Screamers

Something to share...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 11:52:00 +0000

We went to the Sage last night to watch the African Rebels tour. I couldn't help taking a video of one of Africa's most influential singers, Mali's Salif Keita. Sorry about the camera shaking, after all I am 55 tomorrow...

His song, Folon (In the past...) sends shivers in people's back even if, like me they don't understand the lyrics. His voice is so penetrating and his music is a mix of traditional African and Western folk.
I thought you'd like to listen to it.

In the meantime, sorry for deserting this blog. I tend to post in my restaurants blog more often nowadays.

New blog...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 09:16:00 +0000

Sorry about the absence. I have been working on a new project.

Two and a half years after getting into blogging I have come up with the idea of starting a blog for my restaurants.

Before I started blogging, I had a "News" page in our restaurant's website where I posted anecdotes about restaurant life. It provided light entertainment for our customers and helped create a bond with them. And it gave me an outlet to my busy head, a way to relax after a busy shift.

will remain my personal blog although posts may become scarce.

The new one however will be useful to our customers as it will keep them informed of what is going on with the restaurants, staff, etc...
I am also hoping to develop a decent recipe section.

Here is the link to Cloud Cookeryland.

I will leave it open for a little while for those Blogfriends who want to check the new blog out.

What kind of wine are you?

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 22:51:00 +0000

I took this test a couple of days before Christmas and I was really disappointed to be a Chardonnay.
I took it again a few minutes ago and I am now a Pinot Noir, which I much prefer to the lemony taste of Chardonnay. Yes, of course, Pinot is red and yes, I love red.

You Are Pinot Noir

Sophisticated and worldly, you probably know more about wine than most drinkers. Ish...

You have great taste, and you approach all aspects of life with a gourmet attitude. Taste in food and wine, yep!

You believe that the little things in life should be cherished and enjoyed... and of the best quality possible. Definitely. Life is too short to drink bad wine.

And while you may take more time to eat a meal or tour a city, it's always time well spent. Absolument!

Deep down you are: A seductive charmer Bull!
Your partying style: Refined. And you would never call it "partying" Yes, I bloody would!

Your company is enjoyed best with: Stinky expensive cheese. Yep, a slab of Camembert anyday

What Kind of Wine Are You?

Carpet burns...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 17:54:00 +0000

About five years ago, we went on a two-week tour of France starting from Dieppe, where we visited a cousin of mine. She settled there in the early sixties after she'd met and married a French soldier who was serving in Algeria. At the time it was a very delicate case of sleeping with the enemy. I was too young to understand the repercussions.
She and her husband welcome us with open arms and we spent a couple of days with them before heading South.

My carefully planned itinerary included Bayeux as it happened to be on the way to Saint Malo, our next stop.
After a leisurely late lunch we decided to visit the world-famous Tapestry.

We made our way to a large darkened room wearing earphones to learn about Harold, William and the battle of Hastings. The commentary was in 14 languages so I picked the French version to see if the facts had been embellished.

The tapestry hung in a huge glass cabinet that stretched 70 m along a slow moving walkway allowing visitors time to admire the 58 panels.

TIME!
I looked at my watch and realised that time was not on our side.
Ahead of us lay a two-hour drive to Saint Malo. We needed to arrive in good time to get a decent hotel room. I hadn't bothered booking any in advance in case we changed our route.

Have you ever seen desperate people running for a train, a bus or a plane?
You've got the idea!

We started taking longer steps, just catching sight of a colourful blur as we flew past the ancient Tapestry and many puzzled tourists.

If anybody asks whether I've seen the Tapestry, I just nod vaguely.

Now from the comfort of my armchair, thanks to the marvel of Youtube and technological advances, I am able to enjoy what I missed a few years ago. Check it out.

One of PI's posts jogged my memory...

Another one bites the dust...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Thu, 03 Jan 2008 11:57:00 +0000

I cenosfss I tinhk I danrk a fiar bit of blbuby on New Yaer's Eve.

