Author: Snoo

A close friend of mine resigned from his job last week. He had been working in ‘the City’ for almost 40 years, had been made redundant four times and had 6 jobs, or thereabouts. Most of the redundancies were because the bank he was working for went bankrupt or just failed. Not through anything he did, though. He told me when he came round for dinner (I cooked Hake curry – recipe below) that he was finally able to make the company he was working for redundant. He was so happy. The last 12 months or so had been difficult, difficult, lemon difficult. He told me that the last few weeks had seen his happiness spiral down to the point he was miserable. Once he identified that it was the unprofessionalism of his managers and the general outdated approach that was the issue, followed by the blank stares and “it would be too challenging” for him to work fewer hours, he knew it was the right time to move on. I got mad on his behalf. What sort of institution doesn’t accommodate a seasoned and highly experienced person who is heading towards retirement to work fewer hours each week. From what he has told me in the past, the place was almost Dickensian in its approach to many things. By the end of the evening, and with a couple of bottles of champagne duly drank, we were laughing about some of the weird and wonderful people we had both worked with, retold our shared memories of classic faux pas (Maxwell Communications: Can’t Recommend A Purchase) and planned his semi-retirement party in a bar in June. He was back to his old self and I was happy to see the light back in his eyes. Watch out for an invite arriving soon.

It also got me thinking about my jobs and what the world was like in 1987 when I joined BZW just after big bang and before the October crash. I studied economics for some reason but never really loved the academic side of uni except for one subject I took in my last year called “Labour Economics”. Was taught by a professor who had the most soporific voice and the lectures were at 4pm on a Friday, aka nap time. But he inspired me to write my final thesis on ‘Women in the labour force’. Reading it over this weekend, I realise how far we have come but also how little progress we have made too. So maybe I am called “dear” in that so derogatory way less, but in a world dominated still by men, many of whom are white and middle-aged, i still get the feeling that most of them are paying lip service to equality in the workplace. In all meanings.

Things have improved. Thank goodness. Women and men can take time off to look after their children. In the early 1990s, you could lose your job as a woman if you got pregnant in the first two years of working somewhere. And the maximum maternity leave was 3 months, with no paternity leave ever mentioned.

This blog is turning into a rant. So am going to turn it around by talking about food and kittens. Yes kittens. We met them yesterday at two weeks old on facetime. Took quite a bit of arm-twisting for husbant but once he saw them, I think he melted a little. They are currently living in Lanarkshire so I have been thinking of introducing something Scottish into their names. Maybe McBean? They will be ‘oven ready’ at the end of July. Just after we have had our new carpets laid, our new sofa arrives, and the new curtains hung. What could go wrong? Can’t wait.

And food. This fish curry is delicious. Any white fish that’s firm would be fine. The ingredients list looks long but it’s only 3 steps for the cooking! Sorry we ate it before I took any photos.

• Some olive oil
• 1 tbsp black mustard seeds
• 12 curry leaves
• 1 onion, finely sliced or grated
• 2 tsp grated ginger
• 2 fat garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 red chilli, chopped
• 2 tsp ground turmeric
• 1 tsp ground coriander
• 1 tsp ground cumin
• Pinch chilli flakes
• 400g vine tomatoes, chopped
• 250ml pack coconut cream or dessicated coconut with a splash of water, or coconut milk if you have it
• 450g white fish
• A lime
• Some fresh coriander

1. Heat oil in a large frying pan or sauté pan with a lid and fry the mustard seeds and curry leaves until they start to pop and smell fragrant. Stir in the onion, ginger, garlic and chilli and cook for 5-6 minutes over a medium heat. Stir in the ground spices and chilli flakes (if using) and cook for another minute. 
2. Add the tomatoes and simmer for 10 minutes (add a splash of water if it looks dry) and continue to cook until the tomatoes break down. Stir in the coconut cream and bring back to a fast simmer, then season and squeeze over the lime (add the rinds to the sauce too for extra flavour). Simmer for 5 minutes more until thickened and rich.
3. Pop the fish in the sauce and rest the lid loosely on top. Cook over a gentle heat for a few minutes until the fish is cooked through and opaque. Scatter over coriander leaves and eat it with some rice.

