With the Church View Tavern yet to open, I wandered over to the church for a bit of Trig Spotting and, having documented a Cut Benchmark I looked over to sport Roberto’s Bar setting up for the lunch sessions. Perfect.
There seemed to be a theme defined by a lot of Dutch and Flemish beer and a sublime black porter from London which I purchased for medicinal purposes (a sinus headache was rapidly progressing into a full migraine). The shop seems a bit hipster for Halesowen (it moved here from Digbeth, dontchaknow) but in my deteriorating state of mind and body I will reserve judgement for an inevitable second or third visit.
So, this year instead of mocking Jackie’s bid to do Dry January we put aside the liquor, beer, and wine at bedtime on January 2 when our Christmas break ended (late, sure but hey, we’re not the Taliban) and I haven’t touched a drop until the dram in today’s morning coffee. {She’s been a little looser with the taps but generally kept to the spirit of the whole thing.}
I’ve gained weight (but, my stomach looks like I’ve lost a bit due to the reduced alcohol bloat). I don’t feel any better, I haven’t noticeably slept better, my exercise performance is more-or-less static, and I don’t seem to think any clearer. I still sweat profusely upon any exertion and I still pee like I bear the kidneys of a much older man than I am.
The obits are fast and furious this month. Another Athens icon has slipped the coil: William Orten Carlton has passed at the age of 73.
Our first day as residents in Athens, me and the the missus were waiting to get a document from a teller at Wells Fargo Bank and were next in line after Ort who without introduction, hesitation, or prelude of any sort started telling us about some records he found stashed at the bottom of the pile of clothes (fill a garbage bag for a dollar) at the Potters House Thrift Store (that’s what they call charity shops in the States, brits). When he took a breath, we both pointed at the unoccupied teller window and noticed the teller wince as he headed toward her and tried, unsuccessfully, to cash a check (cheque) for $1.37 which was declined because he had an account that required a minimum balance of $5. The negotiation went on for at least a half hour.
You’d run into Ort everywhere, though. At the Globe, in the library, or parked in front of the records or old magazines in another thrift shop near the 40 Watt when it was on Clayton (or Washington? long time ago, now). You could never be sure if he was a customer or employee at any of these because he always acted like he owned the place.
If this review were like the Short Reviews, it would read, “Well, that sucked.”
But, it isn’t so it doesn’t. Bear in mind that it did so it could.
Running: at just under 1100 miles for the year (1083, precisely), a combination of injuries and sloth conspired to keep the distances down. The longest run of the year was a scant 15.6 miles a couple of weeks ago, more than the weekly average through much of March and April:
The Rail Run Project continues but most of the low hanging fruit is depleted with longer runs and rides involved from here on in. I still expect this effort to continue throughout 2022.
Drink: it must be taking a toll on my health but as I look back on my health this year and compare it to the Fines and Fees data I feel as if I am immune to the deleterious effects of alcohol.
With pubs closed much of the year, I only visited 19 new gaffs and quaffed a mere 56 beers (mostly at home) but made up for it with 154 bottles of wine (that’s my intake, or 308 bottles for the household) and the equivalent of 76 bottles of hard liquor (152 for the house). That’s about 3.5 times the average consumption in the UK (and, for the shock value, Russia). I should get a grip on this (the amount seemed typical to low compared to years past).
The year ahead: more Short reviews, at least monthly chippy and kebab meals, try to stay healthy for the big run at the end of Summer, do serious damage to the Rail Run Project, keep hitting pubs albeit at an attenuated pace, and just continue to try.
January 1 started around 8 am with a hearty breakfast and NO RESOLUTIONS but instead a set of Fines and Fees to highlight and possibly curb poor behaviour. The idea is that you shouldn’t get high before 4 on a workday (or the conclusion of a workday if, for instance, taking the afternoon off or finishing a house project early for the day). Work related drink is exempt as are pints on runs (if pubs ever reopen…we’re in Tier 4 now); £10 fines for early doors and another £10 if mixed drink and drug intake is on the same day (complete exemption, though, for any day psychedelics are employed).
Spotted from bus; brilliant because for our Boris to complain would return focus to the biggest lie of Brexit
There is also a £10 fine for failing to either spend 30 minutes playing uke or guitar or 30 minutes doing some reasonable form of yoga. An additional £10 gets tacked on for the aggravating factor of doing absolutely fuck all for the day (anything qualifies as “productive” so this really requires professional level sloth).
The fee structure is this…pot costs £1 per gramme to use regardless its source. Any drinks not paid for at a pub or restaurant also incur a £1 fee (shot of booze, can of beer, 150mL of wine).
The kitty for these will be held until Thanksgiving when we decide how to spend the largess of my lard-assed-ness. (Note from February: we decided to use it to pay down the principal on the mortgage rather than have that much cash laying around.) After the first 2 days, it has already reached £33 and I am considering spending a pound when I finish this line.
The bike was at about the halfway mark of the canal run
Work recommenced today (3 Jan) and I had my first commute run of the new year. It has snowed off and on for 3 days now and the paths were beautiful and treacherous and fucking cold.
