Well, Christmas has come and gone and, as usual I bought far too much food and, just like I did last Christmas Day, cocked up the quiz answers (who knew that Jill Scot and Alex Scot were not the same person!??). I also extended my all-round entertainment skills by getting out my guitar out and playing Felice Navidad to my assembled diners. Anyway, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves apart from Troy, who at the first sniff of the invited dogs hid under the spare room bed for the duration of the day. Much alcohol was consumed (by us not Troy) but the only collateral damage was a few flecks of Zinfandel on the carpet. An acceptable result. On Boxing day - and against my better judgement - I decided to brave the cold weather and go into Watford to watch the now not-so-mighty Hornets take on the equally not so mighty Millwall. I took my prospective father-in-law, but if he was expecting a feast of football he must have been sorely disappointed. It looked as if the Watford players had been feasting late into the previous evening, while Millwall, on the other hand, appeared to have stayed off the port and had an early night. It was an early/12.30 kick off and we still looked half asleep. The result: 2-0 to Millwall. Sarah’s parents left on 28 th December and by then I think we’d slogged our way through leftovers of all shapes and sizes, ending up with bubble and squeak on the 27 th . On 29 th we met up with James, his girlfriend Rosie, and her parents for a slap-up lunch at the Black Horse in Chorleywood. This was the pub where I did much of my early underage drinking, chatting up my first girlfriend as we both leaned over the juke box listening to I’m Not in Love by 10CC. But that was 47 years ago and today the pub has a huge outdoor dining section replete with heated huts and tents for private dining. I believe we were sat in the Moroccan Hut eating burgers and drinking gallons of red. Suffice to say I had a well-deserved hangover on 30 th December. New Year’s eve passed in a similar fashion to the previous year, i.e. at home, with plenty of food, a James Bond Movie and bed by 10.45. At least it meant we were up early for a long walk round Wendover and the Lee on New Year’s Day. So, here we are in 2023. The opening weeks were dominated by the publication of Harry’s book, Spare; the accusations espoused in which, appear to have not only reduced the popularity of Harry and Megan, but also William, Kate and the rest of the Firm, according to a poll published this week. Only Will’s kids appear to have avoided public displeasure. On the domestic front, my sister Julie and I have been clearing out our parents’ home before it is re-decorated and then put on the market. It feels a bit strange to be doing this while they’re still alive but unfortunately we need the cash injection so that we can keep them at their eye wateringly expensive care home. Emptying their two-bedroom flat should have been a relatively quick exercise and we vowed to be ruthless. However, that mawkish old devil, ‘nostalgia’ put paid to that plan. For two days we rummaged through cupboards and drawers while our efforts to clear the place were constantly interrupted by the appearance of old photos; including numerous images from my previous wedding days! Seventy years of accumulated memories and objects from our collective pasts. Items of little intrinsic value but priceless to my sister and I. Considered too important to throw away, these items inevitably ended up in the back of the car. I’m not sure what we’ll do with them. Perhaps our children will one day pour over them - along with whatever we leave behind.  In an attempt to lose some of the excess Xmas blubber I’ve been getting out walking more regularly and Sarah and I have promised ourselves that we will do a long walk every Sunday. This weekend we will be walking in the Mendips, an area I know not at all. It is Sarah’s birthday weekend and I’ve chosen a cosy pub with rooms where we can eat, drink and generally celebrate her final year of being a forty-something.

When I last wrote, we’d just ‘gained’ a new monarch, a new prime minister and a new manager of Watford. Amazingly in these days of micro tenures, impatience and instant gratification, those three people are still in situ ten weeks later. Recent night-time temperatures have touched minus 10, cold enough to cause major problems on our railways, which are now usually on strike anyway. The postal service also appears to have collapsed and the only thing that seems to be working efficiently is the smart meter in our house which clocked up an eye watering £140 last week! Hence, I’m now in Waitrose coffee shop where I’ve calculated that purchasing a small white coffee (no flat white or skinny late for me) and using their heating to keep warm has cost me only 30% of what my home energy bill would be for the 4 hours I’ve been sitting here. At least the heating comes on at 4.30, so I can go home soon. Anyway, enough misery. Richi Sunak keeps telling us we’re all in it together. All, that is, apart from Richi and his super rich buddies who count their money in billions rather than hundreds. They’ve got the Christmas music on in Waitrose and I am suddenly filled with admiration for the writer of Jungle Bells, who instead of simply telling us how much fun it is to ride in a sleigh, decided that it’s even more fun to ride in a sleigh that is not only one-horse but also open. Highly descriptive! Christmas will soon be here and so will most of my family. The meat is ordered and I’m prepared to cook the turkey and the (much) less than energy efficient 12 hour overnight black treacle ham recipe (thank you Nigella). I hope the whirring of the energy meter while the ham cooks doesn’t keep us all awake!  Incidentally, the reason for my absence has been a couple of extended stays over in Turkey. In addition my new pastime of playing the guitar has started to take over my life and having bought a guitar and ukulele in Turkey and a Gibson Les Paul in the UK, I fear that I am in danger of becoming one of those crazy collector people!

