in at something over six pounds and it lasted just about a week. Very good it was too. Beef and bones at the back, cheese in the middle.
PS 1: on taking a peek at one of the day's comic, irritated to see that Aldi are not as careful about trolleys as they appear to be about prices. The trolley on the left is not the sort of thing that you would find in a Sainsbury's store.
PS 2: bread batch 722 came out of the oven while I was penning this. Very good it looks too. Second rise just right on this occasion.
References
Reference 1: https://thegingerpig.co.uk/.
Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/10/a-devon-delicacy.html.
Reference 3: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/09/cheese-no-beef.html.
Reference 4: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asphodelus_albus.
Reference 5: https://psmv3.blogspot.com/2016/08/made-it.html.
Reference 6: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Rail_Class_458.
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