gillwatsonlifebites

Goodbye Lifebites. Hello gillwatson.co.uk

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 15:17:00 +0000

It's time to move over to http://www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/ . Please be very lovely and add your e mail address to follow me because I'm not allowed to transfer you over myself.

Before I go I thought I should mention that Prue Leith said my book, EATING MY WORDS sounds brilliant and she has agreed to take a look at it. Hopefully she will feel compelled to give it an endorsement.

One reason I am so keen on Prue is that she heads all sorts of charities and committees to encourage better school meals for kids. As you all know I've been working with Grassroots to try to somehow get food into schools to supplement packed lunches. There are too many kids arriving at school with nothing more than a slice of bread or a couple of biscuits to eat.

What we really need is a campaign for FREE SCHOOL MEALS FOR ALL CHILDREN.

I have a dream of Prue heading my campaign. She could call on TV bosses to ban all food programmes on television until governement policy is changed to give all our children free school lunches.

Before I go, I'll leave you with the photos I took in Burnley Tesco's the other night. This is just part of the food in the bakery section that's dumped every night. Bread, pastries, cakes. They can't even use it for animal feed anymore just in case a horse throws up and Tesco are sued.

I think it's time for a change here. All this could have been put in the school freezer for the starving school kids.

Time to be nice . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sat, 20 Oct 2012 11:27:00 +0000

Cleaning products in the loos

Clean carpets

Cute handwipes

So, after the troubles with La Laconda (please read the comments from the chef and the happy customer) it's time to give my new review of Shanghai. It closed for nearly two weeks for re-painting and carpet cleaning after my 'Clean it up!' Tripadvisor review. It's now spotless and the carpets no longer look like animals had been bedding down on them for the winter (as one Tripadvisor reviewer commented). We visited for Joe's 7th birthday and took the Be-Ro milk chocoate cake which Joe had made with big sister Zoe. I had tried to convince him that a character cake from Tesco was a good idea but he was having none of it. The Be-Ro cake is the only one he will eat. I will post the recipe at a later date.

As usual we were running late which meant that the cake was still slightly warm when I sandwiched it together with whipped cream. All was well until we arrived at the restaurant and suddenly the cream turned to milk, poured out of the cake and threatened to ruin the newly cleaned carpets. There were international screams of distress and much running for wet cloths. A tray was found and the carpets and day were saved.

Not so happy cake

The usual

S&S pork

Paper beef, fried noodles with beansprouts

We ate all the usual suspects - spring rolls, prawn toast, satay chicken, honey ribs, seaweed, wontons, chicken lettuce wrap, crispy duck. Then paper beef, sweet and sour pork, noodles with beansprouts and lots of Neil Joubert chenin blanc. Everything was great.

But then, on my way to pay the bill, I found the staff eating lobster, baked white fish (looked like a big bream) steamed dim sum and my favourite Chinese spinach. "I want lobster! I want spinach!" I cried.

"Come, take chopsticks, eat with us" said the lovely lady. I didn't. I was as good as gold and left those chopsticks where they lay. But once upon a time (about 4 years ago) there was an a la carte menu at Shanghai offered in addition to the £12.50 order-all-you-like menu. This menu featured such delights as the lobster with ginger and garlic. We even spent Christmas day there once dining on the eleven course banquet until Grandpa Louis fell asleep at the table and we had to take him home.

"Come. Take chopsticks. Eat with us."

My favourite Chinese spinach with chilli and garlic

Lobster left-overs

So, a great night BUT we were the only people there. PLEASE all you Brierfield locals, give Shanghai another chance. It's clean, it's friendly, the food is great and the wine crisp and cold. What more could you want?

We left a bit of a mess by the way . . .

PS There may be another long break from blogging as I try to set up my new website. At the moment I'm having a bit of trouble downloading pictures but when it's sorted we will be moving across to www.gillwatson.co.uk.

Murder, gay telly and spitting. How do such searchwords lead to my blog?

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 14:08:00 +0000

Murder? Gay telly? Spitting?

It's all very odd. The last search of note which directed someone through Google to my blog was 'Gay arab searches sex on Edgware Road'. That lead some poor sod to my post, Edgware Rd edibles and the time we mistook someone's garden for a restaurant.

This week we have the above selection. Who has Johnnie Mountain supposedly murdered? And why would anyone think my friend Fernando (of The Ivy and the Hotel Inspector) was gay?

But most random of all is 'spitting'. No matter how I try I cannot fathom how someone would be directed to my blog after putting 'spitting' into a search engine.

Never mind the bollocks . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 20:35:00 +0000

Maurizio, the chef and owner of La Locanda called me this morning to say how very offensive he had found my blog review of his restaurant. "You say my food is like eating dog bollocks! This is offensive!" I had to agree; it was definitely not a compliment.  What I didn't realise was that he had already left a comment on my blog.

NB If you are one of my subscribers who receives my posts by e-mail PLEASE have a look at my blog site and read Maurizio's comment, you won't regret it.

I was interested to know how Maurizio had come across my blog. He said he had looked me up after reading the evaluation sheet we had been handed with the bill. "So you did read the evaluation then?" I asked. We dined on the 7th September and I didn't publish the blog post until the 21st. Why had he taken so long to contact me? "I've been very busy" was Maurizio's reply.

Personally, I think that if you have the time to take a customer's money and hand them a piece of paper asking for their comments then you should find the time to reply to their grievances. Just as I am now replying to his.

I pointed out to Maurizio that I had kindly not reviewed his restaurant on Tripadvisor just in case it had been the regular chef's night off.   It was bad enough when I thought I'd closed down Shanghai after writing a Tripadvisor review (and I had said only good things about their food).  Maurizio said he had been the chef on the night and anyway he didn't care about Tripadvisor and never read it. It's very nice that Maurizio thinks my blog has more influence than Tripadvisor but I really do think he should take a look at the reviews on there.  He'll find I'm not the only one who has had a bad experience.

About the bollocks.  I tried explaining that we English use the term 'It was the dog's bollocks' to describe something which is superlative. And that it was a play on words when I said that dogs bollocks would probably have tasted better than his pork. And that no, I had never eaten dog's bollocks although I had eaten stuffed bull's testicles once in an Argentinian restaurant in Tel Aviv.

Another thing. Maurizio said he thought the pork was not that bad and so I asked if he had tasted it when our plates came back to the kitchen. He said he didn't see the plates come back so was unaware that we had barely touched our food. He agreed that his staff should tell him if customers leave most of their meals. And then I remembered that he would not have seen the plates coming back to the kitchen because the waitress tripped and dropped the whole lot. The funny thing was that Sarah (the lovely step-daughter) had asked if she could take the left-over soggy chips home for her boyfriend (who on earth eats cold chips?) and they actually made some more for her. I could have died.