No - not me (above) attempting to exit my bunk!..... No, the oily animal I'm alluding to is Boris Johnson, once referred to by David Cameron as being as ‘slippery as a greased piglet' He is in big trouble again – and this time it will take more grease than you’ll find behind the donner stand at our local kebab house to get him out of trouble.  Last night as I fell asleep during our second attempt to get through episode three of McDonald and Dodds, Richi Sunak and Sajid Javid were both exiting Boris’s government. This morning more members of the team resigned and, as I write this, Boris is about to take Prime Minister questions. Surely Kier Starmer’s first question to him should be: “What are you still doing here!!” On a rather tangential link from MacDonald & Dodds (which is set in Bath) we too were close to Bath last weekend, enjoying our first experience of glamping. We stayed in a Horse Lorry in wildest Wiltshire. We absolutely loved it – even if climbing up to the bed (in the lorry cab) was a bit of a challenge with my arthritic knees. It even had a hot shower, hob and oven! You can see some pics here of the accommodation and me searing a nice piece of ribeye on the fire pit. Having renewed our National Trust membership, we spent much of June frequenting their numerous properties; some local to us, some in Wiltshire. I think our favourite visit was to Stourhead, with Lacock a close second. However, Stowe, The Vyne and Old Warden were well worth visiting too. In other news, we went to see Elton John at The Theatre of (regularly broken) Dreams (Watford FC) last Sunday and he was fantastic. I can’t believe what a good voice he still has at the age of 74 – and his love of Watford FC rallying call to the crowd of predominantly Watford fans was inspirational and motivational. Much more so than any of the garbage we heard from our two 70 something managers last year. I’m currently writing an article on butchery for the Chiltern Magazine, having recently discovering a fantastic new butchers’ shop in Wendover High Street, run by Scott and Ricky; who apply principles of sustainability, traceability and quality to their products and source their meat from local farms. I’m looking forward to barbequing their wonderful cote de bouef (for 4 minutes each side, followed by at least a ten-minute rest) this weekend. Have a good July. Look like it could be a scorcher 😊

Hospitals, care homes, social services, discharge units, emergency services, social workers, medication, para medics, more social workers, doctors, nurses, falls, heart ‘events’, dementia, memory clinics. This month I’ve become immersed in all things medical as my parents face the challenges of old age and failing health. Luckily, I have a sister who shares the responsibility of trying to keep our parents as safe and happy as possible, as they move towards the final period of their long lives. The next few months is likely to involve decisions about their futures, most of which will be taken out of their hands, and most of which they will almost certainly not like at all. During this period, my sister and I have taken it in turns to enjoy some down time and Sarah and I have managed to cram in a brilliant holiday in France and some great days and weekends away. In France we managed to cram trips to Monet’s Garden, Amboise on the Loire and then an extended stay in The Dordogne into a thirteen-day Eurotunnel jaunt. The weather was kind, the food was great, and the driving was much easier than we expected. As well as savouring all that the wonderful medieval town of Sarlat, with its many restaurants and its fantastic market, had to offer, we also enjoyed trips down the Dordogne and the amazing gardens art Eyrignac and Merquyssac. At home my attempts to play my new Yamaha trans acoustic guitar are coming along slowly, but I’ve almost mastered the River by Bruce Springsteen, so that’s a start. Renewal time for our National Trust membership has just arrived and we’ve continued to get good value from our approx. £140 per year, having recently visited The Vyne, Stowe and The Shuttleworth collection at Old Warden.  Anyway more about that in my next post. I’m off to watch Elton at Watford now 😊

It’s been a couple of months since my last post and although I’ve now begun to wind up my business and join the ranks of the full-time retired, I seem to be busier than ever. Cheltenham came and went. It was another brilliant week of laughs and camaraderie. Happily, we all returned with our shirts securely on our backs and our trousers un-lowered – although two of the six punters in our house brought Covid home along with wheelbarrows stuffed full of bookmakers’ cash. A week after Cheltenham I was off again. This time to our house in Turkey, for a week on my own before Sarah joined me. The end of March in Fethiye was unseasonably cold this year but by the end of our trip on 10 th April, the temperature had risen to a perfectly sunny 23 degrees. Another lovely stay which reminded me how much I love it over there. Back in the real world, the war in Ukraine drags on with no end in sight, as the Ukrainians