Wehn I got up on Jnarauy 1st I cdunlot rmbeemer werhe I had prkaed my car.
My wfie took me dwon to the Yahct Marnia. We lkeood and sacehred otuisde our rstrarutnes but cudnolt fnid it.

So I sootd in fornt of our pzizirea and filkcied my ifrnraed key a cupole of tmies and "Hey persto!" smoe lgiths satrted falhisnig jsut osutide the Tpaas bar a hnudned yrdas aawy. Vrey rileleevd, I was.

"Now I rmebemer!"

I had rturenerd hree jsut atefr mdigihnt to fnisih off the clebearionts in Sniasph sytle with Slsaa and Snargia!

Capice?

The second service at the pizzeria went very well. We ended up serving 169 customers in the end. The Tapas bar and our Mediterranean restaurant, the original one did very well too.
I celebrated midnight at the latter. A glass of bubbly and a slice of cake which a customer had prepared for us.
Then some of our staff went with us to the Tapas bar for a dance.

I realised I hadn't had anything to each since midday when I had a light omelet and a salad. So I grabbed a slab of Brie and a slice of bread to shut my noisy stomach up.

Anyone for turkey?

The Power of Wishes...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 19:52:00 +0000

I think I have become an optimistic pessimist...

If I had a choice I'd opt for my head in the mist.

I am not a pessimist really but what is actually happening around the Globe doesn't give room for optimism.

My country of birth, Algeria has not seen much peace for the last half century and it seems that there are those who promise many more deadly waves of suicide-bombers to this beautiful corner of the Mediterranean.

Benazir Bhutto, whatever her agenda, hidden or otherwise, is another victim of terrorism, state-sponsore or otherwise.

Kenya's rigged elections have sparked deadly riots in this hitherto most peaceful corner of Africa.

In numerous other parts of this world of ours countless ordinary people are born and die without have tasted a peaceful day. Afghanistan, Irak, Zimbabwe, Sri Lanka, Colombia, Chechnia, Nepal, the Middle East, etc...

I am writing this on New Year's Eve between the early service and the late one.

We have just fed, watered and entertained over 80 people. The staff are resetting the tables for just as many customers again.

The only thought on the minds of these diners is to have a great time surrounded by their family and friends to the sound of children's laughter.

I just wish that each and everyone around the world could be freed from strife to enjoy their life with their nearest and dearest in total peace and security.

Am I asking for too much?

Couldn't the power of wishes make a real difference?

...

Tasty leftovers...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 11:05:00 +0000

Ah, Christmas, bloody Merry Christmas....

I always promise myself that the next one will be perfect.
This one was perfect...
Well, nearly... That is until one of our head-chefs was diagnosed with severe angina! The poor guy, a loyal employee of over 12 years, is now awaiting a triple-heart bypass operation.

As a result, the run-up to the Christmas was a very busy and stressful period for the rest of his team who had to work twice as hard to make up for his absence. I tried to help a little in the middle of dashing between three restaurants tweaking, smiling, shaking hands, kissing, troubleshooting, shooting troublemakers...

And you know, when chefs get stressed out and tired they suddenly turn into Prima Donnas in need of love, reassurance and motivation!
Motivation in the form of a bloody kick up the arse and a pat on the back.
Every Christmas I could write a tragicomedy!
In actual fact I could commit a tragedy.
Such as shooting half a dozen chefs, two or three customers before riding away into the sunset!

But Christmas being the season to be merry, I have decided to bite on a few chocolates and my tongue while letting the New Year begin in bloodless harmony.

Ahhhh... That was therapeutic. Thanks for listening.

Happy New Year to you all great listeners.

I took this photo in a Brussels Square after that famous November wedding.
For this contented dog, "Happiness is a bowl of tasty leftovers."

...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 12:15:00 +0000

Whatever we believe in...

Whatever our convictions...

I am sure that all our wishes are for Happiness for All and Peace on Earth

May these wishes come true...

Happy Holidays to all my blogfriends.

