Expotitions in Medway
I rewarded myself for getting to the end of term with half a day in Medway --
("That's a reward?" FaceBooks Buffy Squirrel.
"It might have been a whole day," I respond.)
-- and I narrowly catch the train after the one I'd anticipated; curiously this train was running fifteen minutes late until thirty seconds before it arrived, on time or early. I noted how the new minimum charge for Railcards meant that I could have travelled before ten as as the card isn't valid. Grr for the money.
I've been through Gillingham, but not to it, and on the whole I didn't move off the high street. I'm not entirely sure I missed anything. It's a place that is clearly suffering - the charity shops are saver centres, presumably selling off stuff not sold in ordinary charity shops. For those who cannot afford a Poundshop, here's a 99p Shop. And, a few shops down, a 97p Shop. I call in a fried chicken shop for lunch, and overhear a conversation between a couple who are arguing over Facebook - he's denying blind that he has a page, and that's he's made his choice, he's fucking her.
I've had an hour or two there - if the weather was better I'd have wandered down to the shore - and part of the time was spent queueing in the CashConvertors to get some DVDs. Then I'm off to Rainham, for the bookshops. There's no barrier of the east platform, so I could break the journey without complications, although it's meant to be legal anyway.
The first port of call is the hospice charity shop: and there's a few seventies items I pick up, and another Shakespeare - All's Well's That Ends Well - to tick off the list. I stick my head in the new bookshop, but nothing is tempting, even a fifty pence copy of The Information, a book I've seen in dozens of Waterstone's sales. And then to the secondhand shop - much that was tempting, but I limit myself to a couple of hardbacks and a paperback.
The ulterior motive was to visit the butcher - supplied by the Brogdale butcher from Faversham. I pick up a pile of lamb chops for the freezer, some bacon and a pork shoulder joint.
I roasted the pork today - it took nearly four hours - and I don't think I've ever had sweeter or tenderer pork cooked at home. I need to work out what's left and what can be stored or frozen. Maybe make some into a pie. My roast potatoes were fine, but what made it were the mashed parsnips; I've mashed swede before, but I guess I've tended to roast or stew parsnips in the past. A useful discovery. Now to find some interesting ways of using carrots.
In the mean time, I fed the sourdough starter and made a loaf. It made a fair sized loaf, but I suspect it was a little too wet, and end up lower and flatter than I'd have preferred. Bread for spreading, on, not sandwiching, obviously. It'll be interesting to toast and add home made jam.
("That's a reward?" FaceBooks Buffy Squirrel.
"It might have been a whole day," I respond.)
-- and I narrowly catch the train after the one I'd anticipated; curiously this train was running fifteen minutes late until thirty seconds before it arrived, on time or early. I noted how the new minimum charge for Railcards meant that I could have travelled before ten as as the card isn't valid. Grr for the money.
I've been through Gillingham, but not to it, and on the whole I didn't move off the high street. I'm not entirely sure I missed anything. It's a place that is clearly suffering - the charity shops are saver centres, presumably selling off stuff not sold in ordinary charity shops. For those who cannot afford a Poundshop, here's a 99p Shop. And, a few shops down, a 97p Shop. I call in a fried chicken shop for lunch, and overhear a conversation between a couple who are arguing over Facebook - he's denying blind that he has a page, and that's he's made his choice, he's fucking her.
I've had an hour or two there - if the weather was better I'd have wandered down to the shore - and part of the time was spent queueing in the CashConvertors to get some DVDs. Then I'm off to Rainham, for the bookshops. There's no barrier of the east platform, so I could break the journey without complications, although it's meant to be legal anyway.
The first port of call is the hospice charity shop: and there's a few seventies items I pick up, and another Shakespeare - All's Well's That Ends Well - to tick off the list. I stick my head in the new bookshop, but nothing is tempting, even a fifty pence copy of The Information, a book I've seen in dozens of Waterstone's sales. And then to the secondhand shop - much that was tempting, but I limit myself to a couple of hardbacks and a paperback.
The ulterior motive was to visit the butcher - supplied by the Brogdale butcher from Faversham. I pick up a pile of lamb chops for the freezer, some bacon and a pork shoulder joint.
I roasted the pork today - it took nearly four hours - and I don't think I've ever had sweeter or tenderer pork cooked at home. I need to work out what's left and what can be stored or frozen. Maybe make some into a pie. My roast potatoes were fine, but what made it were the mashed parsnips; I've mashed swede before, but I guess I've tended to roast or stew parsnips in the past. A useful discovery. Now to find some interesting ways of using carrots.
In the mean time, I fed the sourdough starter and made a loaf. It made a fair sized loaf, but I suspect it was a little too wet, and end up lower and flatter than I'd have preferred. Bread for spreading, on, not sandwiching, obviously. It'll be interesting to toast and add home made jam.