First stop the local market which was a stone’s throw from our apartment. Interesting circular building with great looking produce and some bars which were already full of people drinking beer and quaffing wine even though it was only 11am.

I want to live in a place where juicy delicious strawberries are available in April, where tomatoes taste of tomatoes and great wine is €16 a bottle and the sun shines bright and warmly in April. En effet, je voudrais habite en Montpellier.

I was inspired by the greens and reds in the market:

And the reds and greens:

Waitrose has lost its lustre. There was also a fish counter where the fish looked like they had just jumped out of the sea, a cheese counter and countless meat… not wanting to scare the vegetarians, I only snapped the local chorizo…

So shopped out in my sense, we wandered up to Montpellier’s Arc de Triomphe and the Peyroux jardin. Guess who I saw in the distance!?

Michael Portillo! Oh, no actually, that’s husbant.

He just loves a pink trew. Next stop AgnesB for some serious wallet… a new hat and jacket and husbant had also shopped out.

Both tired and hungry we rowed all the way back to the apartment in true 12 years’ married style. Felt foolish for shouting in the street but thankfully we returned, drank a bottle of exceptional wine, ate some delicious salad and I had a nap.

I just love this painted building.

So we had to take the hat back as it fell apart. Luckily there was a seamstress who lived nearby who stitched it back together again. I had to have the obligatory holiday ice cream – this time it was red grapefruit with szechuan pepper, and blood orange:

We have just got back from a good dinner in Le Petit Jardin, where the creepy crawlies were keen to share our table and even went for a swim in husbant’s wine. The food was ok – for once I chose badly and spent a lot of time lusting after husbant’s plates. And I am not talking about his false teeth.

The meal ended with a firework which I managed to miss completely in this blurred photo.

All in, a lovely way to spend a wedding anniversary. No silk underwear for me but I got husbant a lovely card. Here’s to the next 12!

Just read a blog I wrote after being married for 3 years – I called it ‘First thoughts, married 3 years’. So when it came to working on a title for this blog, I veered away from ‘Second thoughts, married 12 years’ – funny how that has a completely different meaning. No second thoughts here (poor husbant).

So, in the vein of Gary Neville’s recent interview, we are having a mini-retirement weekend away in Montpellier, aka a weekend break. While we were booked on a speedy boarding ticket, it probably was the slowest boarding we have experienced. So slow that by the time we got on the plane, everyone else seemed to have boarded already so our trolley cases had to put miles away from our seats. That was the only downside. With the new rules on adding 30 minutes to expected flight times, and despite leaving 20 minutes late, we arrived 10 minutes early. Check my maths. It’s magic.

We arrived late in the evening, so stumbled around the area near our airbnb apartment — I wanted a glass of red, husbant wanted a hot chocolate so we compromised on a beer.

Am writing this as the usual ironing is being done – husbant irons everything before packing it and then irons it again when he arrives. We have already been out for le petit dejeuner – I sneaked out early to go to the bakery that won best bakery in France on a French TV show, called Dreams and Bread (better in French des rêves et du pain). Wanted to buy one of everything but it was only 8am and so I just bought 3 croissants (one for me).

Stupidly (actually not stupidly because I ummed and ahhhed a while before I left a deeply sleeping husbant), I didn’t bring the keys with me. The main idea was that husbant would wake up, find me gone, check his phone, pop out to buy L’equipe by which time i would be back with the croissant and some milk for the tea/coffee. Dreams and their realities.

We ended up meeting on the square and having a lovely coffee and croissant.

The ironing is done and we need to go to the market. More to follow…!

My mum is 92. She lives at home on her own since my dad died about 2 years ago. She is an incredible woman.

We have just been to Sainsbury’s for her weekly shop. As brother Graham is away for a couple of weeks, I have spent more time with my mum. The weekly shop has a great pattern. Mum writes her list, which varies very little week-to-week. The blue plastic shopping boxes, the cool bag and the wine bag with six compartments are put in the boot. We park in the mother and child section as she is my mother and I am her child, plus it’s nearer for her to get into the shop and we haven’t got round to updating the blue parking badge that my dad had. She takes my arm and we walk to the trolleys and once inside the shop, she’s off! Last time I wandered about doing my own shopping but this week, I kept a respectful 3 paces behind her as she went down the list – which was written in aisle order – and popped things in the basket.