Maurizio said that if we were to come back he would welcome us and was sure we would have no complaints. I told him that I would rather not visit just yet but would listen out for other customer comments and reviews and maybe give La Locanda a second chance in a year or so. Can't say fairer than that can I?

By the way, have I mentioned that my fiendish friend Johnnie Mountain published his pork cookery book, PIG last week?  Oh the tearful disappointment when I realised we could not be there to celebrate with him especially as there were to be nibbly bits of his piggy dishes on offer. But I was otherwise engaged hocking my own nibbly bits (canapes, that is) at the very glamorous opening of ARTisan fashion house. I will leave you with a picture of Johnnie's slow-cooked shoulder ('no arms', as Maurizio would say) which comes out perfect every time - even for a chef like me who has always had a bit of a pork problem.

Johnnie's succulent shoulder

Bargain lamb shoulder

Fennel, chilli, cumin, salt

Plum smother

After 5 hours

Melt-in-the-mouth spicy lamb

And while I'm about it, here's last night's lamb shoulder (£11 for a WHOLE SHOULDER at Morrison's) which I rubbed with fennel, chilli and cumin seeds before slow roasting for 4 hours. I then smothered it with cooked, liquidised plums before roasting for the final hour at 220C. The best ever lamb, I promise.

La Locanda and its misplaced pride

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Fri, 21 Sep 2012 09:52:00 +0000

Grumpy in Gisburn

It was my birthday last week. I chose La Locanda in Gisburn as I'd heard so much about it and thought my birthday justified the splurge. If only the food had justified the splurge.

Pig cheek carbonara

The specials board had my heart a soaring, 'yolk egg - pecorino-pig cheekes (sic)' sang the description of the carbonara. I had chosen La Locanda over Nino's Fighting Cocks (a newly openend Italian nearby) for good reason. The Fighting Cocks had lost the battle because I heard they put cream in the carbonara instead of egg yolk. That said it all for me - I wasn't going anywhere that bastardised a classic Italian dish. I didn't order the carbonara at La Locanda because I can make it myself in a jiffy anyday of the week but knowing they knew how to do a proper carbonara meant I could order the crab ravioli followed by lamb cooked three ways and feel confident that I would be getting something special. I didn't.

Crab ravioli with tomato skins

Soggy chips with black spots

The pasta of the ravioli was hard, the sauce thin in both texture and flavour and why they chose to lay boiled tomato skins on top I do not know. Ged had been so overexcited by the menu that he ordered fritto misto as well as the ravioli. Lucky he did as the fritto was okay. Joe also had the fritto with a portion of foul chips. Anyone with any knowledge of a good chip can see from the photograph that the chips were soggy and lifeless and sporting black spots. My lovely step-daughter tasted them and said, 'Great chips'. I swear to God we nearly came to blows over this. I have to blame her lack of taste in the chip line on being brought up without ever tasting a decent chip. She must have nothing of quality to compare it to. I was furious. Mainly at Ged because he was the one who brought her up; he taught me how to eat and cook so he had no excuse. I may have had  PMT but it really did upset me greatly.

I must add that the owner, who is lovely, and so Italiano that it's difficult to tell what she's saying, came over to ask if we had enjoyed our starters. "They were fine" said I. Which is what I say if things are just okay. No point making a fuss over a bit of hard pasta with tomato skins. Then she asked, "But what was the best?"   'Don't push it lady' I thought. How could she be so misguidedly over-confident about what her chef was sending out?  Either there is usually another chef in the kitchen who cooks everyting we had to perfection (and tonight was his night off) or she is aware of the standard of the food and thinks it's acceptable.

Now take a look at Ged's main course of slow roast pork with truffle mash. Doesn't that look the dog's bollocks? Well, dogs bollocks would probably have tasted better.

Delicious looking inedible pork

The fat was divine. The meat inedible, truly cannot-chew-it-need-to-spit-it-in-my-napkin inedible. Even Ged refused to eat it and he grills pork chops to within an inch of their lives. I tasted the 'mash' which was very truffly but was gritty and slimy at the same time. It felt more like badly cooked polenta than potato.

Lacklustre lamb

My lamb 3 ways was a fatty over-cooked chop, a less fatty over-cooked chop and a lovely little pot filled with lifeless tomato sauce with a few cubes of stewed lamb. And it had not been cooked in that little pot either. I wanted sticky, thick and glossy meat in there. Potatoes could have done with more salt and a half hour longer in the oven too. Zoe had lasagne which was okay. Sarah had the crab ravioli.

We were given a hefty bill and an evaluation sheet. I gave them an edited version of this review and hoped for a call saying it had been the regular chef's night off and all would be well if we returned.

I'm still waiting, La Locanda.

Seoul Bakery, St Giles High St. Small, strange but scrumptious.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 13:58:00 +0000

Hairdreser's with cafe (not a bakery)

Waiting and wasting away at the top o' the stairs

We tried getting in to Seoul Bakery when we were in London in April but it was jammed. Not difficult when there are only twelve seats in the whole restaurant. We went next door to the place which used to be First Out Cafe Bar - back then a vegetarian spot for gay types (as I used to be). Their 'Girl Friday' nights were one of the few places a girl could go on her own, drink a beer and not feel like a leper. It's now Po Cha, Korean and very good but not as mad looking as Seoul Bakery next door. Although we did overhear a man at the next table telling his guests, "In our country, when we eat this dish the fish is still alive." Ooh-eeeh. Which reminds me; my friend MJ showed us a film on his 'phone of a Fugu (blow fish) feast he had recently eaten in Tokyo. It showed the flesh of the fish chopped into big chunks and STILL PULSING!!!!!

Back to Seoul Bakery. I was with the kids and their friend Hanke. They didn't really want to go there, mainly because we had been to Wagamama the night before and they were feeling a bit over Orientaled. But I had to give it a go even if it meant taking the kids for a burger afterwards.

The first thing you notice about Seoul bakery is that it's not a bakery, it's a hairdresser's. That's right, a hairdresser's. You enter the hairdresser's door and take a seat at the top of the stairs which lead down to the salon and the loos. Then, when one of the twelve seats becomes free in the adjacent room, a lovely friendly Korean boy sits you down and gives you a menu. The place seems to be a store room and is stacked with packs of loo rolls etc. I felt we had discovered something underground and illicit and I fought back the temptation to ask what their food hygiene rating was. Actually it never crossed my mind.

We ordered too much food because I was pretty sure that the children would hate most of it. Here's what we had;

Korean dumplings, like a pot-sticker, veggie & yum

Seafood pancake. Top marks from me and Hanke.

Chicken BiBimBap - a salad thing with fried egg

Spicy beef and another beef with rice and beansprouts

Little bit too spicy for Zoe

Crazy post-it wall

I thought everything was delicious although I did get a bit confused with 'BiBimBap' which I read as BarBeCue. Bit of a shock when I got a salad on rice with cold chicken and a fried egg. The seafood pancake was crisp and full of tiny bits of purple octopus; this was my favourite dish. All in all, another good choice by me.

