I would never have believed that I would be cooking sausage and mash for the grandchildren on the night of the Bath firework display as I have done since they were tiny children, but that Saturday has come round again and I am off to buy 25 bangers (British slang for sausages) and a bag of potatoes.
Our compact but adorable city apartment is situated in such a position that we are able to get a good view of the arial fireworks from our front windows, and we all agree that they are the only ones worth watching in any case.
One of the signs of my advancing old age is that I no longer go mad over fireworks. I can take them and leave them now. Another sign is that I have taken to drinking tea in the mornings and sometimes go for days without drinking coffee. This is a bit worrying. Previously I looked upon coffee as a junkie looks upon smack.
A few years ago, I was entitled to a black powder licence. Black powder is gunpowder. I did not apply for one, because I did not want to store several kilos of the dangerous explosive under my bed at our compact but adorable city apartment. I like to wake up gently following a peaceful night's sleep without worrying about several kilos of gunpowder sweating away under the bed, or the merest hint of a fire alarm.
A friend of mine wanted to make his own corned beef but was refused sale of one of the vital ingredients - salt petre. You need to be a chef to have a licence to buy salt petre, which is potassium nitrate - a vital ingredient in the making of gunpowder as well.
I gave him a few spoonfuls from my personal stock, bought years ago from a chemical suppliers on an industrial estate in Bristol. Even then I had to sign for it with my personal details recorded. I did not want to make corned beef at that time, I wanted to make gunpowder.
If he somehow becomes radicalised before he makes his next batch of corned beef, you need not worry. He has only enough potassium nitrate to make a couple of small bangers, not 25.
Come back Guido Fawkes. The Palace of Pestminster needs you.
Sounds like a nice evening ahead.
ReplyDeleteHopefully...
DeleteEnjoy yours and think of me outside in a very wet Norfolk.
ReplyDeleteIt is sunny here now. The rain is clearing from the East, so it may be dry later.
DeleteIt will be a lovely repast. Enjoy the celebration.
ReplyDeleteIt was fine.
DeleteWurst!!! Yum!!!
ReplyDeleteThey were good.
DeleteEnjoy the grandchildren and the display. One question: from whence does the gravy for this repast come since there is no dripping: Don't tell me it's from a packet, please.
ReplyDeleteFrom a packet.
DeleteNothing wrong with a bit of Bisto.
DeleteIt wasn't Bisto, it was Waitrose ready-made. Slightly better than Bisto and around 50 times the price.
DeleteThis picture doesn't look like Bisto either, wrong colour brown.
DeleteI gleaned a bit of good news from your pulled post about the mobile phone. I hope it still stands that way. I bet you're glad you didn't go back to work now.
DeleteYes it does and it makes me happy. He wondered if I had gone back to work.
DeleteLong may it last. I am very pleased - for you both. X
DeleteThanks for reading it and understanding.x
DeleteAs for the coffee >> tea, I get it. Soon you'll be sleeping with a night cap on.
ReplyDeleteAnd a catheter.
DeletePlease don't share when the time comes.
DeleteMy favorite English food.
ReplyDeleteCould be wurst.
DeleteThe one thing I remember always being on the Bonfire Night menu was Treacle Toffee; it either broke your teeth or glued them together.
ReplyDeleteYes, terrible stuff. We sometimes baked potatoes in the embers.
DeleteReally ? I thought all men liked a little fireworks in their bedroom. Shows you what I know.
ReplyDeleteI used to, but now I am not so keen. Maybe it is a form of natural selection protection.
Delete