continue to attract worldwide respect and admiration for the way they’ve repelled the Russian invaders. The war, the rise in energy prices and rampant inflation has produced a perfect economic storm. Many households are struggling to make ends meet and are face d with a choice between heating and eating. Those of us fortunate to have retirement investments can only sit back and watch while inflation inexorably destroys our savings. Closer to home, my parents physical and mental health continues to decline, although the introduction of regular care visits seems to have sparked a slight improvement in my Mum’s health. A rather downbeat Spring post should also include a quick report on the on my beloved Watford FC. This season we set a new record for consecutive premiership defeats and are already confirmed as relegated elect. We are set to end up with the lowest points total in our Premiership history. Next year, our shell-shocked fans can look forward to trips to glamorous trips to Preston, Wigan, Peterborough and maybe even Sunderland. But who knows we might even achieve some success – or at least a home win! Despite much doom and gloom, morale today is high. The sun is shining as I sit in our garden strumming the chords to the River by Bruce Springsteen. We have a 12-day holiday in the Dordogne starting on 26 th May, and I’m looking forward to great weather (reasonably likely), great food (almost certainly) and a drastic fall in the price of fuel (highly unlikely). I filled my car up this morning and though the pump had malfunctioned as the dial rose to £133. Apart from the cost I could have written a short story in the time it took to fill the tank. Finally, we ate some great meals while in Turkey and at home I’ve continued to cook almost very evening. Some of the best dishes appear on this page. Take Care MP  P.S. On a positive musical note, the UK came second (yes, second, NOT second from last) in the Eurovision Song Contest with a song by a really very nice bloke called Sam Ryder (sp??). In the meantime (but not as a consequence of our European success) I’ve rediscovered my love of guitar playing and have even purchased a new acoustic. Next it will be a home recording studio.

In my previous post, I got on my soap box about the UK news media’s obsession with Boris’s appearances or otherwise at Number 10 parties that were (or weren’t) held unlawfully (or even lawfully) during the 2020 lockdown. Surely, I ranted, there were more serious things to preoccupy us, such as the collapse of US tech shares and their impact on UK pensions, raging inflation and the accumulation of Soviet forces on the Ukraine border!! Well…..since 24 th February, we’ve heard nothing more about lockdown parties, and Putin’s shocking invasion of Ukraine is now the only story in town. Despite (or because of) the incredibly courageous resistance of the Ukrainian people, Putin has now significantly upped the ante; shelling schools, hospitals and even a nuclear power plant. The prognosis for Ukraine is extremely bleak and we can only wonder how long it will be before the western world concludes that stronger action than economic sanctions are required to end this conflict. Consequently, we could soon be walking a tightrope where one slip could end in the type of global conflict we all thought we had left behind in 1945. Back at home, it’s difficult not to be affected by the constant news barrage from correspondents, decked in flak jackets and blue helmets, raising their voices to be heard against the sound of air raid sirens. But here in Berkhamsted, we get on with our lives; thankful that we don’t like in Kiev, Kharkiv or Mariupol. I wonder if we in the UK would be as brave and willing to fight for our homeland as the people of Ukraine - or would it be a case of ‘I can’t join the fighting today as I have to do the weekly shop at M&S’. I wonder. Anyway, at the start of February, we celebrated Sarah’s birthday at The Copper House in Berko, and despite the hype and prices we found the whole experience distinctly average. However, we did enjoy our pre dinner glasses of white just along the High Street in place called Haniko which, would you believe, is a florist by day that becomes a wine and bubbly bar in the evenings – and it even offers a happy hour to attract early imbibers. Amongst all the gloom we managed to get away for a week in Nerja, 30 miles east of Malaga, which was lovely. It was warm with bright sunshine for most of the week and we were lucky enough to get a top floor apartment in the Hotel Toboso, which had a roof terrace about as large as our garden ns overlooking the sea. The food in Nerja was brilliant too – as you can see from the pics on this page. On the football front, we had boozy trip to Man United last Saturday and Watford somehow managed to get a point, despite rarely leaving our own half. Arsenal on Sunday. Yet another ‘must-win’ game (which we invariably lose). Cheltenham starts in 10 days, and we have booked the house for the week. With everything else going on in the world I think we all intend to make the most of it.  Keep smiling.

