food preparation and a good munch

Today I had a rib eyed steak with steamed veg to which I added a chorizo jus .What is chorizo jus, you might ask.Well by now you should know that chorzo is a spanish spicy dried sausage ,although the blessed Argies do a version which is neither spicy or dry. Jus is just a poncey word i picked up from watching too many Masterchef progs and I just fancied impressing you lot with my savour faire sophistication so I thought i'd throw it at you. Anyway what I did was chop me chorizo , added it to melted butter , cooked it for a wee while then added it to my already steamed veg. Luvly jubly

Now the steak is the part that matters most.I grilled it for 2 minutes on each side at a high heat having first rubbed some oil and a wee bit of salt.I use the word wee not because nature calls, but because 1/16th of me is sweaty sock,ie jock .
After the grilling session I stacked me steak and veg in a not entirely decorous fashion on a plate mindful the Michel Roux was not watching over my shoulder ready to exclaim"that is not very elegant".I might add ,neither was the way i ate it .

I must admit i am a bit of a sucker for love films.No not those excruciatingly maudlin, bring the sick bucket piles of excrement found in the likes  of a Mills and Boon book , but a simple tale which one can either relate to or no,t but which seems nonetheless quite  plausible.
I have recently been watching Tv programme going  by the name of True Love which is basically is series of short stories with love being the overriding emotion.Each story ,of course, was different but what made them particularly interesting was the fact the actors were given a plot but no script to follow,in other words they had to ad lib their way through; the end result being the dialogues were  of short term duration and, as such, probably more realistic.The experience of acting in that situation must have been very challenging, albeit in a different manner .

Now to the story which, in light of a certain recent event , was quite poignant.It involved a young female teacher at a school whose class consisted, in the main, of 16 year olds, both male and female.She seemed ,by all accounts, a likeable person fully committed to her work and trying to do the best for her pupils. Her private life was inconsequential, her only human contacts seemed to be her mother  and a married man with a sports car who seemed to treat her as his bit on the side .She was, in fact, his mistress and although she wanted more in terms of attention and affection, he was only interested in sexual favours.Ultimately it proved to be a very unsatisfactory arrangement for her.
It was during one of her classes that she caught the attention one of her pupils ,a pert self possessed young lady who seemed to take some interest in her.The teacher at first felt rather uncomfortable as she was not used to the attention she was getting not least from a teenager who happened to be a pupil as well.Moral questions must have leapt into her mind as well as questions about her own sexuality.Child abuse a la Saville  was not an issue because the girls was of age was the instigator and , ultimately,the seducer.  Naturallement the relationship became consummated although that was  merely hinted at with the holding of hands eye contact followed by the sight of rolling waves.How touching
Now I guess all this activity  would not have escaped the attentions of someone connected to one of  the two protagonists , in this case the young girls closest school friend who one day asked her if she was "carrying on" with their teacher.She denied it of course but her   friend did not believe her and then went on to her betray her by spreading her suspicions to the rest of the class room.What followed i found quite disturbing if only because I thought the youth of today would be more liberal than was the case .Its at those kind of moment that I feel like jumping into to the story to make it more palatable and more in tune with my own  mores.Not that I am a lesbian of course but I am social libertarian with a strong live and let live attitude.Intolerance does not sit well with me but unfortunately intolerant ,judgemental and bigoted was precisely the manner  her classroom reacted.Made me feel quite angry in fact.I wanted to shout "how dare you "and did at the tv as I squirmed with increasing discomfort.
What followed was the whole classroom ganged up against said teacher calling her lesbian in a  persistently  aggressive voice, driving her out of  both the  classroom and the school in tears.Meanwhile her young lover was spared the abuse bar from her own so called  friend who called the dalliance "disgusting".Fortunately she knew where her heart lay and, being of strong mind, followed her lover out of the school gates to face the future, hopefully, together.
Moral? Well I know some will say the teacher should not have entered such a dalliance in the same way a doctor should not with a patient, but I say love conquers all.For me the real judgement lies on a bigoted,  homophobic attitude that has no place in the modern world .Its a sad aspect of a patriarchal society and judeo christianity  in particular, which has continued with  its corrosive effects over the centuries.Fortunately as we become more liberal and secular we can challenge all the preconceptions that are so damaging and which over the centuries have driven thousands to live secret lives for fear oif being reviled or worse.End of!

Project Normandy Lane

Its been 9 months since Helen and i moved int our new abode situated in a pleasant village on the south coast of England.Have to say neither she nor i have regretted the move as it is so peaceful and verdant here looking out into the garden listening not to the sound of traffic but the endless chirping from feathered wildlife.August our cat amuses as he watches them hop around intent on catching one but failing miserably.Bless him, he is getting on rather.
We took the decision to move in the summer of 2009, july to be precise, when just by chance i suggested we take a little drive round a village that had previously caught our attention. Normandy lane was our first port of call a small row of bungalows which Helen swears isnt an estate, not even a small one.Sitting in the middle of a row sat number 24 which had a for sale board on it .afetr making an appointmemnt with the agents we sauntered back to it and undertook our very first viewing, one of several as it happens.Helen became enthralled, not so much with the house which was quirky, but I think the area itself.She just loved it.Undfortunately the timing was all wromng because depsite us hurriedly putting our hopse on the market hoping for a miracle sale, it was not to be .No 24 was sold two months later,The disappointment we felt was marked but i kind of knew in the back of my mind that eventually we would end up on that street .
we undertook several other viewings over hte ensuing months in different areas but none really gra=bbed us quite like normandy lane.Eventually we decided we would wait for a firm offer for our house before getting excitred again.
Now this part for my money is the worst part of moving home.the phone call from ones agent telling us that Mr Mrs so and so wanted to view our own home .Spic and span we rushed like blue arsed flies trying to get everything just so to impress knowing all the time that something was not quite right.Nothing was neutral for one thing except maybe the bathroom.We liked vivid colours then, yellow and peach and my own bedroom had been colourwashed a kind of orange and the woodwork was darkish pink .So very bohemian.On top of that one of our neighbours had turned their back yard into a junk yard which was very visible, in fact one viewer remarked on it.We did get some interest but the wrong kind ie the prospective buyers did not have an offer on their property.afetr a while one just gest kind of cynical about the whole thing as the months rolled by.
Come february and Gerard  and his Mrs turn up to view Eton rd.By this time we had grown rather resigned but they did make an offer which was rather disappointing to say the least being that it amounted top a 10% drop on our price.Nevertheless I decided to have another look around Normandy lane to see if by any chance a suitable property could be found .as luck would have it there was and whats more it was at the same price as Eton rd .Magnifico! I went back to Gerard and told him that the house was his if he could up his offer, which he did although not by much as was having difficulty raising a mortgage to cover the total. Anyway to cut a long story short

a beginning with Queso ye

well i got to start somewhere havent I? so as its late and i am tired I thought I would start with the phrase queso ye. Meaningless isn't it ? well yes if you are English or German or speak any other language apart from Spanish it is an even though you might do so it still does not rank high in the making any sense stakes.In other words -no tiene sentido!
Now you might look at the first word , presuming of course that Castillian is a language you are familiar , and think cheese and of course you would be right, but the second one consisting of one syllable, ie- ye, well you might think the word has been misspelt.Instead yo would seem the correct term.It means I of course.Then again why would you say queso yo? It means cheese I.Not good Spanish and its translation is not good  English, whichever way you look at it.So what could it mean- queso ye .Its an anagram  of a well worn phrase ie que se yo , meaning "how do I know"
Now I am of to bed to collect my thoughts and dream of further enlightening blogs