Lighting up...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Tue, 18 Dec 2007 23:00:00 +0000

Christmas at one of the restaurants.

Waiting for the rest of the party...

Christmas at home...

Two years ago I wrote this post.
I think I have mellowed...

Dare I mention Global Warming on Christmas Day?

My first car...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 17:58:00 +0000

At the tender age of 28!!!! A white Ford Cortina. An ex-taxi.

I was working at an Italian restaurant at the time and got to know many of the customers. One of them owned a local taxi firm and I regularly used it for our diners.
Cliff offered to let me have one of the taxis he was replacing, a ten-year old Cortina for a bargain £175! The valeting alone must have cost £30! When I went to pick it up, my beautiful white chariot was gleaming inside and out.
I sat for a few minutes while Cliff explained the controls.
It was a Concorde compared to the tinny tiny Micra in which I had learnt to drive and passed my test.
He then waved me goodbye as I chugged to a shy start.

My first exploratory trip was that same afternoon to a town ten miles away.

My wife sat in the passenger seat. In the back, next to our two-year old son, Adam, sat her aunt who had been invited to go shopping with us.

I set off with a Cheshire cat's smile on my face, looking out for a familiar face to blow the horn at.

A couple of miles down the road we came upon a traffic accident. A policeman was surveying the scene and, as it happened, so was I.

Suddenly my wife let out a chilling scream.

Startled, I looked ahead.
An oncoming car swerved out of the way onto the pavement to avoid me. I had been so captivated by the sight of the two inept drivers who had collided, that I had veered onto the wrong side of the road. I quickly slipped back in the right lane. The aunt's face was as white as a sheet. Adam was screaming. My wife gave me a killer stare that forecast many frosty days ahead.
A few seconds later a flashing blue light appeared in the mirror. I stopped the car and began shaking like a leaf.

The policeman who had been attending to the accident was fuming. So was one of the drivers who had just missed a head-on collision with my Cortina. He had followed the police car to add further oil to the fire and ensure the admonishment was severe.

"Are you here on holiday?" The policeman asked. After all, I had briefly driven on the wrong side of the road.

After sheepishly apologizing and confessing that it was my first sortie in my brand new Cortina he let me go not without a reprimand and a caution to be more careful in future.

A year and a £10-water pump later I sold the Cortina for £225! A net profit of £40!

Come on then, what was your first car?

What's your carrot?

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 17:53:00 +0000

Marrakesh streets are used by buses, cars, motorbikes, mopeds, bikes, horse-and-carts, donkey-and-carts.
A mish-mash of vehicles that often renders driving a hellish nightmare.

The last time I was there I hired a car and drove a little around downtown MK but mainly on the open road towards the Atlas Mountains. I managed to drive around without scratching the hire car.
The truth is that there is seldom real risk of a serious accident as the traffic unfolds mostly at crawling pace.

Often, at peak times, that is between 8am and 11pm, many a two-lane street is transformed into a four-lane car park where one can dance the salsa to the sounds of the blaring horns, neighing donkeys and bleeting sheep...

Just another facet of colourful MK.

I doctored the above photo using Corel Painter and added a stick and a carrot. This is to jump to the next topic.
What is your carrot? What drives you?

Personally, the minute I find myself sitting still, either my body or my mind longs to be busy.
Busy contemplating the next enterprise, busy travelling in body or mind.
I just hate plateaux.
I don't mind mountains to climb, as in a new challenge.
I enjoy the odd slide, as in a thick slice of recreation, be it travel, partying or gourmet dining.

But plateaux, no thanks...
So, as far as I am concerned, movement, life and vitality... That's what drives me...

So, what's your carrot?

Daydreaming of little things...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 18:50:00 +0000

Last night I dreamt of leaving the cold wind
And grey skies behind me.

For a minute I thought about getting into my kayak and sailing into the sunset.
But images of amnesia and Panama crossed my mind.
A sad guy in a police station just down the road from me must be desperately wishing he had stayed at home.
Stayed at home, looking out at the North Sea and doodling...

Just as did last night when I dreamed of warmer climes...