Ha…”fucking” cold. This is why I didn’t include a swear jar fine structure.
The post from the previous photo is painted to match the graffito behind it
Brexit has not yet affected us. Tier 4 has changed nothing about how we live our lives save for dining out and meeting up in bars. There is some excitement in the news next week with the US political shit show (again, no swear jar) but all is well, here.
Downstairs bath converted to laundry and water closet (August)
Re-do the floors (ongoing, but wood done around mid-November)
Hide and expand the electrical and information networks throughout house
Built in closets and other storage in bedroom (December)
DNF for the year:
An ultra — toyed with the idea of a virtual ultra like the Run Across Tennessee but nothing is at all like the complete depletion of resources and mind/body disconnect that you get 15 or so hours into a day-and-a-half effort. Maybe 2021….
New kitchen suffered from time constraints but also from finances. It is a precarious time and the awful kitchen works well enough while we refill the hoard for the 2021 builds.
New shed is also on the books for the new year ahead, also because we just ran out of time and don’t fancy running out of cash.
The fireplaces — ahead of both the kitchen and shed — continue to mock us
The stained glass insert will have to wait for our dining room refurb (the floor tiling and underfloor heating done but the fireplace, the fancy plastering, the skirting boards, and the arches by the veranda all need to be done beforehand)
Somewhere on the Harborne rail trail July 17 during the commuter run into work, I logged my 20,000th mile since moving to Britain. A few hundred of those have been in Italy, Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium, Ireland, and the USA but a milestone nonetheless.
Obits in these pages:
Chris Abell, former running mate and Pro Vice Chancellor for Research at Cambridge
Buck Henry, my long lost dad, who worked with aforementioned Carl and Fred at various times
There was COVID. There were lockdowns. I continued to work — harder than usual in a lot of ways — at the labs throughout and, with the minimised human contact, I’ve sustained the longest continuous period without any symptoms of physical illness that I can remember.
Most years suck in retrospect. 2020 sucked as it was happening almost every minute of the year so it is hard to apply normal benchmarks. Looking back, it sucked no more over the background noise than most other years; but the background noise includes 1 in every 1000 Americans AND Brits dying of the virus just since March; it includes Donald Trump getting almost 75 million votes; the background shit is piled so high you barely can make out the death of Democracy or the flailing ineptitude of the current UK government or actual Crimes Against Humanity (such as, Taylor Swift continues to put out records).
So, here’s to 2021. No plans, this year. I have a fines-and-fees structure for the period from now until Thanksgiving that should pay for a nice holiday when one is possible again…more on F&F with the monthly reports in a few weeks.
118 — or so — mL of liquids (warm water with about 30 mL of Tērvete Senču)
two good grinds of sea salt
1/2 teaspoon of sugar
Set that aside to start bubbling. Meanwhile, enjoy the rest of the beer while prepping the sauce:
thinly slice a cup of small, sweet tomatoes
crush a bullion cube on top and mix
put “too much oregano” (dry or fresh) on top and mix
two good grinds of black pepper
hefty pinch of crushed red chillies
a good squirt of tomato puree (US = 1/2 can of tomato paste)
mix and set aside
Finish the beer. Open the first bottle of wine. Pour a glass and return to the dough, kneading in enough strong flour (0000 is best but a good whole wheat brown can also work if you let it prove longer). When the ball has the texture of a young woman’s un-enhanced breast (ah, memories…or, that of a middle-aged man who used to be athletic…ah, regrets), put it back in the bowl to double in size (or a little more for the wheaty version).
Heat your oven to about 175C/350F/middle range of gas marks, stretch the dough to a reasonably good size on some foil or oven paper, and slide that onto a warm cookie sheet to prove a second time. When puffy, slide the dough and substrate onto the top rack in your oven and let it blanch but not brown. Pull this out and, after it cools about 2-3 minutes, flip it over (the top comes out of the oven more done than the bottom).
Now or a day from now or anywhere in between, spread the sauce, top with cheese, add the toppings*, top with a little more cheese including some parmesan, and shove it back in the oven until done. Let it rest 5 minutes — no longer — and drain if necessary before cutting.
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*You’ve probably put too many toppings on like we always do. Since this is for dining, not a photograph, put the least in need for cooking on first building up to those that most benefit from heat. Last night, this meant counterintuitively from first cheese to top
Heckuva weekend started with fish pie and a pint of Bravoro. It may be NEXT weekend before reports of the renovation emerge. Until then…yum…fish pie…yum…beer.
Day 2 of the great, open plan, historic preservation, breathable limecrete subfloor pour would have been exhausting if Day 1 and the two 16-hour days of excavation preceding that had not already taken everything out of us. Fortunately, the Soviet era beer, Zhigulevskoye, inspired me to work even harder — Comrade Stalin would be pleased with our productivity.
I saw the can and thought, “Let the goat in!” I hadn’t checked the baseball standings since the abbreviated season began and, once home, was pleased to see both the Cubs and White Sox at the tops of their respective divisions holding the prospect of a World Series on the El. Delicious.
Speaking of, Kozel Světlý is a delicious Czech lager.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 