Candy Floss! Every home should have one of these.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 09:04:00 +0000

Pink and lovely

Zoe, also lovely

We found this little beauty at Todmorden boot sale on Sunday and snapped it up for £4 (retail price for the Hinari £34.99). A cup of caster sugar stirred with half a teaspoon of red food colouring and we were off. Oh the joy! Oh the fun! Oh the mess when I put too much sugar in and it flew around the kitchen.

Sunday also saw the last day of the summer so I dragged everyone outside to eat a lunch of griddled turkey steaks, cous cous and chickpea salad with sundried tomatoes, red onions and thyme.

Last summer lunch in the garden

I love the chickpea salad. My friend Zalia made it for me last week in London and I can't stop making it. I like to use these freaky little dark brown chick peas and this time I mixed them with chopped red onion, fresh thyme leaves and a good dollop of this sundried tomato bruschetta paste I found in Morrisons. Zalia makes it with rosemary instead of thyme - equally as good.

chick peas, sundried tomato paste, red onion and thyme

I was the only one who ate this, by the way.

Yes, I have the power to close restaurants down. Well temporarily. . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 12:16:00 +0000

Oh yes, it's true. After my post about Shanghai restaurant and my review on Tripadvisor I passed the restaurant the next day and found newspaper covering the windows and the door firmly closed. "Oh no!" cried the kids in unison, "It's closed down!" But then we saw this sign in the window;

Power and influence

Note it says Shanghai will re-open today the 11th September. I shall be dropping by later to check out those filthy carpets, greasy tables and lack of lightbulbs. Just call me Michael Winner . . .

Miracle banana ice-cream

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 21:17:00 +0000

I was due to post this last Tuesday night before I packed to go to London for the week but, horror or horrors, I found I had a Twitter hacker. I was alerted by a nice lady follower who said, "Gill, you have either been hacked or you're selling dodgy I-pads via Facebook". This was confirmed by Johnnie Mountain who said I'd sent him a scary direct message. I (or rather Mr Hack) had indeed sent out a message with a link to Facebook. Of course, I dare not click on the link because I'm too scared of what it may do. I've said sorry to all my followers and am astounded that they are still following.

Anyhow, it took all bloody night to sort it out and change all my passwords to ridiculous things I will never remember. Hence it's taken two hours for me to get into this Blogger account.

BUT . . . before I went to London I heard of this 'one ingredient ice cream' through the Food 52 blog. It sounded too good to be true so I tried it straight away. Here we go . . .

Slice 6 bananas and freeze

Melt chocolate with 100ml cream, tsp vanilla

Leave to cool in fridge

Whizz frozen banana. Don't stop 'til smooth

Smooth & creamy

Mix with chocolate/meringue

Yummy easy 'ice-cream'

I swear it's a bit of a miracle although it went through some odd stages before it became creamy. It took so long to reach the correct consistency that I thought it was going to un-freeze and become sloppy slime BUT suddenly there it was, frozen, smooth and quite delicious. We added the chocolate sauce because we wanted to know if it would work. And it did.

My only complaint is that I hoped it would be a soft scoop affair but no, it's solid as a rock once you've had it in the freezer but tempers up nicely without going slimy. Bloody marvellous. And I've just read a new comment on the Food 52 site which suggests adding a bit of vodka to keep it soft.

PS I passed the Shanghai today and the windows are covered in newspaper. This could mean that it's closed or it could mean they are re-decorating to bring it back to its former glory. I hope the latter is the case.

Lemon filo lunacy.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 13:10:00 +0000

I only wanted to blog about our holiday in Corfu once I had recreated the unforgettable lemon cake which we ate in Barbas restaurant. My lovely agent, Laura, had recommended this fine fishy eaterie although she forgot to tell us that its official name (?) is Porta Remounda Taverna. God knows why it should be known by two different names.

Anyhow, we were greeted at 'Barbas' by Leanna, the daughter of the owner. She told us that Laura-the-agent was her favourite customer and Leanna made us feel like royalty (English, that is; not exiled Greek) just for knowing her.

Recovering from my near death experience

I hasten to add that we were eating shortly after I had fallen off a cliff while insisting to my family that I knew a shortcut to the beach from Mon Repos, the palace where our Prince Philip was born. For some reason I stepped back into thin air while telling the children to be careful. I grabbed at thorny bracken as I fell and even though I stopped a couple of feet down I was in a pretty sorry state. Ged-the-husband had reached for his 'phone ready to call the emergency services and his screen had said, "Welcome to Albania". The children thought it very funny that mum had fallen off a cliff and landed in another country. We soon realised that it was just rogue roaming. Faced with the choice between a Greek hospital and some decent restaurant hospitality, I plumped for the latter. It took three bottles of icy retsina, a plate of melt-in-the-mouth calamari and half a big fish before I felt restored.

It was only when leaving the restaurant that Ged realised he must have lost his glasses when reaching over the cliff to drag me back up. The next day, we all had to make the treacherous journey once more and sure enough, there were Ged's specs lying amongst the tinder which I had clutched at on my way down. We could have started a forest fire! We could have gone to jail!

But back to the lemon cake. Don't bother grabbing your pens to write this recipe down as I am about to record a disaster.

Recipe written when a bit drunk

John's punishment

I was so excited by this because it was so unusual. No flour or ground nuts just filo pasty torn into small bits.

Nearly half a pint of juice

The lemon cake was to form part of a dinner for my brother, his girlfriend and her son. They arrived an hour early so I punished my brother, John by making him squeeze and zest 6 lemons.

Yoghurt and filo

Adding missing sugar to eggs and lemon

John remarked how odd it was that there was no sugar in the recipe. Would the sugar syrup poured over the cooked cake be enough? Not likely. So we threw in 3 heaped tablespoons.

Adding flour in desperation

Next, we tore up the filo and threw it into the very watery egg/sugar/lemon mix. We hoped beyond hope that a miracle would now occur and that the filo would swell up the mix ready for baking. Nope. So we added 4 heaped tablespoons of flour. And then the yoghurt.

It should be ready by 7.25pm

In it goes, not looking good

Still sloppy

Solid but unbrowned

Finally baked

It was 9.55pm before the bloody thing set. It looked like a rubbery omelette so we rubbed butter over it and whacked it back in at top heat for another ten minutes.

William doing the honey

I tasted a bit and it was sour as hell so William gave it a good squeeze of honey. There was no time to start making sugar syrup - no-one even wanted a pudding by this time anyway.

Eventually it was plated and looked quite lovely, if nothing like the one we ate at Barbas. And the reaction of my guests? The adults were too sozzled to care and as for Joe, well he voted with his feet which pattered very quickly to the kitchen bin where he spat the cake out.

Quite a pretty sight

Not such a pretty sight.