I started with the usual curls. Just a few little things.

The pen came to life and I suddenly began floating away.

Guess where I landed?

...

Tis a season to be well organised...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 13:10:00 +0000

Party bookings are good and we expect these next three weeks to fly over.
No time to breathe or think. It's a question of how many turkeys, ducks, steaks, sea bass, puddings, etc...

Over the years we have become very well organised and everything is usually like clockwork.
Most parties order their meals beforehand from a wide choice of starters, main-courses and desserts. Many organisers choose to settle their bills well in advance so that they can enjoy their party in peace. (I'm sure that quite a few businesses would kill for such a set-up.)

We make it easy on ourselves too with a simple system whereby diners are labelled by their position on the table. And this avoids things like: "Who's the turkey?"
We came up with it after a visit to this posh hotel, The Sharrow Bay on Lake Ullswater in 1986.

The waiter came to the table and without asking, he placed the correct dishes in front of us. This happened over the three courses so I surmised that it couldn't possibly have been guesswork.
And after a great deal of cogitation, we came up with a simple plan. If we placed an "L" next to the lady's order and a "G" next to the gentleman's then we would know who was having what.
It couldn't have been easier!
Within days we extended that bright idea to larger parties with the numbering system.
Being served the correct dish without being asked what they have ordered never ceases to amaze our customers.

If any of you have friends in the catering business, please feel free to pass this on to them.
Call it a Christmas present, after all...

"Tis the season to be jolly"...

Lazy Sunday...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 18:18:00 +0000

This has been a very lazy Sunday.
One of those damp, grey Sundays when I could not be bothered to do anything.
One of those Sundays that come after a busy Saturday night. The end of the month.

I got up late. Had a mug of tea, watched the news and just lazed around.
My son came to borrow the staple gun to put up the Christmas decorations and lights at the Tapas bar.
It is a job that I used to enjoy very much. But I passed it on to others a few years ago.

Later I raided the fridge and made some vegetable soup with what I could find.
I also made some unlevened bread the way my mother used to make it. But in a pancake pan.

The Euro 2008 draw was shown live on the telly. Next Summer will be a bit dull. None of the British teams made it.

While waiting for the soup to cook I practised My Lady D'Arbanville on my guitar. I resumed my guitar lessons a few weeks ago. A friend of mine has been giving me a weekly lesson. But I don't practise as often as I should. I go through phases. I watched a couple of versions of the song on YouTube and I'm getting to grips with the chords but the tips of my fingers feel raw.

Tonight we are supposed to go to the Tapas bar for our third Salsa lesson.
The lessons have become so popular that we have decided to also hold them on Tuesdays in the New Year.

A nice bowl of soup and a chunk of fresh bread.

Yes, a lazy Sunday indeed but the question remains... To Salsa or not to Salsa.

Home Delivery

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 19:10:00 +0000

I am not one to complain without good cause but the restaurant business tends to take a plunge during the cold months. All eleven of them up here!
Prospective diners prefer to huddle up in a warm house, hire a video, open a bottle of wine and order a takeaway.
Is it any wonder that so many of us are piling on the weight?

It only takes a quick phonecall.

Plates out. "Turn on the oven to keep the food warm when it arrives."
Cutlery out. "Don't forget the napkins!"
Trays out.

Crack open a bottle of wine.
30 minutes. Not a morsel of food in sight!

45 minutes. Irate phonecall.
"Feed me!"
"On its way right now, sir. The driver got lost."

Crack open another bottle of wine. Cheaper than the first one. One must always drink the better wine first. Allegedly, after the first bottle even vinegar tastes ok.
Can't resist a thin sliver of Camembert.

60 minutes. Knock on the door.
"That'll be £25, sir."
"Here's a tip for you: get yourself a GPS, mate!"

Slam!

Tear. Tear. Tear.
"Why do they have to wrap everything so bloody tightly?"
"Hmmm. Do you remember what we ordered?"
"Er... Chinese, I think."

