Monday 16 February 2009

chish and fips

One sunny day last week we drove to the coast and had fish and chip lunch at the Felixstowe Ferry cafe, famous for same. Now I am on the wonderful statins I can eat what I like.........as long as I don't mind being fat as a barrage balloon.
I had line caught cod [I am sure it died much happier knowing that it was so special, or is it a long line with many hooks, they can be cunning these fishermen] deep fried [oh the guilty pleasure] in golden batter, and fat, hand cut chips, similarly golden and piled to provide a vast crunchy cushion for the fish, - brown sauce of course.
So fresh, so cheap, just as well it is not nearer.
The cafe is a rather ugly shed, with elderly plastic chairs and tables within spitting distance of the shore, where the foot ferry arrives from Bawdsey, and local people park their boats on the shingle.
Last visit was in the summer, we sat outside with Hattie the dog, mostly because the cafe was full - an interesting mix of the old and grey - and rather stout bikers in black leathers and tattoos.
Both visits were made in the sun, one when it beat down with enthusiasm and last week when it turned the heat down to a shy glimmer.

We walked Hatters along the shore to a big grey old Martello Tower from Naploeonic times. No longer do we fear the French, we are together in the European Market, tho not to the extent of changing to the Euro. The Tower is now a home, designer windows, comforting thick walls still withstand the cold. Global warming may play havoc with the landscaped garden however as the sea rises round our coast.
Hopefully the cafe will remain high and dry and deep frying for many years.

children's stories


This is the wall my daughter and I painted in the nursery to welcome grandson. It wasn't my idea, one does not however argue with a lady about to pod.
She obviously believes that her son should be brought up in an atmosphere of teeth [as I once heard someone? say].
She also requested some fairies, one of which you may be able to discern riding the horn. I do miss her enthusiasm now I am home in the land of understatement. If it happened here we would probably have Social Services hotfooting to her door.
Last week we were informed by that august journal The Sun [arsewipe tabloid with a nice line in cheeky headlines] that a twelve year old boy has fathered a child with a fourteen year old girl. The boy looks about 8 and the girl about 40 which adds to the gaiety of the nation.
It's happened before, as with every shock horror.
Last time, in the 90s, the kids eventually got married, still are, still with their twins in the house that they are buying.
Never can tell, unless they now find they can't afford the mortgage in these interesting times.