You know how cookery book writers always say, "Never try a recipe for the first time at a dinner party, practise first"? There's a very good reason for that. Take heed.

Ruined bananas and the filthy Shanghai restaurant.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sun, 12 Aug 2012 18:26:00 +0000

I hardly ever makes cakes. The main reason is that I'm not good at following recipes and I always add a bit, take a bit away, change the oven temperature - basically, mess about with the recipe, thinking I know better. I don't and my cakes usually end up in the bin.

Today, in my local Co-op, I tried pulling one banana from a bunch of four, snapped the ends off all of them and was forced to buy the lot. Then I had to find a recipe for banana bread because they were all going to go black within minutes. I turned to the Be-Ro book. Can't go wrong with that methinks.

Ruined bananas

Trusty ol' Be-Ro

Recipe which needs no fiddling with

But then I realised I only had granulated sugar, and the butter was a bit rancid as it had been left in the sun all day yesterday. "It'll be fine" I prayed and lobbed it in the mixer.

Not fine at all and certainly not pale and fluffy

Praying the flour will fix it

It refused to mix. I don't know if that was because of the oily butter or the great big sugar crystals but the two ingredients definitely didn't get on. Undeterred I threw in the eggs. Yes, the mixture curdled so I threw in the flour. All I had to do next was mash the bananas. Why would I need to do that if they were going to get mixed up anyway? So I put them in whole.

I had found a few old dates at the bottom of a bag and thought I may as well dispose of them in the banana bread. You may note from the picture that I DID bother to chop them up. The only reason for this act of non-laziness was that I thought I had better check each one for hidden burrowing creatures.

Weevil-free dates and lazy bananas

Finally, for no good reason, I decided to cook the loaf in a Bain Marie. Oh, and change the oven temperature a notch to 160C. But it worked! It took just under 2 hours but was absolutely delicious, especially with lashings of non-rancid butter.

Completely unnecessary Bain Marie

Shockingly good banana loaf

A Quick Note on our Local Chinese

We had our wedding reception at Shanghai Restaurant in Brierfield. That was over 4 years ago when Shanghai had a brilliant chef and the place was shiny as a new pin. We used to go all the time and then two years ago, it all went horribly wrong. The food was dreadful, the staff were awful, the place was a dump. It presently has three 'For Sale' signs over the door which does not bode well. But yesterday, with only a haggis in the fridge at home (which no-one wanted) we decided to go back and give it a try. I gave the staff a good grilling to see if they had bucked up their ideas. They assured me that they had a new chef and we would not be disappointed.

Nevertheless, the filthy carpets, greasy tables and lack of working lightbulbs filled us all with fear and we were pretty worried that if we ate the food we could be spending the next day hanging over the loo being very ill. Did that stop us? Strangely, no and we lived to tell the tale. Actually, I can't fault the food we had. It was all standard Chinese fare (Glamorous of Manchester it is not, no chicken feet here) but everything was quite delicious. NOW CHANGE THE CARPETS AND CLEAN THE PLACE UP, SHANGHAI!

chicken lettuce wrap

BBQ Ribs, wontons, salt and pepper wings etc

Crispy beef

Sweet and sour pork

Fried noodles & beansprouts

Egg fried rice

On the door was a 'Food Standards' sticker which did not display the actual rating. I presumed it had been scratched off but I've just checked online and it seems they received a 4 out of 5 which is not bad, considering the carpets.

Pelvic floor rollercoaster test and throwing up our £98.60 dinner

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Fri, 03 Aug 2012 18:31:00 +0000

Wysick, Yorkshire

Of all the places to throw up our dinner! The astonishingly appropriately named Wysick, pictured, was the lay-by where we ground to a halt as my friend Ruth cried, "I think I'm going to be . . "

Too late. And then Zoe-the-daughter decided to join in and liberally splattered the car seats and carpets. I watched in wonder as £98.60 worth of restaurant food was hurled over the car interior and the grass verge of Wysick.

Posh sausage, with free pot plant.

Seabass on pea purée with gnocchi and crisped pancetta

Only ten minutes earlier I had been taking photos of the fabulous food at Lockwood's Restaurant in Ripon. Joe-the-son had said, "Mum, I've got a free pot plant with mine." He then refused to eat his salad served in a terracotta pot because he wanted to take it home. I had to promise to buy an identical pot and serve his salad in it nightly.

Everything we ate was delicious and I was even tempted to try a pud. Actually, I tried a bit of everyone's - orange and almond cake, chocolate pot with shortbread, creme brulee. And no, I was not the one who threw up.

We had spent the entire day at Lightwater Valley theme park. Click on the link and it will take you straight to a video of 'The Ultimate' - the longest rollercoaster in England (or was it the world?) and scary as hell. If any woman is wondering if she needs to do pelvic floor exercises, forget the thing where you are supposed to skip with a full bladder as the test. Just do this ride with an empty bladder for the The Ultimate Bladder Control Test. I recommend that you go on the Wild River Rapids next so you have an excuse for the wet patch. Actually, before would be better.

But it was not the food or the rides that brought on the biliousness. It was that notorious bit of bendy road over Blubberhouses that did it. Combined with Ged's driving. I was actually googling 'Blubberhouses', hoping to discover how it got its silly name, when Ruth started throwing up (click on the link for Wikipedia's explanation). And I had just been telling everyone how I had once been for a trial as a private chef only a mile or so away from where we were. The estate was called Sicklinghall. My mother had been appalled that I would have 'Gill Watson, Sicklinghall' embroidered on my chef's jacket. The man (now a Lord) had a mistrust of clingfilm and liked everything to be covered in foil. This meant everything looked the same in the fridge which was way too confusing for me. He also said that he was allergic to onions and garlic which was the clincher as far as I was concerned. I can't think of any dish I have ever made which does not contain either onion or garlic.

So, there you have it. First day back from the holiday (can't blog about that until I've got the photos from Ged's 'phone) and disaster struck us once again. Ged and I struggled to get to sleep that night because every time we started to drift off we would get the giggles again thinking about the awfulness of it all and the sorry sight of my lovely friend Ruth standing in her knickers in a lay-by because her jeans were sodden.

I worry at times that people must think I make it all up. This is why I tried to take a picture of the car and Ruth-in-pants but strangely, everyone objected.

Cicchetti's in Piccadilly, you lucky Londoners

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sun, 22 Jul 2012 21:30:00 +0000

Time to talk a bit about food before I bugger off to bed. We fly to Corfu in the morning in spite of LowCostHolidays.com's attempts to sabotage the trip - including removing my name from the airline passenger list 'by mistake'. Yeah right.

We've been doing a bit of eating out over the last few weeks but I've had little chance to blog about it.

