Red meat day

BH had thought that she had bought a bit of brisket from Sainsbury's, destined for pot roast (or something of that sort). But the brisket turned out to be top side, so roast for an hour or so with pot roasting tendencies. Brown, rather than red, as it turned out. This being a little over a week ago now.

And while this was going on, I went on a spin around Jubilee Way, where I found (this being a Sunday morning), the outside of the Lidl headquarters throbbing with work on gardens and car park. I also decided that it was time to pump up my front tyre again. It felt hard enough, but it had taken to throbbing again, so hopefully pumping up (to 60psi or so) will be the answer. Maybe the inner tube is one size fits all and I have managed to get it a bit kinked - but I am reluctant to disturb it as, as often as not, I manage to put a tyre lever through the rubber and patches are a thing of the past. To think that forty years ago I occasionally used to have to repair inner tubes in the dark, in the rain, while sheltering under a railway bridge or some such. Not any more.

[View of Viña Tondonia during the winter of 2005]

But taken with a spot of liquid red for a change, bought from Majestic as Waitrose had little in the way of higher grade red, stopping at £15 or so. Got to push the boat out given how rarely we have red. Majestic obliged, offering bottles costing a lot more than I wanted to spend, but also this 12 year old Rioja, which was about right and came complete with a golden net. Very fine wire, gold coloured and surprisingly strong. And reference 1 spares us arty photographs of mist drifting over vine filled hillsides, offering us a spot of snow instead.

Traditional plum crumble for dessert, made with traditional flour, rather than some confection involving oats. Which last is perfectly satisfactory, but I think I prefer traditional.

BH had been reading a memoir by Dodie Smith, so that provided some of the conversation. Best known now as the author of  'The Hundred and One Dalmatians', but a successful playwriter of the 1930's, 1940's and beyond. Apart from being keen on dogs, she had a second world war conscientious objector for a husband, which made jumping ship to the US convenient. Something which, to my mind, was respectable enough in the first war, but not in the second - but I have not managed to find out anything about his reasons or the circumstances.

She was also Mrs. Maufe's successor in Ambrose Heal's bed. Mr. Heal being a senior member of the team, if not the boss, at the shop of the same name in Tottenham Court Road. And Mr Maufe being a current subject of interest. See, for example, reference 2.

I had not realised, despite going down that end of Tottenham Court road from time to time, that they were still going strong in their big store there, presumably complete with the Maufe extension at the south end. Must be a long time since we went shopping there, as we did from time to time when we were first setting up. I think we bought our cutlery from them. From Germany, rather than from Sheffield, as it happens.

Later on, moved a few bricks. Heard a lot of late afternoon twittering, but no sightings. One moon rising in the north east.

Won at Scrabble for the third time running after what had seemed like a long run of losses, probably no more than three, so that was alright.

Proceedings closed by BH deciding that she did not like the fake cheese, last noticed at reference 4, either. Taken, in her case, in a sandwich. What was left of the packet, well over half, was consigned to the compost dustbin the following morning. Unlike us to waste food in this way, but I dare say the coconut will rot down well enough. Treat for the compost heap - not that there are many worms in it, now that we have largely stopped feeding it meat.

References

Reference 1: https://www.lopezdeheredia.com/indexgb.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/01/london-necropolis.html.

Reference 3: https://www.heals.com/.

Reference 4: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/01/to-leatherhead.html.