The Sprouting Nut

Not last night but the night before, I'd just got myself settled into bed, with The World Tonight and a glass of wine, when I realized that I'd left my book along in the kitchen.
Now, as anyone of a certain age knows, once you've gone through the rigmarole of getting yourself comfy in bed, it's a bit of a thought to get back up again so I decided just to stay put.
The only book I had to hand was The Sprouters Handbook, not exactly a thriller but better than nothing, and as it turned out, a bit of a page turner.
Before I knew it I was up to page thirty as a whole new world of easy to grow super healthy food was revealed to me.
I had no idea they were so nutritious. Apparently you could survive just by eating Alfalfa and while I can't remember now, off the top of my head, which particular sprout does what, some will even restore grey hair to it's natural colour.
As I lay there wondering if a life of sprouting could turn back the raveges of time, I slowly driffted off into a heaven of sprouting possiblities and the next thing I knew the milkman was rattling his crates outside my window.

Berry Tasty

I've spent half the evening looking for a book of old country recipes that I know I used to have.
I saw it just a few weeks ago in one of the kitchen drawers but can I find it now?
I especially wanted to have a look at it because it has an old recipe for raspberry wine that doesn't require yeast.
It involves picking the berries at the end of a very sunny day so that the fruit is loaded with sugar and yeast. I made it years ago and not only was it fantastic, it had similar properties to yogurt in that it just kept on going.
I siphoned off as much as I wanted to bottle, leaving the basic ferment in the bottom of the fermenting jar. I then topped it up carefully with boiled water and a little sugar and off it went again.
It also travelled well even in it's fermenting stage. Although I picked the berries and started the wine off in kirkinch, I lived in Edinburgh at the time and transported the lot back to my flat in Stockbridge where it continued to work it's magic in my airing cupboard.
Of course as my mother discovered with her Hawthorn and Rose petal wines husbands cannot be trusted to leave it alone.
I got up one morning to find my Frank and half a dozen of his cronies flaked out in the sitting room. If it hadn't been for the snoring and the dreadful smell of raspberries I might have imagined some awful suicide pack.
It was clear however that the home brewing lark was potentially lethal and I poured what was left down the sink.
If I'd had any sence I'd have kept it up and and I'd have been a rich widow by now.

Official Berry Week

I broke off a very enjoyable internet chat with my old Nursing chum in Canada to fetch mother's Evening Telegraph from The Post Office.
Mother doesn't actually read the paper anymore but my daily trip to fetch it from The Post Office is part of her routine.
My father started the scheme when he was alive and the real purpose of the Evening Telegraph was so that he could nip into the Pub for a sly pint.
Networking he used to call it.
As mother doesn't read the paper and I don't nip into the pub for a sly drink, I've had to justify this daily waste of my time by reading the paper myself.
It's Berry Week according to the Evening Telegraph and thousands of trays of strawberries are to be delivered to schools to promote the eating of berries which are supposedly high in antioxidants or whatever and will make our kids "Berry Healthy."
Years ago most kids round these parts were, "Berry Healthy" because they were sent out every summer to pick them and while they picked they ate. They also got a rosy glow from the fresh air and the money in their pockets.
Nowadays of course it's European, Russian and Bulgarian students who pick the berries. It's all very efficient and it would seem that school kids are now on the consumer end of something they were traditionally involved in.
Call me cynical but sitting in a class room eating a few strawberries is not going to improve the health of our youngsters.
A good dose of Cod Liver Oil and a bowl of porridge for breakfast was how we started the day. After that anything was an improvemnet. The Cod Liver Oil was to protect you from disease and moral degeneration I think. The porridge was to fill your stomach but is now known to reduce Cholesterol among other things.
Getting back to G8 and all this talk of eradicating poverty. Disgusting wealth is the real problem. We need to eradicate that. I'd start with Elton John and Bono. Between them they could part with 100 million and still be very wealthy men.
Then I'd get the kids back to work at the berries.

Scotland's Secret Army

As my good friend and dramaturge, BR Wombat knows only too well, the humble Midge can destroy the best laid plans of mice and men, not to mention an open air production of anything Shakespearian.
Now, my concern today is the The G8 Summit, and the 10,000 police officers who will, according to the Sunday Herald, have a mere 450 tubes of insect repellant between the lot of them. Even if the cream is only for the 3,000 officers deployed in and around Gleneagles 450 tubes are not going to stretch very far and if these creams have to be shared between the officers there's going to be a cross infection issue.
I mean imagine sharing a tube of insect repellant with some young policeman who's still got acne.
Apparrently, along with gallons of bottled water and 350 bottles of suncream the insect repellant is seen as part of a morale boosting gesture.
I wouldn't like to tell you what my Frank would say if I tried to boost his morale with some bottled water and tube of insect repellant.
If it had anything to do with me I'd send round a memo recommending the use of Avon Skin So Soft because it's THE most effective anti midge lotion and I'd spend the budget on beer to boost morale

Inspiration

I could do with some, inspiration that is. I didn't know I was going to be on again tonight or I might have paid attention to the news, so that at least I'd have some thing to carp on about. The trouble is when you listen to the news every day it's a bit repetitive, like Vivaldi. The same old themes just keep reccuring. I think it's called "repetition for emphasis." It's the sort of trick they use in cults which makes me wonder if we are all being slowely brainwashed.
I've just remembered that I've forgoten to water my tomatoes. I can't do it now because it would disturb my mother. She would wonder what had woken her up, check all the doors and I'd be locked out for the night because she wouldn't hear me ringing the door bell or if she did she would just panic, come looking for me and then when she found me not there, panic even more.
Life can be quite complicated when your growing tomatoes. You never think when your putting them in that you could be setting yourself up for sleepless nights, wondering if they will survive without a drink or if you will manage to save them before mother starts cutting all their untidy growth down to bear stalks. This year I've just compouded all my usual concerns by growing maize and chillies as well. Evidently I'm off my head.

Shorthanded Again

Well, as you'll see from the date of my last offering I haven't been asked to do this for a while and evidently they haven't managed to get anyone else to do it during my absence.
No doubt your wondering where I've been and I'd love to be able to tell you that I'd been some where exotic, but the plain truth is, I've been laid up for months with terrible pain in my legs as the result of a hill walking holiday.
Here's a tip that you might find useful. If your going on a hill walking holiday for the first time don't go with someone who's already climbed Everest.
Well, things are hotting up for this years G8 summit.
I found out the other day that the reason Gleneagles was chosen was because it was thought to be in the middle of nowhere. Gleneagles is roughly in the middle of Scotland and perhaps from a London or European perspective Scotland is nowhere but a lot of us live here and the cost of security alone for this annual Bun feast would keep half a dozen African countries going for a couple of years.
Apparently the First Ladies got a bit bored last year with nothing to do on Seal Island and this year the tight security extends to Glamis Castle so that they can hob nob with the Queen's relatives. I just hope it doesn't disrupt the organization of this years Prommenade Concert. Not that I'll be going, even if the weather is good on the day, you end up damp and cold by the end of the night. And then of course there's the Midges.