Firstly, I noticed when we were in London for the Jubilee that San Carlo Cicchetti's was due to open on 21st July at Piccadilly. Ooh that was yesterday! It's not often that London follows what we do up here but SC's Cicchetti's have been smouldering beneath House of Fraser in Manchester for some time now and the food is truly fabulous. As is the bar and the sexy waitresses. Little Venetian titbits (is titbits a word?). All delicious.

And then, even though I would rather not admit to it, we did Red Hot World. We first noticed this place when we were driving through Manchester early one Saturday evening. We thought we were witnessing a riot on the streets (as Morrissey would say) but the crowds were actually queuing for this peculiar world buffet which the kids will love and the parents will tolerate because the kids are happy. Actually the food is fine; staple buffet Chinese, not so great sushi, great looking Indian (which I had to avoid because of the turmeric allergy) and a dessert section which looks the dogs bollocks and on the whole tastes like it.

I'll tell you what is the most interesting thing about Red Hot World and that's the anthropological exercise of observing how differently the nations of the world choose to eat when faced with a massive selection of round-the-world-foods. In general the white British stuck to pastas, carvery and puds but every Japanese person there (and there was a surprisingly large number of them) had the most enormous plate of fresh fruit. All of them. And they piled it up before they ate their main course as if paranoid that the rest of the punters would nab it. As if!

Lastly, for this blog post, we did the Foodies Festival (I find I now cringe at the term 'foodie') at Tatton Park which was actually quite enjoyable. The lovely, entertaining Charles Metcalfe took us around the Med talking wines. I would quite like a mini-me Metcalfe in my pocket at all times.

We had Bhel Puri (which I always thought was some kind of facial paralysis) from Chaat Cart who get my vote because there was no turmeric in the spicy rice crispy concoction. Here's a pic of their recipe for it.

If you can't read it, it's basically rice crispies with potato, tomato and chutney.

Then there were the curious chimney cakes which were a yeast dough, layered with butter, rolled and wrapped around a hollow metal cylinder and then cooked infront of one of those donner kebab type things.

Yummy cinnamon sugar things

And that's it really for now. Sweetie the cockateil has gone to a newly opened pet hotel for the week. We can watch him 24 hours a day by 'petcam' ap. The owner has strict instructions to stuff him and keep moving him around all week if he pegs it. The last thing I need is Zoe insisting we fly home after 2 days because the bloody bird's died.

Goodbye Masterchef. Hello Alton Towers.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 22:42:00 +0000

At a family party this weekend I was told off for not blogging enough. My niece, (grown-up niece, that is) said she has a friend who has a job and two kids and still manages to blog every day.

70 Gilly steak pasties for the party. With fennel dust pastry

Well I bloody well can't. It's not that I don't have anything to say but I absolutely do not have the time. It's now 10.45pm and Ged and I are still an hour away from eating as I've buggered up the BT connection at his shop while trying to e-mail my column to Northern Life (a day over deadline). Then, when we've finally eaten I need to pack for Alton Towers. That's pack for rain, sun, hail and wasp attack. I never go anywhere without Piriton.

I'd had this fabulous idea that we would book our only day off school this year to take the kids to Alton Towers as a super special treat. I had Tesco vouchers to pay for all of us and there would be no-one there because everyone else was at school. Then I noticed a remark on Facebook about Alton Towers being a bit busy as the high schools were taking pupils there as an end of term treat. Oh joy. Guess how many people are expected tomorrow? 16,000. Yes that's SIXTEEN THOUSAND people. If I had time I would cry.

I also need to tell all of you out there who kindly crossed their fingers and toes for Zoe, that unfortunately she didn't get through to the TV stage of Junior Masterchef. I suspected all along that she may have trouble on two counts;

1) The JM team asked Zoe how long it took her to make her trio of desserts and she said three and a half hours. What she forgot to say was that the reason it took so long was because the oranges and lemons for the Sephardic cake had to boil for 3 hours!

2) I had suggested, at the last minute, that Zoe serve her accompanying crème fraiche in a brandy snap basket instead of a bowl. I gave her the recipe and she made a perfect basket. The trouble was that she had only made it the once and when she was asked to describe how she made it to the JM team she sort of, well . . . forgot. She knew she had baked it in the oven but forgot the preliminaries of mixing the flour, butter etc in a pan.

I suspect the JM people thought that I had made it all which is a great compliment but not true. I have to admit to feeling ever so enormously relieved that we don't have to spend the next few weeks cooking every ridiculous item in Larousse Gastronomique. I have given Zoe the option of proper training ready for next year but I suspect she may decide to give it a rest. We'll see.

How many bottles of wine does it take to feed a family for a week? Five . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 19:45:00 +0000

Two weeks ago our local paper reported that families were starving in my home town. Some children were going to school with nothing more than a slice of bread or a couple of biscuits in their packed lunch boxes. A local church was asking for food donations to help out the desperate. I decided to tackle Ged-the-husband about it.

"Darling, we have to give up drinking wine on school nights." I could see the fear in Ged's eyes. I could see my fear in Ged's eyes. The idea of not sharing a bottle of wine over dinner every night was very scary. We were having this discussion at 9.20am but the thought of not drinking wine that evening was making me desperate for an immediate shot of alcohol. Did that mean I was an alcoholic? Probably.

"Think of the benefits Ged. We'll be slimmer, healthier, our skin will glow, we won't get wrinkles, we'll have boundless energy . . ." I believed some of it but not all. I've spent years convincing myself that the wine I drink cuts through all the fat I eat and sort of breaks it down so I can wee it out, no harm done.

For the first two days of our abstinence I could think of little else other than my neeeed for a glass of wine. I don't know if it was physical or psychological but the craving was impossible to ignore. But we did it and this is what five days of no wine bought - yes, a whole bootful of food. That's only £25.

I've been telling just about everyone I meet about the starving families because I've got a big mouth and I can't help it. My big mouth is a blessing and a curse. It means well but is often misunderstood.

The average response is, "The government provide enough money. These parents must be spending it all on booze and fags instead of feeding their children."

I'm sure in some cases the parents may drink and smoke but if children are starving then they have to be fed by someone. Most families are struggling because there is no work, housing benefit has been cut and they have to spend their meagre government handout on topping up their rent and paying fuel bills. Even if they don't put the heating on they still need to pay for lighting and hot water.

700,000 parents who work and claim Family Tax Credit are still living beneath the poverty line. Their children are not entitled to free school meals and it's not bloody fair.

If anyone feels they can help in any way please contact the lovely Suzanne Waddicor at the Grassroots Centre.

Two weeks down the line we are still waiting for the boundless energy and glowing skin etc but I'm sure it will come, all in good time.

A TEENAGE TAKE-AWAY. It's not about food . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sat, 30 Jun 2012 11:09:00 +0000

I've thought long and hard about writing this. I may press the 'PUBLISH' key at the end of this page but I could just as easily store this article in a file to be added to my private diaries.