Two minutes later...
Back in front of the telly.
Munch, munch...
"Did you put the rest in the oven?"
"I think so."
...

The alarm goes off.
"Bloody Hell! Monday already!"
"No, you silly thing! It's the smoke alarm. Burnt leftovers. We must've dozed off."
Missed half the film.

Some guys are born lucky!

Algerian artist Souad Massi sings Mesk Ellil (Honeysuckle)

Foodie Marrakech...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sat, 24 Nov 2007 23:55:00 +0000

You'll never go hungry in Marrakech...

Honest!
You can eat for £1 or £100 and that within a couple of square miles.

Breakfast at Le Grand Café de La Poste. I had one of the best plain omelettes ever there one morning. Earl Grey and fresh juice squeezed on the spot.

Squid cooked three ways and Thai sticky rice at Café 16.

Followed by the most flavoursome macaroons I have ever tasted.
The lilac one was flavoured with violets and lavender.
Other flavours included Mint, Lemon, Coffee, Rose, etc... washed down with freshly squeezed pink grapefruit juice....
No wonder Maryam likes desserts at Café 16!

A glass of refreshing mint tea at the Menara Café after a long walk...

A drive up the Atlas Mountains and Ourika Valley where tiny shacks serve delicious tagines and salads by the side of a gentle stream.

In the evening you have a choice between the Jemaa el Fna Square in the Médina where revellers gather around the numerous food stalls and dine on wooden benches and tables...

...Or make your way along the Médina's quiet alleyways...

...to slum it at one of the most amazing places in Marrakech, Ziwana where Kate Moss launched her Dior fragrance last December...

A cross between Dali, Picasso and Gaudi...

Give me strength to get over this cold winter without losing my mind...

...

My boyfriend is What???

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 09:45:00 +0000

Where else but in Magical Marrakech can one enjoy a spot of peaceful reading?

I volunteered to interview Zoe's boyfriend for her new book My Boyfriend is a Twat.

This Twat comes from Ambleside in the English Lakes. (A few years ago, I lost an expensive camera in one of them!)
He was in mountain rescue. A few of them were in danger of crumbling.

Most of these gentle Lakemen hate the city. I know a couple who've never set foot outside Cumbria!
But, the Twat must have been really brave! He left the Lakes and headed for bloody Tanzania among other obscure places. Well, at least he must have felt at home surrounded by lakes, mountains and greenery.
A village chief christened him Quarsan but we all know him as The Twat.
Well, can you blame Zoe for calling him just that? The first time they met, he presented her with a bouquet of sausages!! What a guy!

I read the book and found a lot in common with the Twat. My Mediterranean-North-African-Macho alter-ego blushes in shame.
He left the North of England to go to Africa. I did the opposite.

Zoe says he loves Edinburgh. It is my favourite British city!
He knows the unknown Greek island of Evia and so do I.
He met a girl with three kids and so did I.
He's the boss in the kitchen... And guess what!

So here we go... My questions were BOLD.

1- Reading between the lines, I feel that Zoe does love you a lot really. Would you worry if she stopped calling you The Twat?

It's not what she calls me that bothers me, it's the volume.

There are indeed three sides to every argument. Yours, hers and hers...

2- Zoe says you hog the kitchen. Don't you trust her cooking?

Pissed women shouldn't cook.

It's dangerous. She refuses to do any cooking, so I do it. It's painful at times thinking of what to cook people and working out how many to feed. On top of that the kids like to eat 7:30 - 8:00 and Zoe at 9:00 but we must all eat together.

Have ever thought about running a restaurant?

3- I received two free copies of Zoe's book. Who do you think I should give the second one to?

Oxfam. Or security at Eurostar so they can stop her entering the country and bothering innocent people.

Which country? England or Belgium?

4- I didn't know Evia existed until a Greek friend of mine invited me to visit his home on that island. What took you there? And do you know what Zoe means in Greek?

I went to visit my brother in law's parents. Zoe in Greek means trouble.
You know that Zoe means life. But as they say Life means life... Good luck, my friend!