When dad was still alive, they would shop together – although not in the generally accepted meaning of the word together. They would have separate trolleys and arrange to meet at the tills. Whereupon mum would roll her eyes at dad’s basket full of sweets, cakes, some sort of shredded wheat and cranberry juice. Oh, and some red wine. Mum would also have red wine in her trolley but they didn’t put any back.

Once all the items on the list are in the trolley, we find her regular “till lady“ and join the queue – even if it’s the longest queue. Today, the “till lady” wasn’t on duty so we were able to take the shortest queue.

When we get home, some of the items are put away in the kitchen and some are put in the freezer. Because I have done the shopping two weeks in a row, I am quite knowledgeable about my mum’s freezer. Currently, about 25% of the space is chicken tikka masala. This amazes me. We never had curry at home. My first curry was when I went to uni in Newcastle and we went to the end of the road and got chips with curry sauce. Who knew! I kind of fell in love with the Brighton Grove curry house. To this day, I don’t think I have ever eaten a curry with my mum.

So the next 25% of the freezer is loaves of bread – seed sensations to be precise. Who needs so much bread? My mum, obviously.

The other 50% has plastic containers with things like “apple puree August 2021”, or random chicken pies (not homemade). So the first week I put the stuff for the freezer in the freezer, I carefully moved all the old and very old chicken tikka masalas higher up in the drawer and all the just bought ones right at the bottom. I think I should say not to buy any more for a few months…

Am proud of my mum for being 92 and still looking so glamorous when she goes food shopping. We had an interesting chat on the way back from Sainsbury’s about what happens after you die. She believes she will be reunited with dad, Nick, her sister Margaret, her two brothers and her mum, among others. I asked her whether she was expecting to actually meet them in the flesh and she said yes. I asked her what dad would look like when she met him – they had been together for 70 years so the dad she met and fell in love with aged 20 would not look like the dad of his later years. She wasn’t sure but knew that she would know him and he would know her.

I have slightly different views and explained that whenever I thought about or dreamt about someone I was close to that had died, that was like meeting them again. It was good to talk about this stuff with her.

Four years ago, my world was shaken on its axis. My big brother Nick died. He walked on this earth for 63 years and 17 days. Those last 17 days were tough. Like millions of other people globally (and I don’t know if the UK government will ever release the true number of people who died from COVID-19 in the UK), someone we loved very much died in hospital, alone, with someone they had never met reading our last messages to him. This was so wrong. Before he was confirmed as having COVID-19, I was sitting with him for three days in his hospital room. He didn’t cough once while I was with him. He didn’t have a cold but one night he said his temperature spiked. We had a good laugh and a great reminisce. Gray popped his head round the door to say hi – very brave given he was just recovering from his treatment. I was so lucky to spend that time with him. He died before the death toll reach 1,000 in the UK. The government had said 20,000 was its worst-case scenario. It was a shit show. When we told Mum and Dad that Nick was dying, my mum just asked if she could go and be with him. I couldn’t even hug her when I told her “no”. These things should never have happened.

Time moved in a very weird way those next few weeks, months and years, and I did fall apart quite a few times. 10 of us in our four groups attended a funeral service that was a step but I was so numbed that I felt like I was on auto-pilot. After a while I hit the self-destruct button and my life really did slide. But my kids, me friends and my amazing husband loved and supported me. I did a lot of searching inside which sounds like a cliche but Nick had a lot of great books with fab titles that just felt right to read in those moments. When Things Fall Apart, The Power of Now and The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying were my bedtime books.

I miss him every day. Shortly after he died, I dreamt he walked through the front door and for a moment, I thought he was still alive and I said to him “You are here! Are you ok?” and he replied, as he hugged me, “Yes, I’m fine”. I could smell him. It was the best dream. I woke myself up crying. Last night, he was in my dream again and was walking down the high street and I looked at him and did a double take. Again he said “Yes, I am fine”. Such a lovely dream.

I bumped into one of his school friends yesterday in Waitrose and we stood and shared some stories. I welled up walking around putting things in my trolley and almost abandoned it completely at one point. Grief has its stages and some of them include crying.