I'm worried that what I am about to write could be used by a racist individual or organisation to support their views. I am also worried that I could upset my Asian friends and neighbours. But these friends and neighbours are already suffering because the whole of the Asian community is being tainted by the actions of a small percentage of Asian men. Yes, I'm talking about grooming.

A TEENAGE TAKE-AWAY is the brilliant but terrifying play about the grooming of girls as young as 12 by Asian men. I took daughter Zoe (11yrs) to see it in Macclesfield last Sunday. Not that she wanted to go. But a number of men who live on our street have been in court last week on grooming charges. Last year Zoe had described one of them as looking like a prince. Never be complacent.

If I didn't have an Asian brother-in-law then I may have found it difficult to take Zoe to see this play. The last thing I want to do is scare her into thinking that all Asian men are evil. Fortunately 'Uncle Tariq' (who was the first Asian police officer in the East Lancashire force) counteracts any such fears.

Zoe also knows that I have a number of Asian women friends. Some are happily married but some of these women have horror stories of their own. One, who had two children through her arranged marriage, has only recently managed to get away from her husband and his brother who were abusing her children. She told tales of drink, drugs and an absolute lack of any respect for both women and children. So it's not just our little white daughters who are in danger, it's also the wives and children of these men. When I first met this woman she would joke about putting rat poison in her husband's tea as she could see no other way out of her situation. "You've got to tell the Police," I told her and even as I said the words I knew I was sounding stupidly naive. Her sister was married to her husband's brother. She would bring 'shame' on both sides of the family by reporting her husband. Her children could be kidnapped, all their lives would be put in danger.

But their lives were already in danger and in the end this brave woman did go to the Police and she did get away. She took out an injunction against her husband to protect her children. She sought out excellent therapy for her little boy. They survived but not all do.

There was a post-show discussion after A TEENAGE TAKE-AWAY and Sergeant Mark Whelan of the Lancashire Police had bravely agreed to come along and answer questions. I told Sgt Whelan how my sister, who taught in a local high school six years ago, had witnessed girls being picked up from school by Asian gangs and although the Police were informed, the problem never went away.

Sgt Whelan admitted that it had taken too long for the problem of grooming to be recognised. He said that in the past when young girls were questioned, the police would look for inconsistencies in their stories and if the girls were found to be lying at any point then the case would be thrown out. He tried to re-assure me that this no longer happens. I hope he's right because these young girls have been through such trauma that they often do lie; sometimes even to protect the man who groomed them.

Liz Boor who wrote A TEENAGE TAKE-AWAY after researching grooming for her BBC1 Panorama film in 2007 would love the play to be shown free in schools throughout England. Some parents and teachers may be scared of its content but grooming is a problem that's not going to go away unless we all know about it and everyone, including the Asian community, stand up and say it's got to stop.

That's why I'm now going to press 'PUBLISH'. Please do your bit by passing on this post.

Masterchef Manchester Madness

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 12:08:00 +0000

Knowing Zoe would be nervous before her Junior Masterchef audition we left bright and early for Manchester Piccadilly leaving plenty of time to park and pick up our tickets before catching the train to Birmingham. The trouble was, we only ever go to Manchester on Sundays and Ged always drives while I read the Sunday Times. I've been to Manchester hundreds of times but have never taken the slightest notice of how to get there.

This Wednesday, after driving for over an hour, I realised we were lost. To cut a long story short, we arrived at Manchester Piccadilly very late to find the station car park was full. When we eventually found somewhere to park we could no longer remember our way back to the station. After much screaming from me we somehow found ourselves at the back of the station in a maze of building works; plastic barriers, wheelbarrows and men in hard hats. Opting for what looked like the most obvious route to the station door, we ran through a pathway of freshly laid cement. The hard hats were not happy.

Zoe, to her great credit, remained unflustered by all this madness and was the picture of calm as she introduced herself to the Masterchef casting team at Birmingham's Mal Maison. How does she do it? I sat shaking with a cup of chamomile tea until her audition was over. As far as we can tell it went really well and everyone loved the tart, cake and poached pear (see last post). Fingers crossed for July 9th when we find out if she's got through.

Since last Wednesday, Zoe has been in the kitchen every night cooking the essentials. Here's the pasta.

500g typo 00 pasta flour
4 whole eggs plus 5 yolks
salt, glug of olive oil

Put flour and salt in the MagiMix and pulse while adding the eggs. Add oil, pulse then remove when formed into a ball. Knead until smooth, wrap in cling film and rest in fridge for at least 20 mins. Roll as per pasta machine instructions. The more rolling, the better the pasta. Ravioli needs to as thin as possible. We only got down to #1 as we found we had lost the pasta machine handle and had to improvise with a strange looking bottle opener. It hurt Zoe's hand too much to try taking below #1.

This is the very strange black garlic we found in Tesco. Sticky and sweet.

Gorgeous mushrooms found at Macclesfield's Treacle Market.

Fry a finely chopped onion in butter until soft, added a black garlic clove then 250g of finely chopped mushrooms. Fry until all the moisture has evaporated from the mushrooms then add three slices of crumbled, fried prosciutto. Finally, add a large spoon of ricotta and salt and black pepper to taste.

Lay teaspoons of filling on one length of pasta then top with a second layer. Be sure to work out all the air bubbles from around the mound of filling before slicing and sealing the ravioli. I don't think the ravioli ever need wetting to seal it although all the cookbooks seems to insist on it.

Drop the ravioli into a big pan of boiling, salted water. They should float to the top within a minute but give them at least another minute and a half to cook through. Remove with a slotted spoon and serve with truffle oil and Parmesan if you're feeling flash.

Zoe went pasta crazy and also made tagliatelli while singing, 'Anything you can do I can do better'. Cheeky madam.

Zoe's tagliatelle with fennel and prawns

And finally she chopped up a couple of strawberries and mixed them with ricotta and icing sugar to make a sweet ravioli. One she boiled and the other she fried in olive oil, then topped them with crushed strawberry. Zoe preferred the boiled but I loved the friend version so much that I gobbled it all up before taking a picture. Sorry.

Strawberry and ricotta ravioli

Ta-da!

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 18:43:00 +0000

Souffle, no less.

Apple tarte, poached pear, orange and almond cake.

Zoe says she's feeling a bit tired after all this cooking.

She'll know the true meaning of tired when she's cleaned the kitchen.

Super-sticky rib time and a Masterchef audition . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 16:31:00 +0000

Sorry the blog's been a bit thin on the ground since the first Masterchef 'phone call but I've been busy whipping Zoe into action in the kitchen. Here's my rib recipe to keep you going. She's got an audition in Birmingham on Wednesday and I am bricking it.

Lay ribs (this is 2 x Sainsbury's packs) in a single layer in an ovenproof dish.

Fill a measuring jug to the 6oz mark with soft, brown sugar.

Then fill to the 8oz mark with malt vinegar.

