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How do the English turn their sausages over on the BBQ or stir their stir-fries without tongs? Do they use a flip and fork? A spoon and a spatula? Shmoke and a pancake?
I’ll tell you this much: whatever they use, they use with great difficulty. Tongs are a godsend.
Being the excellent planner that I am, I brought a pair of tongs with me from Oz (you can of course buy them here at the Australia shop, but I wasn’t to know that at the time). It’s not been until now, living with the locals, that I’ve realised what an extreme pain in the butt it is to cook without them. I have tried all the above alternatives to no avail.
You heard it here first. Tongs, along with Lucas Pawpaw cream, may just be the best import/export opportunity going round …And I just gave the idea away…. shit.
I cannot beat around the bush on this one; I hate WH Smith. It’s a little irrational and somewhat unfounded but I’ll attempt to explain.
The other day I was at the airport and went looking for a specific book in WH Smith. I was in a bit of a hurry so I went to the counter and asked the charming pimply teenager if they had the book in question. His reply – and this is a direct quote – was as follows:
“I don’t know – I don’t know nuffin’ about books”
Accompanied by a look implying I was some kind of weirdo for wanting to buy a book at all.
WHAT?!? You don’t have to know anything about books you moron, just type the name into your little computer and help me out here!
I don’t even know what WH Smith is supposed to be. It’s clearly not a bookstore. Apart from my pleasant experience above, they only sell the most commercial of novels. Is it a news agent? A convenience store? As with books, it doesn’t really do anything well enough to be classified as any of these things. No, I think it’s a “we’ll sell you whatever will make you part with your cash while you wait for your flight/train/bus” store. Mr WH Smith must be turning in his grave, the sneaking money-grabber. Stop being so obvious.
HOLD THE PRESS! In an effort to be a little less partisan, I Wikipedia-ed W H Smith only to find that they did do something pretty cool; they are responsible for the creation of the ISBN book catalogue system. Slightly redeemed.
I’m living in limbo land; neither here nor there, coming or going. I’m somewhere between the old flat in St Pauls and the new flat in Bayswater. And with these ethereal sentiments I find myself fitting perfectly in the house through the looking glass.
To be boring and practical for a minute so you all understand what on earth I’m talking about: hubby-to-be and I are staying with a family friend in Kensington for 3 weeks while we are in between homes.
But the flat we’re staying in….well, it’s simply amazing. Packed to the brim with collectibles, knick-knacks, newspaper cuttings, books, plays, paintings, pots, pans, lamps (I love lamp) flowers, photos… I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to find anything in here.
Our bedroom has a wall of framed ancient maps. The sitting room has bay windows full of pot plants that send filtered light through the room. Every chair at the dining table is different. All the couches are draped in beautiful vintage flags. The bathroom is jammed with tiny bottles of ointment, moisturiser, perfume. Our host loves opera and collects the scores in great piles with post it notes marking the favourite pieces. And my favourite touch; all the mirrors in the house have wooden ballerina bars across them.
It’s part museum, part jumble sale; perfectly positioned and absolute chaos at the same time. The one thing is for sure; you just want to explore. This house can’t help but inspire. I’ve woken up every morning thinking: what am I going to do today? Draw, play guitar, write, read, cook? Explore? Well, reality is mostly I go to work. But the feeling is nice just the same.
louashton