Nick was a kind and loving man. He had the greatest sense of humour and laughed a lot. He also had the gift of telling stories. And was the greatest guitarist. He guided my music taste until I hit indie and disco. But I still remember going into his room and listening to the latest Beatles album.

Our good friend Mike organised a concert once we were allowed to be in crowds again. It was so good – friends and family all did a turn and Nick would have loved every minute. Most people caught COVID-19 at the concert but by then, some people had been vaccinated, and the likelihood of being hospitalised was lessened.

We are meeting at his tree later and will raise a glass. Here’s his spotify list that we made with songs that remind us of him.

Love you, darling.

But I do love to eat out. Have just been to Chishuru, a West African restaurant on Great Titchfield street. Husbant had shown me the review in the FT and I took that as a big hint. It was fully booked for his birthday but luckily it’s Connor’s birthday a few weeks after so we were able to celebrate tonight. This is somewhere I would go back to and eat everything all over again.

I had a delicious Sango cocktail to begin which had a big kick at the end of each sip. It is a tasting menu which they were very happy to adjust seemlessly for pescatarian/vegetarian. So three small plates to start, a choice of main, and desserts that were off-the-scale yummy. Of the three starters, the first one was a rice cake with a green chilli sauce (the abridged version) which was my favourite; my second favourite was a peppersoup. Husbant seems to break out in a sweat just at the mention of scotch bonnet, so he was suffering a little as the heat began to build. The third starter plate was a bean pattie with a tomato and some sauce – am not a massive bean person. Red beans or white beans, worst of all baked beans. It’s hard to move on from the word bean when it’s mentioned in a menu. Just my thing. It was delicious but overshadowed by what had gone before. We all had very tingly tongues by the end of the starters but in a very good way.

Husbant and I chose the mafe for main. He had had it cooked for him while working as a teaching assistant in Bordeaux by a good friend and encouraged me to try and cook it. I found a recipe online and made it a few times many years ago – it’s a sort of lamb stew with lashings of peanut butter (again, abridged version). But oh my. The mafe was incredible. I would eat it every day. The lamb was perfect and the sauce – really the sauce was delicious.

The mains also came with fried plantain – again I love fried plantain and this was the best i have ever had – some rice with loads of ginger, spring onions, herbs and a plate of pickled cucumber, cabbage and other deliciousness. Of course I had to try the fish which was also delicious and the celeriac. Was so good.

Finally, when we had eaten every morsel, the desserts came. Two of them. One was a special – it was a sorbet with scotch bonnet but the heat didn’t come until the end and it was a warmth rather than a massive headkick, served on a bed of plantain mousse flowers. Wow. The second dessert was a soursop ice cream with scorched marshmallow.

We had a lovely bottle of Fleurie to wash everything down which somehow was at precisely the right temperature to feel cooling. Magical.

The whole meal was so good – the staff are brilliant. And don’t forget to go the loos. They have lovely soap and hand lotion, which I never fail to mix up when I am washing my hands. Even though I study the labels and try really hard to get it right.

For proper descriptions of what we ate check out the website. And if you need someone to go with, I’m free!

https://www.chishuru.com/food-and-drink

Sitting on a train which I had to flag down on the platform Jenny Agutter style, sans knicker waving, standing on some steps. There’s always a brief panic when you think you might not be able to attract the train driver’s attention early enough for him to stop – but that hasn’t ever happened to me.

The second exciting thing is that the next station is Llanfair…..or for its full name see the photo.

Travelling up at the start of the weekend, I got off at Llandudno junction. On a sunny day, it’s a very fine seaside town with a front that could rival Trieste if you squint your eyes up a bit and ignore the smell of freshly made doughnuts. The photo doesn’t do it justice but if you scroll in you can see some lovely beachfront houses and hotels, and admittedly the sun didn’t shine the whole time. But I reckon it’s a great place to bring the grandchildren, as, when and if.

We found a great fish shop in the middle of a trading estate in Lladudno. Having been visiting Anglesey for a few years, it was hard to comprehend that there were no fresh fishmongers on the island. It seems like all the fish that are caught around the island are for mainland use only. Neil did find a guy a few years ago who sold a limited amount to punters who found out about him – but he was mainly wholesale. So finding a fishmonger with super fresh fish was great. We bought some plaice, oysters and samphire. I love oysters. And cooking the plaice by just lightly drenching in flour and frying in butter made me fall in love with plaice again. But it was so fresh it was hard not to.

