Lookalike

Has anyone else noticed the uncanny resemblance between Eastenders' Ronnie Mitchell (so brilliantly portrayed by actress Samantha Janus) and the late King of Pop, Michael Jackson?


I hadn't realised Michael had taken to wearing blue contact lenses latterly and I must say I've always preferred Sam when she's a blonde.

Pop-up nozzle

For the purposes of this post you have to imagine a Good Day/Bad Day graph in which the horizontal axis is time as the day progressess while the vertical axis is the goodness (+ value) or badness (- value) quotient of any given moment of the day.

So, we set off for the shops today with - for the first time in my 46 years on this planet - "cruet set" on the shopping list. You know what I mean - one of these little sets with a bottle of oil and vinegar (really posh ones have salt and pepper pots as well) you see on every table of every restaurant in Continental Europe. We had finally decided that just having the bottle of olive oil and bottle (plastic) of vinegar on the table was not quite comme il faut (he says falling back on that small stock of bons mots with which it's so de rigueur to be au fait). Although I have to say that decision had been postponed for some months by the advent of the "pop-up nozzle" on bottles of Oliveira da Serra olive oil:-

The pop-up nozzle was a marketing coup. Saw it on an advert on the tellybox when we were down in the bar one afternoon. Overnight we were delivered from the bondage of our previous brand of olive oil with its conventional oil delivery mechanism which regularly involved skittering more oil around the place than the situation called for. Actually, things being what they are out on this island, bottles of OdS oil with pop-up nozzles (you can tell I just like saying that, can't you - "pop-up nozzle" - it's as satisfactory as saying "flash grill" or "Zinedine Zidane") took a few weeks to appear on the shelves from the appearance of the TV ads but that's the way it goes out here.

Anyway the novelty of the pop-up nozzle (there I go again!) had worn off so a cruet set it had to be. So, we're in the dimmer reaches of a shop in town. I must say I had something pretty plasticky looking around the 5-6 Euro mark in mind. Scanning the shelves (heaving with eveything from fish de-scalers to cooking pots the size of small gasometers) the eye eventually alights on a cruet set with one of its two bottles missing. And also bearing the alarmingly high price of €1,620! A moment's thought led to the conclusion that this was actually its price in the Portuguese pre-Euro currency, the escudo, showing that the thing had been languishing on the shelves for the thick end of eight years! The eye moves on to another cruet set - this one is plasticky in the extreme (the kitchen department of John Lewis this is NOT) and includes unwanted salt and pepper pots but is at least priced in Euros - 12 to be exact. Ouch! About to give up, when there appears, hiding at the back, a cruet set consisting merely of oil and vinegar bottles and also even manages not to look too tacky.

And the really good news is the price - €3.30! Remember the Good Day/Bad Day graph? Well, the discovery of something which is (a) better than I expected; and (b) cheaper than I expected, and the good day quotient surges skyward.

So we get home with our treasure and a general feeling of well-being and, on the way into the house, Carol checks the post box as she always does - a letter from the Portuguese tax authorities, the infamous DGCI which makes the UK's HMRC look positively benign by comparison. Do I not like getting letters from the DGCI - the graph dips a tad.

Anyway, up in the kitchen, the cruet set box is ripped open enthusiastically. Even that letter from the DGCI cannot dent the triumph of the functional yet tasteful cruet set for €3.30. But disappointment sets in when it becomes clear that the metal holder is actually too small for the bottles to be removed easily and doing so scratches a lot of the white paint off the bottles. Hmmmhh.

Good Day graph now flatlining - if this were Holby City or E.R., alarms would be going off and Art Malik/George Clooney would be calling for 20 mils of adrenaline and brandishing the mini travel irons and going "Clear!" (What is that all about by the way, because have you noticed they never are "Clear!", everyone's crowding around? And if it's so dangerous, why are they doing it to a patient? I digress.)

So this is as good a moment as any to open the letter from the DGCI. It's only got a cheque in it for a tax rebate in a four figure sum I hadn't been expecting! You can imagine that sent the graph soaring to stratospheric levels!


And as if all that wasn't good enough, one of our neighbours gave us a dozen fresh laid eggs. Friday 10th July 2009 will be a hard act to follow in the Good Day stakes. (I'll be able to repaint the cruet bottles if anyone's still wondering about that.)