It’s been a highly eventful January so far – and not in a good way! Boris’s ‘was it a meeting or was it a party?’ indiscretions appear to have become an obsession for most in the UK Media, even though world events – i.e. things that happen beyond 10 Downing Street - are giving many of us grave reasons for concern. Those of us with pensions will have seen our nest eggs eroded by anything up to 12% during the past month, as high US Inflation and raised interest rates impact on Tech shares. ‘Boo Hoo!’, I hear you shout back ‘so you’ve lost a few quid from your pension!’ Fair enough I suppose, but the high inflation that’s hit the US has now reached our shores and is seriously eroding the spending power of UK citizens. Just this week my body-wash of choice, Nivea, which has been £1.49 in Tesco for as long as I can remember had been marked up to £1.65 – and the nice man on the bread stall at Berko market was highly apologetic as he explained that the price of two veggie Samosas was no longer £2.50 but now an eye watering £3.00. There’s also a real fear of a European conflict, as Russian troops continue to arrive at the Ukraine border. None of this is good news for the price of Indian snacks or any other consumer product. At home, we look forward to a night out at the Copper House this evening, to celebrate Sarah’s 48 th birthday. It feels like she’s been 47 for about 4 years. It feels like I’ve aged from about 50 to 62 in that time. ‘Age’ is certainly figuring in my thoughts and challenges this month. My parents (90 and 91 years old) are struggling to cope at Denham Garden Village. Loss of memory, confusion and falls are a regular part of their lives and, consequently, we are now looking to arrange what I believe is known as ‘Domestic and Companionship’ care for them both, although I fear the hunt for a decent care home may not be far away. On the food front we enjoyed a very nice lunch at a lovely pub called the Brocket Arms at Ayot St Lawrence last week, following a long country walk with my old mate Burnzie. Quaffed a couple of excellent pints of Tring Brocket Ale too (not to be confused with Brock Bitter, which is less to my taste). The landlady described Brocket Ale as like ‘Side Pocket with a twist’, a very accurate description I thought. Sarah is no longer eating my high calorie meals during the week, so I haven’t been doing as much cooking as usual. However, last weekend I slow cooked a shoulder of pork (shown on this page), or Boston Butt as the Americans rather eccentrically call it. We scoffed it with leek mash and veg and the next day I made the remainder into a VERY rich pork ragu, with garlic, leeks, onions, carrot, mushrooms, lamb stock, tomato, chipotle, and some leftover stilton. I’m off to Cheltenham tomorrow for Trials Day. Our last race day was two weeks ago at Kempton, where we were served surprisingly good food in their panoramic restaurant and I was fortunate enough to choose a £4 Lucky Dip Placepot ticket, which paid out a princely £553. Suffice to say I spent a good lump of this at the Rose & Crown Chorleywood during a pit stop on the way home. As for footy, things are getting steadily worse. Ranieri has been sacked and this week we have a replacement septuagenarian named Roy Lewington in charge. Fat Sam will no doubt be in charge by March. I despair! PS - Amongst all this gloom, we’ve been on a couple of very nice Monday (Sarah’s non-workday) excursions this month. One was to Kew Gardens on a lovely cold sunny morning and this week we headed into London, where I reacquainted myself with two old drinking haunts: The Queens Larder in Cosmo Passage and the historic Lamb in Lambs Conduit Street (shown here). Can’t be all bad. Can it?