We arrived at the chapel just in time to drive to Aberffraw and walk over the dunes and along the beach as the sun started to set. It is one of the best beaches in the world to watch the sunset.

We didn’t know that this would be the last time we would see the sun but that’s the way with Wales. Husbant is not a big fan of Wales – his first trip was memorable for the reason that he shouted in joy when we drove past the “Welcome to England” sign as we headed back home. Something that would be repeated on every trip to Wales although I think he is becoming more accepting as he advances in his years. Last year we came to Anglesey for a 10th birthday party, and it took us about 9 hours to drive from home, we stayed two nights and drove back early on the Sunday morning. I saw “we” but actually Husbant did all the driving and I mostly slept. With all Welsh towns now having a 20mph speed limit, it will take even longer to pass through on the way to Anglesey. My first ever speeding ticket was from Heddlu. They even sent a photo. How kind.

Sometimes it looks like a horrible rainy day as you look out the window, but when you actually get outside it feels less horrible. So Saturday was cloudy with a few spots of rain. We went to St Patrick’s church – that has a great story as it seems St Patrick was shipwrecked and ended up in a cave in the cliffs on the coast in Anglesey. He scrambled up the cliffs and decided to build a church there as he was on his mission to spread the Word. I might have missed some of the story, but it was a lovely little church with blue mosaic tiles and you can walk down and view the cave where St Patrick sheltered. Definitely worth a visit even if just the one time. On the way to the copper mountain, we stopped by a bus shelter-like structure which had a vending machine that sold fresh milk straight from the cow. It was busy with a few families getting fresh milk shakes. And I had to get some fresh milk even though I don’t drink full fat milk. but I just loved the novelty.

The copper mountain, even in the rain and despite the soil contamination, looked amazing. Apparently, Dr Who used to be filmed here as it does look like an alien planet. Didn’t see any daleks though.

Everything was going swimmingly on my journey until just now. In their infinite stupidity, Avanti have cancelled my connection from Crewe to Euston. So I am now just thinking about that lovely reserved seat I had on a 2+hour train ride which will now become a bun fight and a scramble to get on the first available train from Crewe – along with the other three trainloads of people who have had their trains cancelled. What the hell is happening to our infrastructure.

But everything in perspective, there is a woman trying to explain to someone at the end of her phone how to give her child an insulin injection and it all sounds quite fraught. So I should actually be very calm and thankful for what I have.

So I may or may not get back to London tonight in time to catch a train to Guildford and then get the bus replacement service to Milford. My guardian angel, aka Husbant, has offered to pick me up from anywhere I need to be picked up from. He is one in a trillion and I love him to bits.

So we have an extra day at the end of February every four years. Why? I really don’t understand the science. If anyone can explain it in terms of an apple and an orange, I might get it. Meantime, I am quite pleased it hasn’t been commercialised to any extent like Black Friday. You can propose if you are a woman, though. Thank God we only have the opportunity once every four years. Am sure I would have had many more marriages if I could have proposed any day of the year.

I did propose to Husbant – I caught him unaware kneeling in a lagoon in St Barts. It was a shallow lagoon and he can’t swim (without his fins). So there wasn’t too much danger. I think his immediate reply was “When were you thinking?” Luckily I had rehearsed this bit so I was able to say “In April next year after your footy season finishes and cricket season starts”. He was happy enough with the timing so we got married on Friday 13 April (cheap day). This year, it will be 12 (glorious) years. We’re off to Montpellier to soak up the vibes and eat some great food. Am excited already.

There seemed to be a rush of the kids’ mates proposing to their long-term girlfriends/boyfriends in the lead up to 29 February. Maybe there was a blind panic amongst them. Anyway, I hope oodles of happiness has been spread on this day. And every day would be good too.

Still a little weird with the big cat now 2ft under in the garden. Had to explain to the gardener that we had buried the cat. Didn’t want him to think I was taking over any active gardening. Will be buying a bush to plant this weekend. Perhaps with some sort of blue flower as Big Cat had the most gorgeous blue eyes.