PS - in the course of taking these cruet pics, I hadn't realised that Carol had, in the interim, actually filled them with oil and vinegar! So I inadvertantly created a salad dressing down the front of my trousers in the course of positioning them too photograph. (She also had the bad grace to remind me of the occasion when we were visiting a relative in hospital and I picked up a bed pan ... ) Still, such was the cruet/tax rebate bonhomie, nothing could spoil my day!

Great Summer of Sport

It was Nick Hornby in "Fever Pitch" (although it might have been Ian Rankin in "Set in Darkness" - I forget now) who memorably observed how sterile and dull "odd summers" are.

By odd summers are meant the summers of years which are odd numbers. The problem with them is there is no international football competition. In the 2006, 2010 et seq. cycle it's the World Cup and in 2008, 2012 et seq. it's the European Championships.

Of the two, I must say I prefer the Euro Champs because you know you're going to get straight into decent stuff like Croatia v Belgium in the first round. But with the World Cup there are such unedifying spectacles as USA v South Korea to be endured before the wheat is separated from the chaff and you get into the Latin America - Europe head to head of the second and subsequent stages.

One of the good things about being British is that - uniquely in the whole world - we get four shots at qualifying for these football competitions due being able to submit four teams - England, Scotland, Northern Ireland and ... what's the other one ? I forget. England usually qualifies, the other ones usually don't. But no matter, I'm just proud to be from a country with such an inbuilt advantage!

Anyway, in the odd summer of 2009 there is, of course, still tennis to be enjoyed. Bit of a disappointment about little Murray at Wimbles. Looks like he's heading down that great corridor of fame of "plucky British loser" lining up to be awarded the Eddy the Eagle medal (with oak leaves and bar) to be personally presented by Tim Henman and the ski-ing chap (he was in the year above me at school - still can't remember his name - Graham somebody, although that might have been his brother).

But seriously, I didn't care for the cut of little Roddick's jib at all - eyes too close together. I was mightily relieved when the doughty Roger finally prevailed. And I like the RF cardigan - it's in the same mould as Basil Fawlty's jacket in the Irish Builders episode:-


And the Duke of Kent must have been even more relieved that horrid Nadal wasn't there this year climbing up the woodwork and waving flags - that sort of thing might be all very well in the United States of America but you do NOT get up to that sort of stunt at Wimbledon in the presence of the British royal family. (You could tell that Crown Prince Felipe was embarrassed on the Duke's behalf.)

Anyway, the tennis is behind us and we have the ecstasy of golf to look forward to. There is just nothing more woody than the British Open being played on a Scottish links course - Turnberry this year. Coverage by the BBC, Peter Alliss commentating, "Ooh - up she goes - tickle it round behind, I say, Sir!", the "woof-woof" sound of the gale blowing past the microphones - the point of the Open is it's better in bad weather! Trousers rippling in the wind, umbrellas blowing inside out. Starts next Thursday and I can't wait.

It's even better when Portuguese Sport TV doesn't cut to beach volleyball at 4pm on the Sunday afternoon and graciously returns to the Open just for the presentation of the trophy. Give me STRENGTH!

Pasteis de Bacalhau

As I've previously mentioned, one of my favourite bloggeuses is Baby Chou from Le Moulin. Her blog is stuffed with mouthwatering recipes from the area of France where she lives so I thought it would be fitting if I responded with a traditional Azorean dish - pasteis de bacalhau. These are traditional potato fish cakes simply reeking of the culinary flavours of the islands.

The most important thing for this dish is to select the right brand. After much road-testing, I've concluded that Pérola da Ilha and Frigaçor are total pants and that the pasteis of choice are made by Prato d' Ouro. Easily recognisable by the red and gold logo, they can be found in the freezers of most shops on Flores:-

Carefully peel the wrapper off and bang them a bit ("Suits you sir!") to separate and place on one side. Meanwhile heat the oil in a deep fat fryer. Again, much experience has taught me that the choice of oil is crucial. I prefer Fula oil:-

I can remember television adverts for cooking oil in the 70s - before deep fat frying became about as politically incorrect as pederasty - when the mark of a good oil was that, when you took the chips out, they scarcely made a spot on a piece of kitchen roll. Can you remember that? "New Spry - Crisp and Dry" was the jingle. Well, I can promise you that Fula passes the kitchen roll test and produces pasteis as crisp and dry as New Spry.

OK, so you get the picture. Chuck the pasteis into the pan, recoil backwards as a gobbet of hot oil gets you in the eye (blooming painful, I'm not joking) and the rest of it skitters over the hob. Remember to set the extractor fan to full for all the bloody use it is.