Fill to the 16oz mark with reduced salt soy sauce (Kikkoman is best). Then add 3 crushed garlic cloves, a star anise and a good scraping of fresh ginger root.

Heat it all up until the sugar has melted then pour over the ribs. If you have time to let it marinade for an hour or so, or overnight in the fridge, then do. If not just whack it in the oven.

Bake, uncovered at Gas 3/150C for about 2 hours, turning every half hour.

Remove the ribs. Pour the sauce in a pan and reduce until it just starts to get sticky. Put the ribs back in the dish and coat with the sticky sauce.

Put back in the oven and bake for a further 30 mins. Whack up the heat for a further 10 mins if not brown and sticky enough but watch like a hawk so they don't burn.

There should be lots of sticky sauce to pour over boiled rice or mop up with crusty bread.

Today's Rage

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Fri, 15 Jun 2012 09:17:00 +0000

Argyll council have stopped this wonderful girl from taking pictures of her school dinners and blogging about it! Please feel free to voice you own outrage on Facebook and Twitter or on Argyll council's doorstep.
Click on the orange link below to see what's going on . . .

http://neverseconds.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/goodbye.html?spref=tw

The call from Masterchef and the resulting cookathon

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Tue, 12 Jun 2012 19:44:00 +0000

No, it's not me they're after, it's Zoe. My 11 yr old daughter, winner of the Schools' Interchef Challenge has caught the eye of the Masterchef production team. Tonight she's done a down-the-line interview while I've panicked and done a couple of gins. I aim to teach her all I know within a week. Should be easy. This is tonight's effort.

Lebanese Rice
Melt a knob of butter with a little sunflower oil and add a handful of broken up vermicelli. Stir until just beginning to darken in colour. You may smell the toastiness before you see it. Remove pan from heat.

Add dry basmati rice. You need about 2/3rds more than the vermicelli. Add salt and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Stir to coat rice in oil.

Add hot water to same depth as rice. Cover, bring to boil then simmer for about 7 mins. Remove lid, check to see if rice needs more water. If it's almost ready but still has a slight bite then just wet it slightly, bring to boil then put the lid on and turn off the heat to allow it to steam.

Fry up finely sliced onions in sunflower oil until brown. Add garlic if you like but don't let the garlic burn - it takes less time to cook than the onion.

Fluff up the rice, sprinkle with the onion/garlic and a little more cinnamon.

Aromatic Spice Mix
Toast cumin seeds, fennel seeds, chilli flakes and sesame seeds in a dry pan. Bash about a bit to release aroma. This can be scattered over the whole dish when finished.

8 Hour Shoulder of Lamb
Which means do this before the rice! Marinate overnight with a rub of crushed garlic and some of the above spice mix.

Dribble with olive oil and salt and bang it in a hot oven for about half an hour until it's browning but not so long that the garlic burns.

Add a glass of white wine to the pan, cover loosely with foil and turn the oven down to Gas 1 or140C for 4 hours then flip the lamb over and continue cooking without the foil for another 3 hours or until the lamb is falling off the bone. Whack the heat back up to cook out all the fat. Serve when dark and crisped.

I noticed the above picture looked a bit like a freaky animal head, so here's a less offensive one with the meat flipped over.

Reduce all the lovely juices and serve in a sauce boat. Not just out of the pan as we did.

Sal's Babaganoush
A gorgeously silky accompaniment (which my husband hates) is a version of babaganoush with yoghurt replacing the tehina. It's much lighter and far less fattening and was first brought to my attention by Sal the Policeman.

Smoke your aubergine on a gas flame until collapsed. If no gas then roast hell out of it in the oven.

When it's cooled a bit, peel off the skin and purée.

Blend in some natural yoghurt and salt to taste. I usually add a bit of crushed garlic but as there was so much garlic in the lamb I didn't think it was needed tonight.

Sprinkle with shredded mint, parsley or coriander.

Serve the whole shebang - rice, lamb, juices and aubergine and sprinkle with the dry spice mix.

Then thank your lucky stars that you don't have to cook it on TV.

Zoe must be mad.

Edgware Rd edibles and the time we mistook someone's garden for a restaurant.

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sun, 10 Jun 2012 20:10:00 +0000

So, we missed the fireworks at Buck Palace because we nipped out from the Hilton's 23rd floor bar (perfect view of the concert) to grab a bite to eat at Maroush Express on the Edgware Rd. Click on the link and you'll understand why we didn't get back to the Hilton. Not because the service was slow but because it was so damned good and there were just so many amazing things to eat and they had Bekka Valley red wine. Which I drank even though I had said, 'Never again.' after I had floated my liver while trying to get to the flotilla the day before.

We had passed about a thousand men puffing on shisha pipes as we'd made our way to Maroush and we were the only non-Arabs eating there which certainly added to the feeling of being a thousand miles away from Buckingham Palace. A proper foreign holiday without stepping on a plane. And with more rain. Zoe asked, "Is this a Turkish restaurant?"

"No darling, it's Lebanese but some of the cooking is very similar. Remember when we went to Turkey a few years ago?"

Zoe looked vague; I guessed she probably had a picture of Marrakesh in her head. "Turkey was the one where we demanded food from that poor boy whose garden we mistook for a restaurant."

Yes, in one of my more embarrassing holiday moments I had dragged everyone away from our all-inclusive hotel to find some authentic Turkish cuisine. Clever me spotted a little garden at the end of an alley. It had three red plastic tables with faded coca-cola umbrellas and a few mis-matched plastic chairs. "This will be good," said I "follow me."

We sat at a table waiting for a waiter. Ten minutes passed. An old man looked over the wall from the next garden then came round and knocked on the door of our garden 'cafe'. An old woman came to the door. The man pointed to us. The old woman brought out a young man. He came over to our table and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Hello, yes!" said I "Can we see a menu?"

The boy looked a bit puzzled. I thought hashish was probably to blame. "A menu?" asked dopey.

"Yes. Could we see a menu?" I repeated. Slowly.

"Okaaay," said the boy and promptly jumped on a motorbike and sped off.

We sat for a while wondering what the hell was going on but feeling too embarrassed to leave.

The boy returned ten minutes later with a menu as long as his arm. We chose our food and drinks and what do you know? Our waiter boy jumped back on the bike and set off again. It was nearly an hour before he re-appeared in the alley, trying to balance a huge cardboard box while steering his bike with one hand. The old woman came out with an assortment of plates and forks and the box was opened to reveal our order.

Ged said, "Oh Christ Gill. I think we must be sitting in someone's private garden. It's not a restaurant at all."

He was right.The lovely boy had been too nice to say, "Get off my land" and instead had driven off to a neighbouring restaurant to provide us with our dinner. We left a very big tip. And didn't ask to see the dessert menu.