Happy New Year dear reader. Another Christmas is behind us and we now wait to see what the viral world has in store for us this year. Fortunately, I emerged from my Covid isolation on Christmas Eve; just in time to peel sprouts, chop veg, make canapes, and begin the 24-hour cooking of my (well, Nigella’s actually) black treacle ham. Early Christmas morning we exchanged presents. The gifts I bought Sarah reflected her love of gardening and her love of our cat, Troy; the gifts she gave me acknowledged my love of Watford FC and my love for Troy the cat. In total, Troy featured on six pressies, including photo displays, a mug, and tee shirts. There can now be no doubt whatsoever: we are officially ‘Crazy Cat People!’ Sarah’s parents arrived at 10.00 on Christmas morning. Just in time for a light breakfast, a few glasses of bubbly and a walk to the George for my mandatory post-quarantine/pre-Xmas lunch pints. Dinner was scheduled for four p.m. and with all the prep done and the rest of our guests (my daughter, sister, and brother-in-law) not due to arrive until after 15.00, it turned into a relatively stress-free day. By the time I’d returned from the pub, filled to the brim with Tring ale, the turkey crown and the leg parcel were ready to leave the oven and take refuge beneath the aluminium foil. While the meat rested, I had plenty of time to scorch the duck fat roasties in a hot oven and glaze and finish the gammon. We finally served lunch at 16.30, and the food was very well received. As you may have noticed I don’t really ‘do’ desserts, so I was grateful for the cheesecake and trifle that family members contributed. The only hiccup in the whole event didn’t become apparent until the evening of the 27 th . Having had the oven cleaned just a couple for weeks ago, I was dismayed to see so much cooking smoke coming from the main oven on Xmas Day. It was only when, two days later, I peered into the dark recesses of the bottom shelf that I discovered an additional tray of pigs in blankets blackening at the back of the oven. Despite this annoying mishap, I was delighted to find that we had enough leftovers to nourish us until New Year’s Eve, when I took the last of the ham, turkey, star anise gravy, sprouts and roasted veg from the fridge and made a delicious ‘chuck it all in’ puff pastry pie. When I was a young, roustabout youth, many years ago, I loved New Year’s evening and the obligatory hardcore drinking and partying. Maybe I’m just getting old (no ‘perhaps’ about it you might say) but nowadays NYE seems to have become a night when people you’ve never seen in a pub before and who would normally never frequent such places, go out for their once-a-year binge and end up acting like complete buffoons. Eager not to be involved in any of this nonsense we met up with friends for a sociably boozy afternoon in the pub before stumbling up the hill to cuddle Troy, scoff the pie and enjoy an early night – after-all, Watford had a big game the next day! As it turned out, the New Year’s Day match against Tottenham was even more distressing than our awful performance a few days earlier against West Ham. At least West Ham played well and beat us easily; Spurs had the temerity to look decidedly ordinary and wait until the 96 th minutes before putting us out of our misery. That’s five defeats in a row for Watford FC. The fat lady is starting to gargle. That’s about it for now folks. Over the past 48 hours the weather has turned from a balmy fifteen degrees to about zero degrees. Even the extra cardy and Xmas socks are failing to keep Jack Frost at Bay. I may have to do something radical and turn on the heating an hour early. Have a good January and good luck to any poor souls who are abstaining from alcohol during this most miserable of months. PS Having not seen the mice for at least two weeks we are sort of hoping that the poor little mites expired after experiencing life behind two blazing Xmas Day ovens. However, I have just come across a rather worrying article on Google as follows: “In a theoretical situation, two mice that sneak into your home could give birth to 60 in a year. Of these new mice, about 21 to 30 are female mice capable of having their babies within a month, which can theoretically lead to 5,082 mice in just one year”  We’re going to need a bigger trap!!!!

I guess it was inevitable. On Friday 10 th December we visited a couple of Central London watering holes before making our way west to the One over the Ait pub on Kew Bridge. From there it was a short walk to The Community Stadium Brentford, where I watched my beloved Watford lose in the last minute and then undertook a miserable three-stop tube journey back to Euston to catch a late train back to Berkhamsted. Three days later I felt like I’d caught a cold. I ached, I coughed, and my throat was sore. Sarah insisted I took a lateral flow test and although it looked negative to me, she explained that a faint line next to the ‘T’, is still a line, and is a line that indicates that I probably have Covid. The next morning we both drove to a car park in Leighton Buzzard where we took PCR tests. The next morning, Sarah received an email telling us she was negative; I received the unhappy news that I had tested positive. As I write this I have around 30 hours remaining on my quarantine. To be honest my ‘illness’ has constituted little more than a cold – and has certainly not felt as debilitating as real flu. Sarah and I have slept in separate rooms and kept out of each other’s way, but I’m still surprised that Sarah hasn’t tested positive.....yet. Fingers crossed she continues to test negative, for a few more days at least. I now feel fine and as I have a mammoth amount of food ordered I am hoping we can still share it with our Christmas Day guests; Julie, Steve, Ken, Jen, James, and Amanda on Christmas Day. In other news, quarantine has given me plenty of time to write my blog, a new recipe for The Chiltern magazine and to spend time in the kitchen, where I knocked up my first game pie (delicious) and cooked a super soft slow cooked leg of lamb. As for Troy, he is now regularly bringing mice into the house. Being a kind-hearted chap, he doesn’t kill them but instead lets them run around the kitchen. Consequently, we now have two living behind our range, where neither we or nor Troy can get at them - although Troy now spends hours just staring at the cooker. To rid ourselves of these little critters I have today ordered two humane ‘traps’ (they don’t kill the mice; they just trap them so you can release them in the garden – that’s the theory anyway!).  We shall see….at least the mouse challenge keeps me busy during my quarantine…