Serve with a swirl of Thai chili dipping sauce and a cold bottle of Sagres beer. Ecstasy on a plate - ultimate hangover cure:-


Cook along to Handel's Zadok the Priest (although Tommy Gun by The Clash works just as well if you can't find Zadok.)

Printers

I hate printers. I've always felt they're the weak link in personal computing. For the 10 years I've had a PC, my keyboard has never given me a moment's grief; my monitor has migrated from being fat and clunky to being a thin screen with never a day's cause for concern; the mouse has transformed to being cordless without a hint of bother; and the modem - well I've never been that sure what modems do - best not to ask - but it's always behaved itself. Even my joystick - my black man's cock as Carol calls it - consistently lands British Airways A320's in the stormiest of conditions (but not, intriguingly, Air France ones) In short, all these computer peripherals you can take for granted.

But not printers which have given me nothing but grief. They never live up to expectation in terms of the print quality they claim. It always seems a total lottery whether they will print anything at all. And if that weren't enough they demand vast quantities of expensive consumables such as paper and ink, large amounts of which can be wasted in futile attempts to "maintain" it if the bastard has decided it's not playing ball.

Early on I decided I was not going to feed the monster with genuine EPSON cartridges at £34.99 a go when I could get cheapo ones from Ink-U-Like.co.uk at £2.99 for a pack of six. I was unphased by the on-screen threats: "It has been determined you are not using genuine EPSON ink - This could lead to your warranty being voided and your neighbour's grandmother dying - Do you wish to continue?" Hit yes and it follows up with "Are you sure? We can do the old bag, you know?" Anyway, Ink-U-Like's cartridges have worked well enough for three years (despite the threat being escalated to "Do you want the Prince of Wales being assassinated on a state visit to Panmunjon on your conscience?") until a few weeks ago when it gave up the ghost - pages coming out not just faint but pure white. For a while, it was still scanning OK but even that died after a few more days. ("Ha-ha - told you, loser!").

Time for a visit to warranty busting repair man in Santa Cruz. I better not mention his name but he's got a small shop in town which is waist deep in broken televisions, coffee makers, outboard motors, missile launchers, you name it.

Anyway, warranty busting repair man is phased by nothing except time deadlines. The conversation with him usually goes "When do you think you may be able to look at it?" To which the answer is invariably "At the beginning of next week". Which is Portuguese for "At the end of the week after that". And seeing as I speak Portuguese so well, I know not to bother phoning to enquire about progress until after another week. Net upshot in this timescale was that WBRM pronounced the printer dead. In fairness to WBRM, he refuses payment when he hasn't been able to fix something (and even when he has, his charges are absurdly low.)

So across the road to the Yellow Shop:-

It's actually called "Novo Era" but for some unfathomable reason we call it the Yellow Shop. Anyway, it had exactly one printer (inc. fax, copier, scanner, tea-maker) on sale so it wasn't hard to choose. Got it home, plugged it in, loaded the software, teabag, tried a test print and eff me if the swine didn't do what printers always do: produce immensely disappointing results - Carol's Scotsman crossword barely legible. That said, switching it off for 24 hours and switching it on again seems to have done the trick and it's now working as well as any printer I've ever possessed.

We're now at that critical phase in any printer's life - it's first re-load of ink. Lexmark's threats are slightly less menacing than EPSON's - Lexmark have merely been threatening to burn my house down for the last few weeks whilst still cheerfully printing off the crosswords. But on the other hand, this printer TALKS TO ME. I kid you not. In a sickly sweet mid-Atlantic accent it says "Printer ink is running low - please take a moment to order genuine Lexmark products - would you like me to go online for you now? If you wouldn't, I'm going to poison your dog."

Now, of course, the elephant in the room of this post all along has been about the picture of the Lexmark printer at the top - "Why does he have Wet Wet Wet, ER and Alan Partridge VCRs on his printer?" Answer - to keep the cat from sleeping on it. I can't be entirely sure that my over-indulgence in letting her sleep on top of the previous printer didn't lead to its demise due to cat fluff getting into its innermost workings. Mind you, if I leave the speakers on it might say "Cat, take a moment to order some genuine Lexmark ink and you can sleep on top of me ..."