Final random thing for today. My 92 year old mum has a piece of green soap in her downstairs bathroom that I think has been there since I left home in 1982. Ok, so maybe it’s a slight exaggeration. But it has definitely been there more than 5 years – I know this because it was there in COVID times. It is horrible. It has brown streaks. It doesn’t lather up. But I know my big brother and my dad probably used it, so I give it a little love. Shock horror, therefore, when I go to visit mum and head to the bathroom. There’s a brand new white soap in the sink! Still doesn’t lather but it was spanking new. Then I put two and two together – Mum had her friend Patrick round for a game or two of Scrabble. Ergo, no dirty brown/green soap on show. Still rocking it at 92. Soap to impress. Like that a lot. Went again a few days later and we are back on track with the old soap. Does soap fossilise? Is that a word? It was probably made in the war and built to last.

Happy Leap Year Day! Loved this sign. A bin for fat faces.

First time in 19 years I am home alone. Completely alone. Big cat died this morning – he had used up all of his nine lives. I scooped him up from his favourite place to lie right next to the aga, and held him as he went to sleep. He was such a love cat. He gave love out in bucket loads and was enormously loved. I am bereft.

We buried him in the garden, wrapped in a warm blanket with his birth certificate and a jar of double cream to help him on his way. These small things we do at times of grief become very important. We were meant to put his brother’s ashes in with him (which have been on the sideboard since 2016) but we forgot and it felt a bit weird to dig up the soil again and put them in. So he is staying put on the sideboard for now.

How do you say goodbye to a cat? He was one of my best friends. He would seek me out if I was feeling poorly and in bed. He would come running to meet me when I opened the door, and when he was younger would jump up, paws outstretched wanting a big hug. At times, he felt human. That sounds weird but feels right.

The aga looks bare without him stretched out, tummy pressed against it, come rain or shine, hottest day of the year or coldest day of the year. At times he would even appear to want to step inside the warming oven. There are no cat bowls with variable amounts of food, no glass of water, no litter tray. Just silence.

Thank you, Big Cat, for all the love, joy and friendship. For the laughs and now for the tears. You were so loved.

Interesting conversation about my new glasses. So, I think there is no need for me to choose frames nor do I think I am very good at choosing frames. My job is to look out through the glasses. As long as I can see well, all is good. It really doesn’t matter if they are green, blue, pink, sparkly, rimless, half rimless, plutonium, diamante, pearlescent, neon, brown with yellow spots. I mostly rely on my personal shopper/style guide aka Husbant. He always picks well and often asks me what I think of his choices. I have no idea what they look like because I am short-sighted and the mirrors in the opticians are too far away for me to see what I look like. Apparently I have a face that I pull specifically when I am trying on frames (I think it’s also known as squinting) but Husbant points it out every time. It’s a bit like getting my haircut. My gorgeous hairdresser visits every few months and sorts out my hair. No staring at myself in a big mirror while he makes his way around my head. And no showing me the back of my head when he has finished. Who wants to know what the back of their head looks like? Am sure if it was a terrible mess, someone would say something. But then again, maybe not.

So I have some new glasses. I picked them up at lunchtime today and I can see clearly through them. Husbant chose the frames. We met in town shortly after I had picked them up and he didn’t say a word about them. I waited for some recognition that my face was now framed in blue with extra blue corners (bit Dame Edna I thought). But nada. Zilch. Not a word. I asked him how his feet were (he had been to have them seen to by someone who is very brave to touch his feet) and he said they were great. They were safely tucked inside his shoes so I couldn’t wax lyrical about how amazing they looked. His magic German cream from Belgium was the best thing for his feet and the professional foot man was very complimentary. I smiled broadly and looked him in the face. Nada.

Halfway home in the car, I asked him if he noticed anything different. Given the eye-watering amount I had just spent on my new glasses (he always picks up the most expensive frames without even looking), I wanted outpourings of “wow they look amazing” type comments. I wanted him to wax lyrical. There was a pregnant enough pause for me to notice it, and then he realised and the outpourings began.

Phew. Am glad they look ok. I would have preferred two weeks in Spain at those prices but at least I can see clearly now.