5- Who would you like to play you and Zoe in the film version of the book?

If it was a musical I'd be tempted to cast Amy Whitehouse and Meatloaf, but for a film, why not go for it: Kylie and Jason.
I knew you couldn't help mentioning Kylie! I just hope Zoe's not too jealous...

Buy My Boyfriend is a Twat '>here!

Green and Colourful Marrakesh...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 22:59:00 +0000

For a city that often melts in the Saharan heat, Marrakech is a green oasis of serenity and beauty.
The Majorelle Garden boasts some of the most complete collections of cacti and exotic plants.

Throughout the city, buildings are surrounded with palms, orange and lemon trees.

Water flows abundantly from the Atlas Mountains after the Winter snows have melted.

More Marrakech...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 20:29:00 +0000

What can I say about magical Marrakech that I didn't say back in July?
The temperature was a little cooler... 29 to 33 degrees Centigrade!!!

We left home at midnight to drive to Luton Airport and were in Marrakech at 9.15am.
After dropping our cases at my cousin's we walked in glorious sunshine to Jemaa El Fna, the most famous square in Morocco.

We then made our way to the Ryad (Moroccan house turned into a hotel) which my cousin J. will be managing once the alterations are finished by the end of December.
His boss, a London fashion photographer is very impressed with J's contribution. After all he speaks all three languages needed to get things done in Morocco, Arabic, French and English. His haggling ways have saved thousands of Dirhams.

We then had a light lunch at a restaurant called Kechmara, which is Marrakech spelt an odd way. (Photo)

After a short siesta we headed for Le Comptoir, a spellbinding restaurant-cum-night club.
In an outdoor seating area, with scattered leather cushions and low tables and chairs we sipped on delicious Mojitos while perusing a French-Moroccan menu.
The food was very good and so were the Moroccan wines.
As we ate, the lights were dimmed and the music changed from Buddha Bar to gently thumping. A group of suited gentlemen seated one either side of a sumptuous staircase played a mix of old Andalusian-Moorish favourites as we climbed to the first floor where a thousand candles lit up a most beautiful lounge.

In danced a woman balancing a huge tray of candles on her head, followed by a few more belly dancers. Young, beautiful and slim they wriggled their lower bodies frenetically at times then very sensually. The audience was enthralled and spellbound.

More next time...

Mama's food...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 16:44:00 +0000

On the farm my mother made bread every other day on a charcoal burner and a terracotta platter.
She sat on a tiny stool, surrounded by all she needed. The dough balls covered with a cloth inside a large wooden bowl, caraway, sesame and poppy seeds and a jar of virgin olive oil.
As a young boy, I watched her prepare the bread and other dishes with great interest, always helping her shell peas, take the leaves off artichokes, peel potatoes, pick herbs, etc...

My favourite late morning snack, after helping my mother prepare food for seven people, was a fresh, juicy tomato sprinkled with salt and pepper and a chunk of warm bread dripping with butter churned by our own milkman.

She cooked Algerian tagines, French stews, Italian pastas or Spanish paellas, rarely remarking that many of them were some or other country’s national dish. For her it was just food, pure and simple.
She prepared our meals faithfully following recipes passed on from mother to daughter since the beginning of time.
As a family, we rarely ate out. My parents sometimes invited other relatives and friends for family meals. The hospitality was always returned within days.

Whenever my mother cooked a new dish, she often sent me over to a neighbour or an aunt with a small sample of her latest creation. The gesture was always reciprocated. In fact I was never let go without taking back a few spoonfuls of food in the hurriedly washed and dried dish.

Cooking took up all my mother's mornings. Well, that was before Papa brought her a brand new pressure cooker after we had moved to the town and the place came with a gas cooker.
From then on, my mother was a liberated woman. She had finally discovered Fast Food, long before I did. Under pressure, most dishes took less than half an hour to cook.

She ended up with so much time on her hands that she began doing volunteering work. Within weeks, she became the first female president of our town’s Red Crescent branch.

