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Further adventures in wilful ignorance

Loth though I am to repeat myself (arch look to camera) I'm afraid that I'm going to be partly re-treading old ground this week. I hadn't intended to, but then all the fun and games of yesterday occurred and I thought oh bugger me, they're at it again. Yes, sorry, but I'm irritated with the press again, well the media in general, but mostly the commentariat concerned with the news. You may recall that  last time  I got round to posting a blog, it was to express disquiet at the collective forgetting of what the early days of Covid were like, and how the Government's chaotic response is somehow a surprise to people who presumably were being paid to notice at the time. This week, in the latest instalment of "Britain, WTF?" Pretend Prime Minister Rishi Sunak has Done A Politics, and been, the commentators all agree, Very Clever by engineering the return to frontline politics of one David Cameron, the semi-retired halfwit whose fault *all this* largely is.
Recent posts

Wilful ignorance

If you don't have any skin in the game, the Covid enquiries have been riotously entertaining. Well, riotous may be over-egging an already fairly rich pudding, but there has been a degree of grim amusement. Watching all these minor characters from a fairly so-so season of " Britain, fucking hell" indulge in an orgy of incrimination, blame, self-justification and good old-fashioned chucking everybody else under the bus has come with a pleasurable frisson of schadenfreude,and how I enjoy applying those European words to the Big Brane of Brexit, the never knowingly undersworn Dominic Cummings, whose petulant, teenage-levels of resentment have been particularly amusing. The fucking around has occurred, now we get to enjoy the finding out. I fully appreciate, however, that if you're one of the millions who lost a loved one, who missed a funeral, who stayed home and followed the rules, it might be less funny. If you're one of those who suffered as domestic abuse ran riot

20

Huh. It turns out that this blog is, as of, well, roughly about now-ish, 20 years old. 20. I've been doing this (very intermittently) for twenty bloody years. And, I cannot help but note, still am, for some reason. I've done posts in the past, when this whole thing was comparatively blemish free and dewy-skinned looking back on its history and how it's changed down the years, there's not really a lot of point in doing that again. It's reflected what concerns me at the time, is, I think, the most charitable way of phrasing it (a  polite way of saying that it's been self-absorbed and solipsistic, but then, it's a blog, this should not come as a shock), it's interesting for me to look back over the lists of posts, but not so much for you, I imagine. Likewise, pondering how I've changed in the intervening years is also fairly pointless. It's painfully obvious that I was a very different person at 25 to 45, my experience of jobs and kids and marriage

Genius loci

 At the back end of last week, I heard a sound which told me Autumn had truly arrived. It seemed out of place, as we sweltered in unseasonable warmth, but it is as reliable an indicator if the seasons turning as leaves browning. A slightly comical, slightly mournful honking, early in the morning then again at the turn of the day The pink-footed geese are back. It is one of those sounds which is part of the fabric of this place, the siren being tested at Ashworth Hospital means it's Monday, Bringing practice means it's Tuesday, and the migration of the Pinks to their wintering grounds at Martin Mere means it's time to dig the jumpers out. It is one thing I do think I'd miss if I moved away. The arrival of these faintly ludicrous birds, strung out loosely against the sky in their rough v formations is something which seems to have burrowed its way deep into my consciousness, a sign that yes, things are definitely not all they could be, but some things are still working. T

Pub Life

It's got nothing to do with your Vorsprung Durch Technik you know (one for the teenagers, there). We've been in here a month now, and it's safe to say my life is considerably different to how it once was. Before moving in, my biggest worry about living above the shop was that it would be impossible to delineate where work ends and home life starts. This has been the case to an extent, but I've been pleased to discover that it cuts both ways. What I had feared was that work would take over my life, that I'd be unable to resist just popping downstairs and clearing "just a couple of prep jobs, I won't be ten minutes". I will admit, this has happened, but the reverse is also true, being able to pop upstairs and say goodnight before the kids go to bed is worth the price of admission alone. Likewise finishing service this evening and being able to pop upstairs and have dinner and a glass of wine with Mrs Coastalblog before going back down to supervise the ki

The downward spiral

It's rare that a shock in the world of Hospitality crosses over to the mainstream news. But with the news emerging yesterday that Le Gavroche is to close, we had one of those moments of a topic which is a something if an obsession in our industry actually becoming public, a very visible symptom of a disease which has been incubating for a fair old while now. Talk amongst chefs has changed in the last few years, as we've navigated the successive shocks of Brexit and Covid, from who's doing what, who's rolling out, who's going for a star and are they worth it to the simpler questions: who's going under? how are you keeping going? When the news about Le Gav broke, my sous and I exchanged a look and asked the same question, if Michel Roux can't make it work, what hope for the rest of us? That wasn't the only closure I heard of yesterday, but it's unlikely you've heard about the other one. About nineish, just as I was ticking off my fish order, a guy

A whole new world.

I appear to have moved into the pub. Now, I don't wish to give the impression that this has come as a complete surprise to me, we'be been planning to do so since shortly after I bought it, but still, it's sort of snuck up on me and now I'm waking up and thinking what happened? How come I'm here? The reason for this discombobulation is that this move was initially a temporary measure. Mrs Coastalblog had some relatives coming to stay, and it made sense to put them up in our house while we decamped to the flat. It's still a work in progress, but a mad week of cleaning and carting stuff around made it habitable. I had a suspicion that once we were in we'd be back and forth for a few weeks. As with many of my hunches, I was completely and utterly wrong. As it turned out, once we were here, we were here. Things moved at pace and, now our kitchen appliances have been installed, there's no going back, the old house is unusable. It's left me with slightly mi