Coastalblog

I thought I was doing pretty well with the 50 book challenge, just coming up to the end of June and I'm twenty five down, so far, so on target. Then I see that Archel is up to forty four already. I am in awe. This being said I'm pretty happy with how it's going, and there are of course the concomitant creative benefits (alright, alright, blatant piracy if you must, us clever writers refer to it as "inspiration"), as well as the sense of pleasure derived from reading something that looks really really hard in public. Why yes ladies, I am a highbrow sort now you come to ask, care for a Kir Royale? Another batch of stuff getting sent off to people over the next few days, including (and this is the perfect opportunity to pimp amigo and fellow writer Andrew Taylor's venture) erbacce . Gotta keep busy, there's three or few new Ormskirk Short Stories in the works as well, which should be going up over the next week or so, and editing on the novel continues apace...

Alright, technically it's not "new", and purely in terms of necessity it can hardly be described as a hobby, but I'm getting back into cooking in a big way. This isn't to say I was ever out of cooking, but my interest in trying myself out has been reignited (after yesterday's successful experiment with an onion and garlic tarte Tatin - which was the first time I've worked with pastry in donkeys years). So new stuff to try...I just had a quick scan of my bookshelves and realised there are cookery books there that I've never even opened (my manic biblioshopping at work right there). So I think I may work my way through them, I may even mention the more successful attempts up here from time to time, you lucky lucky people. Incidentally this is the one hundredth post made to coastalblog. I'm so glad it wasn't just some line going "This is the hundredth post! Woooo!" *sniff* my little baby's all grown up....

Oh to bake on a beautiful day. Such contentment. Things have been continuing apace of late, certainly as regards career (I can't go into any detail here sadly, as at least one of my waitresses is an occasional reader, hey Flip!), there has, of course been the attendant nightmares of stress and politiics. Intriguing in darkened corners and all of that sort of business. Frankly, I'm not a great deal of use at that sort of thing. It makes me fret and when I fret I get snappy and when I get snappy I drink biblical amounts and when I drink biblical amounts it annoys the bejaysus out of the missus. No good at all. So today, being as it is my only day off this week, has been dedicated to relaxing as thoroughly as possible without artificial aid (you feel calm, but never really are, I find). The morning was dedicated to manly, outdoor pursuits (translation, I bought a pair of hedge loppers and assaulted the back yard, two would-be trees now lie in bits in bin liners). Exertion aside, a...

A film about poverty stricken Liverpool families entering gruelling all night dance contests for cash prizes? Called, obviously They do shoot horses though don't they though?

(Or: I'm too distracted to write an actual honest to goodness proper post, so here's another foolish list) 1) Australia get battered by England. Ricky Ponting: "We'll just laugh this off." Next game. Australia get battered by Somerset. Ricky Ponting: "I'm bloody furious" 2) Mark Corrin! Skeletor! Single of the week! 3) Investigating portuguese wines. Why wasn't I told? Mmmm...intense 4) Falling out with the boss. Weight off shoulders. I really couldn't care less any more. 5) The Ormskirk short stories. I have purpose once more (and also a bona fide excuse as to why this post is so short and ill considered. I'm working!)

Gaah! The journey up was so easy I should have expected trouble on the way back. In theory it's only a short step from Ormskirk. Twenty something minutes to Preston, and a handful of minutes on top of that. We stepped off the train ready for the evening, and happy that we still had plenty of time to enjoy it. On the way back, however, forget about it. Network Rail, in their infinite wisdom decided to dig up the tracks and not tell anyone (I'd checked with thetrainline.com and they assured me that the trains were running. Mind you, they also thought Paddington was the closest tube station to Lords so what do they know? The moral of the story here, clearly, is Don't Trust The Internet. Unless it's your 100% accurate super soaraway Coastalblog, obviously). So they were running buses instead. God, I hate buses. They take ages, they have to play the lottery that is the motorway (you lose! a five mile tailback!) and you can't get up and move carriages when a baby starts c...

Were you listening to me before? Go to Lancaster. But don't go by bloody train. More follows soon.

(I'm Cornish, btw) This is from a catering perspective. 1) The mealy-mouthed inability to admit that you're a cheapskate. I've lost count of the amount of people who've rung up asking me if I have a "special" menu. I now reply "do you mean a cheap menu?" as standard. See also customers who mutter something about having left the tip on the table and presto, there's no tip there. Newsflash. IT'S NOT FUCKING OBLIGATORY. 2) The fanatical worrying about REALLY UNIMPORTANT BULLSHIT. We're situated next door to a block of flats which has a private car park. The residents have a habit of leaving the gates open (the gates which have the signs on to denote private parking). Naturally the odd customer gets a bit confused and parks there. So this afternoon a red-faced woman came in the retaurant to complain to me that one of my customers had parked in her space. Heaven forbid. She then carried on complaining at me for five minutes (during which time ...