During my student days, while trying to recreate her delicious dishes, I often rang her all the way from England when I could not remember certain ingredients. The phone call regularly cost more than the food itself.

I took the photos below in Spain.
My favourite is the bottom one. Those cakes were just one delicious mouthful each. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.....

Back in July I loved Marrakesh so much that we're off there for a few days...

...

Dawn to dusk...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 10:00:00 +0000

Google's Picasa though not as professional as photoshop or other editing software is quite fun to quickly edit and play about with photos.

So I chose one of the photos I took on Sunday and played about with it to create a dawn to dusk feel.
I'm sure the old Masters will be spinning in their graves...

My best time of day is dusk.
Sunsets seem to stir up melancholy and memories.
The long walks along various harbours around the Med and Africa, a cool drink in sleepy cafés, getting ready to hit the town after a long lunch and a short siesta ...

What is your best time of the day and why?

Sunday in Whitby...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 17:44:00 +0000

Captain James Cook left Whitby in 1768 for a trip around the world in the Endeavour then later in the Resolution.

Whitby is a beautiful seaside town with the quaintest of streets, nooks and crannies, souvenir shops, etc... that attracts millions of visitors a year.

But most people come to Whitby not to see the statue of Captain Cook or visit the replica of his ship, HMS Endeavour, but to eat Fish and Chips!
I think there are more cafes, restaurants and takeaways per square foot in Whitby selling this British speciality than in the rest of the known world.

Our two grandkids, Evie Louise and Alex enjoyed a beautiful Sticky Toffee Pudding with ice cream and caramel sauce.

PS: Maryam's Marrakesh Blog has been shortlisted for the Best Middle East or Africa Blog.

Please Go and Vote for her here:

Another milestone... and counting down...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 09:57:00 +0000

Countdown celebrated its 25th birthday this week.
I remember watching the first one. It was the first program when Channel 4 began broadcasting back in 1982.
A fourth television channel! Wow! All we had before then were BBC1, BBC2 and ITV.

Then Richard Whiteley unveiled this new, exciting, off-the-wall channel with one of my favourite television games.
I used to watch the original French version, Des Chiffres et Des Lettres (Original title!!) back in Algeria in black and white.

And I also watched the Greek version in the summer of '78 on the island of Evia, a place which is known to at least one more blogger, Quarsan in Zoe's hilarious book, My boyfriend is a Twat.

Pause my music selection and...
Check out why Countdowners loved the late Richard Whiteley so much.

Has any of you watched another version of this addictive program?

...

Who's taking the piss now?

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 14:45:00 +0000

I really wonder!

This tiny statue of an incontinent cherub on a Brussels street corner is being milked like a sacred cow or a golden goose (Can one milk geese?) by the Belgian merchandising machine.

It is being used to sell anything and everything. The bottom photo is that of a tiny part of a large shop window just a couple of doors away from the Manneken Pis.

The sticker on the large brass replica "Fonctionnant" means that the waterworks are fine and you can use this little pissing man as a water feature around your house or garden.

Can you think of any other landmark that can top this one for commercialism?

A Tasty Yorkshire Blonde on Sunday...

noreply@blogger.com (Cream) — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 10:23:00 +0000

On Sunday we drove to a little North Yorkshire village for lunch at a friend's pub.
Sunny Sunday.
Beautiful autumn colours.
I decided to take a few photos of this peaceful place.

For a fiver, I would!
Wouldn't you?

On Sunday most English villages never come alive till after midday. This Sunday everyone was granted an extra hour's sleep, the clock having been put back for the winter.

The Black Horse is a typical village pub which the locals visit when there is nothing on the telly worth watching.
Some kind of a social club. The people are so friendly that before you finish your first pint, you know just about everything there is to know about them, the pub, the village and the rest of North Yorkshire.

Then out of the corner of my eye I spied this tasty blonde. She had a bit of a Belgian accent about her. Not as genuine as a Leffe maybe but she did win Miss Yorkshire 2007...
Tasty, very, very tasty!!

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