In honour of Arabesque food I made an Egyptian pizza today. It's yummy and easier than it looks. Give it a go.
Firstly, mix up some of that supermarket pizza dough. It may be cheating but it's easy and it works. When it's proved, roll out a circle and scatter with a fried up mixture of finely chopped onions, garlic and minced lamb. Sprinkle with salt, cinnamon powder and toasted pine nuts.

Crack an egg on top then sprinkle with chopped parsley.
Yes, I know that's watercress in the picture but I had forgotten to buy the parsley.

Roll up the pizza into a big sausage shape.

Roll the sausage shape into a spiral then, with a well floured rolling pin carefully roll to flatten slightly. DO NOT PANIC IF IT BURSTS ITS SEAMS A BIT.

This one did. Heat a frying pan with a little olive oil and carefully slide the pizza into it. Fry until golden brown then flip it over to fry the other side. I forgot to take a picture of the frying pan.

Sprinkle with a bit more cinnamon, slice and serve with the rest of that watercress.

And finally, referring to April's Hilton blog we had very few things to moan about while staying at the Hilton London Met. Yes, reception looked like a badly designed airport but then we knew to expect that. The room was great, breakfast was amazing, the views from the 23rd floor bar outstanding. And then there was the pool which was cold and tiny and had changing rooms only big enough for 6 people. AND it is no longer possible to buy a stamp because, the manager said,they were not making enough money from them?!

All the way to London and we missed the Queen!

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 13:58:00 +0000

So. . . our friend Hanke was dispatched (with her trumpet) to the flotilla at 8.30am in the freezing rain. All we had to do was make it to the river Thames in time to watch her trumpet at The Queen. And did we?

In the seats left warm by Charles & Camilla

Well, the trouble was that I absolutely had to see Piccadilly closed to traffic and lined with an enormously long street-party table. There was a swing band courtesy of The Ritz, a Fortnum's Champagne bar, need I go on? We had a little drinkie then meandered through Mayfair until the kids saw a Nando's and shouted . .

"Pleeaasee can we have a Nando's? We're starving"

Why had I thought a Hilton breakfast would be enough to see them through 'til dinner?

"They do chicken wings, mum."

"Yes, and so does Pitt Cue where we're going tomorrow."

Charles & Camilla seat warming on Piccadilly

They were not for waiting. The Nando's wings should have been rubbish but were annoyingly good and as a bonus I got to impress the kids by lapping up the X-tra hot chilli sauce. Unfortunately, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc was only a smidgen more expensive than two glasses and that's where it all went wrong. We lingered over the wine and then, bugger me, I looked at my watch and it was 3.15pm!! The flotilla was due to finish at 4pm and we had to get all the way from Mayfair to Tower Bridge. Needless to say, we arrived as the crowds were leaving.

Our only consolation is that, even if we had been there at 10am we would still have had trouble getting to the riverside as it was already packed out and closed off by then.
We met Hanke and her trumpet at the pier when she stepped off her boat at 6pm. She was wet, shaking with cold and very, very happy to find everyone waiting for her so all was not lost.

Walking the cleaning plank, Green Cottage style

Thinking it sensible to head out of central London to eat, we made our way to the Green Cottage Chinese in Swiss Cottage. The restaurant has been there for over 30 years although it did burn down in 2011 and was closed for 10 months for a re build.

The food has always been reliably good and they have a chilli sauce condiment which is hot as hell and should not be allowed near children - yum. We got a bit drunken. Then I insisted on hugging and kissing the old Chinese lady as we were leaving, telling her that I remembered her from 30 years ago when I was a London nanny and used to dine there. I was talking clap-trap of course. I have face-blindness at the best of times and there's no way I would be able to tell one old Chinese bird from another. She had probably only been working there for a week.

The next day I discovered this strange picture on my 'phone which seems to suggest that I was also in the kitchen at some point. I like the balancing plank.

Tomorrow I will tell of how we missed the fireworks at the Buckingham Palace do because we were feasting on the Edgeware Road. In years to come we will all look back on our grand trip to London for the Jubilee and think, "We were there. Sort of." Thank God for the BBC Jubilee Highlights special.

Famous Friend #3 - Hanke Gawron . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 14:53:00 +0000

Hanke Gawron with dogs, without trumpet

My third famous friend is Hanke, pictured here. Tomorrow she will be playing trumpet for the Queen on the Westminster boat of the flotilla. We, the entire Collins family, are pleased and proud as Jubilee punch that my daughter's best friend has received such an honour. A well deserved honour, of course.

We will be there to support her and I'm sure she will be able to hear our screams loud and clear as she passes us on the Thames (that's if we managed to get anywhere near the Thames).

And . . . in spite of everything I said about the Hilton we are staying at the Hilton Met this weekend. God help them if it's not up to scratch. But the knock down price was irresistible, what could I do?

We've booked for Damien Hirst at the Tate Modern on Tues and may just have to do a bit of Pitt Cue as well as every one of the Japanese and Koreans on St Giles St. Overheard conversation from next table when we dined there last, "When we eat this in Japan, the fish is served live." Ooh, I say. A bit radical for my liking.

The train leaves from Manchester in an hour so I'm off. We have a bottle of Prosecco and Harry's Bar Bellini peach juice for the journey. Yipee!

Oh and lastly, just in case you were silly enough to miss the Smithfield edition of the London Markets series this week, here's the link. In this one a couple of the traders actually have a punch up over the price of mince and the only girl to ever have worked in the butchery department leaves after finally having had enough of her male colleagues' sexual innuendos.

See you Wednesday. Holidays are not for blogging.

Is it possible to have a stroke in one's buttock?

noreply@blogger.com (Gill Watson) — Wed, 30 May 2012 22:50:00 +0000

I was supposed to be coming home to cook some deliciousness and blog about it tonight but I've been knocked sideways by my backside.

Whilst drying myself in front of the mirror this morning, I noticed that my left buttock had developed a sagging appendage - it had become a sort of cheek with-a-lesser cheek. I turned, I twirled - my right cheek was just as it had been for the last 20 years. Not exactly firm but nevertheless it was not a sad old sagging two-bag affair like the left one.

I appeared to have suffered some kind of 'stroke of the buttock'.

There had been an article in the Sunday Times this week about how to get a Brazilian bum (and it did not mean paying for boys). Unfortunately, as I thought I would never need such advice, I used this particular piece of journalism to line the bottom of the cockateil's cage. Today, three days later, I have been scraping the birds poo off the page to rescue the exercise instructions.

Then this afternoon, voicing my problem at the school gates, the gorgeous and glamorous Clare-mum said that her sewing machinist friend had very differing buttocks due to the constant exercise of pushing a pedal with her right foot.

"So what do you do with your right leg that you don't do with your left?" Clare asked, "Is your right buttock firmer because you exercise your right leg more?"

Very good point. The only additional exercise my right leg gets is 1) crossing it over my left leg

2) kicking things

I must stop kicking things. No! I must start kicking things twice - once with each leg. Yeah! Exercise problem sorted. I expect results in a week.