History of Scotland Part VI - Ramada

We all know what happened to the Roman Empire - it declined and fell, mainly due to relentless attacks in the late 4th and early 5th centuries AD by barbarians. They mostly came from what is now modern day Germany and the Netherlands and they often left their tribal names in the places they invaded and colonised - for example the Jutes (whence Jutland, the peninsula off the north coast of Europe now occupied by modern day Denmark); the Franks (whence France); and the Angles (whence England). These barbarians were all of the Teutonic race as opposed to the Celts who had hitherto dominated Western Europe but there was also a pesky crowd of Q-Celtic Gaels from Ireland called the Scots - no prizes for guessing where they ended up.

Actually, the Scots invaded earlier than the rest: around the mid 3rd century AD is the best guess. They weren't that much of a threat to Rome which, as we have already seen, never seriously attempted to pacify Scotland - especially the bits the Scots settled in, namely, Argyll (to the west of Drum Alban - refer back to the map) and Galloway in the far south west. "Argyll" is a corruption of the Gaelic "Earra-Ghàidheal" meaning "Coast of the Gaels". I can't remember what Galloway means now except I seem to recall that the "Gall-" bit derives from the Gaelic word for a foreigner/stranger. No matter.

Below is a picture of Dunadd, the hill-fort capital of the Scots in Argyll. It's a bit of a broken pot as hill-fort capitals go - not exactly Masada, is it?

(I momentarily couldn't remember the name of the Jewish hill fortress which held out so bravely to the Romans - all I could bring to mind was Ramada the hotel chain! Easily confused.)

Anyway, in the south of Britain a century later, the Angles invading from north east Europe were a big problem to the Romans who responded by doing what Italians do best in the face of military adversity - engage reverse gear on their tanks and retreat. It was in 410AD when the Roman legions departed Britain for the last time (a bit late to save Rome itself from being sacked by barbarians the following year). This left the native Celtic Romano-Britons in a bit of spot vis a vis the invading Angles and also Saxons: I can never remember if Saxony in modern Germany is where they came from or was another bit they conquered but they certainly left their name in the English (!) counties which end with "-sex": Essex, Sussex, Wessex etc.

Now this post is beginning to get long and unwieldy so I'll wrap it up with a summary: 410AD - Scots (Gaels) and Picts (P-Celts) in the north. Romans bog off and leave Britons (P-Celts) to the mercies of invading teutonic Angles and Saxons from north east Europe. To be continued but I leave you with a picture of the sack of Rome by barbarians - it looks to have been a relatively laid back affair:-

Obrasprazotory Update

Firstly, the shop/bar. A coat of white primer is on now:-

It looks a bit ghostly white but that's because the features (windows, cornices etc.) haven't begun to be picked out in black yet. Although in the following picture taken a few days later, some of the features had begun to be painted black (note the lozenges on the frieze at the top) except that, tragically, it began to rain that day and, if you look closely, you can see the black paint has run a bit. I believe work is suspended until the weather settles again.

Where I come from, Faja Grande would be declared a "Conservation Village" meaning you could get the VAT back on repainting like this and probably even get a local authority grant but I don't think there's anything like that here and Joe and Linda are doing this out of their own pockets so good for them - they didn't have to do it and the shop and bar (which are spic and span inside) function just as well in a building which is not decorated on the outside.

Elsewhere, the first layer of plaster has gone on the house down the road. I assume that's a first layer and that this will be topped off with a finer coat which will be painted. It's not "plaster", of course - it's cement, really: perhaps "mortar" is the better word, he says showing his ignorance of such matters:-

Elsewhere, a new OP has begun with what would appear to be the restoration of a fine old house in the village which has been empty for many years:-

Apparently there's a syndrome in Portugal (which I don't properly understand) whereby local authorities gain much more from giving planning permission for new houses rather than renovating old ones. This has led to there being 5 million houses in Portugal but only 3 million households. A Northern European free market capitalist like me cannot even begin to understand what breakdown in the law of supply and demand has brought that imbalance about - who is paying for all these unwanted houses?

Anyway, here in Faja Grande there are a lot of old empty houses due to emigration in the 60s - about a third to a half of the houses are empty and decaying because there is not enough of a second home market to take them up as there is in, say, the Western Isles of Scotland, which also suffered massive emigration in past decades. And yet, paradoxically, there are new houses being built ...

Which is why I'm always pleased to see an old house being restored. Here's another one. Albeit it's tiny and just a holiday house, it's been beautifully refitted with wooden sash and case windows and door made by a local carpenter:-

Rant over. Haven't been to Sta. Cruz for a bit, so don't know the latest on the church (or who won the colcha em lã)